The Green And The Gray

14

For a long minute the only sound in the room was the quiet popping of the radiator beneath the window. "But why now?" Caroline asked. "Why, after all these years?"

Velovsky sighed. "That's one of the genuine ironies of this whole situation," he said. "I helped get the Greens get through immigration, figuring they would do best in northern New England or Colorado. But they apparently liked the idea of living in a city for a change, so at Leader Elymas's insistence I set them up in Manhattan. There were certainly enough trees in Central Park for a colony that small."

"Yes—the trees," Roger pounced. "What's that all about?"

"The Greens' bodies aren't like anything found on Earth," Velovsky said. "Their cells are much smaller, their whole physical structure far more mutable. They also have a strange—well, let's be honest; a rather parasitic relationship with trees. They can melt their way through the bark and settle into the core of the tree, wrapping themselves into a much smaller volume than you'd expect. While inside, they're able to draw nourishment and strength from the tree's own biological processes."

"Doesn't sound very efficient," Roger said, sounding doubtful.

"Efficiency isn't the only consideration," Velovsky pointed out. "A few milligrams of Vitamin C

make a world of difference for a man with scurvy, after all. If you need something, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant, you still need it. In the Greens' case, they need periodic contact with trees."

"Can they also be healed that way?" Caroline asked, thinking back to Melantha's bruises.

"To a certain extent," Velovsky said. "Spending time inside trees also nurtures growth, particularly in the children."

"A block east of Jackson Square," Roger said suddenly.

"What?" Velovsky asked.

"I was just remembering how Aleksander described your location," Roger said. "Not Greenwich at Eighth, or the West Village, but across from Jackson Square."

"Typical Green directions," Velovsky agreed. "They always think in terms of parks and trees."

Caroline nodded. "And Melantha told me she lived in Inwood Hill Park—"

"Melantha?" Velovsky cut her off, his eyes widening, his voice suddenly intense. "You know where Melantha is?"

"Yes, let's talk about Melantha," Roger jumped in before Caroline could answer. "Why does everyone want to kill her?"

Velovsky hesitated, his eyes shifting back and forth between them. "If you know where Melantha is, it's absolutely vital you tell Aleksander."

"So we've heard," Roger said. "You were telling us about Ellis Island?"

Velovsky eyed him a moment longer, then lowered his gaze. "I got some jobs lined up and found them a nice little building off Central Park for their—well, call it their headquarters. A couple of apartments was all they needed, since they really only used them for official residence purposes.

Mostly of their off-work time was spent in the park itself."

"Is that the building on 70th near Central Park West?" Caroline asked. "I saw a lot of Greens listed at that address."

"Yes," Velovsky confirmed. "They've also spread out over the years."

"How many of them are there now?" Caroline asked.

"About eight hundred and fifty," Velovsky said. "Anyway, they settled in, and I'll admit I was feeling pretty proud of myself. Savior of a whole race, and all."

His lips compressed into a thin line. "I got to feel that way for exactly one week. Seven days after they all moved to Manhattan, forty Grays arrived at Ellis."

"Through a different storage room, I presume?" Roger asked.

"Actually, they came in much less dramatically," Velovsky said. "They'd simply parked their transport and waited until a likely refugee ship sailed past. They climbed up the side, mingled with the rest of the passengers, and walked down the gangway half an hour later."

"They can climb ships, too?" Caroline asked.

"Ships, buildings, mountains—you name it," Velovsky said. "Anything with enough metal traces in it. They were originally cliff-dwellers back on the Greens' world, you know. Well, no, you probably didn't. Anyway, I recognized them immediately from the images I'd gotten from Leader Elymas's mind, and made sure to deal personally with their case."

"Sounds like they're the ones who should have gone to Colorado," Caroline suggested.

