by Jim Laughter
"Keep the faith,” Harry whispered to a shocked Keith. "Keep the faith."
CHAPTER 16
Delmar avoided the regular shipping lanes as much as possible and worked his way along his calculated flight path. He really wasn’t sure why he was doing this. He had no clear evidence that he’d be successful. He just knew if he didn’t take the risk now, he’d regret it for the rest of his life.
The entries from his mother’s diaries rang continuously in his mind and haunted his dreams at night. He just couldn’t accept the fact that his father was dead. And if he were dead, he wanted to know why, when, and where it had happened.
The information in the old diaries detailed a mission his father had been on with the Watcher Service. He had apparently been dispatched with a team of Watchers to a planet on an outer spiral rim of the galaxy. His mother had listed it as Sol-3, a barbaric planet of military aggression and religious strife.
However, according to the diaries, his father had been excited about the assignment. He had told his wife that although Sol-3 was still barbaric and barely post-industrial, it was a fascinating planet with tremendous potential. He was sure Sol-3 had been a seed planet many millennia ago, and he was anxious to explore the possibility of initiating the planet for entry into the Axia. Of course, there was no way he could know he would die there.
Also according to the diaries, his father had been undergoing intensive language skills training in preparation for his assignment on Sol-3. He had been trained to speak, read, and write over a dozen of the most prominent languages on the planet. Although his mother hadn’t recorded exact details, she knew John would be posing as a linguistics professor at a major university in a city called Boston on the easternmost seaboard of one of their major continents. The university was called Harvard.
Delmar was pretty sure he had made his way to the right sector of space. Now he just had to narrow his search to find the elusive star.
“I’m close,” Delmar said to himself. “I only hope I can find the right system.” He poured over the old charts again.
“It’s supposed be a yellow star of medium intensity with nine or ten planets and a number of orbiting moons,” he mumbled.
According to the charts, there were only a dozen or so stars in this sector that fit the description.
I must be out of my mind doing this.
While pondering his situation, Delmar’s thoughts returned to Panay and to the love he’d probably never see again – Abby. He was sure by now the authorities looking for him would think he had gone to see her, but they would be wrong. He knew Robert would contact Stan and Leatha, so he envisioned them streaking through space in the Aurora looking for him, fully expecting to either catch up to him, or to find him on the surface of Panay. Either way, they’d be sorely disappointed when neither panned out.
And what about Dad Hassel? What was he doing, and how was he feeling? Delmar was sure the old man’s heart was broken by this sudden turn of events. And his heart wrenched when he thought of the devastation Agnes would suffer when she found out her adopted son was a thief. He wished now that he’d talked his plan over with Robert. But the truth was, there really wasn’t a plan. He had made his decision to take the old patroller after reading the note under the console. That seemed so long ago.
Delmar looked out through the front windows of the DayStar. The starfield seemed to shift patterns the farther he traveled into the outer rim. New constellations took shape, star patterns he’d never seen before. The Milky Way even seemed to change shape and he could see other galaxies millions of light years away. He wondered what mysteries awaited them out there; mysteries he would probably never experience except as a prisoner on a penal planet somewhere.
It didn’t take long for Delmar to examine the ancient star charts he had pilfered from several of the derelict ships in the Jasper Station boneyard. Using common reference points and triangulating the constellations as he knew them, he set a new course toward a yellow star he hoped was his destination.
“This is a longshot,” Delmar spoke aloud to no one who would ever hear him. He checked his weakening power supply and noted that he was down to one-third energy reserves.
“If this doesn’t work, I’m going to be out here for a long time,” he said aloud again. He didn’t really know why he was talking out loud. It just felt good to hear a voice again, even if it was his own.
Reaching with his left hand, Delmar spun the axis ball to vector onto his new course. Then with calculated caution, he advanced the throttle bar with his right hand and watched the starfield shift and shimmer as the DayStar gathered her legs for what would hopefully be the last leg of this journey, and the first step in the search for his father. He only hoped it would not be the first step to the end of his career.
∞∞∞
"I got it!" Keith cried out from his place in front of the computer. “I found him!”
Darrel, hearing the outburst, stuck his head into the computer room.
"What?" he asked, looking at his friend surrounded by piles of documents.
"I’ve identified our missing man!" Keith said excitedly. The picture of a male individual in an Axia uniform appeared on the screen.
"You don’t say."
"Now we just have to find him!"
"Hey, Avar!" Keith called to another man in the main room. "Tie me into the main search database!"
"Just a minute.”
"What's this entail?" Darrel asked while people behind him in the main room scurried around.
"First, we'll crosslink this with his known alias,” Keith replied. "Then if that doesn't work, we'll run a sneak program into the main information systems of the government to look for a match."
"I hate to bring this up, but what if he's dead?" Darrel asked. "It has been fifteen years."
"That will come up in our wider search,” Keith answered, losing none of his elation. "We can even tie into the national database for death certificates and obituaries."
"Got your tie-in, Keith,” Avar said. Keith spun around and started hammering the keyboard.
