The Dawn's Early Light

As the group followed Armbridge's lead out the door to the underground conference room, Peter realized what had been niggling at him. He looked at the stunned body of the Romulan who had been impersonating Kingsley, nodded, and popped out of existence with it.

As he had expected, Cdr. John Martin was actively coordinating his security team in Orlando. Popping down in the midst of them, along with a stunned Romulan, startled them all which made Peter giggle. "Hi, Uncle John," he said. "I've got a present for you. This guy was using some sort of gadget to impersonate a high-ranking State Department advisor. If you can scare up a telepath, I think you'll be very interested in what you can find out from him. "See ya!" And with that, Peter popped out again.

John grinned. "One of the things I like best about working with the Clan," he said to nobody in particular, "is how you sometimes get your arrestees delivered right to your doorstep." He chuckled, as did the men working under him.

---

In northern Virginia...

The Marines from Quantico came boiling up the corridor connecting them to D.C. The majority of his force, Gen. Hardcrest put on the northbound lanes of I-95, where they were effectively the only traffic, although the southbound lanes were jam-packed with people fleeing the Washington area, but he was careful to ensure that the parallel streets and roads were also swept by his forces. It was some of these who first encountered Romulans making their way south from the ruins of the Pentagon. They began to fight in earnest, and while Romulans could be 0vercome by enough force, it was evident that their superior weaponry – the weaponry that the US, the UK and Russia had denied each other the use of – was leading to an unacceptable number of casualties. At long last they arrived at the bridges into D.C. and Arlington National Cemetery. The Honor Guard at the Tomb of the Unknowns was hunkered down behind marble, using its advantage of height and cover to prevent any Romulans from desecrating the cemetery. With a smile, Hardcrest gave orders to back them up.

The bridges, on the other hand... "We can take them by frontal assault, sir, but we'll be losing dozens of good troops for each bridge. I will order that only on your direct orders to do so."

"You know me better than that, Art," the General told his master tactician. "Now what was it that Starfleet guy said...?" The General thought for a few seconds, then said, "Sparks! Get me Col. Casey of Clan Short Special Forces at the State Department."

Peter had, meanwhile, popped back in at the radio room atop the State Department Building. After a minute of high-tech gibberish while the radio operators agreed on a frequency and encryption, General Hardcrest had Austin on the line. "I understand, Colonel, that your group has weaponry the equal of these Romlans'. Is that correct?"

"That's true," Austin replied.

"We are at the Potomac Bridges," Hardcrest went on, "we cannot take them against enemy fire without an unacceptable casualty rate. Would it be possible for your forces to lay down a diversion for us?"

"I think we can do something of the sort," Austin answered. "Here's what I propose: have your men engage them in long-range fire, avoiding exposing any troops as likely casualties. While the enemy is focused on the threat you pose, my small force will take them from the rear. Because I came here leading only a security and honor guard, we will need to do this one bridge at a time, but we can duplicate the action four times."

Art, the tactician, was smiling and nodding. Hardcrest smiled grimly. "That should work," he said. "Hardcrest out."

"Casey out."

As Art briefed the four attack teams' leaders on what was in store, Austin looked at his crew. "Here's what I want," he said. "Peter, will you plunk these guys down 20 feet or so from the Romulans holding the bridge? Toby, that thing on your arm will protect you and those with you from disruptor fire?" Both boys gave him a thumbs-up to signify that they could and would do what he asked. "Bryan, Malinda, Lexi Vance, Mac: your task is to shoot Romulans dead. Toby's got you covered."

Bryan caught the eyes of the rest of those 'told off' to fight. "We're ready, Boss," he said.

"Commencing to draw fire" came across the radio. Austin signaled Peter, "Go for it."

---

The State Department Oriental carpet which Galen had transformed into a refugee from the Arabian Nights swooped low over the streets of the Capitol. Benji pointed. "There's the source of that strong grief we're sensing," he said. Down below them, teenage Duane Washington was holding his mortally wounded father Earl, as the now-unmasked Romulan who had been playing Simon lay dead at Duane's hands. Galen skidded his carpet in to hover about a foot off the ground. Duane looked wryly at them. "First we had an alien invasion. Then my daddy went and got himself killed. And now I'm seein' four little twerps makin' like they're playin' Aladdin. I do think I must be goin' crazy."