"And I tried," Velovsky told her, shaking his head. "Believe me, I tried. But they were as stubborn as the Greens, and they also insisted on New York. It was partly the tall buildings, but I also got the impression they thought they could hide better in the city's ethnic mosaic than someplace where the population was more homogenous. Maybe that's why the Greens wanted New York, too, now that I think about it."

"Why do the Grays care about blending in when they can turn invisible?" Roger asked.

"It's not true invisibility," Velovsky said. "What they can do is freeze in place on the side of a cliff or building, something with a nice simple background, and camouflage themselves to blend in. The technical term is masking."

"Handy," Roger commented.

"Handy, but very limited," Velovsky said. "It wouldn't work while walking down a street, or even sitting in a room with as much variation as this one. Even on the side of a building you can see them if you're close enough. Still, it's useful enough when they want to hang onto the side of the Flat-iron Building and spy on the Greens in Madison Square."

"Is that where you sent them?" Roger asked. "Lower Manhattan?"

Velovsky snorted. "Give me a little more credit than that. It took some fancy footwork, but I finally managed to talk them into moving to Brooklyn and Queens."

"Queens," Roger muttered. "Of course."

"What?"

"I tried to lose a Gray tail by going to Queens." Roger waved a hand. "Never mind. So: Brooklyn and Queens?"

Velovsky nodded. "I assumed they'd take some time to adjust to the new culture and then move to the mountains where they belonged. I thought that if I could keep the two groups separated and unaware of each other for a year or two, I'd be in the clear." He grimaced. "Unfortunately, I failed to take into account the stubbornness of both groups. Once they'd put down roots in their communities, they were in for the long haul."

"How did they discover each other again?" Caroline asked.

"I don't know," Velovsky said heavily. "It could have been the aftermath of the 9/11 attacks—maybe Greens and Grays were both involved in the rescue or cleanup operations. It could have been as simple as a group of Green teenagers taking a day trip to Brooklyn and spotting people their Pastsingers had told them had died three-quarters of a century and a dozen light-years away."

"And you think they're going to start their old war again?" Roger asked.

Velovsky snorted. "My dear boy, it's already started. Or did you think that comment about Grays spying on Madison Square was just a figure of speech?"

Caroline looked at Roger. "But then why haven't we heard about it?" she asked.

"Don't be naive," Velovsky said with another snort. "World War II didn't start the day Hitler marched into Poland, either. The two sides are still in their opening maneuvers: staking out positions, locating the other's strongholds, planning their strategy."

He waved a hand toward the window. "Unfortunately, most of the maneuvering seems to be happening here in the city, with the Grays pushing against Green areas instead of being forced to defend their own homes. Torvald, for instance, one of the chief Grays, moved rather brazenly into MacDougal Alley near Washington Square a couple of months ago, chasing all the Greens away from the park. Thanks to moves like that, they've penetrated a considerable ways into lower Manhattan."

"Maybe even farther north than that," Caroline murmured.

"I wouldn't be surprised," Velovsky said grimly. "They've got their hammerguns, their tels, their instant-rappelling tension lines, and who knows what else. About all Nikolos has to fight back with is a few Warriors and the Shriek."

"Who's Nikolos?" Caroline asked.

"Elymas's son, and the Greens' only Command-Tactician," Velovsky said. "He'll be commanding their forces when the actual fighting breaks out." He grimaced. "What there is of them, anyway.

Between the Group Commanders and the Warriors themselves, I don't think there are more than sixty who can fight."

"Can't they train more?" Roger asked. "You said there were eight hundred and fifty of them."

"It doesn't work that way," Velovsky said. "Like I said before, each Green is born with a particular set of skills, and those skills are what defines him or her. If you're born a Lifesinger or a Laborer or a Warrior, then that's what you are and always will be."

"Sounds like a caste system," Caroline said.

"That's exactly what it is," Velovsky agreed. "But it's imposed by genetics, not society. Don't try to judge the Greens by human standards. They're not like us."

"What are they like?" she countered.

