Nine: Spotlight

 

 

The Carter Residence

Polk County, North Carolina

Thursday

It was still dark outside when Ellie felt Steve begin to stir from sleep. They had retired at two o’clock that morning after the most convivial night Ellie had enjoyed since she had begun to grow. She lifted her left hand and looked at the engagement ring on her finger. Despite its appearance it was not a solid loop of gold but was constructed of several overlapping segments fit together so smoothly she could not see the seams between them. The ring would expand as she expanded, Steve had told her, never pinching or binding on her finger. She smiled in remembered delight and slipped her hand under the covers to lightly stroke her lover’s recumbent form. Steve was nestled between her breasts, his head resting in the hollow of her throat and his feet reaching just below her navel. Ellie felt him wriggle in an effort to roll onto his back but her cleavage held him in too firm a grip. He suddenly made a noise and raised his head, blinking in the darkness. Ellie gave him a reassuring caress and he raised himself on his elbows to look over her chin.

"Good morning," he said softly, grinning.

"Good morning," Ellie said. She slipped her hands around him and lifted him to her mouth. She felt him kiss her upper lip and she returned one of her own to his lips and chin. "Sleep well?"

"Never better. You’re the most comfortable bed I could’ve imagined," he replied. Ellie smiled at his compliment. Steve began kissing her lips, one at a time. Ellie closed her eyes to concentrate on the sensation, murmuring in pleasure. She felt Steve carefully kneel on her chest, smiling at the obvious caution in his movements.

"Don’t worry, Steve," she whispered. "You’re not hurting me."

Steve grinned again and tweaked her nose.

"That was the first time I was ever lulled to sleep by someone’s heartbeat in my ear," he said. He ran his gloved hands along the line of her chin, then traced her lips. "I think I’ll write a book on just how pleasant it was. Thank you, pretty lady."

"You’re welcome, handsome guy. Why are you up? It’s only been—" she looked at her watch, squinting slightly to focus on its tiny dial— "three hours since you fell asleep." Ellie worked out in her head how tall she was now, at five-thirty in the morning--thirty-one feet--and felt the daily onslaught of depression the knowledge brought. She was careful not to let her feelings show on her face. Steve grinned again and shrugged.

"Dunno. Just woke up. It’s probably because we didn’t have a soak last night."

Ellie smiled at the word they both had begun to use to describe their making love to one another.

"How do you feel this morning?" Ellie asked, watching as Steve began to strip off the gloves over his hands. She found herself admiring Steve’s lithe form as he rolled from her chest and slipped down her shoulder to the rumpled surface of the futon. She shifted from under her covers and levered herself up on one elbow, keeping her eyes from the walls of her bedroom-tent so as not too see how much lower the ceiling seemed in comparison to the morning before. Ellie still felt herself shiver a little and she tried to focus all her attention on Steve as he moved to the edge of the futon and rubbed his hands together. A powder of skin flakes fell to the canvas floor of the tent.

"I feel fine," he replied, holding out his hands for inspection. Ellie could see that he was not boasting when he had told her he was a fast healer: the redness and pinprick bleeding was gone, replaced by healthier pink and flesh-colored skin. She took his hands in her own. She was now so big his outstretched hand barely covered two of her own fingers. Ellie forced herself to smile, desperately trying not to let Steve see her distress at how tiny his hand looked against her huge fingers. Steve smiled under her touch.

"See? Much better," he said. He looked around, then turned back to Ellie, grinning broadly, one eyebrow raised. "I’ll show you."

Steve drew his hands out her grasp and skipped across the tent. He reached one of the panels making up the wall of the tent and paused before one of the pairs of gussets in the panel which ran from floor to ceiling of the tent, perforated by grommets, used to adjust the tension of the tent wall. He grabbed the impromptu net made of nylon rope laced through the grommets and began to climb.

"Steve, what do you think you’re doing?" Ellie asked. She half-smiled and rose to her feet as he scampered up the lacework of roping.

"Nothing to it," he called over his shoulder to her. Ellie folded her arms under her breasts. Her smile broadened, then began to fade as his altitude increased.

"Okay, tough guy, that’s enough. You’ve proved your point. Steve—"

He continued to climb, rapidly reaching Ellie’s head height. Ellie started to step towards the side panel. Steve stopped at the join between tent wall and roof and was well above her head when turned to face her, a boyish smile on his face.

"Steve, come down from there," Ellie called, moving quickly towards him. She reached out to pick him from the cloth wall. He suddenly let go of the rope and pushed away from the wall, the canvas jerking under his feet.

"Geronimo!" he shouted. Ellie cried out and grabbed at him as he jumped into her arms, crushing him against her breasts, gasping for air and swallowing in an effort to push her pounding heart back down her throat. Steve had landed spread-eagled on her bosom and was struggling to get out from under the constriction of her arms.

"Are you nuts?" Ellie said. She heard her voice echo in the tent and swallowed again, trying to calm herself. Steve’s grin faded.

"Ellie, I’m sorry," he said softly, his expression contrite. "I didn’t mean to frighten you."

"You’re an idiot," she snapped. "You could have killed yourself! Of all the lamebrained ideas—-"

Steve’s expression became so forlorn she felt her anger and shock drain away. She stared at him for a moment, then smiled and carefully loosened her grip on him. Steve seated himself on her forearms and reached out to encircle her neck.

"Ellie, please forgive me," he said. "It was thoughtless of me. I promise I’ll never do it again."

Ellie snorted, her smile filling her face. She tilted her head back and beamed down at Steve.

"Steve, you are nuts," she said, softly. She kissed him to sweeten her comment. "One thing’s for sure--with you around my life isn’t boring. Don’t think I don’t know why you really did that, and thank you for thinking about me all the time--although I would welcome a less dangerous distraction the next time around. Don’t you ever change, lover. I need you just the way you are."

Steve looked up into Ellie’s eyes, his expression quizzical.

"And here I was thinking my little theater performances were so secretive," he said. He paused, staring up at Ellie intently. He started to grin, then frowned, then grinned again, his eyes misting.

"What?" she asked.

"Ellie, I love you," he said suddenly, his grip around her neck tightening. Ellie felt her love for him flood into her, washing away her introspective depression. She crushed him into her bosom. He released his hold around her neck and his hands strayed to one of her breasts, rubbing and stroking. A surge of desire rippled up and down her spine. Looking down at Steve she could see from the intensity of his expression that he was ready to make love to her again, and she smiled in assent and anticipation.

She cradled Steve and returned to the futon as he continued to minister to her breast. She lay down onto the rumpled sheet covering the mat, never releasing her hold on him. Steve had worked his way under her forearm, seeking her nipple as she lay back fully and released her hold on him. He quickly arranged himself across one of her plush pillows while he teased the nipple of the other. Ellie felt herself respond quickly, her heart beating faster, her skin warming. She began to breathe deeply and rapidly, Steve riding her chest as it rose and fell. Steve licked at her nipple until it became distended then slowly took it in his mouth and began to suck, sending surges of pleasure through her entire body. A poking sensation in her other breast told her he was becoming erect and she put her hand over his buttocks, rubbing him, pressing his erection into her other breast, stimulating her other nipple with his body. His moans joined hers as he redoubled his own efforts, wrapping his hands around as much of her breast as possible, squeezing her flesh. Ellie could hear him sucking and the sensation of his tongue on her nipple increased her excitement more and more until her hips bucked in orgasm.

"Oh, yes," she whispered, her mouth dry. "Oh, yes. That feels good. That feels so good. More, please--more."

Steve applied one last lick to her nipple and squeezed her breast again. His face was flushed and smiling as he rolled off her breasts. Turning, he started crawling down her stomach. Ellie caressed his buttocks and back with one hand as he made his way past her navel to her mons. Here he stopped and began to massage her again, pressing his hands into her flesh. With each stroke he moved a little further down her body until she felt his hands brush her labia. A gasp of pleasure escaped her lips as he continued to deliberately slip downwards to her crotch, his hands working constantly. She felt him slip into her pubic hair and her warmth and excitement increased even more.

"Ahhh," she moaned as she felt his hands running along her labia, slipping deeper and deeper between her lips with each stroke. "Ahhh--ahhh--AHHH--AHHH!"

