Hosts

13

"Kevin's being a real dickhead about it, Mom."

"Elizabeth Iverson, that is no way to talk about your brother. And where did you pick up that kind of language?"

"I can't help it, that's what he is. And I don't care if he comes. Who wants him around anyway."

Kate clung to her cell phone as she peeked into Jack's bedroom—he was still tossing this way and that under the covers—then returned her attention to Lizzie. With everything that had happened, she'd missed her morning call to the kids. Just as well; they both slept in on Saturdays. She'd waited till after di

All she'd wanted to do was touch base with them before they went out with their friends, but had wound up in the middle of a sibling contretemps. She should have seen it coming, but this was the last thing she needed now: Kevin was refusing to go to Lizzie's recital on Monday. Lizzie was acting tough but Kate could tell she was hurt. Ron had never been good dealing with arguments between the kids so, exhausted though she was, Kate had been designated referee.

She sighed. "Put him on."

"I said, I don't care!"

"Lizzie, please put your brother on."

A few seconds of muffled sounds, then a sullen, "S'up, Ma?" from Kevin.

"What's up yourself, Kevin? Have you got something better to do Monday night?"

"Aw, Mom, I hate that music, you know that."

"No, it's not Polio, I'll grant you that," she said, referring to her son's favorite band, perpetrators of cacophonies he referred to as "slash metal" or "thrash metal" or some such unlistenable noise. She realized that every generation needed music that rawed their parents' nerves, but please. "The music's not the issue, however. Your sister's feelings are."

"You heard her. She doesn't want me to go."

"That's just a defense because you hurt her feelings. We've always done things as a family, Kevin. Even after the divorce, how many of your soccer games did your father and Lizzie and I miss? Very, very few. And just like your soccer tournament, Kevin, we're pla

"But Ma, the flute! Of all things, the flute! It's so whipped!"

"It's Lizzie's big moment. She's performing a solo she's been practicing for months and we should be there to share it with her. Are you telling me you can't spare two hours out of your busy schedule to attend her concert? Think about it, Kevin. In the grand scale of things, is two hours on a Monday night such a big deal?"

"No, but—"

"Sleep through the concert if you must, but be there for her."

"Sleep? That music's deadly. When it's over and you find me dead in my seat, how will you feel?"

"Don't worry. I know CPR. I should be home by mid-afternoon Monday. I'll come over to Dad's and we'll all go together. As a family. I'd like to count on that, Kevin. Can I?"

A long pause, then, "I guess so."

"Great. See you then. Love you."

"Me too."

She broke the co

She rose and checked Jack again. He'd finally stopped moaning and lay deeply sunken in sleep; his skin had been cool and dry for almost two hours now.

"Looks like you made it, Jack," she whispered, stroking his matted hair. He might spike another fever around four A.M. or so, but she sensed that his immune system had the upper hand now. "Looks like you beat it."

But beat what? she thought as she wandered back to the front room. Exactly what infection had he been fighting all day? She hoped it was the contaminant. That would mean it was not as invincible or as "inevitable" as it seemed to think.

But the possibility existed that Jack had caught some other virus and his symptoms had been due to his body's war against that.

Only time would tell.

Kate yawned and stretched. Not much sleep last night. She was tired but doubted she could sleep. Not after what she'd been through today, not after learning that something calling itself the Unity was hell bent on erasing her personality, her individuality, her very self.

She felt a sob build in her throat. I don't want to die!

And that was what integration with the Unity would be: death. Sure, her body would live on but the person inside would be obliterated. All her values, the little things that made her who she was, gone. She would no longer care about the music, the paintings, the movies she now loved because they'd serve no practical purpose in expanding the species. And Kevin and Liz would be downgraded from the two most cherished beings in her life to a pair of potential hosts who shared some genes with her, valued only for their capacity to breed more hosts.

She had to see Fielding again—first thing Monday morning, before she headed home. Maybe he was right. He'd said he was Jeanette's best chance; maybe he was hers as well. The Unity clearly was concerned about Fielding. And whatever made it uneasy could orly be good for her.

Come to think of it, she hadn't felt the Unity tugging at her thoughts for the past few hours. Too occupied with something else? She wondered what it was up to. No matter. As long as it wasn't bothering her.

But if sleep was out of the question, at least she could lie down and rest her eyes now that Jack was over the worst.

She stretched out as best she could on the couch and laced her fingers atop her chest. Usually she looked forward to the next day, but not tonight. Would the Unity try to take over again, try to use her to wrest the secret of Jack's resistance from him?

Kate closed her eyes. She had to prevent the Unity from stealing what was hers—what was her. But how?

The question trailed her into sleep…

14

"You don't look like you're having much fun," Jay Pokorny said.

The four of them—Sandy and Beth and Pokorny and his longtime girlfriend Alissa—were standing at the long bar near the front of Ke

"So far it's just a bar," Sandy said.

He felt a nudge in his ribs and turned to see Beth smiling up at him. God, she looked great tonight.

"Be nice," she whispered.

He winked at her. "Okay."

"Yeah," Pokorny said, "but wait till you hear this chick in the band. Name's Debbie something. She's this little thing that looks like Betty Boop, but when she opens her mouth to sing—wow."

"Well, I hope she opens her mouth soon."

As much as Sandy liked live music, he wasn't crazy about bars. Especially a bar this packed and smoky and hot. Wasn't the AC working? None of which helped his lousy mood. He was hoping loud music and Beth's company would help him forget a strike-out day.

He hadn't been able to track down the police commissioner, but had cornered the mayor at a fundraising luncheon. He'd ducked Sandy's questions, rambling on about how it was a complex issue and how he'd have to know the details of the crime and run it past the Corporation Counsel and maybe a few judges. Yadda-yadda-yadda. Not much to write about there.

He checked his cell phone to make sure it was on. Yeah, it was, and no new calls. This sucked. Totally.

"Hey, Palmer," Pokorny said. "That's like the fifth time you've checked that phone since we got here. What's up? Expecting another call from the Savior?"