Distant Cousin
a novel
Smashwords edition
Copyright Al Past
2005
Also by Al Past at Smashwords:
Book I
1
April
It was the cool air blowing gently on her face that finally woke her up. Her eyelids twitched spasmodically, but to no avail—they were stuck shut. Rubbing helped. Gradually, the low lights overhead came into imperfect focus. She drew in several breaths, each deeper than the one before. Still not fully conscious after several minutes, she stretched her arms and legs, flexing her toes backward. Her back and shoulders arched gently.
After quite a few more minutes, hardly knowing why, she eased one leg and then the other over the edge of the bed and pushed herself up carefully, still blinking and rubbing her eyes. The air was humid, with a hint of electricity to it. She was thirsty.
The clock indicated she'd been awakened early, way ahead of schedule. She cleared her throat, took another slow breath, and cleared it again.
"Hleo," she croaked, "Hleo, what's going on?"
"Greetings, my lady!" came the voice out of the speaker. "It's early, I know. I apologize, but there’s something important to show you. If you please, clean up, have something to eat and drink, and then join me in the computer room. At your convenience, of course."
Phooey! Hleo had practically no sense of humor, so his faint effort at a joke probably meant he felt a little guilty about interrupting her sleep. There was no help for it but to get herself into motion, carefully. True, it had been a good while since she'd checked in on her people, but even so, it was hard to imagine what Hleo might have thought important enough to interrupt her sleep schedule. He’d never done that before. What could have changed? Could there be word from home? Very unlikely....
"Look at this!" he announced, when she finally dragged herself into the computer room, stretching and yawning. She still needed to fully revive herself, but there would always be time for that.
In front of her were two screens covered with ovals, lines, and rows of calculations and numbers. She blinked several times--her eyes still weren't focusing properly--and tried to make sense of the displays. What was all that? Try as she might, she could find no meaning there. She swallowed and cleared her throat. "Hleo, this is not about war or environmental changes or anything else I was expecting. It looks like mathematics. Have you been dabbling in astronomy again, Hleo?"
"Yes, I have." He sounded a little defensive. "There’s not much to occupy me all the time you are sleeping. We don't have all the equipment we might wish for scientific endeavors, but I do the best I can. Look at what I've discovered!"
She was beginning to lose patience. She was stiff as a board, couldn’t see properly, and in no frame of mind for puzzles. But Hleo was sensitive to sarcasm, so she stifled a sharp retort. "Maybe you'd better just tell me." Her voice sounded rusty.
"Oh, very well. As you know, this solar system is full of little bits of piffle zooming everywhere. According to my calculations, and I've rechecked them many times, these two meteoroids (two dots blinked) will collide here (a red blinking dot appeared where several lines crossed) and the debris will fall into the sun on this path (more lines blinked)."
"That's kind of neat, Hleo." She was impressed at first, and then she thought further. "When will this happen?"
"In four years, two hundred and fifty five days and six hours."
"What! You woke me up for that? I had an awake period scheduled for two years from now. I could have seen it then, Hleo."
"No, no! There’s more!" The elderly voice from the speaker went up a major third in excitement. "Look at these lines! This one is the orbit of Earth. Do you see? Earth will pass directly under the debris field at the worst possible time. It will be showered with meteoroid fragments, and any chunks bigger than you, if they fall in an ocean, and many will, will cause such a tidal wave that coastal cities will be inundated and many inland cities too! And there are certain to be much larger pieces, which will make craters and dust clouds that will cover the entire planet!"
That got her attention. "Hleo, that’s terrible! That would be a catastrophe! Are you sure?"
"Well, yes. I can't be sure how many pieces will land where, but since the earth is mostly water there's little doubt that we'll have quite a show."
"A show? A show?? We can't just sit here and watch! We've got to do something, Hleo!"
"There's nothing we can do, my lady. For one thing, we have our orders--we must not interfere. We only observe. You know that as well as I. For another, what could we possibly do?"
"I don't know, Hleo! But we have to do something! We're pretty sure these are our people. We can't just sit here and watch them die when we have it in our power to help. We have the escape pod...."
"Not an option, my child. First, I repeat: we are not to interfere. And second, the escape pod is not a transport vehicle. It might land on earth, if one were very careful, but it would never return. Its engines don’t have the necessary thrust! That's out of the question! I can guess what you are thinking! Don't even consider going down there! Besides, the people are not all that civilized, as we have seen. It would be terribly dangerous."
"Hleo, how can you know what I'm thinking when I don't know what I'm thinking? Give me some time to wake up. Maybe then I'll know what to think."
Her grumpiness had been replaced by her contrariness. Hleo was an old woman sometimes, but if she decided on a course of action there was not much he could do about it. After all, he was just a brain in a bottle, and not always a good-tempered brain in a bottle at that. She was not going to watch millions die, not without trying to help them. She was in command. Hleo could be controlled with just a few switches....
2
It was cold and dark in the bottom of the canyon, but the crisp, dry air was wonderfully exhilarating. Overhead, the sky was lightening on one side...that had to be east. She recalled the image of her map: west Texas, U.S.A., a canyon below the University of Texas McDonald Observatory, or so she hoped.
She climbed carefully upwards, towards the lightening sky. Rocks and pebbles clattered lightly under her feet. In the gathering light she could make out all kinds of odd plants, some with formidable thorns. Out of curiosity, she touched a cactus and got pricked by a sharp spine.
She had wondered what the air might smell like. It was bracing: crisp and light and clean. There were subtle notes of some cool, spicy fragrance probably from a plant, but she had no idea which one or ones. Eventually she reached the top of the canyon to discover a hard, smooth surface along the crest, extending out of sight around curves both above and below her. A highway, she realized. And there! There was the observatory: two silver domes on two peaks a good ways off, glinting softly in the first light. That’s what I want! she thought. Sucking her prickled finger in the dawn stillness, she began walking up the road toward the observatory.