Steve paused for a moment, then slipped from her belly onto her thighs. She raised herself on her elbows, blinking away the perspiration that fell into her eyes. Steve turned so that he was facing Ellie and made a spreading motion with his hands. Ellie complied and Steve slipped between her legs. He stood and thrust himself up to her crotch, reaching out to her labia again. He d slowly drew her womanhood open, his hands and forearms stroking her inner flesh. Ellie began moaning again as she saw and felt Steve bend to tongue and suck her swollen organ. His first touch sent a rocket of energy up her spine to explode at the base of her skull. Ellie twitched under his influence, her lips and eyes quivering in reaction.

"Oh, God, that was good," she cried out.

Steve bent to apply his mouth to her organ once again. Another shock of sexual ecstasy exploded inside her and her cries shook the tent. She began to knead her own breasts as she felt her womanhood engorge and distend. She climaxed again, nearly bucking Steve from his perch.

Ellie’s womanhood was dripping and her heart felt like it was trying to pound its way out of her chest. Her lungs and throat ached. As she began to come down from the heights Steve had brought her to she felt a familiar sensation. Her eyes snapped open in time to see Steve angling his feet into her womanhood, her secretions coating him. Ellie felt an instinctive stab of fear that caused her diaphragm to contract strongly, squeezing against him, but he redoubled his efforts, slowly inserting himself feet first until he was buried almost to his waist inside her.

Ellie was unprepared for the reaction she felt as Steve penetrated inside her. Her organ became like a thing possessed, spasming, squeezing, pressing against him. She felt him spread his legs inside her, questing for her most sensitive, erogenous places. It only seemed to take him moments to find them and Ellie experienced the most incredible lovemaking she had ever imagined, let alone felt. Under his stimulations she quickly felt one orgasm after another, each more powerful than the last, wracking her entire body. Her cries of passion and euphoria echoed, rattling their surroundings. She began tickling her nipples to reinforce the sensations and another battery of orgasms flooded every corner of her being, provoking more cries.

By the time Steve began to remove himself from her womanhood Ellie had lost count of the orgasms she had enjoyed. She sat up and used the gentlest pressure possible to help him extract himself from between her legs then cradled him and brought him to her lips for a soft, gentle kiss.

"Oh, what a wonderful man you are," she whispered, her eyes shining. Steve was two-thirds coated with her lubrication and completely mussed. He grinned and blushed at her compliment.

"Yes, you, Steve Carter," she continued, closing her eyes and pressing him against her cheek. "I am the luckiest woman in the world, to have such a lover as you. Such a lover, and a friend, and a protector. Somebody broke the mold after you were made, my love. No one else in the world can make me feel like you do."

"Thank you, Eleanor Andersen," Steve replied, pecking her on her cheek. "You were wonderful, too. Although, I will admit I’d better start working out more. You’re really strong in there--it took all my strength to find the good spots inside you."

Ellie started laughing. Steve joined in, grinning like a Cheshire cat. Ellie drew him from her cheek and began to lick at him. She noticed his member had sagged. He followed her eyes and shrugged.

"I’m sorry, beautiful," he said apologetically. "I’m afraid I couldn’t hold back inside you. That was the most incredible, erotic lovemaking I ever thought possible."

Ellie’s eyes softened, her smile lighting her face. She began licking Steve, painstakingly running her tongue from his feet to his head. Steve grunted in pleased surprise, a grunt that turned into a purring sound as she continued to administer the most sensual licking she had ever given him. Ellie felt Steve go limp in her hands and she turned him over onto his back, running her lips and tongue down his spine to his buttocks. She drew his legs apart with a finger and licked his organs. Steve squirmed under her tongue, moaning and laughing. Ellie felt his member rapidly engorge again against her palm and she turned him until he faced her, kissing and sucking her way down his torso to pause at his crotch, her tongue and lips in constant motion. Steve’s cries, while not as loud as her own, were deep and penetrating and Ellie imagined they were rattling the furnishings again. She brought him to climax, then repeated her efforts, licking him clean of her juices and bringing him to climax again.

 

They lay on the futon, spent. Ellie had put Steve back into her cleavage where he snuggled, his hands running over the pulse spots on her throat. Ellie closed her eyes and folded her hands over him, neatly trapping him to her chest and belly.

"Whew," she heard him say. "That was…unique."

She smiled down at him. She could see that light was starting to penetrate the fabric of the tent--dawn was arriving.

"What say we get cleaned up and meet our guests?" she asked. Steve sighed and looked rebellious.

"I guess so," he replied. "But I was getting used to being so nice and warm without a blanket covering me."

 

Ellie’s second surprise of the day was the length of her hair. After their astounding bout of early morning sexual calisthenics she and Steve kept to their custom and washed together, Ellie now cradling her lover in her arms under the shower. After drying she stood naked before her mirror, automatically noting that her eyes were now nearly level with its top. She applied her brush to her hair only to find that it had now grown down to nearly her knees.

"You would think by now I’d be used to seeing my body change every day," she said, half to herself. She held up a handful of her hair. "It’s going to take me half an hour just to braid this."

Steve grinned.

"Here, let me help," he offered. "I’ve never had the opportunity yet to brush your hair for you."

Ellie handed him her brush and set him atop one of the packing crates then positioned herself before him. Steve manfully worked the brush with both hands down her tresses, wrestling with the lustrous stuff as static electricity brought it to life.

"Funny," she heard him say. He tugged gently at a strand. "These strands don’t seem any bigger than—than usual. It’s very soft."

Ellie smiled and turned to face him. Standing atop a six-foot square wooden box he came up to her thighs. A few strands of her hair had adhered to him during his efforts. His face was creased with his wolf’s smile.

"Everything I am is bigger than usual," she said softly. Steve’s smile faded and he nodded in assent, his eyes fixed on hers.

"You’re right, of course," he replied softly. "I’m sorry."

Ellie shook her head at his discomfiture and lifted him up for a kiss.

"Don’t be," she said. "I am over thirty feet tall and I am still growing. I’m going to have to get used to it."

"I just like it when you smile, Ellie," Steve said. "I wish I could do something to keep you smiling all the time. I-I feel it here when you are unhappy."

He gestured to his heart and Ellie felt tears start to flow into her eyes. She kissed him again and felt his hands touch her cheeks.

"’For better or for worse’?" she said. "What’s happening to me is just happening. I can’t stop it. I can’t reverse it. And you do keep me smiling all the time, lover. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I think I’d have gone crazy by now from all this if it wasn’t for you. I want to set the date as soon as possible."

"Wha—really? Wow," Steve replied. He shook his head, then his lopsided grin returned. "Well, lessee. Let’s go to Vegas and get a quickie marriage."

Ellie suffered a vision of Steve and herself standing outside a marriage chapel on the Vegas strip and snorted.

"Sure," she replied. "I can imagine what the preacher’d say when he saw me."

"Or we could get a local Aborigine medicine man to sanction our union in Alice Springs," Steve continued. "They’ll probably toss spell bones at us while blasting the top forty on their dijideroos."

"Sounds like a plan," Ellie said, smiling.

"On the other hand we could scandalize the upper crust in Polk County and just live together," Steve offered. "We’ll marry of course, but we won’t tell anybody. The gossip in Tryon would be something. Neither of us would be able to walk down the street there without drawing the evil eye."

Ellie’s smile faded. "Will I ever be able to walk down a street again?" she said softly.

"Yes, you will," Steve answered, so promptly and forcefully that she looked at him in surprise. "Every instinct I have tells me you will—and I’ve great instincts, remember?"

Ellie found her smile returning. Steve sounded so utterly positive in his pronouncement.

"Ellie, you are gentle, and kind, and brave," he continued earnestly. "You already have done something to prove that. Now, I don’t think it’s possible to keep what’s happening to you a secret forever—I wouldn’t want to, and I don’t think you would want to, either. My worry is that without knowing the kind of person you are people will assume the worst and be afraid of you, or try to hurt you. But I am certain that once people get to know you—however tall you happen to be—you’ll be accepted and welcomed by them. If you want to be."

Ellie’s eyebrows rose at Steve’s expansive description. He was so serious it would have been an exercise in comedy at any other time. She sighed and kissed him again, gently and long.

"Mmmm," he said. "God, that’s good. Maybe we have time…?"

Ellie looked down his naked form.

"I don’t think we have the time," she said. "Aren’t you tired?"

"Me? Never," he replied. "I took my Yohimbe this morning. I’m always ready—barring accidents, burns, and the like."

Ellie began laughing, a full-bodied laugh that shook Steve.

"I think we’d better see to our guests, lover," she replied, wiping laugh-tears from her eyes. "My sister and Mark are probably wondering what we do here in this tent at night—and how we do it."

