Warren Murphy - Killer Watts

"Association of Evil. What, is that like the Mob or something?" the clerk asked as he wiped the sheen of sweat from his forehead with the tails of his untucked shirt.

Ordinarily Beta didn't shy away from a potential convert to the wisdom of Salvion. However, the people in the next car had made him very nervous. One of them was Asian, possibly Japanese. And everyone knew the Squiltas had replicated android duplicates of that entire country's population during the 1980s.

"Something like that," Beta said quickly.

He scurried down from the rear of the truck, mumbling thanks to the young clerk. As the kid began dragging the carts back to the store, Beta closed the tailgate.

He shot another glance at the car in the next space. The two men still hadn't looked his way. The sweat under his arms turned cold. Fumbling in his jeans for his keys, Beta headed around the bed for the cab.

"HE HAS SEEN us," Chiun announced.

Even though they hadn't glanced in Beta RAM's direction, they had both sensed his gaze upon them.

"He looked at us," Remo replied. "It doesn't mean anything. We weren't even looking at him." Beside them, Beta climbed in behind the truck's wheel, slamming the cab door shut.

"Start the engine," Chiun commanded.

"I don't want to make him suspicious," Remo said. "I'll give him a little head start first."

All at once Beta's truck lurched out of its space. For something that looked to have been pieced together in a junkyard, the truck moved with surprising speed.

Weaving in and out of parking-lot traffic, the truck flew toward the exit. In seconds, it had bounced back out onto the main street.

"Is that enough of a head start for you?" the Master of Sinanju asked aridly.

Remo wasn't listening. He had already twisted the key in the ignition. Throwing the car in gear, he slammed his foot on the gas, flying out of their space after the fleeing truck.

Drivers were forced to squeal their brakes as the big sedan flew across the lot. Horns honked angry protests as Remo twisted in and out of traffic.

Flying off the speed bump at the exit, the rented car landed in the street, a hail of sparks spitting from the vehicle's undercarriage.

Beta RAM was already far down the road. Swerving to avoid striking cars and pedestrians, Remo raced after the fleeing prophet of Salvion.

Chapter 22

Arthur Ford had drained fifty batteries already, and Elizu Roote's condition hadn't changed one volt. The Army private was breathing shallowly. He didn't seem in any immediate danger, but he remained pale and his skin was still clammy to the touch.

The cables connected to his neck continued to transfer power from the batteries to his body.

At first Ford used the tester on every battery just to make certain they had been drained. Eventually he had only checked sporadically, then gave up testing them altogether. The batteries were fine, it was Roote who no longer worked properly.

The time it took to suck the batteries dry had become progressively longer. Although the first few had been drained in an instant, the past thirty or so had taken increasingly longer amounts of time to deplete.

Still, Roate slept.

Forte was beginning to think that it might be necessary to turn his alien over to the military after all. Maybe they had deliberately done something to his physiology to make him dependent on them. It was also possible that if the ship that had crashed at Roswell was Roote's, something might be aboard that could yet save his life.

Even as he considered his options, Ford continued to drag batteries into place. He hooked them up almost out of habit now. When each was done, he'd drag it dutifully away, pulling another one through the dirt to his alien patient.

Arthur Ford had completely lost count of what battery he was on when Elizu Roote finally opened his eyes.

Ford didn't know how long he had lain there like that. He only noticed the washed-out pink eyes of the private when he glanced over, bored.

Roote didn't blink. He stared up blankly at the tin roof of the shack.

His breathing was more determined now. Like someone who had just returned from a long trek through rough terrain.

Crawling on his knees, Ford moved swiftly over to Roote's side.

"Are you feeling better?" Ford asked hopefully. The eyes twitched, moving spastically. A single blink followed. All at once, the eyes rolled in their sockets, turning slowly over to Arthur Ford. Trailing in their wake, Roote's head lolled in the same direction.

"I saved your life," Ford whispered proudly. "They were trying to kill you. But I revived you."

Roote didn't hear.

As Ford watched, the private's eyes rolled back dramatically, irises eckpsed by fluttering lids. Consciousness fled once more.

To Arthur Ford, it didn't matter. He had just gotten all the encouragement he needed. Gone were any thoughts of turning Roote over to the Army. The treatment Ford had prescribed was obviously the proper one.

Scurrying back through the dirt, Ford collected the next battery. Working feverishly, he redoubled his efforts to revive his precious alien.

Chapter 23

Harold Smith was sitting anxiously before his computer when he heard the familiar muted chirping sound emanate from his tattered leather briefcase.

His cellular phone automatically rerouted phone calls from both CURE's dedicated White House line and the special line used by Remo and Chiun. Smith hoped that it was not the president who was calling as he dug out the phone and unclipped the collapsible mouthpiece.

"Smitty, we need help, fast," Remo's familiar voice announced.

"What is the situation?"

"The situation is that car you rented is a piece of flaming horse dung. We were tailing one of the Camp Earth nuts and it overheated. We lost him somewhere off of I-25."

Smith was already typing at his laptop. "Are you able to acquire alternate transportation?"

"I already boosted a car, if that's what you mean," Remo replied. "But the guy we were chasing is long gone."

"That is unfortunate. But at least you have narrowed our search parameters. Where did you last see him?"

Remo told Smith they were a few miles away from an abandoned diner near the Caballo Mountains.

"Stay near this number," Smith said. "I will get back to you."

Terminating the call, Smith placed the phone on the desk near his laptop. Using the CURE computers, he began issuing orders to the Fort Joy command.

ROOTE WAS AWAKE AGAIN. The private's eyes appeared to be more focused now as he took in his squalid surroundings. After scanning the entire one-room structure, his gaze finally settled on the eager face of Arthur Ford.

"You're looking a lot better," Ford enthused. Roote closed his eyes wearily.

The Army private had seen the many batteries lying in the dirt of the shack. Apparently too weak to speak, he beckoned Ford to bring one of the batteries over to him.

Ford was eager to oblige. He shoved the heavy object through the dirt to Elizu Roote's makeshift sickbed.

Once the battery was in place, Roote opened his tired eyes. Struggling at the effort, he lifted one hand from the sand at his side and dropped it atop the battery.

The hum was loud and abrupt. As it had been the first time Ford patched into Roote's system. There was a brief blue sparking around the private's metal fingertips. As soon as it started, it was over. The battery was dead.

The change was instantaneous. A glow suffused Roote's pale cheeks. He closed his eyes once more, a smile playing at the corners of his thin lips.

Panting, Elizu Roote said but one soft, nearly inaudible word: "More."

FROM THE PARKING LOT of a lonely desert gas station, Remo and Chiun watched the helicopters soar out of the thin red twilight clouds in the east.

It seemed that everything from Fort Joy still capable of flight had been thrown at the Caballo Mountains. Almost thirty aircraft of several different types flew in formation. The collective sound was deafening.