After rounding two or three curves it had grown light enough to see to the horizon. The view was stupendous. Hills and mountains receded into the distance, in a silence that could almost be heard. The curvature of the earth was visible, impossibly far away. A contrail marked the sky high overhead, like a silver scratch. Had she made one herself earlier? She had no idea.
She had landed in the edge of a range of rugged desert mountains, in one of many canyons that opened out to a giant plain in front of her. In the distance on the far side of the plain were more, but lower, hills and mountains. She could now see that the canyon she had clambered out of was full of huge boulders at the bottom. There were small trees here and there, and more clumps of low trees in adjacent canyons. She'd been expecting a denser forest, but perhaps this area was too dry to support one. There seemed to be only one highway across the plain. Where it disappeared among the hills on the horizon, a handful of lights twinkled dimly. If that was a town, it was the only one around for as far as she could see.
Walking in the silent, chill air was exhilarating. Her shoes made a crunching sound in the gravel just off the pavement, but progress was easier, more quiet, and faster on the pavement itself. The cool, gentle breeze smelled wonderful.
After rounding two curves, she became aware of a sound down the highway behind her. At first a faint sigh, it grew louder, and she had almost decided to jump down into the canyon when two lights appeared. It was an automobile! In no time at all it passed her, and then red lights brightened on the back of it. It stopped, two white lights came on, and it slowly rolled back to where she stood. A glass panel slid down. She had almost decided to run for the canyon when a woman's head appeared in the opening and a voice said, "Hey, miss, you need a ride?"
She forced her heart to quit pounding and stepped toward the automobile. The dark face in the window was smiling, and the voice had been kindly. Finally she stammered "Oh, thank you, no. I'm just walking up to the observatory."
"Oooh, that's a long walk on a cold morning," the woman said. "I work there. That's where I'm going. Get in. I'll give you a ride!"
She had seen enough movies to know that passengers rode next to the driver, so she walked to the other side, opened the door, and got in. The car gathered speed up the mountain.
She had just begun to consider the etiquette of the situation--who should speak first?--when the woman said "Oooh, this is a cold morning for a walk! And going all the way to the observatory! They don't open for visitors until nine o'clock! You gonna have to wait! You wanna see the stars?"
"Uh, no, ma’am...I want to talk to the director, to Dr. Harcroft."
"Ooooh, I know him! I clean his office! He's a very smart man! He knows everything about the stars. But he's very messy! You wouldn't believe the mess he make in just one day! I can show you his office! Those people, they stay up all night looking through their telescopes, but they sleep late--you might not see him until lunch time. I hope you patient!"
She smiled and nodded at the driver--a bit of good fortune, perhaps. There's one thing she wouldn't have to worry about. If only the rest went as smoothly.
3
"Craddick! Craddick, get in here!" Colonel Arthur's voice could be heard by the sentries all the way in the hall outside the two secure doors to the comm center. Colonel Jacob Arthur was the most dreaded watch officer on the staff of the Army Air Defense Center at Fort Bliss. Most of his staff assumed he was so short-tempered because their performance directly affected his prospects for promotion, but a few cynics maintained that it was also because he was short and ugly. No one liked to be chewed out, but Colonel Arthur’s tirades were in another league. His face turned cherry red, he shouted, and spittle flew onto anyone within five feet.
The door to the adjacent radar room crashed open and a startled-looking young captain hurried in. "Yessir! Here, sir!"
"You called me in the wee hours, Craddick. This better be good. I hope you haven't detected another DEA blimp on the loose, goddammit! Report!"
"Uh, yessir. Well, at 0432 this morning we detected a blip passing through the atmosphere over the Atlantic Ocean to a landing in the Davis Mountains, just east of here, sir...."
"Sounds like a meteorite, Craddick. You pulling me out of a sound sleep for a goddamn meteorite?"
"I don't think so, sir. For one thing, the object's track indicated it had dropped out of earth orbit, sir. And it didn't burn up as it descended; it was going too slowly. For another thing," he paused briefly, "it changed course four times."
"WHAT!?" the colonel gaped. “Changed course? Are you sure? What are you guys smoking back there, Craddick?"
"Nothing, sir. I swear, the object slowed several times and adjusted course, once by six degrees and then by smaller amounts, and it slowed even more before dropping off the radar. It can't be a meteorite, sir. The station in the panhandle picked it up too, sir. If the New Mexico base detected it, we can triangulate where it landed, maybe. That's why I called you."
"Oh, crap! Sparks! Sparks, dammit, where are you?"
A wide-eyed radioman half stood from beyond a nearby console. "Here, sir."
"Sparks! Notify Homeland Security! Flash priority, Sparks! Have them check with NASA and their Euro buddies for screwed up satellites or orbiters or whatever the hell. Contact Special Ops at Fort Bliss and tell them to get up a team of SWAT guys and a couple of choppers. Craddick! Get that landing point triangulated to save your ass and send the posit to the Special Ops office. Don’t forget to copy NORAD on that too. Also, contact law enforcement on the ground in the area to ask the locals if they saw anything. Whatever that is, we damn well better jump, and now! Move! Sparks! Craddick! Go!"
4
The sun was barely halfway up the sky. She could think of nothing better to do than stand at the low wall outside the observatory and stare into the distance. Ordinarily new life forms would have fascinated her, but now not even the millions of little red ladybugs that carpeted the bases of the nearest trees attracted her interest. Some of the trees and plants had little signs identifying them, but she just leaned on the wall and stared into the distance and thought about that blasted Harcroft. What was the matter with him? A voice behind her startled her out of her gloom.