 

The Pentagon

Washington, DC

Brigadier General Adam Chafee sat in his office, staring vacantly at his surroundings. Like most of the offices located in the E-ring basement of the Pentagon it was characterized by its institutional appearance: flat wall paint, hotel-style furniture, linoleum flooring, cheesy prints in cheap frames hung on exposed nails and problematic air conditioning that never properly cooled in summer or warmed in winter. Chafee’s mien was as innocuous as his office. Fifty, short, rotund and balding, with a smooth round face and hornrimmed glasses, he looked more like a superior insurance salesman than a career military officer. His appearance was utterly at odds with his position as the commander of one of the oldest, least known and most covert military agencies in existence: the Unusual Events Department, currently codenamed HARVESTMAN.

HARVESTMAN was created during the Cold War when the Soviets were rumored to be covertly deploying everything from extraterrestrial pathogens to telepaths inside the United States to determine their utility as weapons systems. HARVESTMAN was supposed to gather data and formulate counters against anything that might signal the use of a paranormal or unnatural weapon. Sudden disappearances, biological disasters, paranormal events, close encounters of whatever kind, implausible incidents, inexplicable accidents--all these and more became grist for HARVESTMAN’s mill. Chafee’s office oversaw activities in a cornucopia of agencies and their subsidiaries. The Department of Defense, Atomic Energy Commission, National Security Agency, Central Intelligence Agency and its titular subsidiaries, Commerce Department, Department of Justice, Office for Scientific Investigation, the Centers for Disease Control, and many more all contributed data and, when the occasion required, personnel and materiél to any effort at finding and countering possible extrinsic threats to the United States. Until six days ago the result of all this multi-agency effort could be found in a huge room whose door bore the homemade label WEIRD‘R U.S., filled floor to ceiling with cabinets of paper and computer records containing some of the most bizarre trivia ever compiled anywhere.

Chafee had accepted his current command because it provided him with the two things he had wanted: an easy duty to fulfill and promotion to the rank of General. In five months he would retire and he and his wife would return to their retreat on South Edisto Island, ready to live the rest of their lives on a general’s pension. After thirty years in the Army he was tired, and pushing papers around a huge storage room for a few hours a day had seemed the ideal task until his departure. HARVESTMAN still had a few challenges to stimulate the faculties; the many different government subagencies dutifully reporting it made it a Byzantine operation, requiring a deft hand to keep it running smoothly. It was also a relic, Chafee reflected bleakly, like himself--kept alive by bureaucratic inertia when it should have been allowed to die decades ago.

When Doctor Turner of the New Pathogen Investigations Laboratory at the Centers for Disease Control--the CDC liaison to HARVESTMAN--suddenly called his office to report the Middleburgh event Chafee had found himself required to read through the reams of instructions and protocols formulated to deal with it, all the while wondering if a report about a woman who suddenly grew over two feet taller in the space of half a day was a joke being foisted on his department. With confirmation Chafee put aside his doubts and started to institute the countermeasures listed in the instructions. Such an overt incident called for a strong response and Chafee had instituted what the books called a Paradigm Cordon (an eccentric but fitting name, Chafee thought) to bring the ET-affected woman in for examination—only the third time the protocol was used since HARVESTMAN was founded fifty years ago. It called for the use of regular military forces and utter secrecy--two diametrically opposed requirements. Under the circumstances it had made sense to use the most covert domestic military force available to achieve the objective--the recently instituted Domestic Action Response Team--and the first twelve hours of the Cordon had gone off without a hitch. Then things began to go wrong, badly wrong.

Chafee looked at his wristwatch. Oh-eight-hundred local time. His eyes shifted to the telephone sitting on his desk. It was a model built to military specifications with a voice scrambler to frustrate eavesdroppers--old analog technology, but reliable. He shifted in his seat, twisting his head on his shoulders to ease the sense of tension already building there. The phone rang, the scramble indicator on the phone cradle flickering. Chafee lifted the receiver.

"Viscount," he said shortly. He had used his codename ever since the Cordon had been initiated to provide him with deniability.

"Sir, I wish to report," a high, scratchy voice replied. Chafee closed his eyes for a moment, wondering why he felt a shiver run down his spine every time he heard Lang’s voice.

"Continue."

"Sir, DART conducted a dynamic entry into the home of the relative of the person in question. We were not however successful in securing the immediate living blood relative of the original Paradigm Cordon target. The individual we were seeking was out of the country on vacation at the time of our arrival. We immediately retired back to our base. We are currently in the process of reviewing all other materials retrieved from the Andersen home to find more information which may be useful."

"The status of your team?" Chafee asked.

"We are in good shape, sir. No casualties on our side."

Chafee paused and his eyebrows drew together. He swallowed against the first vestiges of heartburn.

"Any other casualties?"

"Yes, sir, one. The son of the landlord of the building the target’s relative lived in. He resisted my Team."

Chafee sighed. Perspiration began to rise on his skin, making him itch. He shifted in his chair.

"Was the landlord involved in the Cordon?"

"Not to my knowledge, sir."

Chafee fought off the sense of dread that threatened to overwhelm him. He now knew it was a big mistake to involve DART. The established protocols be damned—they’d been written fifty years ago, for Christ’s sake. He should have handed the ball back to Turner at the CDC and had him use his assets rather than the military’s. Now it would be up to him to clean up the shit left behind this fiasco. Shit--an especially useful word at this moment, Chafee thought. It perfectly described the last six days. The world was turning to shit around him. As chief of HARVESTMAN he’d sanctioned the detention of law-abiding citizens by military force, participated in the willful destruction of property and now the life of an uninvolved civilian had been taken. He abruptly accepted that he was totally unprepared for command of such a peculiar mission and there was only one thing he could do to put an end to the thing. It meant the end of a fine, solid thirty-year career but he had to stop this increasingly violent rollercoaster ride before it went completely out of control.

"Lang, do you have a hot mike?" he asked.

 

DART Headquarters

Johnston Atoll

Lang stared at the speakerphone on the communications table. He had turned the volume up so that the rest of his team could hear his report to Viscount. All twenty-five members of DART had clustered around him. Fourteen hours of flying and days of near-continuous ops had exhausted the entire team and Lang could see the dullness in their eyes. They needed a boost to be able to continue the Paradigm Cordon. Sharp, concise orders from their tactical commander Viscount would be welcome. Lang bent forward slightly until he could hear the background hiss from the telephone line in the speakers.

"Lang, I repeat: do you have a hot mike?" Viscount’s voice boomed into the hollow space of the Quonset hut. Lang thought he could hear age and stress in his commander’s voice.

"Yes, sir," he replied.

"Go private," Viscount replied. Lang pursed his lips together and snatched up the telephone receiver, automatically cutting off the speaker.

"It’s just me now, sir."

"Lang, the Paradigm Cordon is cancelled. You and your team are to stand down and return to normal functions. You will receive further orders later."

Lang felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. The very first operational mission of DART cancelled? Left incomplete? A failure?

"Sir, may I know the reason why?"

"I think you know the reason why, Lang," Viscount replied.

"Sir, with a little more time we will locate the target," Lang began. "We still have a great deal of material to go through from her home and the items retained from the man helping her will yield more clues as well. We will locate and detain the woman again--"

"Lang, you are to stand down. That’s an order. The Cordon is over."

Lang felt his knees go weak. He reached out and grabbed the back of a nearby chair, seating himself. It wasn’t fair. DART had been judged and found wanting. In Viscount’s original briefing he had informed the Team that a Paradigm Cordon was activated only when something or someone threatened the safety and security of America and its citizens--and now it was being shut down without explanation? It must mean that another team was being assigned the mission DART did not complete. It wasn’t fair. DART could not be blamed for lacking the intelligence assets needed to properly relocate and recapture that oversized bitch. It wasn’t fair to fail them for the failed mission--it wasn’t fair at all.

"Sir, I must protest," Lang began. "We’ve only been able to work with the data we have at hand--"

"Colonel, it sounds to me like you really don’t want to keep your command," Viscount replied. "You have my order. Obey it or I’ll see that you are history."

"Yes, sir," Lang replied. He returned the receiver to its cradle and turned to face his Team. They were all obviously fatigued. Only their eyes showed their alertness to receive Lang’s next command. He raised his head and looked each team member in the eye.

