“So, Jordan’s alive?” Hannah inquired eagerly, her voice full of hope. “He wasn’t killed in action?”
“No,” Dentweiler allowed soberly, “he wasn’t. But I’m sorry to say that as a result of the program, your husband underwent many mental, emotional, and physical changes. That didn’t happen to all of the volunteers, but our experts believe Jordan was immunocompromised at the time of initial treatment, which produced some unanticipated results.
“It was the government’s intention to care for him, of course,” Dentweiler added quickly. “But all such efforts came to an end when he escaped.”
“Escaped?” Hannah echoed. “How? And from where?”
“Due to all the changes he underwent Jordan could be violent at times,” Dentweiler explained darkly. “He was undergoing treatment at a government facility in Iceland when he killed a number of the people stationed there, and disappeared.”
“My God,” Hannah said feelingly, as tears trickled down her cheeks. “Where did he go? What did he do?”
“I’m sorry,” Dentweiler replied gravely. “But subsequent to his escape, your husband went over to the Chimera. He was recaptured later, but then freed by Chimeran commandos. Our understanding of the Chimeran hierarchy is iffy at best, but judging from the casualties the stinks were willing to suffer in order to release Jordan, they place a high value on him. We don’t know why.”
Hannah was sobbing into her hands by then—shoulders shaking as Dentweiler went over to comfort her. “I know this is difficult,” he said sympathetically, as he took a seat on the couch. The pocket square he offered her was so immaculate it clearly had never been used. “I wish there was a better way to tell you, but this is the best I can do.”
Hannah accepted the handkerchief and made use of it to blot her tears as she got up and excused herself. She was gone for a good five minutes, and Dentweiler heard the sound of running water before she returned, her eyes red, and her face still a bit damp.
“I’m sorry,” Hannah said, as she sat on the couch. “It’s all such a shock.”
“Yes,” Dentweiler agreed understandingly, “it is. And I wish I could give you some time to absorb the news, but there’s a war on. Simply stated we need your help.”
Hannah looked surprised. “Really? In what way?”
“We want to contact your husband,” Dentweiler replied gravely. “In hopes that he can help us open a channel of communication with the Chimera.”
Hannah frowned. “Like an interpreter?”
“Yes,” Dentweiler agreed, “like an interpreter. But first we need to pull him in, and while he has undergone a lot of changes, we have reason to believe that the human part of him is still in love with you. And, because he has developed some very unusual mental abilities, it’s possible that Jordan could communicate with you if conditions were right.”
Hannah looked down at her hands then back up again.
“The human part? Does that mean what I think it means?”
“I’m afraid it does,” Dentweiler admitted. “I haven’t seen him myself, mind you, but I understand that he looks more Chimeran than human at this point, and will probably become more so as time passes.”
Hannah swallowed, albeit with difficulty.
“I see… So what would you have me do?”
“There’s no way Jordan could come here,” Dentweiler said, “not without getting killed. So, if you’re willing, we’d like to take you to a facility located just south of Chimeran-held territory. A place where Daedalus could come.”
“Daedalus?” Hannah inquired.
“It’s the code name we use for him,” Dentweiler replied smoothly, “from Greek mythology. Daedalus was said to be a very skilled craftsman.”
That seemed to satisfy Hannah, who was silent for a few moments as she wrestled with everything she’d been told. Finally, she nodded in response. “Okay, I’ll do it.”
“That’s wonderful,” Dentweiler replied. “Your country will be most grateful.”
Suddenly there was the sound of engines, followed by the squeal of brakes and the slamming of doors. Hannah rose and went to the front window. The blinds were up, and even though it was now dark outside, she could see the military-style trucks, and the goverment agents who had taken up stations out front. There was anger on her face as she turned back into the room.
“You were going to take me anyway, weren’t you? Even if I said no.”
“Of course not,” Dentweiler lied. “When we move you, we want to make certain you’re safe, so the troops are for your protection. Now, if you would be so kind as to pack a bag, we’ll depart in fifteen minutes.”
Hannah Shepherd had never been on a plane before. So the trip north on the military DC-3 transport was not only exotic, but scary. The first part of the ride was bumpy, too, and at one point Hannah was afraid that she was going to be sick, but managed to keep down the box lunch Dentweiler had given her, and thereby avoided the embarrassment of barfing into a bag.
Things smoothed out after that. The plane was a fourteen-seater, and the only other passengers were Dentweiler and two agents, so Hannah had plenty of room to spread out. She tried to sleep, but was too keyed up, and was left to stare at the little clusters of lights that slid past below, all the while thinking about Jordan.
He had been funny in high school, and it was his quirky sense of humor that had attracted her to him in the first place. He had a serious side, though, which had included big plans for the future, and their life together.
“We have to defeat the Chimera,” he used to say. “That comes first. But then, after I get out of the service, I’m going back to school. I want to start a company, a big company that will build houses for everyone who lost their homes during the war. And then I’m going to build a huge home for you, Hannah, and buy you everything you could possibly want, and we’ll live happily ever after. What do you think?”
“I think I’d be happy with half of your dream, or a quarter of your dream, as long as I have you,” Hannah had answered. And she had meant every word of it.
But that future had been buried, along with what she’d been told were her husband’s remains, and Hannah had been forced to go on without Jordan. Something she had still been trying to adjust to when Dentweiler showed up at her door.
Now Jordan was alive, except in a different form, which Dentweiler described as “more Chimeran than human.” Could she look at him? And still feel what she had before?
There was no way to know, so Hannah kept her face to the window as the engines droned monotonously, and occasional groupings of lights passed below. They were like islands in a sea of blackness—visible at the moment, but for how long?
Sheridan, Wyoming, was far enough north that it was subject to occasional Chimeran air raids, so the airport remained blacked out until the DC-3 was on final approach. That was when two parallel lines of lights snapped on, the transport lost altitude, and Hannah felt the sudden jolt as the airplane’s fat tires touched down.
Then the lights went out as the DC-3 taxied off the main runway and over to a hangar that was partially lit by the wash from a pair of half-taped headlights. A ramp was pushed into place as the copilot opened the door and cold air pushed its way into the cabin.
Dentweiler was on his feet by then, and waited while Hannah released her seat belt and slid out into the aisle. A couple of minutes later they were outside and entering a car as luggage was loaded into the trunk.