"Hellooo, Miss! Did you talk to Dr. Harcroft?" It was her recent acquaintance, Mrs. Delbosque, pushing a cart with several barrels on it towards a large steel box.
"Oh, hi, Mrs. Delbosque. Yes, I talked to him. But he didn't want to hear what I had to say. It looks like I've wasted my time."
"Ooooh, I'm sorry. Thass too bad! Pobrecita, you look so sad. What you going to do now?"
"I don’t know."
"Where is your car? Are you camped in the campsite?"
"No, ma'am. I don't have a car."
"Well, where do you live?"
"Uh, a long way from here." She considered her words. "I hitchhiked to get here, but I don't know where to go now. I must have been stupid to come here."
"Ay, pobre little 'cita! To think a little girl like you hitchhiking! Que molestia! So dangerous! And no place to go? You have any food?"
"No, I don't," she sighed. She hadn't planned that far ahead, and she didn't have any money either, or clothes or anything. I'm in serious trouble, she thought. I can't get off this planet, I can't convince that idiot astronomer of the threat to his world, and I have nowhere to go. I don't even know what to do in the next ten minutes. What was I thinking?
"Well, maybe I can help you a little, anyway. Why don't I drive you down to my house for lunch, and you can stay for supper and sleep on it? We have room for you, if you don't mind company! Tomorrow you can decide what you want to do. Why not?"
The generosity of the proposal, unexpected as it was, startled her. "Oh, Mrs. Delbosque, that would be wonderful! Thank you so much! I'm so tired!"
"Ay, mija, it will be my pleasure. Let me empty these cans and I'll get my keys and we'll vamonos prontito!"
5
"Flying time is 70 minutes, Hennessy. They send you that position yet?" Brooks had to shout into his mic over the maxxed-out engines and the whirling rotor blades just above their heads. The four helicopters clattered east over the desert in the afternoon sun, packed with the hastily-assembled intervention team: scouts, trackers, snipers, medical squad, technicians, forty soldiers all told. Their briefing had been hasty but they had trained for this for two years...only none of them were too sure what to expect in this particular case. Lt. Colonel Brooks hoped it would be at least something worthwhile, and not a false alarm.
"Here it is, sir," hollered Hennessey, passing a clipboard over his shoulder. It showed a three-sided search area about a mile on a side, over some deep canyons a couple miles from the University of Texas McDonald Observatory, near Fort Davis. Brooks handed the clipboard up to his copilot. "Gonna be a bitch, Gomez," he hollered.
"Sure is," the copilot nodded, squinting at the map. "Be lucky to find doodly before dark."
The choppers roared on, following Interstate 10 East.
The Delbosque house was a rambling old structure located behind a ranch of some sort. As they drove in, Mrs. Delbosque pointed out several barns, corrals, and pens, and a large main house near the road.
"You see those? This is a dude ranch! You know what's a dude ranch? People pay to come here and play like cowboys! Many people were here at spring break but now ees almost deserted. Here's my house. You be safe here. I fix us lunch and you can have a nice siesta and you feel much better!"
The lunch was a simple one, but warming the various dishes filled the house with such savory aromas that she nearly fainted waiting for them to be served. It didn’t seem a good idea to ask what each was, but she wholeheartedly thanked Mrs. Delbosque for the meal. If ordinary working people ate food this good, what would wealthier people eat, she wondered?
After Mrs. Delbosque went back to work, leaving her in the house alone, she was no longer sleepy. She felt defeated and frustrated and ashamed of herself. There was a lot to think about, too many questions and not enough answers. She could try to contact Hleo, but even if she was successful, he might not speak to her. He was such a stickler for regulations. How could he help anyway?
Tiny whirring noises--insects, she hoped--came from the trees around the house. Much of what she had seen so far she recognized from pictures, movies, and books. The reality was ever so much more vivid. If only she had the leisure to explore! Her profound isolation began to weigh on her. She'd been much too impetuous when Hleo had told her about the meteoroids. It was one of her old problems, and part of the reason she had been sent on the mission in the first place. She had the necessary rank and intelligence, so how difficult could it be when her only companion would be a station manager built into the machinery? It should have been simple. Instead, she’d followed her old impulses and got herself into serious trouble—and not just herself, but the mission, and her people.
Sitting on the Delbosque’s back porch and looking at the silent trees in the canyon through the screen, her thoughts turned to her home, so far away and so long ago. If she had just agreed to marry Herecyn like her parents wanted, her life would have been totally different—maybe not better, given Herecyn’s coldness—but at least she wouldn’t be marooned in a world of strangers.
Instead, fed up with what he considered her selfishness (she preferred pickiness), her father “promoted” her and had the Tribal Council send her off on the biggest mission her people had ever undertaken. The thinking was, it was a task she couldn't mess up and maybe it would teach her to value her obligations to the tribe. When she returned--if she returned--she might be more cooperative. But no; instead, she had found a way to ruin everything once again.
To calm her nerves and explore a bit, she left the porch and walked through the nearby trees to some huge boulders at the bottom of the canyon. She leaned against a rock in the warm sun and stared at the ground. What else could she have done? Could she have waited until a space shuttle was in orbit and flown around it in the escape pod, maybe holding a sign to the window? That would have created a sensation, for sure...but a shuttle flight wasn’t scheduled for years as far as she knew, and time was running out on those meteoroids. Hleo could have sent a warning by internet...but the internet was full of hoaxers as it was. She could locate another expert like Dr. Harcroft and try again to make him or her understand. Well…no, that wasn’t any more likely to work than it had the first time. Being a young-looking female was apparently a disadvantage—she could tell from Harcroft’s body language that he thought she was out of her mind. If she were an older man, perhaps with a beard, he might have found her more credible. She just hadn't appreciated being taken seriously would be so difficult. She hadn't thought it through. And now she was in deep trouble. Idiot!