"We have been ordered to stand down," he announced. "I want final reports written within the next three hours. Write up a briefing on the entire mission from start to finish--the brass will want to see what we did and why. When that’s done all of you are to rack out and get some sleep. You," he continued, pointing to the Alpha team member whose arm was broken by the amazon, "get over to the infirmary and have the docs there prescribe some painkillers for you. I want everybody fully rested and ready for the next mission by tomorrow morning. That’s all, people."

Lang turned to the communications specialists sitting at the radio table.

"Find out what fast travel assets are available from Hawaii," he ordered, feeling his energy return. DART was the best goddamned military outfit ever. They were not to blame for the utter lack of intelligence assets that would have facilitated their operations. DART would not fail its mission--Lang would see to that.

 

The Pentagon

Washington, DC

Chafee put down the receiver of his phone and closed his eyes, trying to will the pain in his skull away. It didn’t work. It was fatigue, cutting into his ability to think clearly. He pondered getting another cup of coffee from the officer’s lounge. Well, one more cup won’t contribute to the acid already swirling in his stomach—not much, anyway. Chafee rose from his chair, seized his coffee cup--actually a navy-style handleless mug--and stepped through his office door.

Four other officers--three male, one female--occupied the O-lounge when Chafee walked through its threshold. They leaped to their feet at his arrival and he nodded in reply. Someone had just started a fresh pot of coffee and Chafee waited for a moment until the machine stopped perking, then drew the decanter from the machine, pouring steadily. He added extra creamer and sugar to his mug and stirred, idly watching the condiments mix into the black brew.

"Holy shit," one of the male officers suddenly spoke up. "Get a load of this."

Chafee looked up. The officer who spoke was staring at the lounge’s television. Chafee focused on the image and nearly choked.

"What’s that supposed to be? The new fifty-foot woman?" another officer said.

"Oh, Christ," the female officer said. "I guess sex sells, but at nine o’clock in the morning?"

"I don’t know, she only looks about thirty feet tall to me."

"Looks like mom."

"In your dreams."

"That’s what I like about this channel. Great eye candy."

"You need to get out more," the female officer replied.

The loud thunk of a ceramic cup striking the floor caused the officers to turn around. They saw Chafee goggling at the screen, his hand limp, his mouth open. Spatters marked his uniform pants and his mug was rolling across the linoleum, tracing a broad brown stain.

"Jesus. Sir, you okay?" one of the officers asked. Chafee blinked, blinked again.

"General, sir, it’s just an ad for some TV show--" the female officer began. Chafee suddenly appeared to come out his daze. He started rumbling with laughter. His laughter was soft at first, then it erupted like a geyser. The officers began to look at one another.

"Sir, are you okay?"

Chafee was bellowing now, tears falling from his eyes, his hands grasping his middle. He continued to chortle until he was gasping for breath, waving at his uniformed audience helplessly. Finally his merriment subsided. He wiped his eyes and looked at the mess at his feet.

"Call maintenance," he ordered briefly. "Get this cleaned up."

Chafee left his mug and turned on his heel. He marched from the lounge, heading for the bank of elevators leading up to the fourth floor of the Pentagon and his superior’s offices. The occasional bark of laughter escaped him. The officers in the lounge moved en masse to watch the neat little brigadier general leave the lounge. One turned back to the television as another advertisement for the same program appeared on the screen.

"TONIGHT, on FIRST ACCESS TODAY!", the announcer intoned, "a SPECIAL story. ON a lake of ICE-COLD water, TWENTY-ONE CHILDREN riding in a BOAT, learning about PROTECTING our ENVIRONMENT. SUDDENLY, the BOAT catches FIRE! The CHILDREN are IMPERILED! Then, in the MOST remarkable rescue EVER captured on videotape THE CHILDREN are RESCUED by a WOMAN BIG ENOUGH TO HOLD AN EIGHT-YEAR OLD CHILD IN ONE HAND! SEE PICTURES of the AMAZING GENTLE TITAN of POLK COUNTY! Only on FIRST ACCESS TODAY!"

 

Columbus, North Carolina

"Marty, do you get the feeling we’re being sandbagged?"

Martin Romita nodded. He and Karen Stiller sat in WKZZ’s minivan, styrofoam cups in hand, their one video camera tossed carelessly into the back. The van was purchased from a larger television station, equipped with transmission and editing equipment and a transmitter dish atop its roof. It lacked any identifying lettering—Romita could not afford the paint job after spending the money for the van itself. While it wasn’t cutting-edge technology and he had never had the chance to actually use all of it the thing worked and it made Romita feel like a real news honcho, so he kept it.

He and Stiller had spent the last two hours driving through the town of Columbus. At each house where they stopped the parents of the children rescued at the Polk County reservoir two days before gave the same answer: nobody-interviews-our-kid-and-have-a-nice-day. Romita sighed and sucked at his coffee. They had spent hours the day before going over their copy of the two hiker’s videotape, then he and Stiller took the minivan to Edneyville. At the town’s Medical Center Romita talked to the emergency room staff about the accident. His ears pricked up when one of the physicians mentioned the children’s apparent fascination with "a big lady".

"Yes, that’s right," the emergency room chief physician, who gave his name as Ronald Chang, had said. "The kids credited some woman with getting them out of the water and their common description of her was that she was big."

"How big?" Romita had asked. Chang blinked in the glare of the video camera’s lights and shrugged.

"They just described her as big. One boy said she held him in her hand to keep him warm. It’s probably a figure of speech but the emphasis did seem a little peculiar at the time."

"What do you make of this ‘peculiar emphasis’?"

"Hero worship by a bunch of scared, wet kids who underwent a traumatic experience," Chang replied. Stiller snapped a quick picture, startling Chang and the staff who had gathered around him to watch. When the hospital’s chief administrator appeared she glared at Romita and suggested he no longer harass her staff when they had work to do.

"If you want any information on the accident I suggest you talk to the sheriff in Polk County," Doctor Canfield said, waving Romita and Stiller out of the hospital.

They then drove to Columbus, stopping frequently to ask directions until they found the city’s one local newspaper. The owner-editor of the Columbus Sentinel was pleased to meet some colleagues and was full of information. He himself had also heard some of the stories from the children but had accepted the stress-induced exaggeration theories of the doctors and was not pursuing the notion further. He provided them with a list of names of the children rescued and also pointed out how to find the city hall from his storefront office.

Russell Thompson had looked at them in ill-concealed surprise when Romita asked for an interview but nodded and waved them into his office. Romita promptly snapped on his camera and lights and requested a thumbnail sketch of the boat fire and subsequent rescue that Thompson supplied.

"Sheriff, was there a woman present during the rescue?"

"To my knowledge, no. The only person present when the volunteer rescue squad arrived was a Mr. Hadad."

"No one else?"

"No."

"Who is this Mr. Hadad?"

Thompson rummaged among the papers on his desk. After a few moments’ reading, during which both Romita and Stiller became fidgety, he looked up and smiled.

"Well, according to the accident report, Mr. Hadad is in the employ of a Mr. Steven Carter. Mr. Carter is the owner of some property bordering the reservoir." Thompson didn’t sound interested in either Hadad or Carter. Romita was, however.

"Are you aware of the stories circulating around the rescue? About a woman being present who helped the children?"

"I heard something about it during the interviews of the children at the Edneyville hospital," Thompson had replied. "However, there was no woman present when my deputies arrived, just Mr. Hadad."

Romita sighed and pushed aside his disappointment. It was strange, he thought. Most other small towns would be throwing media parades in celebration of such a dramatic event as the rescue of twenty kids from a burning boat on a freezing lake. These people weren’t. Small-town folks were always open and informative—except now. The appearance of a giant rescuing people should be the cause of endless gossip—he should’ve been able to hear it rattling the minivan’s windows as he drove into town. It wasn’t. People were usually flattered to get their mugs on TV but these people were avoiding it like the plague.

"If these people’s kids were actually rescued by a giant woman, you’d think they’d want to talk about it," Stiller spoke up, unconsciously echoing Romita’s thoughts. "Maybe we should go to their school and ask their teachers or any counselors, if the kids saw any. We can get a few more soundbites from that."

"I’ll buy that for a dollar," Romita replied, putting the van in gear.

 

Office of the Commandant

Second Military District

Washington, DC

General Conrad McAllister sat behind a massive mahogany desk littered with a scattering of papers. He looked at the short, sweating brigadier sitting in the plush leather chair before him like he was a square egg or a two-headed chicken. Chafee swallowed and continued his briefing of everything he had ordered and the subsequent events since he had declared the Paradigm Cordon.

