

SPACE PIRATES

Copywrite 2019

The following is 100% true and accurate,

at least in my mind. The rest of the world

should probably view what follows as a satirical parody

where all people, places and things may resemble

those of the 'real' world but that is just playful coincidence.

Common institutions, famous people and popular places are

ingrained in our common life experiences and are forever with us

and are used here to help express complex situations accurately.

With that said, please refer to the first line of this statement and

stick with it, no matter what.

ISBN 9780463096222
"When will they (The Government) tell us the truth?

Comment of my friend, Dan "The Man

after watching X-Files one ordinary night.
From the Author...

Decades of study and investigative digging by dozens of dedicated and devoted researchers, legal challenges and lawsuits filed with information gleaned under the Freedom of Information act, private investigations (both legit and questionable) and countless interviews seem to have answered the question of when will the government tell us the truth with at least with some certainty, and that answer seems to be this: NEVER!

The powers entrusted with the facts are so entrenched, and the story is so over-powering and (face it) unbelievable, that the release of the latest information would be just too unbearable and disagreeable for any sane official to be associated with, at least currently. Too many lines have been drawn, too many reputations are at stake, too much previously released information would be contradicted that for now and probably far into the future, the current official policy will prevail.

It is such a beautiful and simple policy that there is no incentive or reason to change it. Confusion and panic might result and bring unknown danger and hardship if the facts were officially made public. Besides, it may not even be the scope of government to make any comment at all, as it may be mostly under the umbrella of 'private affairs.'

The entire subject, and especially the current official policy, will remain locked-down as it is now because there is no comment, guideline, or excepted physical evidence to differ with the official government position. How can that be? Because the official policy is no policy! That is an easy policy to defend. Nothing happened, nobody saw anything, nothing to see here, and if you don't believe it, you're the crazy one! No, they're not going to change that policy anytime soon.

As frustrating and even cruel as this is to researchers and authors or even ordinary enthusiasts, the government may not be to blame. The resources and manpower required to address such inquiries from those people, (us) and the public in general would be overwhelming and expensive. No official in their right mind would dare be the one to open that can of worms, it would be career suicide.

That may be the Government position, but many of the people who are involved, they harbor no such reservations. Beyond concerns of privacy, numerous people have cooperated with complete candor and thoroughness, recalling and regaling gladly all they know. They, and legions of dedicated believers the world over, have made this important and revealing work possible.

First-hand testimony and substantiated facts from at least three unrelated sources build the body of this work and the accuracy can be cited and confirmed at levels that satisfy most current academic standards. All, except certain government-controlled facilities that are mentioned, and the actual 'accident' that begins the story, meet that high standard.

The very beginning of this account involves circumstances and events for which there are no written records to review and no witnesses available to interview. The early interactions of those involved and the actions they took were not conducted with any historical consideration. Therefore, with the help of leading physicists and other scientists, some creative crafting and imagination, guided by the reality supported by later events, and approved on review by the few affected people still left living and available, we (and I) stand by this probable account as at least, plausible.

Even if the beginning presented here is completely wrong, it is fact that something dramatic and overwhelming must have had happened before there was contact with known and deposition writing witnesses. The beginning presented here dovetails nicely with recorded testimony and is believed to be as likely as any scenario that could be presented. The fact is that something did happen, and it looks like, according to a majority of those involved, that it was something much like what is offered here.

From the pen of Reginald Benson Buckwald, Esq.

Time, the taker of life, the finite gift of God, the treasure that reduces, no matter how carefully it is hoarded or spent. It is equal among most in many respects, except for a handful of men and women, who God has blessed with an extra helping of his bounty, for reasons of his own, and under his divine plan. Extra time is a welcome and a fine blessing for those who have found happy and righteous lives, but it can be a burden and dread to the less adjusted. I myself am racked with question and doubt about what it means for God to have positioned me to have the circumstance to which extra time has been heaped upon me. It has happened, and what does it mean? Only God knows.

What it means to me is that I have been exposed to the lifespan of several ordinary men. With that comes a unique perspective. It is a perspective of drastic change, both in the world and in myself. The biggest changes I see is the evolving manner of relationships between human beings. Laws and rights being observed and practiced among men and nations is uplifting and fills the heart with the promise of a future of reasonable discord as opposed to the brutal oppression and control of the past. But it is the changes in myself, of my own outlooks and opinions that I have found most surprising.

Slowly but surely, realms of life controlled by God and magic have fallen to the science side of the ledger. The fantastic things I have seen and that have happened to me, at the time were but a dream in a magic world, but now, that past is known to me as advanced knowledge. I have seen this advancement strikingly in my long life, in not only items of use and splendor, but also in relations between men. The ability to question, to speak one's mind, to have a hand in your own destiny, is an improvement as important as any flying machine or giant ship.

The events chronicled and reported here, in my opinion, reflect a culture and race that advanced the physical aspects of their world dramatically over the eons of time, but neglected their own social advancement. I think this is why God put us in contact with them, to wake them into the 'real' world. They had grown idle in respect to developing their own culture. God seems to frown on idleness.

So, in the name of progression and advancement, I and the others have decided to cooperate fully and completely with this historic project. Many bright and dedicated people have been involved for years, and all the long interviews and endless pondering will be quite worth it for me, as I look forward to reading the finished product. I am especially curious as to what were the conditions that brought them into our path in the first place. I understand that this written beginning may be pure fantasy, but still I welcome it as it will fill a void in my knowledge, with something.