The peaceful afternoon was interrupted only by the twittering of unseen birds until a black and white cat emerged from some boulders, making throaty rrowing sounds. She knew people kept cats as pets, but she also knew some cats were wild. She hoped this one wouldn't attack her. It was a beautiful animal.
She remained perfectly still. The cat sat and looked at her, stuck a back leg out and licked it five or six times. Then it got up and walked directly to her. It began purring loudly and rubbing back and forth against her pant legs. Just when she was about to bend down to touch it, there came a growing whapping sound high in the sky, and suddenly a helicopter passed low overhead and thundered out of sight. When she looked down again, the cat was gone. Smart cat, she thought, and walked back to the house to sit on the porch to await Mrs. Delbosque's return.
By the time Mrs. Delbosque came home from work, shadows had nearly filled the canyon. The air, still light and refreshing, had taken on a distinct chill. But two hours later, full of delicious frijoles, amazingly fragrant tortillas, and with her tongue burning from Mrs. Delbosque's salsa, her mind had been diverted from her problems by the lively family. The husband, a round, mustachioed man named Gustavo, left the house to take care of some chores in the barn, and the four children clustered around the new guest and peppered her with questions.
They wanted to know her name. The closest she could come to her real name was “Darcy,” a name in general use, she knew. The oldest daughter, Luisa, a junior at Sul Ross State University in Alpine, asked where she came from. Trying for a place sufficiently far away that further questions might be finessed, she answered "Canada."
The middle two girls, Clara and Maria, wanted to know if she spoke Spanish. She had to admit she could not. "But you can teach me," she offered, which started them giggling.
The youngest child, eight year old Geraldo (though he corrected his mother that it was "Jerry"), was even bolder than his sisters. "Is this real?" he asked, of her long hair. She let him play with it while she tried to copy the Spanish of Maria and Clara. Her clumsy attempts at the rolled "rr" in their nursery rhyme, "Rapido corren los carros cargados de azúcar del ferrocarril" made them shriek with laughter.
Luisa was too sophisticated for such silliness, shushing some of Jerry's more direct questions: "No seas tonto, Jerry" (“Don't be stupid, Jerry”). Silly or not, all the children called her "ma'am," or "miss."
At about ten pm, Mrs. Delbosque put her hands on the table and said "Ay, mijos, es tiempo para acostarse." The children were getting sleepy, it was Friday, and they needed to get to bed. She showed Darcy to a cot in a tiny room containing a sewing machine, several dressers, and piles of material, and after pointing out where the back washroom was, bid her good night.
Darcy felt better than she had all day. She was tired but not hungry, and relieved that she could interact with people in a seemingly normal way. Probably the movies and television she had seen, and the books she had snagged off the internet, depicted extraordinary cases, like normal people who were really serial killers in secret. At least she hoped so. The Delbosque family was boisterous but congenial.
She washed up and fell into the cot and pulled the two quilts over herself. It took her five minutes to warm them up, but by that time she was asleep.
6
Matt Méndez was not having a good day. Whoever said career change was good for the soul should be drowned in a cow tank, he thought, driving his old pickup out of Fort Davis. As a boy growing up in Albuquerque he'd always been regarded as having a great future...so where the hell was it? He was smart, not bad looking, and popular enough. He'd stayed in school like his parents expected, even getting a master's degree to their great pride. But where had it lead?
The best job he could find was teaching writing to college freshmen at El Paso Community College. The pay was adequate though the work was laborious, but he could never get over the feeling that what he was doing wasn’t that different from trying to teach the deaf to sing. When the state of Texas began to cut back on money for schools, and especially for higher education, he realized reluctantly that there was even less future in that line of work than he had thought.
Well, he had always enjoyed research as a student, and he could write, so maybe reporting would be a fun challenge. He had made the leap and taken a job as a reporter for the Alpine, Texas Avalanche. The job was a challenge, all right, but unfortunately the challenges seemed to be, first, making enough money to pay for food and housing and second, getting along with the editor of the Alpine Avalanche, a curmudgeonly skinflint named Clint Eastman. Plus, the career switch had cost him a pretty good girl friend--her mother thought a reporter wouldn’t be a good enough provider for her daughter--and left him with few good prospects for replacement girl friends. Dammit! On the plus side, he was getting an education in how a small city worked. He figured he’d give it another couple of years. He wasn’t consumed with ambition, exactly, but he did expect better things for himself. If this job didn’t catch fire, then perhaps another career change might be a good idea.
Eastman, called "Crusty" by the locals, stared Matt up and down as he walked in after lunch with the story of the wedding at the Fort Davis State Park, the old, restored cavalry post. Probably that was because he had never seen Matt in his one suit, an all-purpose black affair, and wearing his good shoes, shined, no less. Still, it was a better-than-average story. How many weddings feature a groom and groomsmen dressed as old-time cavalry officers? The pictures he had snapped of the wedding party on horseback would make a good story all by themselves.
Eastman growled that people had been calling all day about government helicopters raising hell up around McDonald Observatory, landing on their parking lot and armed soldiers running around like crazy. It didn't fit the pattern of the typical lost hiker situation, but no one he could contact could tell him a damn thing about what was going on. Well, that's what reporters were for. Méndez, get your ass up there and get the story.
He needed a cell phone. If he had had one, he wouldn't have driven 30 miles back to town from Fort Davis only to turn around and go right back up there, plus the extra miles beyond, to the observatory.