"You may contact Doctor William Turner at the CDC for confirmation of this event," he concluded.

"William Turner? The one who testified before Congress last year about the pathways of new pathogens entering the U.S.?" McAllister demanded. Chafee nodded. McAllister’s face grew more stern and angry.

"So, our brand-new, untested antiterrorist unit killed an innocent civilian?" His fist banged his desk. "Goddammit Chafee, why the hell didn’t you come upstairs and talk to somebody—"

"Sir, UED protocols demand maximum secrecy and the use of regular army troops—not National Guard or reserves," Chafee replied, his round face coloring. "To preserve deniability I thought it best to inform no one about the use of a covert military force on our own soil."

"Okay, fine, Chafee, but DART, for Chrissake? DART is designed to do what Delta Force or the FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team can’t do—it’s a kill team." McAllister stopped. He snatched up his phone.

"I need to speak to General Berenger," he snapped into the receiver. "Also I need to speak to the DOD-DOJ liaison. Ask our liaison people if they can find somebody in the Federal Communications Commission who can get me some answers on the origin of video footage being broadcast right now."

He put down the phone and stared at Chafee. He began to rock back and forth in his swivel chair, rubbing his hands over his eyes. He stopped as another thought occurred to him and snatched up his phone again.

"I need to speak to somebody in the Second District JAG office as well, please."

Chafee pulled his eyeglasses from his face and wiped the droplets of perspiration that obscured the lenses with his thumb. McAllister’s intercom buzzed briefly.

"Sir, the office of the Joint Chiefs is on line two," his secretary said. "General Berenger on the line."

McAllister snatched up his phone and thumbed the button.

"Ken? Connie McAllister. I have a serious situation here."

 

The Town of East Flat Rock

North Carolina

"I should have been a private investigator," Martin Romita growled. Karen Stiller cocked an eye at him.

"You are a private investigator right now," she pointed out. They both were becoming discouraged by the lack of progress in their pursuit of information about the giant woman in that videotape. A quick visit to the Blessed Sacrament School in Columbus was utterly unsatisfying—the local school officials put up every possible roadblock imaginable to keep them from the children involved in the boat fire. Children had indeed been seeing counselors and had made many references to a "big lady" but it was being passed off as exaggeration under stress. The three teens involved were markedly uncommunicative and one was apparently attending a local drug rehabilitation clinic, a near-automatic disqualifier for credibility.

"There was a gigantic woman there. The children saw her. She helped the children. They tell what they saw. Nobody believes them," Stiller intoned, looking weary. "Everybody thinks they’re just telling tall tales. Sorry," she added. "Couldn’t help the pun."

Romita grinned.

"There’s one more person we can talk to," he said.

"This Hadad guy? Is that an Arab name?"

"Dunno. Let’s go find out."

 

Metromedia Studios,

Los Angeles, California

Emmett Brogan waited until he heard the front door to his studio close then he rushed to his desk to locate his address book. He accidentally tore a page from the book in his hurry to find a number and uttered an utterly un-Californian obscenity. There, WKZZ-TV in Asheville. He thumped the touch keys with his hand, the pressure making his knuckle ache. His hands were shaking badly—adrenaline aftershock, he thought, just like in the images of all those people exposed to danger that he had broadcast on his show in the past.

"Come on, Martin, pick up the phone," he muttered as he heard ringing. After fourth ring the line connected and an answering machine started up.

"Hello. You have reach WKZZ-TV. No one is available to take your call at the moment. If you have an interesting event to report, please leave us a message and either Martin—that’s me—or Karen will get back to you as soon as possible. Thank you and have a good one."

Brogan hung up the phone. After his unpleasant visitors he wanted nothing to do with leaving messages. To be rousted out of bed at seven in the morning by three FBI agents and being marched into his own offices was the most singularly frightening experience he had ever had. They had seized his videotapes of the footage Romita sent him two days ago and threatened to shut down his studio if he didn’t tell them who had supplied it. Under such a threat he’d had no choice but to comply. He looked at his watch. Seven-fifteen a.m. He picked up the phone and dialed the number again. Romita needed to be warned that something really big was happening.

 

Office of the Commander

XVIII Airborne Corps, US Army

Fort Bragg, North Carolina

"Sir? I have General McAllister on the line for you."

Lieutenant General Wayne Moskowicz looked up from the papers he had just placed on his desk and smiled at his secretary.

"Thank you, Dorothy." He lifted his phone.

"Hiya, Connie! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Wayne, please go secure."

Moskowicz’ happy demeanor faded abruptly. His eyes strayed to his wristwatch and he automatically noted the time: 1050 hours. "Okay, Connie. Stand by, I’m switching receivers."

Moskowicz stabbed the HOLD button on his desk phone and turned in his chair. He pulled open one of his desk drawers and reached inside for the scrambler phone installed there.

"Okay, Connie, I’m secure."

"Wayne, I have been authorized by the Joint Chiefs to issue you mission orders," McAllister said, clearly enunciating each word. "I know I am not your district commander but speed is of the essence in this op and we can’t waste time. Activate your RRF immediately."

Moskowicz blinked. McAllister had just ordered the activation of the Eighteenth Corps’ Rapid Reaction Force, a group of troops and equipment created to respond immediately to threats around the globe.

"Jesus, Connie. Okay, I’m on it." He put his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone.

"Dorothy, I need to speak to General Baumeiser and Colonel Lee immediately. Get them in here right now," he shouted. His secretary blanched—the last time he had called for the commanders of the 82^nd Airborne Division and the 229^th Aviation Regiment in that tone of voice was just before deployment to the Persian Gulf.

"Dorothy," he added, "call Base Ops. I want the base on full alert right now."

The young lieutenant had already seized her phone and started punching buttons. Moskowicz turned back to his scrambler phone.

"Connie, I’m putting my people on alert right now. What’s the op?"

McAllister sighed, then spoke for five minutes.

"Is this some kind of goddamned joke, Connie?" Moskowicz asked.

"I wish to hell it was," McAllister replied. "The people at the CDC tell me the possibility of contagion cannot be ruled out so make sure your people are deployed in the appropriate MOPP level—Lord knows what the real reason is for this woman’s growth and we don’t want any of our troops suffering the same condition."

"Understood. Connie, I find this entire thing hard to believe."

"So do I. I will arrive at Fort Bragg within two hours to brief you personally."

The connection broke abruptly. Moskowicz stared at the receiver in his hand as if he had never seen anything like it before. Thudding footsteps announced the arrival of Baumeiser and Lee. Moskowicz rose form his desk and waved them to chairs, closing the door to his office himself.

"Gentlemen," he began when he resumed his seat, "we have just received orders from the Pentagon via the Joint Chiefs for a mission which is unlike anything we’ve ever trained for." He cocked his ear as the base sirens suddenly came to life. Baumeiser and Lee were flushed from their run to his office, both breathing heavily.

"What’s the op, sir?" Baumeiser asked.

"We have been instructed to deploy some sixty miles from here, to a place just west of Columbus, in Polk County."

 

The Carter Residence

Polk County, North Carolina

Ellie and Steve sat in the solarium beside her table. Ellie closed her eyes and welcomed the warmth of the midmorning sun on her face. She felt Steve stir in her hands as he sat on her knees. She looked down at him.

"I don’t know, Steve," she said. "You can just fly in to your ranch without anybody knowing? Don’t we need entry visas from the Australians?"

"Only if they know we’re there," Steve replied with a grin. "Oh, I did get a visa when I went there officially. But in this case it’s probably better that we just sneak in. Don’t worry, Ellie—the nearest settlement is seven miles from the border of my ranch and the only living things there other than kangaroos and jackrabbits is the caretaker, his family and the occasional Aborigine on walkabout. I’ve already cabled Con Fenton—he’s the caretaker--to take an extended vacation on me. It’ll be perfectly private."

"Okay, but just to fly in--?"

"Ah, don’t forget my Security Special," Steve grinned. "Nobody will see us arrive."

"You really do like playing James Bond."

"Sure. Life’s too short not to have fun. Besides, it’s the best way to keep you safe and out of the hands of the G people."

Ellie ruffled his hair. "Thank you, lover."

He grinned. A loud throat clearing heralded the arrival of Hadad, bearing a cellular phone.

"Mr. Carter, Mr. Jeffrey Beddington is on the line."

Steve started at the sound of the name and leaped from Ellie’s knee.

"Steve, what is it?" she asked.

"Good news, I hope," he replied. He jammed the phone to his ear.

