Chapter 3

Down but Not Out

Colonel James Vise lay in his hospital bed staring blankly at a wall-mounted TV set that endlessly reported news headlines. He was expecting visitors soon: two FBI agents who had insisted on what they termed a purely social call. This event loomed large in his day, which was otherwise occupied by the taking of vital signs, unmentionable nursing procedures and meals. In his nearly two weeks at this skilled nursing facility, his only contact with the outside had been daily meetings with his assistant, Sergeant Roberts. A lap top computer occupied the narrow table that was suspended over his bed; scattered piles of briefing reports spilled off the table and across his bedding.        Vise sat up, accessing his computer and verified the day and date. He made a conscious effort to stop the shaking in his hands and to focus his thoughts on Agents LaRue and Van Patten. The Colonel looked very much like his old self with a few exceptions. His wounds were healing, although slowly. His recovery now hinged on something much more intangible, something his doctors could not quite diagnose. He found himself blinking frequently as his thoughts wandered. For the past twenty-some years, he had literally lived his convictions. Now he was besieged with self-doubts and struggling even to maintain his orientation. The inability to act with decisiveness was an agony for him that sapped his strength.        As he had done almost daily, Vise silently reviewed the events leading up to his current condition. He vaguely recalled going after MacArthur on the beach, desperately holding onto the man. Or, did he only think he recalled this from reading reports and accounts of witnesses? Vise had no memory of being shot. He remembered little of his stay in acute care. The nightmares had been almost constant, more of the same dreams he'd had all along, with his buddies disappearing into bright light, accusing him of leaving them to their fates. The dreams had been broken by brief, lucid moments, the face of a nurse, the sensation of being moved down a hallway. And the most troubling of all was the vision of Adam MacArthur standing over his bed, staring intently, telling Vise to leave him alone in so many words. Of all the dreams or hallucinations, this one stood out most clearly. Vise thought he could almost remember the feeling of MacArthur's hand on his chest. In reality, there had been no sign of Adam MacArthur since he disappeared into that spacecraft. Just another report among many of unresolved silent runner cases.        Vise's reflections were interrupted by the uniformed private who kept watch by his door. "Some gentlemen here to see you, sir," he announced from the doorway.        "Give me a minute, then send them in," responded Vise, making an effort to keep his voice clear and assertive. Vise closed down the computer and hastily tried to straighten the papers, some of which tumbled off the bed. He had just managed to square his shoulders and steady his hands against the table when LaRue and Van Patten walked in.        "Colonel Vise," LaRue approached with hand outstretched, but Vise simply nodded toward the chairs at the bedside.        "Ah, Agent... uh, LaRue and Agent Van Patten, have a seat," smiled Vise. "I didn't know the FBI made social calls."        "No, not the Bureau, Colonel," Van Patten answered quickly, getting up out of his chair. "We, um, Nick and I, wanted to wish you well." Van Patten pulled an envelope out of his suit pocket and placed it on Vise's narrow table. "Go ahead, open it," encouraged Van Patten. "It's just a get-well card."        Colonel Vise studied the envelope and finally reached for the card. He was not entirely successful in hiding his unsteady reach. "Thank you, gentlemen," Vise responded, giving them a Cheshire cat smile. "That's right, you were at the scene the night I got hit, as I recall."        "Yes, we both were," confirmed LaRue. He straightened from some preoccupation, hastily stuffing a folded paper into his shoe. "Now that's a night none of us are going to forget any time soon, I'd say."        Vise forced himself into his role and began his statement. "Witnesses or not, you boys know I can't discuss any details with you." Seeing Van Patten about to interrupt, he quickly continued, "Now I know you managed to get some privileged information that night. And I guarantee that you'll be in a world of trouble if any of that information ever gets out. I'll see to it personally."        "Wait a minute," Van Patten jumped in quickly, "Colonel, may I call you James?" On the receiving end of a withering glare from Vise, Van Patten continued, "OK, Colonel, we're not here for information, exactly. That was a very difficult case for us. All the time and effort spent on Adam MacArthur's trail, wondering what your involvement was - it all got personal somehow. So I just wanted to say, 'no hard feelings' and tell you how sorry I am about you getting hurt, that's all."        LaRue chimed in, "And we might as well come flat out with it. The Bureau has closed the Icarus case, as far as we can tell. Craig and I, well, we've been let go." Van Patten and LaRue met each other’s gaze, and a long silence ensued.        Vise slumped back in the bed and cleared his throat, "Alright, I'll tell you this much. All silent runner cases are personal. They've got to be if you live on the planet. Whose jurisdiction it is doesn't really matter." Taking a breath and blinking his eyes, he quickly continued, "Officially, we're still tracking Adam MacArthur. Once a silent runner leaves like the one we saw though, I wouldn't expect to see him back here, not as Adam MacArthur, anyway."        LaRue finally broke the silence. "Well, it just don't seem right, him getting away after all our efforts. It's not the way I wanted to get out from under that turkey of a case. Just don't sit right, you know?"        "Gentlemen," announced Vise, "I appreciate your well-wishes, but we have nothing else to say to one another right now." Shaking his head as if to clear it, Vise retrieved a piece of notepaper and scrawled a number on it. "Here," he handed the paper to LaRue, "if you hear anything more about Adam MacArthur - you won't - but if you do, give me a call."        Van Patten and LaRue hastily delivered their farewells, all without once shaking Colonel Vise's hand. Not until they reached LaRue's Cadillac, did Van Patten notice the second piece of folded paper that LaRue had smuggled out of the room. On it was a computer printout of a search listing records of five A. MacArthurs who had made contact with government facilities in the last 24 hours.

The events of the past six months on Earth paraded through the Visitor’s mind as he strode around Okaloosa Bay, searching for leads to David West and the military dolphin research project. He remembered the frustration he had felt, dealing with pursuers on every side. The FBI, NSA, and even members of Colony each had different motives but were determined to capture him and thwart his mission. Now at least he could work for a while, without worrying about the likes of Vise and O’Ryan. But he knew this period wouldn’t last long.        He felt another twinge of fear as thoughts of the Elders coursed through him. He had taken a big risk in defying their authority, stealing their spacecraft, and interfering in the time thread on earth. "But I had to do it," he said again to himself. "I couldn’t stay at Colony and watch my people and my planet be destroyed." The Elders! Their power, their ancient timeline, their interest in the Earth still amazed him. He fought off the nausea, which usually overcame him every time he focused on them. He knew the signs of another flashback...        Blinding white-hot lights, and a force too powerful to fight. Adam tried to steady the P51 Mustang, but it was no use. He heard the members of his flight crew desperately try to maintain altitude. Before Adam could do anything to help, he felt himself ripped from the seat and pulled to the craft that was hovering above him. He screamed soundlessly. Fear overwhelming him, he wet his flight suit. Sweat and urine made his clothing cling everywhere. Adam felt himself carried through the craft to an enclosed space, and saw the floor rising slowly to meet his body. He knew, in a last flash of consciousness, that this was the end for Adam MacArthur.        "But here I am," he thought, as he found a cheap motel near the waterfront. "Different, yes. But I’m still human. And nothing is going to change that. Nothing!"        The first priority for now was sleep. Adam paid the clerk in advance, and found the room. Small but clean, it would do. He threw his clothes across the bed and started the shower. He relished the sensation of the hot water streaming over his aching muscles, and he grimaced as he thought of his old self, who had taken a hot shower for granted. "Never again," he thought.        Adam stretched across the bed. "Thinking can wait," he mumbled as sleep overtook him. As usual, Constance and Jason filled his dreams.