by Bob Mauldin
“How many times do we have to tell you people? We have no idea where Ted is. And why do you want him, anyway?” the obviously distraught woman cried.
Affecting the fatherly demeanor that usually helped when he needed to calm one of his parishioners, Father Timothy said, “Ma’am, we aren’t lookin’ to do the boy any harm. And who might have been here before us?”
“Who? How about first we had the police at our door, then there was that newspaperman from Billings, the FBI was here, the military, Federal Marshalls, and I don’t know who else. We’ve had our phone bugged and our house under surveillance, and we get followed everywhere we go. I guess they think Ted or Alice will contact us sooner or later. Who are you?”
“I’m Father Timothy Jeffers, ma’am, and this is my brother, Doctor Brian Jeffers. I give you my word that we’re not associated with any of the people who’ve been here before.”
Ted’s mother was the one to hit the nail on the head. “So how did you get our address then?”
“Ma’am,” the priest said, “we are... associated with a friend of Ted’s. He told us to look Ted up if there was... trouble.”
Ted’s father chose that moment to join the conversation. “Listen, mister, or Father, or whatever. We don’t know where Ted is. He and the kids and his wife seem to have disappeared, and we aren’t happy about it, even less happy than the government agencies that keep showing up here. We’ve told them everything we know in hopes of finding them. They have the best chance, after all, with all their manpower. We’ve told them about our lake cabin, his favorite hangouts, even his friends—a large number of whom seem to have disappeared, too. Personally, I think they’ve gotten themselves involved with some kind of cult.”
“Harry, some of those people said he was working with that bunch of space people we’ve been seeing on TV, remember?”
“Yes, Glenda, I know. But Ted’s too smart to fall for that nonsense. I can’t see anybody falling for it for long. It has to be some kind of scam.” Turning back to the two men at his door, the elder Brandt said, “And I sure as hell don’t want to get involved with the kind of things that trouble a priest! Just go away and leave us alone. We have enough problems of our own right now, and you’re upsetting my wife.”
“I’m having trouble with the coincidence here,” Brian said on the way back to their motel. “First Simon and Daniels get arrested, then we find out that one of the two people we’re supposed to contact is in hiding from our own government. All of a sudden, this adventure doesn’t seem like so much fun.”
“I’m not too happy myself,” Father Timothy said. “We either get through to Collier’s parents, or we have to wait until the first embassy opens since we don’t stand much chance of intercepting any of Simon’s people. I’m hoping a more direct approach to the Colliers might work.”
“Mr. Collier, I’d like five minutes of your time to tell you a story. If at the end of that time, you tell us to leave, we’ll leave instantly and you won’t see us again. You have my word.” Brian spoke first and waited for a response.
“Five minutes, huh? By the clock, Mr. Jeffers. And a word of warning—your ‘story’ will have to be a real beaut to get past five minutes.” The elder Collier, grey-haired and pony-tailed, made a point of setting a digital alarm. “You may begin.”
“My name is Brian Jeffers, and this is my brother, Timothy. He’s a priest who runs a rescue mission in Washington, D.C. I help out there when I can. About two weeks ago we met two very interesting individuals...”
“Interesting story, gentlemen, but I’d really need proof, and I can’t see you coming up with that.” The old hippie sat back in his chair long after the five-minute deadline had passed. “Besides, I still haven’t said that I know how to get in touch with Jim or Babs or that I believe they could be connected with this Alliance of yours.”
“I think I have something your son would recognize, even if you wouldn’t, sir,” Brian said. “You give it to him and let him decide if we’re worth the risk. Here’s our number at the motel. And here’s the proof.”
In a move almost as old as firearms themselves, Brian reached into his coat and pulled the laser pistol out. The elder Collier’s eyes started to widen in alarm, but the expression turned to one of wonder when Brian handed the weapon to him butt-first. “That, Mr. Collier, is a working laser pistol. We don’t know how much of a charge it has left, but go ahead and prove it to yourself. Is there anything in this room you’d like to see gone?”
“I’ll go along with the gag. That old doorstop over there.” Collier aimed the gun at a small cast-iron cow beside the door. “Always did hate that thing. Okay, how do you fire it?”
“Just tighten your grip. No recoil. Hope you’re serious about the cow.”
The old man’s expression said, “Yeah, right,” better than words could ever do as he re-sighted on the doorstop. Two seconds later it had changed to one of stunned amazement.
Father Timothy stood up. “Mr. Collier, quite a few people’s destinies are now literally in your hands. I know you don’t want the responsibility, but you have it nonetheless. If you do as we ask, lives will change, and if you don’t do as we ask, other lives will change. We deeply regret laying this at your feet, but if you can believe our story, you’ll see that we had no choice. We’ll wait for a call. But please impress on everyone involved that time is truly critical. If Simon gets moved out of state before someone up there knows he’s here, he could be kept hidden forever. Once he’s proved to be alive, he can be rescued. But first, word needs to reach the Alliance. Thank you for listening, sir. Keep the gun to show to your son, if you see him. Good evening.”
The priest sputtered angrily, “What were you doing with that gun, Brian?”