"Jeff? Give me good news, man," he said. Ellie watched his face carefully. Hadad stood nearby, also watching Steve as he listened to the caller. Ellie’s eyebrows rose as a jubilant expression crossed Steve’s face.

"It’s good to go? How long to do the preflight? Jeff, my friend, you’re a lifesaver. Uh-huh…uh-huh. How about the extra external tanks? Yes? Okay! Jeff, you’re the best. I’ll be there in four hours."

Steve snapped the phone off and tossed it back into Hadad’s waiting hands.

"Brian, it’s time to get active. How long d’you think it’ll take to get the basics together—"

"I have been preparing for the last two days, sir," Hadad replied. "Everything will be in order when you return."

Return? Ellie was forming a question for Steve in her mind when he gave a loud whoop and made a wild pumping motion with both arms.

"All right, Brian! You’re top flight!"

"Steve, what’s going on?" Ellie asked. Steve turned and made a running leap for her knee, grabbing at the fabric of her skirt. His weight broke two of the buttons holding up the expansion panel of the garment and the material came free, dropping him back in a heap on the floor. Ellie quickly bent and retrieved him.

"Get ready for that plane trip, pretty lady," he said, his face split by a big smile. "That was Jeff, Jeff Beddington. He was my partner at the airplane company. He just told me he got the modifications of Security Special One finished and tested. It’s good to go. Give me four hours or so and we’ll be winging our way to Alice Springs."

Ellie offered Steve a half-smile.

"Are you sure I’ll be able to fit?" she asked, looking worriedly at the open entrance to the living room of the house. Ellie’s morning had been a sobering comedown after its euphoric beginning. At over thirty feet tall she was now so big she had to stoop to both leave her tent and enter the increasingly cramped space of the solarium. Getting through the wide double doors of the house and into the living area was now possible only if she used her strength to widen the entrance--she could just make her shoulders fit through the opening but her hips were too wide. Steve and Hadad had removed the doors yet she was still too massive to fit through without damaging the walls.

"Yes," Steve replied, nodding. "If my figures were correct—and they were—you be able to fit in Special One with just enough room to spare. Don’t worry, Ellie," he added, seeing the look of concern on her face deepen, "I’ve already been doing some research. There are alternative means of transport I can get for us. We’ll be traveling for a while yet."

Steve touched her hand reassuringly and jumped out her grasp again, striding quickly for the main entrance. Hadad stepped in front of her and bowed.

"Miss Andersen, there is a great deal to do," he announced. "I will need your help in arranging which of your things you wish to have sent on."

Ellie stared at Hadad for a moment, then nodded. It was like tag-team wrestling; Steve, Hadad, Doctor Canfield, and now her sister and brother-in-law—she was never left alone. She sighed at the necessity of someone keeping her company constantly, to help her stay grounded when her growing body was becoming more and more alien to her as time went by. She followed Hadad out of the solarium and back to her tent. She noticed that Hadad had already repaired the mussed condition of her sleeping mat and bedclothes.

"I can’t imagine how you work so fast," she said to Hadad, motioning to the neatened space. Hadad smiled.

"Military training," he answered, a grin appearing on his face. "We weren’t allowed to dawdle over our housekeeping tasks. Now, you need to choose which of your clothing you would like sent on. It is approaching high summer in Australia and it can get very warm at Mr. Carter’s ranch, so lightweight items would be best for you."

"Yes, of course," Ellie replied, still uncomfortable at discussing her apparel with Hadad. She shrugged her shoulders to dispel her pique and looked at the row of crates lining the walls of her tent. She suddenly noticed a new, smaller box sitting beside the others near the tent entrance.

"I don’t remember seeing that box before."

"Ah, yes. Mr. Carter said that particular box was to be given to you today," Hadad replied. "He said something about a ‘surprise gift’."

Ellie smiled at Hadad’s description. She noticed him looking up at her with an unreadable expression on his face. He opened his mouth, then hesitated.

"What is it?" Ellie asked.

Hadad smiled broadly and waved his hand, a wholly uncharacteristic flush deepening the color of his skin.

"It-it’s nothing, Miss Andersen. It’s just that—well, I must admit to you that I never expected in all my life to have such an adventure as I have had for the last few days. You are unique, and indeed special, as Mr. Carter has said. The most amazing thing I have ever seen in my life is the two of you together. I do not know why, but the two of you look like you belong together. Please forgive my presumption."

Ellie bit her lower lip, then smiled.

"Thank you, Brian," she said softly. "Thank you for everything."

"It has been a pleasure," he replied. "I will leave you to decide which of your clothing you wish to have transported to Australia. If you need anything, just call."

Hadad bowed again and stepped through the flap separating her bedroom from the shower area. Ellie knelt beside the new box and ran her nail across the packing tape securing its flaps. She pinched away the fine paper covering its contents and gasped. Even in the filtered sunlight permeating the tent walls the vibrant color of the new clothing was startling. Since her arrival Ellie had been required to wear either white or off-white clothes—owing to the extremely rushed nature of Steve’s orders and the need to make her clothes so big attempting to either purchase colored cloth or dye the cloth needed to construct her clothing in any one color or combination of colors was a near impossibility. She gazed in wonder as she lifted the parcel by its plastic wrapper. The cloth inside looked to be a blue-green color. Ellie rose to her feet and strode to her tent entrance, throwing aside the flaps to expose the thing to full sunlight. She was right. It was a fluorescent turquoise shade and there was not very much of it. She dropped the flap and pulled a the flimsy plastic wrap. Two pieces of clothing fell out.

Ellie made inarticulate noises of surprise as she unfolded her new clothes. The top was strapless, made of nylon for flexibility. The brief had a V-shaped waistband. Both parts shared the expandable construction of her other clothes but the nylon fabric was daringly sheer. It was a bikini, an right-sized bikini.

"Oh my," Ellie giggled as she held the bra against her chest, pressing herself into its cup panels. She turned to her mirror, turning this way and that. It was difficult to tell how it would look, with the extra fabric of her frock. She dropped the top and began to undo the fasteners of her frock, her fingers moving quickly. In a moment she had stripped herself bare and slipped the bra around her chest, then pulled on the briefs, working the waistband velcro fasteners snug against the line of her hips.

Ellie returned to the mirror and gasped. What would have been a double-thickness of flexible cloth on a normal-sized woman looked tissue-thin on her and the reflection showed it. The cups formed around each of her breasts like a second skin, outlining her nipples and areolas, disclosing each flex and bounce of her chest as she moved her arms or body. Ellie turned and looked over her shoulder. The briefs outlined her firm, heart-shaped derriere, revealing every nuance—only a thicker panel strategically located prevented her from outraging modesty completely. The fabric shimmered in the indirect light of the tent. It looked so light and thin Ellie thought she could see her chest pulsing against her top with each beat of her heart. The bikini’s oversized construction was obviously designed to highlight every feminine asset and on a normal-sized woman it would have been extremely flattering. On Ellie, with her already-exaggerated curves, it made her look almost freakishly erotic. The rest of her body—her long, muscular legs and arms, her shoulders, her slim washboard waist—contributed to the effect.

Ellie turned again, trying to decide between her sense of embarrassment at wearing such a provocative costume and a sense of conceit at her nubile appearance. She giggled and sucked in her breath as her breasts jiggled in their supports. She raised her arms over her head. Her top lifted until a hint of the underside of her breasts became visible and she giggled again, a shy smile lighting her face. Ellie returned to the box and discovered three similar sets of swimwear, each wrapped in clear plastic, one bright yellow, one red, the last a shimmering white.

"Ellie?" she heard her sister’s voice call. Ellie turned in time to see Nancy struggle under the flaps of the tent. Her sister took two steps into the space, looked up at her younger sister and stopped dead, rocking on her heels.

"Holy shit! Ellie, wherever did you find—that?" Nancy asked, her eyes starting out of her head. Ellie giggled again, her embarrassment increasing.

"Steve ordered it for me," she replied, putting her hands on her hips and rotating first one way, then the other. "What do you think, Big Casino? Would I make a splash at Monte Carlo?"

"Are you kidding? God, Sis, you’re so big you could wrap yourself up in a gunnysack and make a splash at the North Pole," Nancy said after a moment. "In that thing you’ll cause traffic accidents. I wish I could get a body like yours."

Ellie suddenly became subdued.

"I don’t think so, Nan," she said sadly. "The drawbacks are as big as I am. You’d get curves, all right, and then you’d join me up here."