His gaze drifted to the window again. "I've known these people for seven decades, Caroline," he said, his voice quiet and earnest. "I've seen what they do, how they work, the subtle but very real benefits they bring to this city. Go look at police reports and see how many purse-snatchers and muggers fleeing through parks suddenly seem to trip and fall all over themselves. Chances are, a Green Warrior was nearby. Or go to a rehab center and find out how many of their success stories used to sleep on the benches in Central Park. A lot of Lifesingers live there, and their songs of healing can help humans in remarkable ways."

"I'm glad for them," Caroline said shortly. "Now tell us why all these fine and noble people want Melantha dead."

Velovsky hesitated. "All I know is that they need her back," he said. "Aleksander's the one you should talk to. He lives in Central Park, near the Seventh Regiment Memorial by the bowling greens.

If you go there and wait, someone from his group will contact you."

"We'll think about it," Roger said, taking Caroline's arm and getting to his feet. "Thanks for the history lesson."

"Gray aggression cost the Greens their first home, Roger," Velovsky said, not moving from his chair.

"Don't give them the chance to do the same to their second."

"We understand," Roger said. "By the way, where does Cyril hang out?"

Velovsky shook his head. "Cyril's approach won't work," he said. "All that kind of appeasement ever accomplishes is to buy a few months or years of peace. Aleksander is the only one who can finally end this."

"Yes," Roger said. "Cyril's home?"

Velovsky pursed his lips. "Riverside Park, near the Carrere Memorial."

"Thank you," Roger said. "We'll be in touch."

The drizzle had intensified while they'd been inside, though it was still short of what Caroline would have characterized as a full rain. Hoisting their new umbrella, Roger led them back toward 14th Street, threading them deftly through the streams of other pedestrians. He kept a firm grip on Caroline's arm as they walked, almost as if he thought she was a child who might suddenly dart out into traffic.

Or perhaps he just needed the comfort of her touch right now. As much as she needed his.

She waited for him to open the conversation. A block later, he finally did. "What do you think?" he asked.

"For one thing, he's lying about Melantha," she said. "He knows perfectly well what they want her for."

He eyed her oddly. "You sure?"

"Absolutely," she said. "I could see it in his face."

"Oh," he said, sounding a bit taken aback. "Actually, I was asking more about what you thought we should do about Melantha if we find her again."

Caroline gave him a sideways look. "Roger, they want to kill her."

"I'm not sure I believe that anymore," he said. "How can killing a twelve-year-old girl prevent a war?"

"Maybe we should try to find out before we throw her to the wolves," Caroline shot back.

"They're not all wolves, Caroline," he said. "No matter what Melantha told you, they can't all want her dead."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Weren't you listening?" he said. "Velovsky as good as admitted there was a power struggle going on between Aleksander and Cyril. They both want Melantha, only for different reasons."

"Or maybe they just disagree about the best way to kill her," Caroline muttered.

"No," Roger said, shaking his head. "Remember that crack about appeasement. Cyril apparently has a plan to somehow buy off the Grays."

"With Melantha's death?"

"Possibly, though I still don't see how that would work," Roger said. "Aleksander, on the other hand, seems to be going for final victory."

Caroline shivered. "So we basically have a choice between letting Melantha die or letting the Grays get slaughtered."

Roger snorted. "We have no choice of anything," he reminded her sourly. "With Melantha gone, we're out of the game."

"No, we're not," Caroline said firmly. "Number one: they still think we know where she is. That gives us some leverage."

"Leverage in what? Caroline, this isn't any of our business."

"With our city about to become a battleground?" Caroline countered. "Of course it's our business.

And number two: if Melantha's free, she is going to come back to us. I know she is."

Roger sighed, and she braced herself for more argument. To her relief, though, he just shook his head. "Well, if it comes down to Melantha or the Grays, I don't think there's much of a choice," he said. "After all, it was the Grays who destroyed the Greens' world."