-Mr. Buck

Book one

The universe, vast, expansive, unimaginable in scope and scale for the human mind. The realm, the play set, the building blocks of God, this is the place that we call Space. For example, if we added-up all the grains of sand on all the beaches of the Earth, it wouldn't even come close to the number of galaxies contained in the overwhelming largess of the universe. Even the number of atoms of the Earth, of the solar system, would be only but a small fraction of the number of Gods total creations, of the toys in his toy-box, his warehouses of toil, his storage yards of possessions, and if that isn't vast enough, just consider the micro world, the interlocking of the atoms used in his constructions, the intricate chains of DNA used in his gifts of life, the hard and strict rules of photons, magnetism, gravity and all that is allowed and followed under his divine and merciful oversight and then, only then, can one see that the chances are slight that we of the Earth are the only ones, the chosen ones, the masters, it is a human opinion and an opinion of blatant folly to insist that we are alone. In the universe's vastness are countless other places with just the perfect combination of distance, temperature, photons and magnetosphere where God could have lavishly blessed his awesome gifts of life. With that in mind, the question of other life, of other worlds, is more than just plausible. The reality is that there are others and they may in fact be common. But why then is it not common that these cultures do not overlap? It is a problem of distance. God has kept us segregated in this way for reasons only known to him. But he has left a path, a chance, an opportunity for an upward mobility, a glimpse of what could be, and one race, one culture (at least one) has discovered the secret and this is the story of what happened when they crossed paths with us.
Chapter 1

THE CRASH

A sudden and unexpected jolt and the craft shudders to its very core. Critical systems blink off as they are overwhelmed with a dramatic wave of electromagnetic pulse. With the anti-matter drive system off-line, and reserve power diminishing; this small scout ship is going down! The crew of three are too busy trying to gain control to worry about what will probably be their certain death in just a few short moments. The commander makes a brave, last ditch effort to coax just enough thrust from the engines to avoid being smashed to bits on the blue planet that they had got a glimpse of before losing their visual observation systems as the power of the planet's unyielding gravity pulls them in. With luck, the liquid surface will help break their momentum. But that last burst of energy taxed by the commander will cost them dearly as all the remaining ship's systems shut down, including the artificial atmosphere.

The impact is violent and thrusts the silver-gray colored metallic disk-shaped craft deep into the depths of the brine, but eventually the craft floats back to the liquid surface to be pitched and tossed on the rolling waves under the bright yellow sun. The main hatch bursts open as a final fail-safe to provide the crew a means of escape in this worst-case scenario and the strange mixture of this planet's atmosphere floods in as a violent wave.

The commander, his systems specialist, and their medical technician lay plastered to the floor enduring almost double their accustomed gravity. They lay stunned, as if punched in the throat from the sudden atmospheric pressure change. Their metallic, windowless saucer is now devoid of the colorful displays and projected viewing 'windows' of normal operations, replaced with the featureless, flat, silver-gray floor, curved walls and ceiling that is their craft with its system's off-line.

Bright, yellow sunlight and a steady breeze flood inside from the open hatchway, bathing the three suffering crew members in a dangerous and foreign atmosphere. They gasp and choke as their bodies react to the shocking mixture of the hundreds of foreign elements that are this planet's version of 'sea air.' But they do not immediately die, because, as the medical specialist noticed before her monitoring equipment went off-line, this world is of a high oxygen content, much higher than their home world. As they snap out of the shock and assess their situation, they communicate to each other about what might be the best plan of action. But communicate is nearly all they can do in this high gravity, as even lifting one's head off the floor is almost an impossible task.

Restoring the "assembler" will have to be their top priority, and that will take a herculean effort of manually resetting dozens of circuits and controls located all over the ship. After plans are made and approved by the commander, off they crawl and drag themselves to the various access ports and equipment areas and one by one the necessary steps are taken. Still, it will take them days to complete even the most preliminary of the work and they will almost die of thirst and will be ravished by hunger before the needed power is restored for the assembler which can provide for their urgent needs.

Things don't go as planned; they discover considerable damage to almost every section of their craft. It took seven of this planet's days before they could be refreshed from the bounty of the assembler, and when it came on-line, they are overcome with a strange madness that caused their bellies to go into strange, but not necessarily unpleasant convulsions. The medical officer recognized the condition from her training and reassures everyone that it is not dangerous, just a reaction to prolong shock. But still, it is infectious and even somewhat satisfying and they wondered how one had lived without it before. The commander is quick to clamp down on this "sickness," and with an application of guilt, discipline is restored.

The situation is grim. Only enough power is restored for a few, low power devises at a time. For example, the assembler, which provides subsistence from stock elements, or the medical re-assembler that repairs biological matter, but as for the artificial environment and gravity, that will take weeks of repairs with the small, portable "assembly-assembler."

So begins a structured routine of dragging out the heavy (for them, everything is heavy on this world) equipment and setting it up all over the ship so it can reconstruct a small part of the craft and its sub-assemblies, one area at a time before they go on to the next section and repeat the process. It is the hardest work imaginable for their kind due to the higher than normal gravity and the constant irritation of the foreign breathing air and it is all nearly physically unacceptable- at first. (The medical technician can only _heal_ by returning the body to 'normal,' and has little, if any, relief for the atmospheric and gravitational situation.)

In time, the air proves more tolerable, and due to the nearly doubling of their caloric intake, (the "assembler" scans the body of the user to calculate the correct meal size for current physical output) and with all the extreme physical effort, their wispy bodies are turning into what would be the stuff of body builders on their home planet, if they had them. (They do not.)

It took weeks before they had the strength to sit up, and a solid month before they could stand. When they are finally on their feet, they can operate in a more normal fashion, and objectives start being completed more efficiently. Standing also brings relief from the constant rocking from the wave action of the sea. They are getting their 'sea legs.'

After some time had passed, a violent storm whipped up the sea, and that, plus a scrape with a creature nearly as large as their ship, (a whale?) an emphasis was put on repairing their sensing equipment, and when that is done, they were surprised when they find that they are surrounded by other, smaller creatures circling their ship. The commander launches a probe, and he is shocked when those creatures promptly destroy that probe with their mouths and teeth!