Nancy nodded.

"Listen," she said, "I came in here to ask a favor of you. Steve just sat us down and had a talk with us. We’ve decided we’re going to pull the kids out of school for a while and travel. He’s offered to pay for an around-the-world vacation for us and the kids and under the circumstances it seems like a good idea. He’s even suggested a tutor for Sally and Dennis while we travel so they don’t fall behind in their schooling and he’s going to pay for it all. He’s really a generous guy."

Ellie’s shoulders sagged and she slowly seated herself on her futon. She looked down at her older sister and managed a smile.

"I’m sorry," she said softly. "I seem to be causing everyone I love nothing but trouble."

"No, you’re not, El," Nancy replied. "From what Steve and you have told me, the troublemakers are elsewhere. No, what I wanted to ask you to do is baby-sit Dennis and Sally while Mark and I go into town and make some small purchases. We should be back in a couple of hours."

"Of course," Ellie replied. Nancy nodded and smiled. Ellie heard Steve’s voice from outside her bedroom and she rose quickly, a blush creeping up her neck. Steve dodged around the door panels of the tent and strode inside quickly. He nodded to Nancy then looked up at Ellie. Ellie giggled again as Steve mimicked her older sister’s reaction to her dress. He grinned.

"Wow," he said. "I-I never imagined—wow."

"Your imagination is very good, Steven Carter," Ellie replied. Steve turned suddenly to her sister, his eyes straying back up to Ellie.

"Uh, I gave Mark the keys to the Rover," he said. "He said he would be ready momentarily." He waved vaguely in the direction of the house and took a step forward, closer to Ellie. Nancy smirked at his reaction and promptly made an exit. Ellie waited until her sister had left and then pirouetted before Steve, her hands on her hips. She stopped when her back was to him and looked over her shoulder seductively.

"Ouch," he said, his breathing heavy. "Don’t do that."

"Don’t do what?" Ellie asked innocently. She spun about and bent to lift Steve up. Even through his field jacket she could feel a bulge in the front of his pants and smiled.

"Are you really surprised?" she asked. Steve held out his arms and Ellie obligingly brought him close to her face. He rubbed the line of her chin.

"Yes." The tone of his voice spoke volumes to Ellie and she kissed him.

"You’re a nice guy, Steve Carter," she said. Steve smiled. He cocked an ear to the sound of a car starting.

"Sounds like your sister and Mark are going to town," he said. His expression grew wistful. "Guess I’d better let you get dressed for babysitting the kids."

Ellie nodded and released Steve.

"Would you like to watch?" she purred as she pirouetted once again, stretching her arms out. She giggled at his open-mouthed reaction.

"I’d better not," he replied, his expression a combination of awe and disappointment. "You’re too much of a distraction. I’ll never be able to concentrate on preparing our flight plan."

Ellie laughed and reached down to ruffle his hair then turned to her clothing boxes. She quickly shed her bikini and repackaged it, then grabbed up her three-day-old jogging suit. Even with every expansion panel released it was still going to be a snug fit. Ellie tugged the shirt over her head, pulling gingerly on the thin fabric until it stretched down to approximately her hips. The neck hole was very snug and squeezed her nose and ears. The pants gripped her calves and thighs as she pulled it on and she discovered that rolling up the legs of her pants to put on the flimsy woven tubes she was using for socks was going to be a challenge.

Ellie grunted with the effort to finish dressing and put on her open-topped shoes just as Hadad escorted her niece and nephew into her tent. The two children squealed with delight at seeing their oversized aunt and quickly made her their personal jungle gym. Dennis made first claim to her braided hair and promptly started climbing while Sally mounted an assault on her knee. Ellie was startled at just how much smaller the children looked—Sally now fit wholly into her hand and she barely felt Dennis’ weight on her hair. She smiled to overcome her nervousness at the children’s reckless disregard for their safety as they heroically raced one another to reach her shoulders, which apparently had become their favorite resting spots. Hadad had paused for a moment to watch, then gave Ellie a thumbs-up sign and left the tent.

"Wow, what a big bed you got, Aunt Ellie," Sally panted as, with Ellie’s gentle assistance, she reached her shoulder and promptly dropped to her hands and knees. "I wanna jump down. Can I? Please?"

"No, you can’t," Ellie said in an admonishing tone. "It’s too high up for you. You’ll hurt yourself if you try."

"I bet I can jump on it from here!" Dennis, having abandoned his attempt to reach Ellie’s shoulder via her braid, had now followed his sister up her knee and walked with exaggerated care along her thigh, his arms out for balance, leaving a set of faint footmarks on her newly-cleaned clothes. Ellie smiled at her tiny charges. She reached up and pressed Sally gently into her shoulder to keep her still. She used her free hand to lift herself from the canvas then shifted herself slightly on the floor to that her knee lay atop one corner of her futon.

"Yes, you can if you wish," Ellie said.

"Lemme up, lemme up. I wanna jump, too," Sally called out from under Ellie’s hand. Ellie smoothly slipped her fingers under the girl and planted her next to her brother on her thigh, her hands ready to grab either of her charges at the first sign of danger or distress.

"Aunt Ellie? Mommy says you’re getting bigger every day. Why?" Sally asked, her eyes wide. Ellie found herself smiling at the girl’s innocent tone.

"I’m afraid I can’t explain why, Sally," she replied, trying to keep her voice light. "I just am. I’m bigger today than I was yesterday and I’ll be bigger tomorrow."

"Will I grow up really big like you?"

"No, sweetheart."

"I want to grow up big like you," Sally said, sticking out her lip rebelliously. Ellie shook her head slightly and took up her niece in her hand and brought her to her lips for a kiss.

"I thought you wanted to be like Sailor Moon," her brother opined. "I’m gonna be like Aunt Ellie when I grow up."

"No, I’m going to be like Aunt Ellie," Sally objected. "You’re always just going to be a little squirt."

Ellie found herself giggling even as her throat tightened. She took both children in her hands, cupping them gently, and kissed each one.

"Ewww, I’m gonna get cooties," Dennis protested. Ellie giggled and put the children on her bed. She looked down at them as they immediately began a new round of horseplay. She felt a sudden, overwhelming sadness. Her niece and nephew reminded her again of the fact that she was childless, and that now there was no remedy to repair her condition. The two children, perceptive as ever, suddenly stopped their play and looked up at the giant face of their aunt. Dennis was first, wrapping his arms around her limp hand and squeezing. Sally struggled to Ellie’s waist and attempted to wrap her arms around her aunt. Ellie put aside her introspection and smiled again.

"Now, would you two like to play a game? Okay. Let’s play a guessing game. I’m thinking of a number from one to ten."

 

Steve paused in his typing instructions into his computer and cocked his ear. He smiled as he heard Ellie’s voice and the laughter of the children coming echoing faintly down the hallway from the tent side of the house. A faint electronic chirp caught his attention and he rose from his desk, striding towards the kitchen. Just inside the kitchen vestibule he looked at the display for the property’s perimeter alarm system. The motion sensors outlining the road to the property were flashing. A car, coming up the road, and rapidly. Steve looked at his watch. An hour had elapsed since Ellie’s sister and brother-in-law had departed to purchase clothing for their trip. For a driver unfamiliar with the local area it should have taken at least thirty minutes for them to reach Columbus—

"Oh, shit," Steve muttered. He spun on his heel and almost cannoned into Hadad, who had appeared directly behind him.

"Sorry, sir. I assume from your expression that we should not be having any deliveries or visitors today?"

"Not that I’m aware of," Steve replied, his expression stern. "I wouldn’t expect Mark and Nancy for another hour at least, Doc Canfield isn’t due until two and Russ Thompson promised me he’d call before putting in an appearance."

"You should go to Miss Andersen, then. I will take care of our unbidden guest," Hadad replied. Steve nodded and loped back into the living room. He paused, considering, then turned to his gun cabinet. He dug a set of keys from his pocket and opened the steel drawer of the cabinet and drew out a pistol inside a clip-on holster. He looked at the gun, pursed his lips, then replaced it back in the drawer and locked it closed. Hadad slipped past him and half-ran to the front door as a dirty gray minivan bearing a metal framework on its roof rolled past the front windows to stop at the main door.

 

Martin Romita shut off his van engine and looked in his rearview mirror. Every instinct he had ever garnered told him he was about to make the journalistic coup of the century, if not for all time. As he and Stiller had driven past those two huge white tents they could hear a loud woman’s voice and the laughter of children. He almost thought he saw an impossibly large, detailed shadow appear against the synthetic fabric of the tent, then disappear.