"Or so Velovsky says," Caroline said. "But don't forget that his attitude toward them started with a brain-meld or whatever with the Green Leader, not to mention seventy-five years of cozying up to them. Of course he's going to take their side."

"Well... maybe."

"And there's one other point," she added. "It wasn't a Green—from either side—who gave Melantha to us in the first place. It was a Gray."

"It was, wasn't it?" Roger said thoughtfully. "Both the body type and disappearing act show that."

"So at least some of the Grays want her alive, too," Caroline concluded.

Roger snorted. "Unfortunately, the only Gray contact we have is Torvald, who's doing his best to push the Greens out of Manhattan."

"According to Velovsky."

"Velovsky wasn't the one using me for target practice last night."

"We still need to hear their side of the story," Caroline insisted.

Roger sighed, shifting their direction toward an artist's supply shop just ahead. "Fine. Torvald likes art. He'd probably appreciate it if we called from an art store."

They ducked into the store, Roger closing the umbrella and shaking it on the doorstep before bringing it inside. Finding a quiet corner, he pulled out his cell phone. "I don't suppose you'd like to talk to him?"

"You're the one he knows."

"I didn't think so." Digging a business card out of his wallet, he glanced at the number and punched it in.

Caroline touched him on the arm and pantomimed putting a phone to her ear. He nodded and leaned his head close to hers, angling the phone so they could both hear.

There was a click. "Hello?" a woman answered.

"I'd like to speak to Torvald," Roger said.

"Who's calling, please?"

"This is Roger," Roger said. "We met yesterday over a trassk."

There was a slight pause. "Just a minute."

The phone went dead. Caroline counted off ten seconds; and then there was another click. "Hello, Roger," a much deeper voice said. "What can I do for you?"

"Hello, Torvald," Roger said. "I called to see if you could clear up a couple of points I'm confused about."

"Certainly," Torvald said. "What would you like to know?"

"Why do you and the Greens both want Melantha dead?"

There was another pause. "You certainly are a direct one," Torvald said. "I'd be happy to discuss the matter. But in person, not over the phone."

Out of the corner of her eye, Caroline saw Roger smile tightly. "Fine," he said. "How about the bar at the Ritz-Carlton? Central Park South at Sixth Avenue."

There was a soft chuckle. "Across the street from Aleksander's private estate?" Torvald asked dryly.

"No, thank you. How about the benches in Police Plaza instead?"

Roger gave a soft snort. "Fine. When?"

"Will an hour from now give you enough time to get there?"

"Sure," Roger said. "See you then."

He broke the connection. "Cute," he said, tucking the phone back into his pocket. "I knew he wouldn't want to go anywhere near Central Park, but I expected him to compromise with someplace as far north as he felt comfortable."

"Which might have told us how far the Grays have penetrated onto Manhattan," Caroline said, nodding her understanding.

"Right," Roger said. "But this doesn't tell us anything at all. With all the cops roaming around Police Plaza, he could probably walk into a Green town meeting and still be safe."

"So are we going to meet him?"

Roger turned and stared out the window. "We could," he said slowly. "Or we could try being cute."

"What do you mean?" Caroline asked suspiciously.

"We assume Torvald will soon be on his way to Police Plaza," Roger said, clearly still working it through. "While he's gone, maybe I should drop by his studio and see what I can dig up."

"You can't be serious," Caroline said, her heart tightening in her chest. "What if they catch you?"

"What if they do?" he countered. "Don't forget, as far as Torvald knows we're still holding the trump card. If he wants Melantha, there's not much he can do, no matter what he catches me doing."

Caroline shook her head. This was undoubtedly the craziest idea Roger had ever come up with. Still, she had to admit that it felt good to see her husband taking a more proactive stance for a change. "All right," she said. "But I'm going with you."

"Caroline—"

"You'll need someone to keep watch," she interrupted him. "And if Torvald can't do anything to you, he can't do anything to me, either."

"I suppose," Roger said, a note of resignation in his voice. "Fine. Let's go."