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"How is this place powered?" Leo walked into the kitchen. Automatically, I poured coffee for him.
"Solar power, sent from sensor to sensor from above the atmosphere to the ground," Val appeared.
"Somebody is way, way more efficient than Earth," I smiled at Val.
"It is common in both the Reth and Campiaan Alliances," he shrugged. "Worlds that failed to harness wind, solar and water power often drained and destroyed themselves," he added. "We Larentii developed this practice before anyone else."
"The original hippies," Finch said before sipping his coffee.
"You just can't help yourself, can you?" I snapped at him.
"No, I suggest that Opal make contact with one nearby. William Winkler is in residence down the beach—he is the Dallas Packmaster and will do this for us, I think."
"What the bloody hell?" Dr. Farrell exploded.
"You should have considered this before the drug was administered," Val said, his voice soft. "If you cannot calm yourself, I shall do it for you."
Dr. Farrell took a step toward Val, his face dark with anger. Val rose from his seat before becoming nearly nine feet tall and blue-skinned. Farrell stopped in his tracks. Not because he wanted to, but because Val used his power to prevent Farrell's approach. A long, blue finger snaked out and tapped Farrell lightly on the forehead. Farrell's body dropped gently to the floor as he lost consciousness.
"I'll call Winkler," Opal said and pulled out her cell phone.
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"I don't know what to do about it," I said. "We're supposed to hand him an action plan in a meeting this afternoon. Matt and I worked ours out together, but the others," I shrugged. "So far, only the Coast Guard has really done anything useful."
"Look, if they have a way to transport that stuff around that doesn't involve the usual methods," she said, "then even going house to house, looking for terror cells won't help. They can pick a spot, land there, release their drones and zip out again. Easy."
"Cori, please don't muck up my plan with your confounded relevance and common sense," I muttered.
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