"How about I sneak a look in those tents while you talk to this Hadad guy?" Stiller said, camera in hand. Romita nodded and Stiller cracked open the passenger door and slipped out. Romita grabbed at his video camera and stepped from the van as the front door to the very imposing mansion opened and a middle-sized, dark-complected man walked out.

Romita immediately snapped on the powerful halogen lamp of his camera, blinding the indian-looking man in the simple black suit. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Stiller dart between two of the tall shrubs lining the driveway and smiled. The indian-looking man—presumably the Hadad person mentioned by Sheriff Thompson—wore a very unhappy expression at the sight of Romita and his camera.

"What may I do for you, sir?" he asked. Romita almost laughed at his cultured British accent and turned the camera on him. To his credit Hadad neither flinched nor changed expression as the camera lens was pushed into his face.

"Are you Mr. Brian Hadad? I’m Martin Romita, WKZZ-television. I’m doing a story on the rescue of the twenty kids from the Polk County Reservoir three days ago. I understand you were the first on the scene."

Hadad nodded, his face stiff with disapproval. Romita almost sighed out loud at the success of his distraction. His first impression was that any interview with Hadad was going to be short and not very informative. He hoped Stiller would have better luck.

 

Ellie’s niece and nephew had managed to use up a fair amount of energy playing in her bedroom. Her ten-by-twenty-five foot bed was a special attraction that was pressed into service as a trampoline by the two children. Ellie had seated herself at the foot of the bed, her legs crossed, her arms guarding against Sally or Dennis leaping too enthusiastically on the mats. She heard a sound like cloth slapping against cloth. It was the sound of the tent flaps being opened. Dennis, being the smaller of the two children, ran out of breath more quickly. He ceased his play and slipped off the mattress. He began to circle Ellie’s right knee, then stopped, his expression curious. Ellie suddenly heard a strange female voice utter an inarticulate curse.

"Hi, lady," Dennis sang out. "Are you a friend of Uncle Steve, too?"

Ellie turned quickly to look over her shoulder. Just inside the tent she saw a strange woman with permed blond hair and a shocked expression. She wore a form-fitting bodyshirt over denims and a pair of pointed-toed boots.

"Who are you?" Ellie asked. The woman started visibly. Her mouth fell open and she stared up at Ellie dumbly. Ellie then noticed the large, professional-looking camera the woman carried in her hand. The woman seemed suddenly to come out of her daze as well. She brought the camera up to her face and began snapping pictures of Ellie. The harsh flare of the camera’s strobe lamp hurt Ellie’s eyes and she held up her hand to fend off the glare.

"Stop that," Ellie said. Her voice at her normal volume shocked both the children and the intruder. Ellie turned and lifted both children gently in her hands, setting them on her bed.

"You two stay there," she ordered. She quickly unfolded her legs and stood upright. Another series of flashes from the intruder’s camera illuminated the interior of the tent as she turned to look down at the strange woman.

"Jesus fucking Christ," the woman intoned as she craned her neck to look up at Ellie, the camera nearly slipping from her hands. Ellie took two steps towards the stranger and bowed to see her clearly.

"Ellie?" she heard Steve’s voice call out. Steve suddenly appeared at the flap between her shower and bedroom. He took one look at the strange woman and his face tightened into a snarl. He ran across the canvas floor of the tent, rushing the woman, who continued to stare up at Ellie in shock and consternation. Her camera went off twice more un-aimed before Steve grabbed her, throwing her against the wall of the tent and yanking the camera out of her hand.

"Just what the hell do you think you’re doing here?" he exclaimed, his nose only a few inches from the woman’s. She was blinking rapidly and her mouth still hung open.

"Steve," Ellie said more softly. She had never seen that expression on his face before. He was clearly beside himself with anger and Ellie became afraid that he would hurt the woman with the camera. She bent and reached out to pull Steve away from the intruder. Steve was almost spitting in fury as Ellie grasped him firmly and dragged him out of arm’s reach of the woman, dropping to her knees as she did so.

"Hello," Ellie said quietly, turning her attention to the intruder. "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

The woman started visibly again as Ellie spoke. It reminded her of the lab technician she had seen as Brooks Air Force base—four days ago? Five? She couldn’t be sure now. The woman suddenly made a motion like she was going to snap another picture of Ellie until she realized her hands were empty. She looked up at Ellie, then at Steve. She began to make noises in her throat, then she swallowed.

"Martin?" she called out. "Martin! MARTIN! MARTIN!!"

 

Romita heard Stiller call for him, urgently. He turned in the direction of the voice when he suddenly felt something cold and hard press into his cheek.

"Now, sir," Hadad said, his voice dry, "you will please turn off your video camera. I am familiar with the Sony Model 1100 Handy-Cam, sir—please turn off both the lights and the video."

Romita turned to see the barrel of a small, very ugly-looking gun pointing right at his nose. He stared at the bore of the gun for a moment, then nodded and turned off the camera. Hadad gave Romita a brief, icy smile then lowered the gun and gestured with his free hand towards the front door of the home.

"Kindly go in through there, sir," Hadad said in the same dry, unamused tone. "Go straight in. Keep your camera with you, if you please."

 

"It’s true, Martin," Stiller said, her expression astonished. "There really is a giant woman and she’s right here."

Romita nodded. He and Stiller sat side by side on the comfortable couch in the living room of the mansion. Steve and Hadad stood in front of them. Hadad wore the same coldly impersonal expression. Steve however was almost purple in anger. He began to pace back and forth.

"Look, Mr. Carter," Romita began. His tone of voice was placating and conciliatory. "That woman out there is the biggest story this entire planet has ever seen. She’s bigger than Moses waving his hand and parting the waters. She’s bigger than any story about Roswell. It’s my job to cover and report about things like this. You can’t hold us here. Look, I’m not out to hurt anybody, but what she did for those kids three days ago was pretty spectacular—"

"You know what you really are?" Steve snapped. "Trespassers. You’re a couple of miserable busybody trespassers on my property and I’m executing a citizen’s arrest. You are going to sit right where you are until the sheriff gets here and then I’m going to swear out a complaint against you. I want you to think about that."

The sound of the Land Rover returning caught Steve’s attention. He whispered quietly into Hadad’s ear and Hadad nodded then strode quickly from the room. Steve continued his pacing, his head slightly bent, his face drawn.

Hadad returned to the room from one of the side hallways and whispered in Steve’s ear. Both he and Steve drew away from their unexpected guests and conversed, briefly and urgently. Hadad smiled and nodded and Romita heard him say, "Good plan" to Steve. Steve suddenly went down the same hallway Hadad had used as Hadad turned back to watch Romita and Stiller.

 

"We’re going to have to move faster," Steve announced. The other occupants of Ellie’s tent nodded. Even the children, ever sensitive to the prevailing mood, had sobered.

"Steve," Ellie began, "what do you intend to do with those two?"

"Them? Nothing," Steve replied, "although I’m tempted to make them eat that camera of theirs. Brian’s going to hold them here until we’re gone, then he’ll let them go on their merry way. By the time they start shooting their mouths off we’ll be long gone and they’re not going to know where we’ve got to. Nancy, Mark, I’m sorry but I’ve got to push up your schedule. There’s a flight from Charlotte International that runs direct to Heathrow in three hours. Here’s the keys to the Jeep in the garage. I’ll contact Direct Action and have one of their operatives meet you there. They’ll make sure you and the kids stay safe. Ellie, I’m going to leave in a few minutes for Asheville to pick up Special One. I promise I’ll be back here within the hour, then we’ll get you aboard and take off immediately. With a little luck we’ll be long gone before anybody gets wind that you were here at all…"

Steve suddenly stopped, and looked up at the roof of the tent in a considering way. Ellie too cocked her ear to the outside sounds.

"What is it?" Mark asked, curious.

"I’m not sure," Steve answered uncertainly. "I may be wrong but that sounds like—"

He suddenly turned and ran out of the tent. Outside he looked around the horizon, orienting on the muffled, repetitive booming noise that had attracted his attention. He caught sight of something hovering just above the trees down the hill from his home and cursed, softly and fervently. He ducked back inside the tent, frowning and concerned.

"It may be nothing," he said softly, "but I think I just saw an Army Blackhawk helicopter hovering above the trees maybe a mile down the hill."

 

Growth Encounter Part 10