His pickup groaned up the steep approach below the domes and pulled into a visitor's slot. The director of the observatory, a Dr. Harcroft, was "out of the office," the secretary told him. But luck, or maybe persistence, paid off. He knew enough to slide by the "Private Residence" sign and walk through the little housing area below the main buildings. Just as he had walked the full circle and was about to head back to his truck, a Volvo driven by a man with a big white handlebar mustache passed him and turned left, downhill. Bingo, he thought! That guy matches the picture on the wall at the visitor’s center!
There were only two highways leading to the observatory, and the intersection was visible from miles away, so he eased his truck down the slope and watched the Volvo turn left, towards Fort Davis and Alpine. OK, doc, he thought. Let's see where you go for fun on a Friday evening!
No surprise, really: the Volvo pulled up in front of the Hotel Limpia in Fort Davis, a favorite upscale watering place and eatery, long on western atmosphere but also with linen napkins. Matt couldn't afford the place, but tonight might be an exception--maybe Crusty would accept the expense. If he got the story, of course.
The doc was seated at a table in the bar, apparently ordering a drink from a waitress. As she walked off, Matt moved in. "Dr. Harcroft? May I ask you a few questions, please?"
Harcroft looked up from the menu in annoyance, taking in Matt's black suit in a quick glance. He snapped "I already talked to you government guys. What is this, more? Don't you people talk to each other?"
Matt tried to keep his eyes from popping out of his head. He didn't want to say he was a reporter, a job description probably only two notches higher than "government man" in Alpine. But he couldn't in all honesty claim to be a government man, either. "I'm sorry. Communication is hard, sometimes," he apologized. "Just a couple questions; I promise not to take five minutes."
"Well, what then?" Harcroft grumped, brushing a finger across his fine white mustache. He had on a tie and a nice looking tweed sport coat. He must be planning a fine evening, thought Matt. Maybe rent a movie and project it inside the dome. He eased into a chair opposite the astronomer. He didn’t have the slightest idea what to ask him.
"Well, first," he fished, "do you have anything to add to what you said earlier?"
"No. I told the other guys, the only odd thing that happened all day was that a young woman, probably in her mid-twenties, barged in this morning babbling about comet debris striking the earth in four years. I don't know how she came up with such a wild idea, but she was clearly a nut case, and I told her so. Though, to tell the truth, she didn't act particularly nutty—more like uncomfortable, jittery. You just can’t tell about people, these days. I don't know where she went after she left. That's all. No new thoughts."
"Yes sir, thank you sir. Uh, could you give some idea of what this young woman looked like, perhaps?"
"I already did that, but I'll say again, and let's make this the end of the matter, she was small, a little over five feet tall, slender, had shoulder length dishwater blonde hair, and a not unattractive face, kind of sharp features, with striking eyes and a strong nose. Is that enough?"
"Yes, sir...but, uh, what was she wearing?"
"Oh, that. I think it was sort of a track suit thing, kind of like a uniform--gray, matching top and bottom, no jewelry, and black shoes. They looked sort of like sneakers, small sneakers."
“I see. So, after she left was that when you called the helicopters?”
“I didn’t call anyone. I have no idea why those people showed up. They ruined the whole damn day. And it’s not getting any better. What agency are you with, anyway?”
"I beg your pardon, Dr. Harcroft," Matt said. “I’m not with the government. I’m from the Alpine Avalanche. Enjoy your dinner, sir." Dropping his card on the table, the card that said "Matt Montez, Area Reporter," he fled the restaurant. He would leave the astronomer to his filet mignon. He, Matt the Sleuth, mild-mannered reporter, would settle for a hamburger at the Dairy Queen.
7
The small sample of the planet she had seen so far was encouraging. It was a splendid Saturday. The air warmed up nicely after a frosty morning, and bright white clouds drifted across the sun all morning long. The children dragged her outside and fought for turns to show her barrel cactus, yuccas, juniper trees, armadillos, and longhorn cattle. They seemed to sense that, their guest being a Canadian, she needed this basic information. They were half right, she admitted. She wasn’t Canadian, but she did need information, a lot of it. What she was going to do next was never far from her mind.
The cat from the day before reappeared from behind a barn and began weaving around Darcy's ankles. "Mami, Mami!" called Clara. "Look! Musi is back!" Luisa explained that Musi was a stray cat who appeared one day badly hurt, which they nursed back to health. Never comfortable around people, it accepted food but hissed at everyone and would never be touched. Finally it disappeared entirely, until now. As Luisa talked, Darcy knelt and began rubbing the animal under the chin, to its evident great pleasure. Luisa was astonished that it didn't shred Darcy's hand.
After a morning walk they had a tasty lunch, and then after the dishes had been washed they walked to the paddock to watch several cowboys working with the horses. The dappled sun and shadow on the large animals was amazingly beautiful, and the sounds of their hooves striking the soft earth practically musical. Regularly-spaced little clouds of dust followed them around the track where they galloped.
As they returned to the house, Darcy noticed Mrs. Delbosque's husband Gus (he told Darcy to call him Gus) talking to his wife on the porch. As they neared, the concern on both their faces became evident. "Ay, mija," said Mrs. Delbosque, shaking her head, "there may be trouble."
"Trouble?" she whispered. "What trouble?"
"Mija, Gus says there are government men all around, asking people if they have seen a little rubia on the loose. That's a little blonde girl, mija. He figures they are from La Migra, you know, Immigration. He wonders, since you from Canada, if you here legally. Maybe not. Maybe La Migra is looking for you, you know?"
Darcy hugged herself reflexively, her eyes widening. "Ooooh...."
"Don't worry, mija. We have a lot of experience with La Migra. They around here all the time. You be safe here. The children don't say nothing, right, kids?"