Galen, who had been reversing the worst of the disruptor bolt's effects, spoke up. "No, you aren't going crazy, and I don't think your father picked today to die."

A hurried telepathic consultation with Eli, Benji and Tilden as to which facility left Galen making the choice. "Hang onto your daddy, Duane," he said as he transported father and son directly to the F.Y.S. former Naval hospital in Charleston. All four boys knocked knuckles and giggled.

With the departure of the Warbird, they felt safe in spreading out into areas they had been avoiding up till now. "Up, up and away," Eli giggled as he struck a super-hero-like pose. The magic carpet rose and moved eastward.

---

Potomac River Bridges

As the Strike Team Charlie detachment materialized a short distance from the bridge they began firing at the exposed backs of the Romulans. Two of the Romulans spun and began firing at them, but the disruptor bolts were turned as if by an invisible shield. The Marines came running across the bridge and fanned out into the city.

"Ready for bridge two!" Bryan called out. Results at the second bridge were virtually a duplicate of the first.

"Ready for number three!" Bryan called out. Romulans, however, are not stupid. Their tactics are as fluid as humans'. At this bridge the Romulans had insinuated themselves into a space between heavy concrete lintels so their backs were covered. While the strike team made short work of the other Romulans there were two or three in that gap who could not be hit from either direction.

"What we need here," Mac sang out, "is for somebody to lay down an enfilade and catch them in the crossfire." As he said this, he was already in motion off to his right and a short distance forward.

"No! Wait!" Shouted Toby. "You'r going...."

One of the Romulans spun to meet this new threat. A beam from his disruptor struck Mac, knocking him to the pavement.

"...outside my coverage range!" Toby finished, rather pointlessly.

Mac's skin and muscles had been vaporized by the disruptor beam. Major arteries were ruptured and his ribs and the lungs behind them were beginning to be vaporized. With a supreme effort he fired his phaser twice, killing the two Romulans, then collapsed.

Bryan drew down on the two Romulans. Even though he was reasonably sure they were dead, it never hurt to be doubly safe. Lexi, meantime, darted over to check on Mac. When she looked up her countenance was grave. "He's gone," she said.

In the radio room at the State Department, Ethan broke into tears. Becky turned to him. "What's wrong," she said. Ethan shook his head, too shattered to speak. "Talk to me; you aren't going to accomplish anything by holding it in."

"Y'know how I always was holding out, waiting for 'Mr. Right'?" Ethan sobbed. Becky nodded understandingly. "Well, Mac and I, we'd been getting closer and closer, and I... I thought maybe I'd found him. When we got back from this little excursion, I was gonna talk to him, tell him I loved him, see if he wanted to be boyfriends. And now he's gone, and I never even got a chance to tell him how I felt."

Becky gently touched Ethan's chest near the region of his heart. "I believe," she said, "that wherever Mac is now, he knows how you feel, and will always be with you – right here."

Ethan turned wet eyes to her and nodded, a wan half-smile on his face. "Thanks, Becky."

---

Above the demolished Congressional Office Building complex

"Got it! Set 'er down right here," Eli said as Leg pointed out to Galen where to go.

"What is it?" Tilden asked.

"Definite signs of life buried under the rubble," Benji explained.

Eli looked at Galen. "We're probably going to have to draw on you for energy," he commented apologetically.

"No problemo," Galen said in an Arnold imitation.

The soi-disant magic carpet came to a rest next to the heap of rubble that had been a House Office Building. The three telekinetic carpet riders dug in, moving lengths of concrete, rebar, facing stone, plumbing, desks, filing cabinets and other impedimenta appropriate to such a building in that time and place. Shortly they came to an elderly woman who sat up, groaned a little, and said with a gleam in her eye, "took you long enough."