"Wherever you are, John Eagleman,” he said to the face now appearing in an inset on the screen while Keith started pulling up files. "I'm going to find you!"
∞∞∞
It had been a long couple of days since Delmar had last seen any indications of Axia ships. Progress had been good, and for the time being, he was able to relax a bit and enjoy the trip. The DayStar seemed to be running better. At least nothing more had broken.
Taking a break from holding the DayStar on course, Delmar set the ship on a vector that would take advantage of its natural tendency to drift and got up to fix himself a snack. Trying once again to get something besides bread and tomato juice out of the errant machine, he punched the controls of the synthesizer. His concentration was broken by the beep of the comm system as it registered an incoming signal. Sprinting for the control seat, he strapped in and hit the receive button on the comm.
A burst of static assaulted Delmar's ears while he madly tried to readjust the comm receiver to pick up a clear signal. The speaker went silent for a moment.
“Freighter Robin Murrin calling any nearby vessel,” the speaker suddenly squawked and then lapsed into silence. Delmar waited anxiously.
“...having difficulty. …have experienced hull bree... …request assistan…” the broken signal said and then faded.
Delmar listened intently and activated the range finder on the comm system. He tied together the subspace comm, detector array, and navigation systems to pinpoint the source of the signal. He knew it would be a drain on the power reserves of the DayStar but he did it anyway.
"Calling any vessel, please respond,” the speaker squawked again. "This is the Robin Murrin. We are in distress and request immediate assistance."
Delmar listened for a response from another ship. Just then, the range finder scrolled out the navigational fix of the Robin Murrin. Surprisingly, it was within one hour flight time at the DayStar's best
speed in her present condition.
Delmar weighed his options while he continued to listen for another ship. He slowed the DayStar to stay close by as his sense of duty overcame his concerns about taking the DayStar to begin with. These people were in trouble and that was a higher priority. He listened to the Robin Murrin broadcast twice more without answer.
The voice on the other end sounded desperate. Delmar reached over and flipped on his transmitter.
"Robin Murrin,” he said into his mic. "This is DayStar. How can I be of assistance?"
"We read you, DayStar,” the voice said with obvious relief. "Weren't sure if we were getting out. We were stopped for a navigational sighting with the drive off when we experienced a hull puncture by some sort of space debris,” the voice continued. "It damaged several systems."
"Any casualties?" Delmar asked.
"Fortunately, none,” the voice answered. "We lost atmospheric integrity, but we had enough time to get suited. Beyond that, we have a dead ship."
"I have a fix on you now,” Delmar said, bringing the DayStar around to the new heading. "I should be there within the hour. Can you hold on?"
"We'll be waiting,” the voice said. "And thank you, DayStar."
"No problem,” Delmar replied, even though he felt it was a lie. Responding to this would lead to several very real problems for him. He knew he’d never finish his impromptu mission, and that he’d probably never find his father.
He also knew helping these people would surely cost him his freedom. But those people are in trouble, Delmar thought. And that’s what matters the most.
Advancing DayStar's throttle, Delmar accelerated toward the location of the Robin Murrin as fast as he dared push the old ship.
"On my way now,” Delmar said into the mic.
CHAPTER 17
Keith and Darrel disembarked from the red-eye flight that had carried them across country to Logan International Airport in Boston, Massachusetts. Keith had decided to use native transportation instead of taking the risk of having a shuttlecraft spirit them to the university. He knew the trip would take several hours longer, but he didn’t want to draw any unnecessary attention to himself and Darrel.
It had been a long flight, and Darrel was uncomfortable traveling under false identification papers, especially with the terrorist threats the airlines had been undergoing lately.
Although Keith had somehow been able to tap into the national fingerprint database and change his information to match the name on his new papers, Darrel was still nervous. The nation was on high terror alert and the one thing he didn’t need to do was try to explain to Homeland Security why he was traveling on falsified documents. He certainly couldn’t tell them his travel partner was an alien from outer space and they were going to Harvard University to look for another one. He was sure he’d never see the light of day again if he told them that.
Then again, some pretty weird people have come out of Harvard.
While Keith cleared through the inbound security screen, Darrel went to the local information booth and acquired a map of Boston. He spread the paper out on a table in the waiting area and tried to locate Harvard University.
The street map made no sense to the man from the west coast. The streets were mixed and jumbled, twisting and turning, and changing names at seemingly unrelated intervals. Darrel was sure a taxi driver could take them on a tourist ride of the city and drive by Harvard several times without them noticing, running his fare up enough to pay for his next house.
Keith joined Darrel at the table and looked over his shoulder at the map.
“Wow!” he exclaimed. “Are we in a maze?”
“I can’t make heads or tails of this thing,” Darrel admitted. “We’ll just have to take a taxi and trust to faith that we get an honest driver.”