These stranded, shipwrecked beings, even with their advanced training and conditioning, can't help but to find this strange, bizarre world fascinating. Even though the liquid surface appears rather featureless, closer inspection proves it is filled with resources and promise. Their world by contrast is a land of uneventful bleakness in comparison, and after a hard and exhausting day as they lay down to sleep, their imaginations are fired, and they could not help but wonder at what could be.

Sleep is the only complete relief from the high gravity and the taxing, complex situations of these busy days. They each dream without restraint, as their brains sort and file, but they never could have imagined what is soon to cross their path.

In the night, the artificial light of the inside of their spaceship spills out of the open hatch as they float aimlessly on the surface of this vast, liquid world. This light does not go unnoticed. Already another ship is on a heading that brings it near.
Chapter 2

THE PIRATES

Captain William Casey Black stands on the fore deck, and he and Mr. Buck, his righthand man, trade the spyglass back and forth between them.

"What ye make of it, Mr. Buck?"

"Is no fire as I have witness" replied the older and more experienced man.

"Seems Father Brien's prayers have been answered as this may be from somewhere as he would speak" Captain Black said half joking as he signals for his cabin boy, Ping, to fetch their bastardized version of a man of God.

Prayers are nearly all they have as this motley crew, and this dying ship are in dire straits for sure. Overdue for a refit when she was "acquired" and her merchant crew was "dispatched," the Sandylee is more worms than hull. Half of the sickly, malnourished crew are employed manning the pumps at all hours of the day and night, a situation that will not last much longer because of exhaustion or revolt, and probably that will happen before the morn.

"Douse the lamps and not a sound!" Ordered Captain Black. The news of a boarding passes through the ship and raises the spirits of the men. The smiles on their disfigured faces, ravaged by sores and exposure, widen. Those faces disappear into the darkness, as the oil lamps are extinguished one by one. A course is set that will sweep them in silently, and with the moon shrouded by clouds, surprise should be theirs. But as the Sandylee approaches and as this desperate crew, hot for action, go to the rail and get their first good look in the dim light at their quarry, fear spooks them and disbelief fills their simple minds. They size up the strange, plain and simple floating silver-gray circular craft. Its apparently only door is wide open, spilling a glowing yellow light that reflects off the ripples of the calm sea of this fateful night not unlike the gleam of a spilled chest of gold coins.

"It be thee portal to Heaven or thee breech to hell" comments Father Brien.

"Soon we will know which!" Exclaimed the captain, as he began a strange, subdued laugh to himself; just one of many strange quirks that prevail among these desperate men, so close to ruin and insanity. As ghostly and unworldly as their objective seems to be, the assault is on, they have no other options.

On that strange, silver-gray circular floating craft, the three space mariners are sound asleep, exhausted from yet another long day of labor. Sleep, as their only true escape from the high gravity torture, also meant that rising from it is when the force is most overwhelming. It is with annoying rudeness when they are awakened by an alarm from the ship's sensing systems.

The commander receives the details from the equipment; a large mass of bio-matter (some living, but the majority deceased, and much different from the creatures that they had already observed) is closing in slowly, and it floats on the surface, as their craft currently is. Intrigued and curious, the commander walks outside of the control room and into the night air just in time to see the Sandylee drop her last sail and slowly drift towards him until the two crafts bump together, hull to hull. The system's specialist and the medical technician watch their commander from the open hatch, but instinct compels them to remain out of sight.

The boarding party of the Sandylee remained out of sight as well, but a crewman who mans a deck gun loaded with grape shot, he has seen the Space Commander as he became visible in the breaking moonlight. His limbs are thin, and his body is covered in form-fitting attire. The creature is standing on the deck of his strange, metallic floating disk. His oversize head and large, unblinking, insect like eyes, confirm in the pirate's desperate mind that he is certain that he is seeing what could only be the devil himself.

He pulls the cord that drops the hammer that strikes the flint that ignites the powder that discharges the lead balls with a deafening report and the hot metal sweeps through the commander's fragile body, blowing him overboard and into the sea, and to the waiting creatures that circle the ship. The sea boils for several long moments as the sea creatures do their savage work. Soon, the water calms, and the crimson color disperses.

The two space aliens that remain watching from the hatchway are aghast at the horror. But as the sound of that cannon shot rang out, so did the shouts from the raiders as they jump over the rail and swing down from the rigging of their rotten ship. Their mouths are screaming blaring sounds and projecting strong odors as they advance. Most of them display a sword in one hand and pistol in the other. The systems specialist, and the medical technician, both freeze in fear and they are instantly surrounded, but before they could be cut to pieces, Captain Black intervenes.

No, he will not let these two strange creatures be killed just yet, for the Captain can sense their fear, even though the pair look so different from him, or his men, or anything else in this world, with that fear he knows there will be control, and with control, he knows that all they have, and maybe even the world they come from, could be his. His eyes gleam as he ponders these thoughts while he sizes up the pair.

To the pirates, the pair of space mariners seem to be in stunned silence, but they are in fact busy communicating between themselves and the equipment of their ship in a way that is invisible and incomprehensible to the raiders. After the brutality that they had just witnessed, it is no surprise that the plan should be to eliminate these invaders by any means available. But how? If the environmental systems were on-line, perhaps a poison could be formulated and used. If the anti-matter drive system was up and running, they could merely rise in altitude and spill them out of the open hatch with a tilting maneuver. No, the only realistic plan will involve securing the hand weapon, located just to the side of the medical technician's current position. They will have to wait for a diversion, a distraction of some kind.

Captain Black, Mr. Buck, Father Brien and the rest of the men, gape at the strange pair. About four feet tall and humanoid, that is with two legs, two arms and one head. The Captain peers around the backside:

"No tail."