"We're working as fast as we can, Congresswoman Carruthers," Eli said with a quirk in his voice.

The seventy-two-year-old veteran House member was noted for her acerbic tongue and for her advocacy for those with little power, notably children. Now she gave each of the four boys a hug and started to dig in alongside of them.

"Don't do that; they've got it covered," Tilden said, handing her a cup of tea and a crisp cookie. Surprised and pleased, she accepted the treat as the boys came to three more bodies. Galen scanned them over, then applied some minor healing techniques suitable for bringing them back to consciousness. As they sat up woozily, Tilden, again using his link with his brothers, was there with orange juice for them.

The blonde woman looked around and essayed a weak smile. "Why, hello, boys, Congresswoman," she said. "I'm Ingrid Lockhart and I'm a nurse-practitioner. This is Sally Meadows, and she's a registered nurse." The third figure also sat up, revealing that she was a Vulcan woman. "And this," Ingrid went on, "is T'Hausta, daughter of Samek. She is a Vulcan healer."

Galen looked judiciously at the four rescuees. "I get the feeling I'd be taking my life in my hands to try to tell any of you what to do," he said with a smile, "but can I suggest to you that you have been knocked around a bit, and logic indicates getting yourselves checked over and taking a short rest before jumping in to help others?"

Congresswoman Carruthers' weathered face wore the rarely seen philosophical smile she adopted when outwitted. T'Hausta nodded. "Your logic is faultless," she said as the faintest ghost of a smile danced across her lips.

"All right," Tilden said. "CSNIC, four to transport to Wells Fargo."

A moment and they were gone.

---

The warbird itself was headed in a southeasterly direction, looking as though it were moving down the Potomac toward Chesapeake Bay. The override activated by Ch'karya continued to supersede the frantic commands from the Romulans' bridge, but their efforts to slow the ship and/or reverse course meant it was moving erratically, slower than Ch'karya would have liked. As it moved away from D.C., the electronic blackout over the Capital appeared to be clearing up. Seth, however, agreed with Starfleet and Federation experts that with the Romulans' known penchant for multilayered deception, it would be wise not to trust the accuracy of transmissions, on the strength of the old adage, 'Don't believe any of what you hear and only half of what you see.'

At the Charleston Navy Yard, the former battleship USS Iowa was saved from decommissioning by having been upgraded and given to Clan Short, which as an arm of the Federation, was not subject to the same restrictions on advanced technology that League member states were. The rechristened battle-cruiser CSSF Iowa was just receiving an emergency replacement of its ordnance at full 100% strength (as opposed to the 20%-of-full-strength cap to which the U.S. and other League member states had agreed to limit themselves.)

Seth ordered the Iowa to sea – instead of a shakedown cruise, they were now ordered to proceed at maximum sustainable speed north to combat the Romulans. With morale high among the crew, many of whom were allowing their inner twelve-year-old prankster out to play, the Iowa headed north along the Carolina coasts and a date with destiny.

---

RFK Stadium

"So, Ms. Reid, would you explain to me what we're supposed to be doing again?" George asked with a mystified expression.

"First of all, call me Janna – no need to be formal around here; we're all adults after all. Unless," she smirked, "you want me to refer to you as 'Mr. Harrison.'?"

George blushed slightly. "The only 'Mr. Harrison' I know is my father – and he was old during the Stone Age."

Janna chuckled. "'Stone Age,' huh? What does that make me then: doing the play-by-play, asteroids one, dinosaurs zero?" Then she sobered. "C'mon, let's get to work; we've got a lot to do here."

"Normally," she went on, "Red Cross volunteering is all about the paperwork – or at least it's seemed that way the twenty-five years I've been volunteering. Clan Short doesn't like red tape. What we're doing here, and what other volunteers are doing wherever the Romulans attacked, or there was rioting, is to get groups together, reuniting families if we can do it easily, and arranging for them to be transported to the Wells Fargo Arena in Des Moines. They've got the space, the facilities, the food and so on there, to handle the reuniting. They'll send the injured off to one of the hospitals that are available for critical care and they'll send families to decent temporary housing, and orphans to Clan divisional facilities for housing them. From what I gather, the self-aware computers will take care of the paperwork, meaning we don't have to spend time pushing it, and we can get on with the more important business of helping people."