“What? Don’t be stupid, big brother. Roland gave it to me so we’d have the proof we need. He had Simon, and we needed the gun. Besides, you know I’ve had it ever since they arrested Roland and Simon.”
“You’re right. But with everything going on, I forgot, and it caught me by surprise.”
“Besides,” Brian said, “Roland said to use it this way. You did good to pick up on leaving it there. Now it’s out of our hands, too. If we get caught, nobody gets the technology. That’s another reason he gave it to me. And he was proved right, wasn’t he?”
The priest shrugged. “It would appear that Agent Daniels knew what he was doing.” He leaned over the table and brushed the remains of dinner aside. “But I hate waiting. So, what’s next? If I’m going on telephone duty, I need reading material.”
“No problem, Timmy. I saw a used bookstore about a block down. But if we got Collier convinced, I’m betting you won’t get very far into a book before we’re moving. Tomorrow will have to do, though,” Brian said as he looked at his watch. “No reputable bookstore will be open this late.”
“Come on, Timmy, rise and shine!” Brian walked into the motel room accompanied by several hundred pounds of very bright sunshine and the sound of the door hitting the wall. “I brought a newspaper, and it’s time to go get breakfast.”
“Okay, okay,” groused the priest. “I never was very fond of cheerful early risers when I was growing up, and they’re even more irritating now. How are things going down the street?” he asked, referring to the police station where they’d last seen Simon and Daniels being unloaded.
“So far, there doesn’t seem to be any more traffic than usual... although I wouldn’t know what’s ‘usual’ for a police station.”
The two brothers spent the day taking turns waiting for the phone to ring. Boredom-prevention techniques included watching anemic television, reading, and getting outside the four walls for a while.
The newspaper brought them no closer to answers, of course, but it did leave them with more questions. The smaller headlines of interest to the two brothers varied wildly from stories about FBI agents searching the Metro area for “suspected terrorists,” a pro-Alliance editorial, letters to the editor both pro and con,
an article in what was apparently a series by a Ted Kammerman of the Billings Gazette, now being picked up by the Associated Press and United Press International, pointing out the correlation between the large number of missing persons from Denver and surrounding areas and a significant number of missing scientists from back East, and the revelation of some of the names of Alliance personnel, most of whom had ties to the Denver area in one way or another. One article mentioned the U.S. Government probe into the whereabouts of the two “terrorists.” Another quoted a local astronomer saying that there were now five ships in orbit, and another talked about a shuttle launch to the International Space Station that would have the Discovery passing almost directly beneath the five orbiting objects.
It was getting outside that proved most effective for the two brothers. Evening saw Brian walking back into the room after an unusually long absence, and the look on his brother’s face made him ask, “Still no word, huh?”
Timothy shook his head. “Not a word. What took you so long?”
“Oh, I took a walk down to the station to see what was going on. There seems to be a little more traffic than yesterday. All unmarked cars.”
As Timothy looked away from the TV screen, Brian put a finger to his lips in a shushing motion and handed him a much-folded piece of paper. Opening it, he found two things—that the handwriting was very unlike Brian’s and that there was a small hand-drawn map attached to the main note. Glancing at the map, he detached it and set it aside. The body of the note read like something out of a cheap thriller.
“You’re being followed,” the note said. “It’s possible that your room is bugged. Read this note, then destroy it.”
Turning the paper over, he read instructions for a meeting, although with whom was not clearly stated. They were to drive so far north on such and such street, turn right, go so far, turn left, etc. The final destination appeared to be about a mile from the motel. Arrival time was to be 8 p.m., and they were to “make sure the priest drives.”
Timothy got up, went into the bathroom, and before closing the door, made tearing motions at Brian, who just nodded.
“Just some guy!” Brian said defensively when pressed again about where the note had come from. “I was in the bookstore, and he asked me if I was Jeffers and then handed me the note. By the time I knew what it was, he’d gone. And I didn’t know I was going to be quizzed like this!”
“Well, the note was right about one thing—we’re being followed by a beat-up old Ford,” Timothy said. “But whoever wrote that note knows that and still gave directions and a time, so what next?”
“‘Next’ is a right at the next corner and pull over on the right. And the Ford just broke down. See the lights keep dimming? And it’s blocking the street, too.”
Timothy pulled the car up to the curb just outside the circle of light thrown by the corner streetlamp, and as he was shutting the unfamiliar vehicle down, the passenger door opened.
“You guys the Jeffers brothers?” a gruff voice demanded out of the darkness.
“Yes, we are,” Brian answered. “Are you the man we’re supposed to meet?”
“You Brian?” the man demanded.
“Yes, I am,” Brian said testily. “Why?”
“You need to go back to the bookstore and ask for a first edition of An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge by Ambrose Bierce. And I’m just your stand-in.”
“My stand-in for what?”
“For the merry little chase we’re about to lead the Feds on.”
With a dismissive wave of his hand, Timothy said, “That’s not necessary. Their attempt at camouflage backfired. They were in an old Ford and it broke down a little ways back.”
“Shows what you know, Father.” The man slid into the seat vacated by Brian. “That was our car acting as a blocker. Now drive before they get past.”