The head is out of proportion to the body (at least by human standards) with those big, unblinking eyes that resemble an insect's that give them a freighting, but otherwise benign appearance. The nose is tiny, the ears are mere openings and the mouth is small and simple. The skin is gray as granite, and they are clothed in some kind of bib overall that resembles something that a baby might be swathed in.

The Captain looks close at the one nearest the wall. He moves very near, and now he is towering over the creature in an act of blatant domination. In a husky voice he declares:

"This one is female, I can tell," which is remarkable because the others can see no physical difference. The Captain spins away from her as if getting away from an ugly pig. He asks a question of Father Brien:

"What do _you_ make of this?"

The pseudo-man of God collects his thoughts, and after clearing his throat, he said:

"I will have to consult scripture to be certain, but what I believe we have here are fallen angels, cast down from Heaven."

The men gasp as Father Brien continues:

"Cast down to _you_ my Captain, to do what you think best and profitable."

The Captain looks satisfied with this answer, but all of the sudden there is crashing and stomping from the direction of the deck of the Sandylee and a female voice is screaming:

"BILLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!"

The disturbance gets closer, and it shouts-out, in a thick, Caribbean accent:

"The ship is a sinking and the men are not a pumping and..."

The woman appeared in the open hatchway, a buxom island beauty in a fancy, but soiled, red ballroom dress, and she is an assault of curves, jewelry and cleavage.

"What da hell is dat?!"

She said this, and all eyes turn to the woman as she points her long, red painted fingernail at the captive pair.

Father Brien, was just about to answer the question from the mistress of his Captain that they are fallen angels, but the words had not time to leave his lips before the presumably "female" captive near the wall moved, and with a touch of her hand, a small rectangle of what appeared to be the solid material of the wall near her dematerializes, and in a flash, she now wielded a device with an extension protruding that hints of some dangerous function. But as she swung its business end towards her captors, her forearm meets the lunging steel of Captain Black's sword.

Completely severed, the limb, still clutching the weapon, bounces off the floor. The "female" space mariner faints dead away, joining her departed limb in a heap at the feet of the Pirate Captain.

Lady Jasmine, the Captain's mistress, joined the others in a few seconds of wide-eyed shock and silence at the spectacle. But the last healthy spaceman jumps into action by springing to the side of his limbless comrade and starts to administer aid. The Captain's men rush in and the creature is surrounded, with pistols at its head, and blade points to its throat. The space creature faces the threat with indifference and tries to continue his ministrations.

Captain Black waves them away and says:

"This one's got some fire in his belly, keep him in your sights men, but let him work."

Lady Jasmine, a woman of many complex personality traits, one of which is she cannot hold her tongue regardless of the situation, blurts out in her thick island accent:

"Look! He wants to save her! He _loves_ her!"

The pirates give the strange, skinny creature some room to work, and he gets right to it. He drags her to a certain spot of the floor and goes to retrieve the arm, and again the pistols and blade tips spring to his face. He is stopped, and the Captain extends his hand in silent gesture. Quick to understand, the spaceman calmly hands Captain Black the weapon, pointing the discharge end carefully away from everyone. The Captain puts it in his belt. The pirate's weapons are once again withdrawn.

The spaceman touches certain areas of the wall in an apparent and precise order, and as a result, a box forms around the limp body of the wounded medical technician made of nothing more than a surging blue-green light. It grows brighter and brighter, until the limp body is not visible, and everyone must shield their eyes and look away. After a moment of this, the process reverses, and after the light had died down, everyone sees the spacewoman waking up with her arm reattached, and with not the slightest hint of wound. Even the long sleeve of her form fitting blouse has been repaired.

Captain Black approaches her, he grabs the newly healed limb and lifts her off the floor with it.

"Amazing!" Is all he can say, and he drops her back down.

Then the Captain, without missing a beat, issues his orders:

"Shackle the prisoners, transfer the stores and the booty from the Sandylee, grab ye personal kits and papers, for this be our new charge."

Within a few hours, the spaceship is crowded with the new passengers and all their gear, including live chickens and even a goat. Barrels and crates fill the rounded interior of the saucer, and the two space mariners find themselves in an iron animal cage, propped up off the floor with timber from the floundering Sandylee.

"Don't let their hands touch anything," was the Captain's orders. Lady Jasmine set up pillows next to the cage and speaks to them softly, but to the space mariners it is all breathy nonsense. But that is about to change.

The ship's equipment is monitoring the speech of the invaders, and already it has started to break the 'code' and the systems have begun to transmit the retrieved data directly to the specially evolved receiving sections in the brains of the currently caged space mariners. Crude versions of what is being said is silently being received and it grows more accurate as time goes on. But the pair have no way of speaking back, at least not in the human sense.

Long ago their race could speak as humans can, but they have evolved a much more efficient communication system apparently involving the radio spectrum, and as a result, language as we know it had been replaced with transmissions filled with pictures, feelings and data, all in one quick blast. That is why the heads are so large, to house those mutations.

Lady Jasmine brings them water and hard biscuits while cooing and coddling as if she has a new pet. She says softly and seductively:

"You will give me your magic, and I will rule the world!"

Then, with her sweetest laugh, she gives them some fruit.

But these space mariners are far from the end of their rope. Their physical adaptations allow them to 'see' through the many sensor arrays fitted throughout the ship, and with their new understanding of the pirate's language, they are aware of events unfolding around them in many ways better than the pirates are, and with that new and growing information base, they sense a rift between some of the crew that is growing into a major problem. That problem is seaman Able Briggs, the man who swept the space commander from off his deck with that cannon load of grape shot.

Mr. Briggs is in a state of weepy despair and refuses rations, even rum! He has worked himself into a condition of deep regret for firing on an angel, even a fallen angel, as he is sure that it will bring doom to everyone, and he has convinced many of the others that this indeed is what will happen. The others are upset to such a degree that there is talk of desertion, even mutiny. Father Brien is unable to ease the situation, and he makes his report to his Captain. Father Brien really doesn't have much sway over the crew, after all, he _is_ a pirate preacher, which is a major contradiction that even these simple crewmen can plainly see.