"So we've got rid of the Romulans?" George asked.

"Umm, no!" Janna replied. "We're here to connect people who need help with the help they need. I'm not going to let a little thing like marauding aliens get in the way of what I volunteered to do." Her solemn expression as she revealed the level of her commitment suddenly turned all smiles. "Hi, kids! C'mon over here and let's see what you need and what we can do to help," as three young children hesitantly approached the table where Janna and George were working. "My name's Janna Reid, and this is George Harrison."

The oldest of the kids looked at him, starstruck. "Wow! Were you really a Beatle?" Her eyes grew large.

George laughed. "Not as far as I and my family can tell," he responded, "I just happen to share his name."

The girl's smile remained in place. "That's all right," she said perkily. "I think you're pretty okay anyway."

Janna had, meanwhile, been making notes about these kids. Now she looked up. "Are you guys ready to go off to Iowa, to reconnect, if possible, with your families, to get something to eat or any medical care you may need, and a place to stay until your home's ready to live in again?"

All three girls' eyes got big and round. "Really?" The middle girls breathed softly. Janna smiled and nodded yes. "Let's make it a little bit of an adventure for you," she said warmly.

She gestured at George, who depressed the "send" button on the communicator they had been handed a few minutes before. "I have three young ladies for transport to Wells Fargo Arena," he spoke into it.

"Got 'em, and..." The three girls vanished. "...done!" came the treble voice of one of the AI's.

As George looked up Janna was motioning a young mother and three small children to their table.

---

Air Force One Crash Site at a mountainside meadow above Front Royal, VA

"For the record, I'm prepared to declare this aircraft the authentic Air Force One," NTSB investigator Barbara Kent said formally to FBI Special Agent in Charge Sean Webber.

"Isn't that obvious?" FBI Special Agent Jacob Grannis asked with an air of 'Dr. Obvious' in his tone.

"It is to us here at the site," Barbara responded patiently. "But one thing this job has taught me is that you document every conclusion you reach, so you don't have fools asking questions years after the fact that would have been clear to them if they had been at the site. It saves on lawsuits too."

"You'll find a lot of our FBI reports call for the same sort of spelling out of the obvious, Jake," Sean added.

"And now, gentlemen, if you will be so good as to slip on your shades," Barbara smiled, "we get to play Crime Scene Investigators."

Sean scaled the hillside a dozen paces and started looking at the crash. "It appears," he said, "that one wing was shot off in flight, precipitating a rapid descent, and the other wing detached either just before or at impact. The fuselage seems to have hardly ruptured, but largely held intact."

"I concur," said Barbara. "You've done crashes before?"

"Only a couple," Sean replied, "but the disastrous effects stick with you."

Barbara motioned one of the paramedics over to her. "How much disturbance of the bodies inside was done," she asked.

"Only enough to verify that they all were dead," the paramedic answered. "Such a shame..."

"Let's go in," Barbara said. As they entered the plane the sense of bodies' having been hurled about was plainly evident in all directions. The First Lady lay sprawled in a comfortable seat looking for all the world like she had just fallen asleep. In sharp contrast the National Security Advisor was crumpled in the wide aisle. The neck of the tall, slender black woman was bent at an unnatural angle. Secret Service agents and Presidential aides lay scattered throughout the cabin.

Sean looked into the cockpit, reaching in and picking up two objects. "Flight crew appears to have been killed by debris from the nose of the plane passing through the windshield," he stated. "Here's the black box," as he handed over the Cockpit Voice Recorder. "And here," he continued, as he held up a clipboard, "is the passenger manifest."

"Let me see that," Barbara said. After skimming its contents she said, "I have two questions. First, where's the President?"