"Mami!" wailed Jerry, and wrapped his arms around Darcy's waist. "Don't let them take Darcy!" Clara and Maria looked stricken as well. Luisa seemed particularly grave. "Don't worry, Darcy. We'll hide you good, until they go away."
Later that evening, after supper, Darcy relaxed a little. If she could hide successfully, so much the better. If not, if she was taken into custody, surely they would take her to someone in authority. Still, she was shaken by the thought of being pursued. Whatever were they worried about, anyway? She was the one bringing bad news, but so far she had been unable to deliver it. Sleep was a long time coming.
8
Sunday morning was, if possible, even more lovely than Saturday morning. The Delbosque family had gone to church. Darcy lazed around the house until the chilly shadows were replaced by sunlight. They had invited her to go with them, and under other circumstances she might have accepted, if only to see what a service was like. For now, she felt safer staying out of sight. She told them she'd be happy at home until they returned.
It was impossible to observe the glorious day from inside, through the windows. Nearly everything she had seen so far was novel and fascinating—the smell of fresh mint, the calls of birds, the rough feel of the lichens on the boulders—that there had to be many more surprises in store. She decided to ease out the back door and slip into the trees. It shouldn’t be difficult to get to the top of the ridge while remaining out of sight.
More than anything, she wanted to watch the clouds, a few of which looked dark gray and heavy, floating over the valley floor. Maybe it would rain on her! She could not remember the last time she’d felt rain.
It took a half hour to reach the ridge, followed at a comfortable distance by Musi, the wild but curious cat. From the summit, the ranch buildings below looked like toys. On the south, the mountain fell away to the wide valley, glowing golden in the sun.
She leaned back against a boulder and turned her face to the skies and the breeze, breathing the light air deeply. Musi crouched in the shade of a nearby tree, studying nothing in particular, but very intently. It was an appealing animal: friendly but at the same time wary—not unlike her, come to that.
Just as she came to a decision to climb on top of the boulder, her eyes were drawn back to the cat, now hissing viciously and arching its back, its tail puffed out to three times its size. At the same moment, a rock rolled behind her and a loud voice called out "Federal agents! Freeze! Put your hands in the air! Do not move!" Spinning around, she refocused on the trees below her and saw three, no five, no eight, large men in camouflaged uniforms with horribly painted faces and big guns of some kind pointed directly at her! But slowly, they faded away and then she saw nothing at all.
Gradually, she became aware of an immensely loud, throbbing, roaring noise. Her whole body was being shaken, not violently but uncomfortably. She couldn't move her hands or legs. As consciousness returned, she carefully peeked out between squinted eyelids. She was strapped to a bench in a metal machine, probably one of those helicopters she had seen. Four or five armed men were seated against the sides. One of them looked in her direction and she shut her eyes completely.
When she peeked again a minute later, all the men were looking forward, evidently through the windshield. They were large, and moved slowly, like giants. She had no idea how long she had been passed out. The sun seemed to be streaming directly from ahead. With conscious effort she called up her memory of the internet map she had seen on the moon. West--they were flying west, almost directly into it.
"So, Miss Whatever Your Name Is, let’s review this. You came from outer space to tell us Earth is going to be clobbered by a flying pile of rocks. Is that about it?" Colonel Arthur was not a huge man, but he was hugely unhappy. There were two genuinely large men on either side of him, as well as guards at the door. Darcy, alone on her side of the table under a harsh light, felt tiny, like a child called to account before grownups.
"Yes, that's correct, sir," Darcy said softly.
"And you arrived here from the moon in an ‘escape pod’ of some kind? Is that right?"
"Yes, sir," she whispered, her eyes directed blankly at the top of the table in front of her.
"And you picked your landing coordinates from the internet, correct?"
"Yes, sir."
"And let me especially get this part straight: you look like we do because you are a member of a tribe of people who were moved from Earth to another planet eons ago by beings unknown, and you have been observing us from the moon for the last sixty years--THE LAST SIXTY YEARS! You expect me to believe that too, right? RIGHT?" The colonel’s eyes were red and swollen and set close together and little flecks of moisture shot out of his mouth onto the table when he shouted.
"It's true, sir." Her neck ached from the strain of not shivering. Swallowing with effort, she looked across the table at him and said, more loudly, “It’s true. You are all in great danger. I can give you the orbital data, and your astronomers can confirm it. Why will you not believe me?”
The colonel sat back a little and exhaled. He continued in a slightly more friendly tone: "All right, Miss Space Alien. Let's say I do believe all that for now. Let's say I have lost my flipping mind and I believe you. I have one remaining question. Answer this one correctly and we'll all feel a whole lot more like believing the rest of it.” He leaned forward again. “Tell me: where is that escape pod?"
"I did tell you, sir. I burned it. It was no use any more, and it would have just attracted attention."
"DAMMIT!" He slammed his palms on the desk. Darcy jumped along with the pencil and recorder on the table. "All right, Miss Whoever. Jennings, take her back to the holding cell. Gentlemen, let's consider this...."
As the guards shut the door behind her, Darcy heard the large colonel say "...have to send her to Washington and...."
In fact, Colonel Arthur was well beyond unhappy. His team had successfully found the needle in the haystack--that part of the exercise had been textbook-perfect. The problem was the needle didn't look like a terrorist or a space monster. It looked like an underfed beach bunny, which was vastly less satisfying—embarrassing, in fact, which was worse. It would be hard to brag about at the Officers’ Club, having captured Gidget from outer space, if that’s where she was really from. No, this was looking like trouble....