The Captain, as usual, spends most of his time leaning over the sea at the edge of the deck. Of course, he is deep in thought pondering their situation and their next move but also, he is there with his penis out, trying to empty his bladder, which due to disease, hasn't happened completely in years.

"Oh Lord how it menaces me!" He says to himself under his breath. But he is thinking of a radical way that he might fix that. He is also thinking of what Father Brien had just reported about seaman Able and how that seems to be affecting the crew.

Out here on the deck and under the stars, the Captain has made his sightings, and he can tell they are drifting towards the shipping lanes and he knows that they may be spotted at any time by others which he knows he must prevent if at all possible.

First, he must take care of the uprising. He calls the crew out on deck. They form up with the men in front dropping a knee. The Captain looks over the motley bunch of murders and cut-throats and begins a speech in a friendly tone:

"Men, we been to hell and back, more times den we can count. But now we be get'n a glimpse of heaven and ye become yellow?"

His voice is rising:

"We begin a journey now, which will make us Gods!"

He dials it back some, and then he continues:

"But is no shame to be scared. But this voyage be requiring backbone and heart! So, I be offer'n a deal. Any man whom it pleases, may take the skiff of the Sandylee, a fair portion of stores, an his share of booty, and R free to make way to where ye wish."

The men grumble and murmur among themselves. Captain Black then issues a simple order:

"All men who wish to part, stand to the left, those who wish to stay with me, move to the right."

This really is a lucrative offer. Their foul efforts have wielded a sizable kitty of treasure. Also, there is the fact that there will soon be little good food left, and as it is the beginning of the fair season, the chances of reaching places where they can live like kings, are good. But the deciding factor is the miracle of the fallen angel's magic, and that, as much as anything, casts the final decision for each man. When they witnessed the reattachment of the being's arm, it either filled a man with wonder, or it scared the living shit out of him! It is mostly on this line that the men make up their minds.

Mr. Briggs is first the go to the left. He is followed by about half a dozen more. Then more straggle over until it is about half and half, a dozen or so on each side. The Captain sizes them up and he seems pleased.

"So, this be ye choice. Good and proper! But I would like to say a piece before our good riddance's, and it be about Mr. Briggs."

Captain Black faces Briggs who is nearly sobbing.

"Your torture and pain are plain to see, and quite understandable sir. Fore an angel from Heaven appears to you and you give it fire, and without order!"

Mr. Briggs loses more self-control and weeps deeply.

The Captain continues his speech to Briggs and to all the others as well.

"The weight of that action may never be shed, and only by pleading to God himself, might one ease the burden. Also, the fact that God, without formal explanation of dis action taken, may indeed curse us all in any of many horrible ways."

The men grumble and some seem to know where this is going.

"So, we be have'n need of a spokesman, an ambassador to explain things, so they be no misunderstandings. I ask ye sailor, have ye been baptized?"

Mr. Briggs, sobbing uncontrollably, shakes his head yes.

"Good!" Said the Captain as he pulls the space weapon from his belt and points it at Mr. Briggs. A bright yellow beam vaporizes the seaman, and so surprises Captain Black with its power, that he slips slightly with his footing, bobbles his aim, and all the men on the left disappear in less than a second and all that is left is a row of boots.

The remaining stunned men watch as the wave action, made one boot fall over.

"You mens hade made dee right choice!" Lady Jasmine yelled out as she had been watching from the open hatchway.

Those that remained start laughing, a little at first, then more and more until they are red in the face and slapping their thighs.

"Ping, break out a barrel of rum!" Ordered Captain Black and hoots roar out from his _loyal_ men.

A grand celebration follows, and the spirits soar for the remaining men. After all, their share of the booty had just doubled, and so has the food stocks. Ping, the cabin boy is happy, no mess to clean up after the killing, just kick the boots, with feet still inside, into the water, which made the sharks happy.

A feast is prepared, with the cooking fires lit right on the metallic deck. The space mariners monitor the temperature of the fires through their interfaces with the ship's systems and they know that the hull is in no danger of damage. Also, the pirates have been using the hull as a fine wet stone for their blades.

But Captain Black has something on his mind as he drinks, and when he is fairly hammered, he finds the courage to execute a plan of questionable viability. He calls everyone to order around the iron animal cage containing the "Squishys," (the name the men had coined for the fallen angels) and it is clear that he has something of importance to relate.

The Captain is at the door of the cage, and in an exaggerated prose, he starts talking to the pair inside:

"I"

He said as he points to himself.

"Will let you."

He points to the 'male' Squishy.

"Out"

He jiggles the lock on the door and motions with his arm the door swinging open.

"And you"

He points again to the male.

"Will make the light"

He drew a square with his arm in the exact spot of the floor that the light had appeared before.

"And I"

He points again to himself.

"Will stay inside"

He sits down in the center of the square.

His men gasp and food falls from some mouths. The shrill and angry voice of Lady Jasmine rings out.

"Oh, no you don't, Willy!"

Only Miss Jasmine can get away with calling Captain William Casey Black, "Willy."

"Woman, I can, and I will!" He shouts back.

"What more, you be next!... Mr. Buck, unlock the cage."

Of course, the space mariners didn't need the exaggerated description of the Captain because by this time, they understand the pirates almost fluently through their biological link that they share with the ship's equipment.

With the Captain's men poised to slay the alien if he strays from his task, he starts the procedure. In a moment it is over, and when the light subsides, Captain Black is a new man. His skin is clear, with pox and acne scars gone, bad back and battle injuries, gone! And what's this? He jumps up and runs outside to the water's edge, and down goes his britches,

"Aahhh!"