"I can answer that one," Sean volunteered. "As we were passing Winchester on our way here they were reporting that Mr. Bush had been ejected in an emergency pod and was being transported to the Winchester regional hospital in critical condition."

"What I'd like to know," Jacob spoke up, "is why there's a Romulan on board Air Force One!?"

The other two turned surprised eyes to him and the corpse he was holding. "His neck," Sean asked, "what's that attached to the back of his neck?"

Jacob looked. "It appears," he said slowly, "to be the debris from some sort of electronic chip that suffered an explosive failure."

"My other question," Barbara interjected, "is, where's the Vice-President?"

"The national security rules," Jacob supplied, "state that the President and Vice-President never share the same plane."

"Well," Barbara retorted, "if this roster is to be believed, this time they did."

A glint caught Sean's eye. "Jake," he said with a sinking feeling, "check his tie."

Jacob turned the body, unveiling the chest. After stuttering twice, as if not wanting to believe what he was seeing, Jacob said deliberately, "what this looks like to me is the one-of-a-kind iridium tie tac with the Haliburton logo that was given to Mr. Cheney and which he loved to wear."

Sean looked at Barbara solemnly. "We don't have proof past reasonable doubt yet," he said, "but until and unless we get a better explanation, I"m prepared to assume that somehow a Romulan was impersonating Vice-President Cheney."

"I follow your logic, and agree," Barbara said grimly. "And knowing typical Romulan methods it's probably reasonable to assume that the real Mr. Cheney was killed when the impersonation started."

"I'm not sure what else we can learn," Sean summed up. "Barbara, you'll want the Flight Data Recorder. Are you trained in the techie stuff for an NTSB investigation?"

"No," Barbara answered ruefully. "I do the observation and people skills end of things. The guys who can tell you what species of bird went through the jet engine, or which bolt detached itself from the tail first weren't available at Dulles this morning."

"All right then," Sean replied with a take-charge attitude, "Let's all three of us get as many digital photos as possible, to be shared with our respective agencies, then let the paramedics call in whoever takes care of bodies. One thing – no body is to be cremated or embalmed until the forensic team releases it. Then we have the National Park rangers set this area off as an active crime scene until our bosses say otherwise. Is that satisfactory?"

"It works for me," Barbara said. Jacob nodded.

---

State Department radio room

"Assigned phase successfully completed, sir," Bryan reported across the commbadge.

"Good work," Austin replied. "What are the Marines doing?"

Art's baritone contrasted with Bryan's boyish voice. "The General split us into two unequal forces, Colonel," he reported. "A smaller force is moving to secure the White House and its grounds. The larger force will be moving up the Mall from the Lincoln Memorial right by us towards the Capitol, mopping up Romulans as they go."

"Thank you, Colonel," Austin said, "That was most helpful." He raised his voice a bit. "Strike Team Charlie, attention for orders. Ethan, you will work with State Department Security to assure the safety of this building and Mr. Armbridge in particular. Bryan's party, begin double-timing up the Mall. The rest of us will join up with you at a suitable intersection point. We will attempt to secure the Capitol, and if possible, the legislative office buildings. What I'm visualizing, is catching any Romulans in a vise between the Marines and us."

"That should work well," Art responded.

Austin resumed speaking. "Mr. Armbridge, it is not my place to tell you what to do, but I'd suggest that you use your worldwide contacts to find out how things stand in the US and elsewhere."

George, the Orlando-based AI, spoke up. "While we're able to communicate now, the general feeling among those with expertise is that the Romulans are just sneaky enough that we should not put our full trust in anything learned by electronic communication, because they may have in some way warped or tweaked it for their own purposes."

"I'll keep that in mind," Armbridge said.

Austin led his troops out. Jonas and Harry joined them as they left. "We do have Starfleet Security training," Jonas noted. "We may not be everything your team is, but we want a piece of this pie for ourselves too."

Armbridge looked at the handful of people left with him. "It seems to me," he said, "that the first order of business ought to be to find out who's in charge."