Granted, she seemed to know more about orbital mechanics than the average surfer chick was likely to know. That astronomer guy had identified her with no problem, her fingerprint check was negative, and no one in the area around Fort Davis recognized her. Wherever she was from, it wasn't from that local area. The whole exercise could have been written off as a training event, except for one big problem: three radars had unquestionably tracked a piloted vessel landing out there, one that had changed course. Even NASA didn't have anything that could do that, except for the Space Shuttle. And NASA could account for all of their shuttles. What was more aggravating, the little surfer kid explained every course adjustment. How could a hoaxer or a wacko arrange that?
Dammit, anyway! Well, that really wasn’t in his duty description. He'd gladly pass her to Washington to sweat her. The Fibbies could have a field day, and the CIA to boot. Maybe they'd send her to Gitmo and let the dungeon masters have at her. He was pretty sure they didn't get many cute little blonde prisoners down there. When in doubt, delegate! It had always worked before.
The holding cell was tiny, about as wide as she was tall and twice as long. The walls were hard painted blocks and the small sink and toilet were bare stainless steel. The only window was a small one in the metal door. The door had a narrow slot in it, probably for food trays, she remembered from some movie or other. Despite having lived what seemed like eons in a small facility on the moon, she was getting claustrophobia. Hleo had gloated to her that these people were not above torturing prisoners. It hadn’t seemed that significant when he said it to her on the moon, but now, when she was in their power, helpless and ignorant of her status, she could feel fear surging in her heart.
She hadn’t behaved well in that interrogation, but then she hadn’t anticipated being so frightened. The team questioning her seemed to prefer intimidation to information, as if putting her under duress would yield better answers. That should not have bothered her, but it had. She had grown up in the middle of all sorts of conflict—only no one back home would have dared to humiliate her, as these men had when they forced her to trade her beloved flight suit for a rough orange prisoner uniform. She had been without human contact for a long time, after all, and now to be suddenly held captive by large, rude, strangely behaving people was extremely upsetting. She was a chief’s daughter! At least her family would never know. She was ashamed of herself. She swore to herself it would never happen again.
At the moment, though, the air in the little cell was stale and dank, the single overhead light dim. On the point of panic, she mashed the intercom button and asked in a shaky voice if she could please have a little air. In an accent she could barely understand, a rough voice said, "Jes' a minit." She waited on the hard bunk, her hands clasped between her knees, concentrating on breathing slowly.
A few minutes later, a key clanked in the door, it swung open, and two more huge armed persons escorted her down a hallway. Like all the others, they too moved as if in slow motion. After a short walk down a hall and several turns, they paused and one unlocked a door, motioning her through. “Thirty minutes,” the taller of them growled. The other one lit a cigarette.
She found herself in a paved yard between two wings of the building she'd been in. Grateful almost to tears for the air and light, she automatically looked up at the sky. There was a clunk behind her as the door was closed.
She was alone! She was outside! True, the end of the breezeway was closed off by a stout chain link fence nearly three times taller than she was, and there were several nasty looking coils of razor wire across the top of it. But she was alone! She could breathe!
Outside the chain link she saw what looked like a residential street, with rows of stately houses facing each other across a wide grass median. Far down the street, a building with a cross on top could be seen. Beyond loomed a mountain, and above it all was the sky, a deepening blue.
"This has to be a military base," she guessed. She paced back and forth a few minutes, surreptitiously checking the windows in the two facing wings to see who was looking her way--no one, apparently. After all, it was Sunday. She hadn’t seen many people since the helicopter had brought her here. She paced and swung her arms and did some hamstring stretches. She could not visualize herself returning to that cell and undergoing more interrogation, or worse. She continued pacing and stretching and studying her surroundings. There were still no faces in the windows. An idea began to form amid the confused clutter of her mind.
"Well, what's the worst that could happen?" she muttered. She walked back to a corner near the door she had exited from, turned and studied the expanse of chain link opposite. She checked the windows again—still no faces anywhere—took two deep breaths and began running diagonally towards the fence at the other end. About two thirds of the way across, she took several long steps and jumped for all she was worth at a second story window ledge. She landed on it just about right, legs bent, and pushed off hard at an up angle. Clearing the razor wire by a bare handspan, she flipped over in midair and fell on the opposite side, rolling over twice.
Nothing felt broken. Without checking for scrapes and abrasions, she took off running toward the houses across the street. There were no sirens or cries of alarm from behind her. There were no cars on the street.
She made it into the alley behind the left row of houses. Slowing to a quick trot, she passed six or eight houses until she noticed one with laundry hanging near the back fence. Three minutes behind a bush provided her with a slightly large pair of blue shorts and a yellow t-shirt. Leaving her orange prisoner suit in a dumpster, she resumed running down the alley toward the mountain.
So far she had acted on instinct, but she needed a plan of some kind—any kind. More than anything, she needed some peace and quiet and time to think. There was only one person on the entire planet who might be able to help her. But how could she get to her?
Clearly, right was uphill and left was downhill--the mountain descended to a valley on her left. The sun had dropped behind the mountain in front of her. That would be west. She needed to go back the opposite way--east. But to get east she'd need to start by going to her left, south, paralleling the mountain. Surely that’s where the main roads would be, in the valley. Roads meant transportation. She jogged down the row of big houses, noticing a road leaving the base ahead to her left. Would there be a guard there to stop her? She trotted up to the cross street, turned left, and jogged off base, waving at the guard in the booth. The guard waved back.
The road became a major commercial street, with considerable traffic. She cut over two blocks and continued in the same direction on a residential street. At one intersection she found a ball cap in the street by the curb. She picked it up, beat the dust out of it, and put it on, tucking her hair up underneath. It said “Miners” in blue letters. She resumed running.