Force and stream not experienced since boy hood.

When the Captain returns, Lady Jasmine rushes into his arms. She feels his vibrant muscle, and she marvels at his new, smooth, clear skin. She is pleased, and when her hand slips down his gig-line, she acts very pleased indeed. The Captain whispers in her ear:

"Tonight, I'll show you the passion of a God! But first," he spins his lover to the spot on the floor where the magic occurs.

"No Bill, I don't know. Do it hurt?" She asked in a pleading, almost little girl voice.

"To be hurt by the touch of God? NO! It is a miracle!"

The Captain looks to the formerly caged fallen one and it understands his wishes. The procedure is begun. Again, the light does its magic, and what was an attractive lady, reappears as a Goddess of desire and grace.

The Captain and Miss Jasmine fall together in a passionate kiss, and in a few hot moments, they are nearly ravaging each other, right then and there!

This is very confusing and mysterious to the space mariners. They find themselves unable to look away. They had _never_ seen anything like _this_ before. Did their species once, a million generations ago, act this way?

Fascinating.

The Captain and his woman pause only long enough for Jasmine to run around grabbing up pillows and blankets, a bowl of fruit, and last, a bottle of strong spirits. She and the Captain slip away to the privacy of the deck outside under the moonlight, but first, he turns to the fallen ones and says while motioning his arms in a big circle:

"You will treat _all_ my men to the miracle."

One by one the men are reborn with zest and vigor long lost or never known before. The only drawback is they return completely sober. But that didn't last, as they drink and drink. Newfound energy turns into shows of strength and wrestling, which turn into fighting, and as injuries result, there is absolute hysteria when it dawns on them that they can just go through the magic process again and be heeled!

The party lasts days for the pirates, but the space mariners, for whom the initial shock of their invasion is being quickly replaced with a new level of clarity, they spend the time pondering bigger issues.
Chapter 3

THE QUESTION

For the two remaining space travelers, witnessing the end of their commander was an eye-opening shock, to say the least. It affected areas of their primordial brain not often (if ever) used in their normal lives. 'Normal' being a rigid structure of toil and duty that one of this specie never thought very deeply about before. In fact, these beings come from a hyper-developed world, where the population is created from facilities similar to the medical re-constructor, (The devise just used on the Pirates) but on their home planet, the technology is used on an industrial scale, and more unusual then that, they are created in an adult and educated condition.

Eons of manipulated genetics have produced intelligence and efficiency, while emotion and sexual desire have been virtually eliminated. Even their genitalia are so small, that it takes what amounts to a clinical examination to see the gender difference. Males do not have erections, and females do not menstruate. Physical sex is not even in their wildest dreams.

Sometimes, for these creatures, the look of another in the right light or situation may occasionally trigger some unusual, perhaps even a somewhat 'impure' thought, but to act on something like that would be beyond out of the question. It is just something that is embarrassing, and to be ignored. Certainly, they would never tell anyone about it. But after the death of the commander, and their subsequent invasion and imprisonment, their stupidity and naivety is crushingly apparent. A more complete assessment of their over-all world view definitely should be on the horizon.

Secretly linked to the ship's data systems, they have had time to analyze and discuss aspects of their situation and their 'guests' (including their written materials) to a deep degree already. Understanding the humans to any degree has been far more challenging than anything they had ever encountered before in their 'normal' lives. They find the challenge liberating and even somewhat intriguing. Certainly, the humans are dangerous, but they never worried much about death and danger before, so why start now?

They explore scenarios in which they might exploit, or at least gain the upper hand in situations with the humans, such as, reminding their 'guests' that they will need them, if they wish to operate the ship's technologies again, but that would require communication, something not yet available but perhaps possible with some planning.

But it is their own digging into the system files during the repair of the medical re-constructor that produces an insight into something that they probably weren't supposed to know. For their species, there are built-in protocols limiting the medical re-construction process.

That equipment, with no stored data base for humans, simply scanned the foreign samples, and by default, returned them to optimal physical standards on a cellular level. Fresh and newer than a just born baby, with scar tissue, injuries, disease, and even degeneration from just plain old age, disappearing in a process normally used by the spacemen for medical emergencies, prolonging laboratory experiments, and general, routine health up-dates.

What was discovered by the aliens while working together on the medical re-constructor, is that protocols put limits on this process for _their_ kind. Pre-programed standards had the commander with higher settings of bravery, strength and even posture.

But the big discovery is that there are settings at all. What could they be and achieve in their truly _natural_ state? This is the question that they had discovered, and it weighs deeply on the space mariners and eats at them more and more as time passes. They feel betrayed, a little at first and it grows as their minds expand in this onslaught of new experiences with the humans.

"What are we _supposed_ to be?"

Now that they have remained released from the cage, (reason? Unknown) they have secured the construction-constructor, and with a new program, they set it up to assemble a device that will reproduce audio data at the level that the pirate's mouth holes seem to operate. Mr. Buck and Father Brien have been watching and allowing this work from a distance, and when it seemed complete, they stroll over for a closer look.

All they see is a metallic, round vent screen, as big as a dinner plate, in the otherwise bare and blank wall. Mr. Buck takes a closer look, and with a hand on his holstered side arm, he asks in a general way and to no one in particular:

"What dis be for? What be come'n out of here?" A strange, unworldly, and somewhat female sounding voice came from the vent saying:

"Your language." The pirates drop their jaws and their eyes bug out as they turn towards the female fallen one. (It was actually the male that broadcast the thought, which was then instantly converted to the audio that the pirates can understand.) Awestruck and stunned, those in the area stammer, as Ping runs to get the Captain. The pirates assemble and are in a state of alarm over this addition to the ship's equipment because of a misunderstanding. Most of the crew believe that it was a voice from Heaven. Only some of those close to the Squishys recognize it as from the beings. There is overreaction and conflicting reports to the Captain, and as he enters the cabin area, he is full of curiosity and ready to deal with any danger.