Since the men had carried only small duffle bags onto the airplane, there was no need for them to go through the headache of retrieving any luggage from the carrousel. Instead, they pushed their way through the crowd of passengers being met by family, friends, and loved ones. Keith even noticed a tall man wearing a chauffeur’s black uniform holding a sign above his head that had the word ‘Springsteen’ printed in bold black lettering. Keith wondered what a Springsteen was, especially one that would require a liveried chauffeur and a special sign, but he didn’t stop to ask.
Keith and Darrel exited the airport terminal onto the wide breezeway where buses, taxi cabs, and vehicles of every description lined the curb. Security personnel waved cars away from the Unloading Only section when they would stay in one place for too long. The morning sun was still low in the sky, casting a shadow over the sidewalk from the buildings across the breezeway.
People of every description were arriving and leaving the terminal in a seemingly disorganized buzz of excitement. Every person appeared confined to their own little world, paying no attention to the other people around them.
How sad, Keith thought. To be so absorbed in yourself that you don’t have time to say hello or to acknowledge the world around you.
It only took a few minutes for a cab to stop in front of the two men standing on the curb.
“You boyos need a ride?” the taxi driver asked in a deep Irish brogue.
Darrel could tell the man had most likely spent his entire life in the city of Boston. There was hardly any other place in the country where you could have a complete conversation in English and not understand a single word.
“Harvard University?” Darrel asked.
“Ah sure,” the driver answered. “Get’cha there faster than an Irishman runs to a pub after workin’ all day.”
The driver pressed a release button on the door panel of his Ford Crown Victoria cab and the trunk popped open. “Just toss your kit in the boot.”
“Boot?” Keith asked. “What does he mean?”
“I don’t have a clue,” Darrel answered.
“The back of the car!” the driver yelled out the window. “Just throw your bags in the back where I popped open the lid of the boot!”
Darrel saw the trunk of the car standing ajar so he reached over and lifted it the rest of the way up. He threw his duffle bag into the spacious cavern, followed by Keith’s smaller bag. Keith kept his portable computer with him instead of storing it in the “boot” as the man had called it.
Keith opened the right rear passenger door and slid across the seat, ending up behind the driver. Darrel also slipped into the passenger compartment and closed the door, which locked automatically when the driver slammed the gearshift down into drive and jammed his foot down on the gas pedal. The car shot out away from the curb with amazing acceleration, pressing Keith and Darrel back against the seat.
“What’s your hurry?” Keith asked the driver.
“You boys may be a couple of rich college kids returnin’ from a ski trip somewheres, but I work for a livin’,” the driver answered. “Every minute I waste just sittin’ at the curb costs me money.”
Keith was happy the man thought they might be local students. Perhaps he won’t take us on a tour of the city to run up his fare.
“Well sir,” Darrel said. “This may just be your lucky day.”
“And how’s today goin’ to be different from any other day?” the driver asked.
“Because if you don’t give us the run around, and you get us to Harvard before the administration building closes, there will be a good tip in it for you,” Darrel answered.
“Closes?” asked the driver incredulously. “How far away do ya think ya are from Harvard College?”
The driver laughed aloud and spun the steering wheel of the full-sized sedan hard to the right, changing lanes and barely missing a city bus.
“It’s just now seven in the mornin’ ya young dolt,” the driver continued. “Them eggheads ain’t finished their fancy cappuccino coffee yet, much less bein’ ready to quit for the day.”
Keith and Darrel exchanged glances and smiled at the inherent insolence of the driver. Keith didn’t think he sh
ould talk to a paying customer in such a manner if he expected to receive a sizable tip. But Keith didn’t understand that insolence and rudeness is a natural part a Bostonian’s life.
However, it was from this same insolence that only a little over two-hundred and forty years ago, this very community started a revolution that led to this country being set free from a tyrannical monarchy across the Atlantic Ocean. So if Keith and Darrel had to put up with a little rudeness from this fellow, so be it.
The taxi driver made small talk while weaving his way through the streets of Boston, pointing out different points of interest.
This must be his regular routine, thought Darrel, since he obviously believes we’re college students.
At one point, the driver pointed out a familiar bar.
“That’s the place they shot that television show for so long,” the driver said. “I go in there from time to time myself and pull a pint. But guess what?”
“What?” both men asked at the same time.
“They don’t know my name,” the driver said. His eyes sparkled. He’d gotten a running joke over on two college kids.
After only a short while, the taxi pulled onto a main thoroughfare and picked up speed.
“Won’t be long now,” he announced. Neither Keith nor Darrel had any idea where they were.
“That’s great!” Keith answered. “Do you think you can take us directly to the administration building?”
“Sure thing,” the driver answered. “For a good enough tip, I’ll drive you down the hallway and ring the bell for ya.” He then laughed and turned off of Massachusetts Avenue and started making his way through the campus toward the administration building.
The taxi screeched to a stop just outside of the administration building. It was a massive building with an imposing entrance. Keith and Darrel stepped out of the car.
“That will be twenty-three dollars and a sixty-five cents,” the driver said to Keith. “Plus me tip for breaking every traffic law known to man to get ya here quick.”
