The Second Ship (The Rho Agenda #1)(15)

Heather smacked her lips. Gag. If her breath smelled as foul as the inside of her mouth tasted, it was a case for the Center for Disease Control. Looking down, she noticed she still wore yesterday’s clothes. Her blouse looked as if she had wadded it into a ball and then steam ironed it that way. Jesus, she must have been out of it last night.

Heather changed into her warm bathrobe and shuffled down the hall to the bathroom. By the time she emerged, hair wrapped in a towel, she felt like a new person.

“For heaven's sake, the dead has arisen.” Her father grinned at her from the end of the hallway.

“Morning, Dad,” she said. “I guess all that hiking after Mark’s plane yesterday must have done me in.”

“I guess so. I was going to wake you for breakfast an hour ago, but your mother wouldn’t let me.”

Heather laughed. She could just picture her petite mother setting her little foot down on an issue like that, not that her father would do anything that would displease his wife if he could help it. From the way he touched her whenever he passed near her, it was readily apparent that he adored her. And she adored him right back. Heather only hoped that someday she found a relationship like her mom and dad’s.

“Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll just grab a bowl of cereal when I get downstairs.”

“Nothing doing. I have some batter set aside, and I just need to fire up the griddle for the bacon. It’ll be ready in ten minutes.”

“Sounds great.”

By the time Heather dressed and made her way downstairs and into the kitchen, everything was ready, the smell of the bacon making her mouth water.

Her mother joined them at the breakfast table, though she just sipped coffee and shared in the conversation. Heather was relieved that they focused on why her dad was so busy at the lab this last week. Although he couldn’t talk specifics due to government security, he was quite excited that the first of the Rho Project technologies would soon be released to the public.

This topic led inevitably to the growing problem of the demonstrators and curiosity seekers now crowding Los Alamos and White Rock. Fortunately, White Rock held much less appeal to these crowds than did Los Alamos.

Heather had grown accustomed to the secrecy surrounding the home of the nation's principal nuclear weapons design facility. It amazed her that people thought they could just use their computers to Google the place for a nice satellite view. In most places you could zoom in and take a close-up look at the houses. But not here, at least not at the highest zoom level. While you could see the countryside from a high altitude view, zooming in on the Los Alamos area either showed very fuzzy imagery or pictures that were stamped with the message: “We are sorry, but we don’t have imagery at this zoom level for this region. Try zooming out for a broader look.”

The conspiracy fanatics were already going nuts trying to get information that went beyond the official government line, something that was leading to rampant speculation about imagined nefarious Rho Project schemes. Thinking back on yesterday, Heather wondered if some of that speculation might be on the mark.

Heather leaned back from the table. “Thanks for the great breakfast, Dad. I’m going to go next door for a while.”

“Remember you have that history assignment due Monday,” her mother called out. “Don’t put it off too long.”

“I won’t, Mom.”

Before she could reach up to knock on the Smythe’s front door, Mark stepped out to greet her.

“Come on in. Dad took Mom down to Santa Fe for the day. We got out of it by using the homework excuse.”

“The history report?”

“Exactly.”

In contrast to the comfortable country style of the McFarland house, the Smythe living room was decorated in an eclectic collection of artifacts ranging from Tahitian war masks to towering florescent lights that looked something like spaceships on poles. The Nuevo Flea Market look, as Mrs. Smythe called it, was the result of her irresistible urge to experience every antique shop, flea market, and auction in the Southwest.

Heather plopped down onto the hacienda-style sofa next to Jennifer while Mark settled into his father’s leather recliner. “Tell me you guys didn’t have the same dreams I did last night,” she said.

Mark and Jennifer glanced nervously at each other. “My guess is that we did. At least, Doc and I had almost the same one.”

“You mean you saw ships similar to the Rho Ship landing on planet after planet and then all hell breaking loose?”

Jennifer raised her left eyebrow. “It was always a single cigar ship landing followed by scenes of massive destruction, wars raging everywhere. It must have been part of the data dump we got from our ship.”

Unable to sit still, Heather rose from the couch and began pacing back and forth across the living room. “And how are you guys feeling?”

“Both of us had bad headaches last night, though they seem to be fading this morning,” said Jennifer. “It’s a good thing too. I wouldn’t want to think about starting that history report feeling like I did last night.”

Mark shook his head. “Forget about the damn history assignment for now. We need to figure out what to do about the ship.”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” said Heather. “The sensible thing would be to tell our parents and the authorities about what we found.”