"Where did this come from?" He demanded as he shakes his finger at the new addition. Mr. Buck answers:

"They built it, my lord."

The confused and agitated Captain continues:

"And ye heard the voice of God?"

A cool and calm Mr. Buck replies:

"Nigh Sir, I believe it be something much more practical, the voice of the female."

"The voice of God speaks through her?" The Captain asked in subdued voice as he shoots the alien a sidewise glance.

"Well a, my Captain, I suppose the voice of an angel by default, I guess, it could be so. But I be a mean'n it be from the creature's self" stammered Buck as he looked in vain to Father Brien for a possible explanation and/or bail-out of the situation.

The Captain spins on his heals to face the female fallen one and blurts-out with a sudden realization:

"You be a mean'n her voice goes from her brain," he pushes his index finger into the female's vast forehead, as if he is curious, and wanted to test it for firmness,

"And that voice be silently a ride'n an invisible beam," he keeps his finger pointed as walks across the room,

"And comes out of here?" His finger ends its short journey at the wall vent.

Mr. Buck and the strange voice answer eerily simultaneously in what would have been humorous normally:

"Yes."

The Captain looks pleased with himself and his advanced powers of deduction. He approaches the female close to ask:

"What be your name?"

She did not have an answer for this. The alien's 'speech' among their own kind is focused and tailored and only reaches those intended. There is no reason for names. Even their home planet has no name, nothing does. If two are talking about a certain other being, thing or place, they would simply include that image, along with what other data that is required to complete their thought, all as part of their 'burst' of communication.

"We have not the need for names" replied the wall vent mechanically, which baffles everyone except the Captain, who comments as if it is just another ordinary statement and situation of his day-to-day leadership duty.

"No names, that will never do" and without skipping a beat, and as if he is never caught off guard or baffled, as is his way, he declares, as if it carries legal weight:

"You will be Beema."

"And you..." Captain Black stepped in front of the male and looked him over, thinking how with his big head, he resembled an upside-down lawn billiard pin, and he decided:

"You will be Mr. Pin... Mr. Topsy Pin!"

"Mr. Pin and Lady Beema" announced the Captain as if it is a great and official introduction.

He continues, his words now slow and measured, as if they are suddenly from the heart:

"I be offering you the opportunity to be part of my noble crew, and forfeit my rank as Captain, _to you_ , if you accept." He faced the male, Topsy, as he spoke. The crew gasps and as speechless, stunned confusion reigns, the Captain expands on his offer:

"For I be taking the rank of Admiral." The vent on the wall quickly breaks the awkward silence, this time in a noticeably lower octave.

"What will be my duties?"

"Ye duty will be to guide this craft to destinations I see fit."

"Impossible, the craft can only return to the place of origin" reported the vent in flat tone.

The Captain ponders this development and in just seconds, he relays his orders:

"We will be making way to your home, the place of ye 'origin.'"

This is over-the-top, madness even, and unacceptable to the crew. Mr. Buck and Father Brien protest strongly:

"To Heaven? Are you sure, Sir?"

Captain Black, full of confidence, answers directly:

"Why sure me mates! Why not! 'Tis the only way ye sinful dogs will get a glimpse of it and ye knows it! Plus, we be have'n the advantage of not being dead when we sees it!"

The crew ponder in horror and know this is way too much, but the thought of seeing heaven and perhaps God himself is mind blowing. But what if this situation is God's will? To refuse the holy opportunity might even anger God. (Not good!) And what of the fact that the opportunity for this is in _their_ grasp, (and to no one else, not even King or Pope) was it not for the taking? And what of the regret if refused? Would that not gnaw a man to bits just as well? With clear thought, the men slowly start to come around.

What the Hell! If God didn't want visitors, then why does he provide the carriage?

But Captain Black is having doubts that Mr. Pin and Beema are from Heaven at all. It is clear that they are mortal beings from some land, and in that land if all there are as wispy as these two, he will have their magic and all they treasure, which must be vast. But one thing is clear, they have to go somewhere and soon! A Man O' War, or even a more powerful group of pirates could reverse all their fortunes. He might be able to fight with the space mariner's hand weapon but if word got out, they would be hounded relentlessly for the rest of their lives. Better to try and master the magic and then return later with realistic plans.

"Mr. Pin, will ye be accepting the offer and making way?"

The vent responds:

"Will we be treated with respect and have freedom?"

"That, and my men under your command!"

"And if we refuse?"

"Ye will be cleaved to the brisket for the shark's supper!"

After only split seconds of reflection, the vent says:

"We will take the offer, but the ship requires repairs before it can continue."

Captain Black smiles and says:

"I can tell by ye quick and prompt decision that ye are of smart mind and reasonable temperament. But matters of this nature be requiring contract and ceremony, then we be bound by honor an civility. You do understand to betray one's honor will bring a lifetime of shame and belittlement?"

Beema and Mr. Pin flash scenes and data back and forth and based on current available knowledge of these new and strange concepts, they are intrigued. They ready their answer. All of this 'debate' takes much less than a single second for them with their advanced method of communication.

"If you and your men are also bound by these 'concepts,' then we can make an agreement."

The aliens have decided that this will be the best way to focus on the repairs, and they hope that they can deal with the invaders at some more favorable time in the future. But the fact that they could be in great danger doesn't really bother them. They hardly ever thought about sudden death before the commander was swept from the deck, but when Beema flashed Pin the experience of the pain of losing her arm, that was frightening, and obviously, other similar such actions should be avoided. So, an agreement seems logical and prudent.