“I thought we were both going to see Collier,” Timothy said. “I don’t like splitting up like this.”
“Can’t be helped. You both know the same things, according to the colonel, so you and I will make the Feds think what we want them to. You hungry? I know a decent place, and we won’t have to worry about traffic. Turn left at the next light.”
As the sedan moved through the intersection, Timothy saw that the man bore a striking resemblance to Brian and was dressed essentially the same. When he commented on this coincidence to the man sitting beside him, the response was, “The colonel started looking for ringers for you two. He found me first, and we had to move fast to get me in place.”
“Wait a minute here. I’ve got all kinds of questions. Who’s this ‘colonel?’ And how did Brian get the note? Who are you? And... I don’t know.”
“I’ll tell ya what I can over dinner, which is on me, by the way,” the man said conversationally as they trolled through the parking lot toward the restaurant. “Turn in right up here. As for who I am… since I’m supposed to be your brother, call me Brian. Let the rest wait until we get settled.” He stopped long enough in the lobby to make a quick phone call that seemed to consist of just the name of the restaurant. “Now we’ll have another car on us when we leave so we can switch back. So, why don’t you answer a question for me? How is your brother going to get Captain Grimes to believe him?”
“He’s going to ask her a question,” Timothy said. “Something about one of her teachers, I believe. We have no idea what it means. ‘Have you thanked Professor Weston, lately?’ is what we’re supposed to say.”
In a portion of Brian’s life that had surprises thrown at him almost daily, this day looked like it was going to take the award. It had seemed like one continual surprise from the time he’d entered the bookstore until now.
First, the dark and musty bookstore made him think of the proprietor as some wizened little old man with glasses perched on his nose, and what he found at the back of the overflowing maze was a sweet young thing of no more than twenty.
Second, when he asked for a first edition of Ambrose Bierce’s An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge, her eyebrows made a serious attempt to connect with her hairline. He’d never heard of Ambrose Bierce and had no idea why an “occurrence” at a place called Owl Creek Bridge should have any relevance to anything.
Third, she immediately began to lead him farther back into the dark warren of the store. He was momentarily blinded when she stopped in front of and then opened a narrow door between the floor-to-ceiling shelves. The light that enveloped him was florescent and of almost daylight intensity, coming from a thoroughly modern room. Chrome, glass and leather seemed to predominate.
Fourth, she led him into the room and picked up a small disk from among several laying on a side table. Handing the disk to him, she pushed a button on the wristband he hadn’t known she was wearing.
The room fading out around him seemed like some special effect in a movie. And the fading in of a totally new scene—a metal-walled room with a console off to one side manned by a youngish man in a black shirt—also surprised him just a bit. Brian lost track of the surprise numbers as he realized that the black shirt was part of a uniform, and that he’d seen pictures of that same uniform on television.
“Uh, exactly where are we?” he asked the young woman who’d taken his wrist and was pulling him away from a hexagonal spot marked on the floor.
She plucked the disk from his unresponsive hand and said, “We’re aboard the Galileo, sir, and you’re here to see Captain Grimes, aren’t you?”
“Well, y-yes,” he stuttered. “But I didn’t expect...”
The woman laughed. Somehow, Brian felt it wasn’t so much at him as it was at his response, so he didn’t take offense. “I have to get back down. Someone has to run the bookstore. It’s been nice to meet you, sir.” To the man at the console she said, “Could you call an escort for this gentleman, Crewman, and send me back to my original position?”
Brian watched as she walked back into one of the four hexes on the floor and disappeared in a cloud of blue sparks.
His eyes were drawn to the ceiling as a faint glow vanished and he noticed four corresponding hexes there. Brian closed his mouth with an almost audible snap and came back to some level of reality when heard the man at the console say, “Sir? Your escort will be here shortly.”
“Uh, thank you, uh...”
“Crewman Jakes, sir.”
“Uh, yes, Crewman Jakes. Can I ask you a question, Crewman?” Brian asked.
“As long as it doesn’t violate security. That’s something they’ve been pushing pretty hard around here lately.”
“How long have you been aboard?”
“About two weeks, sir. I volunteered right after... you know, Camp David.” Brian could hear a capital “v” in the young man’s voice.
“How do you like it here?”
“It’s not what I expected, sir. I mean it is a spaceship and all, but we aren’t doing anything really different yet, you know? I mean we don’t go flying from planet to planet, or meeting aliens, or anything, like in the movies. We’re supposed to leave orbit soon and go build a fourth space dock in the asteroid belt. I’m already learning to be a CP driver. That’s a construction pod. Once a part of a dock has been built here on the Galileo, I get to move it into place and lock it down. Now, that’s cool! I’ve already been outside in one, just to learn how to maneuver, ya know?”
Brian could hear the excitement building in the crewman’s voice as he told of the experience.
They were interrupted by the arrival of another member of the crew entering the room.
“Dr. Jeffers? Would you come with me, please?” Brian noticed a patch on the left shoulder of the newcomer’s uniform that said “Mamba Pilot.” Also in evidence was the laser pistol strapped to the man’s waist. If he hadn’t held one in his hands himself, he never would have known exactly what kind of weapon it was.