Still no sirens, no helicopters, no signs of alarm. An hour or so brought her to what was obviously a major highway, with a huge overpass over the intersection she was approaching. That looked promising. She turned left, which should be east, and kept jogging. Finally, a highway sign high overhead gave her the best news she could have asked for: "IH 10, Dallas, San Antonio." It was just like MapQuest said! Wouldn't they be amazed to know they had had a customer on the moon?
She kept running. It felt wonderful.
9
She must have run along the access road for nearly three hours, or from time to time a block or two over from it, wherever passage was simplest. There were a few other people jogging too, all as randomly dressed as she was. No one paid her any attention.
The air was noticeably drier than it had been at the Delbosque house. She stopped for water several times: once, cupping up water from a sprinkler system at a grassy patch in front of a house, another time inside a mall, at a water fountain, and once at a gas station, where, despite seeing several cars and trucks being refueled, a means of arranging her own transportation did not present itself.
Running still felt wonderful, but not quite as wonderful as it had earlier. Daylight was fading. Lights were appearing on vehicles and on buildings. Far ahead she could see the lights along the highway begin to thin out as the interstate left the populated area and headed into the desert. That could be a problem. She couldn’t run much longer, and especially not into the desert at night.
Cresting a low hill, she saw in the distance a string of yellowish lights along both sides of the interstate and a sign announcing "Rest Stop 1 Mile." A break wouldn't be a bad idea at all. The rest stop consisted of several small buildings at the center of a long pull-off area. Three vehicles were parked along the curb. She walked past the first, a low, sleek car with intricate lacy designs painted all over it. The windows of the car were dark and it appeared deserted.
The nearest building contained lighted soft drink machines behind a cage and a water fountain where she took a long drink. The building that most interested her was the second. A sign said "Women" at one end. She went in gladly.
When she came out, with her hair freshly arranged under her ball cap, she noticed the car she had passed had moved in front of the restroom building. A man was lounging against the fender, looking at her. He was youngish, had on a shiny vest of some kind, and his crossed arms sported a number of large tattoos. He was smiling.
"Orale, mamacita!" he said. "You looking for a party, maybe? I know where we can find a real pachanga, what do you say?"
"No, thanks," she said, wringing her hands in front of her and getting ready to dart away.
A pair of arms wrapped around her from behind, young muscular arms with even more tattoos. A voice close to her ear said "Hey, mami, you see the party, maybe you change you mind, ¿que no? You think so, Rico?" A bristly cheek rubbed against her neck.
The other man drawled "Yeah. I think maybe so. I think maybe we should at least give her the chance." He eased off the fender of the car, flipped his cigarette onto the ground, and walked casually up to her, not stopping until he was close enough she could see his beard stubble despite the darkness. He was still smiling but his eyes were cold. "Yeah, I think maybe we should. She might have a real good time."
"Dammit to hell, Jenkins! I don't want to hear this! People don't just disappear! Jenkins, your ass is grass if you don't find that prisoner. You'll be on report until your grandkids die of old age! Find her! FIND HER, goddammit!" Colonel Arthur was redder than anyone had ever seen him. Staff were hiding behind consoles and aides were backing out doors. Half the pictures on his desk were turned over from the pounding he'd given it. He had spluttered so much he needed a handkerchief to wipe his face.
"Sparks! Call base security, call the El Paso PD, call the Border Patrol, get some choppers up. Christ, call Homeland Security. Yesterday, Sparks! Oh, my broken ass..."
He glared at Jenkins. "You let her out in the breezeway alone? ALONE?"
"Well, sir, regs allow juveniles unsupervised detention outside. She was in a juvenile holding cell...."
"Regulations? Juveniles?? I got your regulations, Jenkins! Goddam Barbie's baby sister from outer space is in our custody and you let her get away! If the mother ship beamed her up, you better pray they get you next! Find her, goddammit, find her!"
His voice tapered to a whisper as he looked down at the wreckage on his desk: "Oh, fuck me. This is it. Oh, fuck me."
Matt didn't get reimbursed for his hamburger--Crusty said he'd have had to eat, anyway--but he did get mileage, at least. The story got filed, but dammit, it was only of the "mysterious happenings in the mountains" genre at best. The readers of the paper were never surprised to hear about the government running wild and not telling anybody anything. Not even the local law enforcement community seemed to know anything. Maybe someone would call in a tip that he could pursue, but for now he couldn’t do any more. Still, it nagged him. Illegal aliens were common in the area, so what was so special about a small blonde woman? Who raised the alarm? What had happened to her? He'd continue to make a few inquiries, but he didn't hold out much hope for the story.
His weekend was pretty much shot--the price of glory for being a newspaper sleuth, he reckoned. There was still time to make the Sunday buffet at the Sirloin Warehouse. After that, there was always television, a book, or maybe a visit to the gym. Tomorrow the preparation for the winter livestock show began. He was paying the price, but there was precious little sign of glory.
Ofelia Delbosque's children were heartbroken to realize that their fun guest had disappeared. The twins were especially downcast. "Mama, you think La Migra got Darcy?" asked Maria.
"I don't know. Maybe so, mija," said Mrs. Delbosque. "The helicopters are gone también. Maybe they took her."
Jerry's sniffling added to Clara's and Maria's. Their mother changed the subject. "Look, mijos, mañana es un school day. You gotta get to bed or you won't wanna get up at all. Everyone take a bath and go to bed, ahorita pronto!"
It had been a little awkward having a guest in the crowded house over the weekend, but during the week, after Luisa went back to the university, there would have been plenty of room. Darcy had been such a good guest, not like the big shot tourists that came to the dude ranch. They were always tearing around on horses or four wheelers and treating her husband like a servant if they noticed him at all. Darcy had actually helped her fold laundry. She wished her well, wherever La Migra took her.
10