---

RFK Stadium

The extended family was seconds from being transported out: three middle-aged adults, a senior citizen, two young adults, four teens, a pre-teen, a toddler and a baby just past newborn. The toddler waved shyly at Janna, who smiled and blew a kiss back. One of the teenage boys looked up at George with what approached hero worship; George patted him on the shoulder in farewell. "Beaming out...now," came the AI's voice as they wavered and disappeared.

"Whoof! That makes 429 we've sent on to Des Moines," George said as he let his breath out.

"And 10,112 from this facility," commented the middle-aged volunteer sitting at the next table.

"That's amazing," George said.

"Amazingly low," Janna corrected. "There were ¾ of a million people in the District, a million in adjacent Maryland, and nearly two million in northern Virginia. Either we had a lot of deaths, a lot of people found their own ways out, or survival rates are a lot higher than what we see outside would lead me to expect."

That thought sobered George.

---

As Austin, Becky, Lew, Todd, Jonas and Harry joined up with the detachment from the bridges, Peter motioned to Austin. "Gonna go see who I can help rescue," he told him, and flashed over to the flying carpet.

Galen burst into an overjoyed grin at seeing Peter and gave him a big hug. "Back when I was wishing I could be a part of the Clan in my old world," Galen said wistfully, "I never dreamed something like this would happen."

"That building down there," Benji gestured. The two Mikyvis turned their attention to the crumbled condo structure, and Galen steered the carpet in for a landing as they nodded.

As the two young TK's began lifting concrete girders, they spotted a recess that had been protected from fallen debris by the first impact, which had acted as if it were a roof over its inhabitants. The twelve-year-old boy in the recess blinked at the sunlight. "C'mon out," Tilden said. The boy looked about, then reached in and helped his younger sister out. She, in turn, looked around herself and burst into tears. "Where is everyone?" she wailed.

"You're...?" Peter asked.

"Hi. I"m James Whitley," the boy introduced himself, "'n' this is my sister Sarah, and she's holding Puff." As they looked in Sarah's arms they saw a young parchment-colored Persian cat huddling close to her and apparently terrified. Galen began sending calming empathic feelings at the kitten, who did not loosen its hold, but began to purr.

"Is there more to your family?" Eli asked.

"Yeah," James said, "Papa was off at work and Mama decided to have a cup of coffee with Miz Elaine before we started homeschooling."

Having a hunch what they might find, Peter piped up, "How about if we send you two and Puff along to the central assembly point? You can tell them your Mama will be along later, then when we locate her, we'll send her along to connect with you."

"That sounds like a good idea," James said, his tone carrying a hint that he was trying to keep control of his own emotions and comfort his little sister.

Tilden signaled CSNIC telepathically, and kids and kitten were off to Des Moines.

"I just had a hunch," Peter said, "that when we find Mama Whitley and Miz Elaine, they won't be in any condition to take care of those guys." His face was solemn.

Looking into the next condo, Benji said, "You were right." Two woman lay crushed beneath a block of reinforced concrete. Peter lifted it with his mind and Eli drew the savaged bodies out. "These go straight to triage somewhere medical, Til," he said to the young blond Logan clone.

As they were transported out Benji said, "there's more down here." Two TK's and two Mikyvis made short work of the pile of reinforced concrete that had been a luxury condo building. Shortly they unearthed some more bodies. These were, however, covered in such a way that part of the weight had been caught by crosspieces, trapping, rather than crushing the bodies beneath.

"Better not wake them," Galen mused. "They're three friends living together in the custodian's apartment. That older guy is the grandfather of one of the boys, and the building custodian."

"I think he's gone, or nearly so," Benji observed. "His heart's not beating."

Peter thought a moment. "I think we send all four of these for triage at Wells Fargo," he said. The others nodded agreement.

"Transporting...now," Tilden echoed CSNIC, as the old man's and boys' bodies vanished.

"I'm going to go check on the Warbird," Peter told the rest of them.

"Okay, we'll continue checking for trapped bodies," Galen said. "Stay safe!" he added, with all the love he was feeling.

To be continued...