Warren Murphy: Killer Watts

One man snorted contemptuously. "Figure the odds."

A few more in the crowd laughed out loud at this third, outlandish possibility.

Beta RAM raised a silencing hand. "Just be prepared for all the typical alien deception." He began ticking off the possibilities on his fingers. "We're talking mind control, alien possession, false holographic images, transmutation, shape alteration. The works."

The residents of Camp Earth waited impatiently as he listed all of the most obvious alien ruses. When Beta RAM was through issuing his warnings, he began dispatching men and women whom he deemed part of the first watch to the periphery of the camp. About half of the Camp Earth residents remained behind near the huts.

As the men were dispersing, Beta leaned down into the pit. He pulled a pair of M-16s out by their khaki straps.

Carrying a gun in each hand, Beta wandered back through the bustling activity in the camp up to the lonely plateau shack.

Ford sat on one of the drained batteries before the hut's open door. He had decided that his chances for surviving the next few hours hinged on his proximity to Roote. The closer the better.

Ford looked up nervously as Beta approached. He didn't relax when he saw the automatic weapons in the Camp Earth leader's hands.

Beta stopped before him, looking down disdainfully at Arthur Ford.

"He's inside if you want to talk to him," Ford grumbled.

"He can handle himself," Beta replied, voice flat. "Here." Beta held out an M-16. "You're going to need it."

Ford accepted the rifle. He started to lean it against the side of the hut but suddenly thought better of the idea. He placed it across his lap.

"You really fixed us up good," Beta complained. "My people were happy to wait for Salvion's ark. Now you've dragged us into the middle of some alien war."

"I don't think so." Ford glanced at the open door. He pitched his voice low. "I think this is a government thing. When I got lost in the desert yesterday, the two guys who found me were looking for him."

"What two guys?"

It wasn't Beta RAM who asked the question. Two sets of sick eyes turned to the door of the hut.

Elizu Roote had apparently adjusted to his new power levels. Standing in the open doorway, he appeared to Ford to be as good as new. The thought failed to comfort the ufologist.

"Just a couple of guys," Ford said, standing. "I saw one of them at the airport in Roswell the day before yesterday. A really old Chinaman. He was with another guy who I'm sure was from the government. Three-piece gray suit and everything. He had bureaucrat written all over him."

Beta didn't seem interested in the second man. "The Chinese guy," he said to Ford. "Was he wearin' some kind of crazy dress?"

"I think they call them kimonos," Ford said, nodding.

Beta glanced excitedly at Roote. "He was one of the ones that followed me from Las Cruces. I lost them a little while before I picked up the spacecraft tail."

"That was a helicopter," Ford said, rolling his eyes.

"They used their energy protection grid to throw off a false image," Beta explained dismissively, as if Ford were a complete idiot.

"Forget about the ship for now. The old one was with a young guy. He was kind of scary looking. Had the deadest eyes I've ever seen."

Ford nodded to Roote. "He was the other one in the desert. They were both looking for you at Fort Joy. Luckily I saved you before they could get to you."

"Alien Detection and Eradication Unit?" Beta said, nodding to Ford.

"Probably," Ford agreed. "ADEU still civilian?"

"As far as I know," Beta replied.

Ford shrugged. "The military is in this, too. Could be the Army's Special Extraterrestrial Tactical Division."

"SETD?" Beta said, whistling. "Those guys are heavy-duty. I hear they reverse engineered a ton of junk from the Roswell craft. They've got alien technology that's light-years ahead of anything terrestrial."

"If they're coming after you, you'd better watch your step," Ford cautioned Roote. Beta nodded his agreement.

Elizu Roote wasn't even listening to the fools chatter.

"I met the young one already," he drawled softly. "Zapped him at the Last Chance a couple days ago."

Ford and Beta both seemed surprised. "Did he have any special gadgets? Any alien hardware?"

"Just a guy in a T-shirt. Thought I killed him."

"Maybe he has a personal energy field," suggested Beta. "I hear SETD has those."

"He didn't have nuthin'." Roote shrugged. "Just a guy in a T-shirt. Nuthin' special."

"He's the first person who's come up against you and lived that I know of," Arthur Ford said worriedly. "The fact he's still alive makes him special."

Elizu Roote didn't seem concerned.

"Won't be special for long," he said. His matter-of-fact tone chilled the spines of both alien enthusiasts. As the two men shuddered in fear, Elizu Roote wandered undisturbed back inside his tin shed.

REMO REGRETTED his choice of vehicle the instant he turned his stolen car onto the winding mountain path.

The Camaro took the dips and ruts like a bronco that had spent the day slurping from a spiked trough. When the nose wasn't dropping precipitously forward with every tiny hollow, the lightweight rear end was sliding back and forth as if they were driving on a skating rink. For the entire trip into the hills, the low undercarriage scraped a furrow along the dirt path.

The drag coming from beneath the car was so bad, Remo could imagine some enterprising Indians planting corn in the dirt they'd plowed up.

In the bucket seat beside him, the Master of Sinanju had placed one delicate finger against the ceiling to keep from being thrown around the interior of the car.

"This carriage is appalling," Chiun complained over the grinding and bumping of the Camaro. "Yeah, but it looks cool," Remo pointed out.

"Laud its frigid appearance to your undertaker," the Master of Sinanju retorted. "One would have to be a lunatic to purchase one of these contrivances."

"Don't look at me. I didn't buy, I stole."

As a precaution, once they were only a few hundred yards up the path, Remo had turned off the car's headlights. The engine sound remained loud, but at least if Roote was above them somewhere, he wouldn't have as easy a target to follow.

In spite of the darkness, Remo and Chiun both saw the road clearly, although Remo was still having trouble with distances. The path pitched crazily ahead of them with every uncertain bounce of the Camaro's shocks.

Driving far too fast for safety along a particularly treacherous strip of road, Remo steered around a huge knot of tumbled boulders. The burning wreckage of an Army helicopter suddenly appeared before them, flying toward the nose of the car at incredible speed.

As soon as he'd spotted the crashed aircraft, Remo's heightened senses took over. Almost before his mind knew what was happening, he was slamming on the brakes.

The car completed a 360-degree turn as it skidded to a sudden stop on the desolate mountain road. While it was spinning, Remo heard a loud snap from beneath the car.

The Camaro finally slid to a stop, nudging the flaming Huey.

Chiun and Remo were both out of the car in an instant. Remo dropped down to his knees, looking for the source of the noise he had heard while they were twirling.

"I am not getting in that vehicle with you again," Chiun announced, breathless.

"Doesn't matter," Remo said, getting up. He dusted off his hands. "Transmission just dropped out."

Remo walked over to the Huey. He didn't expect to find any survivors, but he wanted to be certain. The Master of Sinanju trailed behind him.

"You are like one of those elderly people I see on television. Your driving skills have deteriorated with age, yet you refuse to relinquish your license."