But there is much more to the decision. Beema and Mr. Pin found these foul creatures and their concepts fascinating. It is like forbidden fruit. A trespass to a dark, and intense world of instinct and emotion. A guilty pleasure of feelings and discovery that they have already decided to take to the next level. The thought of what they are going to do, makes them nearly giddy. It is bad and wrong, and against every concept they have ever known. But the more they thought about it, the sooner they wanted it done. They will do it tonight!
**C** **hapter 4**

JOINING THE CREW

Lady Jasmine and Ping attended to the decorations and under the pirate skull and bones, the formal assembly forms a dashing scene with all the crew dressed in their best finery. Mr. Buck has written the agreement in fine and flourish quill on quality parchment. The Captain has approved the text and sits with Father Brien at a make-shift table that is covered in silk and decorated with ribbons. The centerpiece is crowned with several dozen burning candles in holders of silver and gold. The parchment, quills and the inkwell complete the setting.

The men form two rows, one row on each side forming a corridor of sorts, and the drummer starts the drum roll as Mr. Buck escorts Lady Beema and Mr. Pin to the table. The Captain and Father Brien rise from their chairs and bow deeply. Pin and Beema are surprised at the civilized effort put forth here and of the overall seriousness of this affair in general and they get quite wrapped-up in the pomp. They agree with each other to play along in earnest, starting with a deep bend in the middle, as the humans have done, back at the two across the table.

The Admiral has Mr. Buck read aloud the articles of agreement one by one, so there will be no misunderstandings. The chain of command is outlined clear and plain. The Admiral is overall Master, and he will decide all disputes and his rule is final. Mr. Buck will be his first officer, and Mr. Pin will be master to the remaining crew and in charge of operations of the vessel. Father Brien will remain a 'civilian observer' and spiritual leader.

The Admiral insists that Mr. Pin understand that the crewmen in his charge must be treated fairly and "humanely" with regards to their needs and wants. If this becomes too much hardship, he can waive this duty and turn the crew over to the first officer at any time. This is to be set with the signing of the parchment, under the eyes of God.

Under the eyes of God.

Beema and Mr. Pin have been fascinated by this concept, "God," the moment they first heard the pirates speak of it. Physics point to a singularity at the point that the universe began, but what was before that? Do the humans really know the answer? They certainly _think_ they do! Is their concept accurate? The Lady Beema and Captain Pin have their doubts, but they see no reason not to call this great unknown, "The work of God," and the fact that the men believe that God is all around, and perhaps even watching them right now, cannot be completely disproved. It makes for a complicated situation. With cold logic they decide to accept this premise, until proven otherwise, and they agree to operate as if it is an established concept, as the humans do. They will probe deeper about all this later, but right now, Mr. Pin will surprise the Admiral by using the quill to sign in the human script.

Mr. Topsy Pin.

Immediately, great cheers erupt, and the 'Admiral' orders a celebration which would last late into the night.

Perfect for Mr. Pin and Lady Beema's plans.
Chapter 5

NO TURNING BACK

The men are well feasted and in drunken slumber late that night as Pin makes the final changes and adjustments to the medical re-constructor. It is a tense moment, full of doubt and questions. The certainty of the past will soon be gone, and the future after the action could be horrible. Even with all the systems of the ship at their disposal, there is no way to preview what may result. Mr. Pin volunteers to be first, and Beema will operate the controls.

The light forms the square and grows in brightness until its climax, then subsides as before. Then Beema lays her eyes on something primeval and yet somehow familiar. Familiar at least on a far away and impossible level of her subconscious.

A new and vastly improved Mr. Topsy Pin now stands well over five feet tall in front of her, with whiskers on his face and flowing locks of long scalp hair of a shimmering platinum and blue tint that falls about his face like curtains framing a window. The view of that window mostly being those big, eerie, iridescent eyes that remain exactly as before. He has muscles and bulges where there were none before. His mouth is different now, much more complex and detailed. Still the nose and ears remain only but a hint and nearly nonexistent compared to human norms. He beams the question;

"How do I look?"

Beema flashes back his image and her impressions. Pin's mouth forms automatically into a wide smile, his first ever!

Pin expresses back his newfound energy, and his feeling of improvement in every part of his being. He urges Beema to begin at once.

Mr. Buck had awoken at the system's operation, and he is there with the 'new' Pin, but he has little time to marvel as Beema is now herself emerging from the light. She is also taller and with flowing scalp hair of a sea green tint, but after that, much different. The face is smooth, without whiskers, and in the loins where Pin gained bulges, Beema has not. In the torso there is a pair of big new additions. Her mouth is also more complex, but more delicate than Pin's.

Pin cannot advert his gaze from that torso and when Beema asks for his impressions, all he can transmit is the image of those mounds, laced with bizarre thoughts of physical action until Beema slaps him across the face!

Still feeling the effects of strong drink, Mr. Buck watched the transformation and the miracle can leave him nothing but stunned, but he isn't too stunned as he almost falls down laughing at that slap. He kept laughing and laughing as Pin and Beema just stare at him, until somehow, slowly at first, and rather unconsciously, they too are laughing. It is not unlike when they first got the assembler on-line, except now there are noises coming from their mouths. After several moments of this, they each regain a somewhat awkward composure.

The animated Mr. Buck, (this is the tail end of a party after all) produces a fancy cut glass bottle in one hand, and in the other, three long fluted glasses arranged in a fan pattern fly out from behind his back. He used speed and surprise to make it a halfhearted magic trick. The Squishys, fall completely for the prank. It was such an unexpected event that their minds are tricked.

Where did these items come from? When did he conceal them? And why would he present them like this?

Those are some of the questions racing between them in the otherwise silence, as they stand in a complete stupor. Buck grins and weaves a little, before saying his peace:

"With my great wisdom, I can see what has happened. Like a great moth, you have both emerged from your cocoon, fit now for the life as an adult of your species."

He did not truly understand, and he may have been only thinking out loud just then. But he continues:

"As grown adults, it is time to share a drink."

Mr. Buck leads the new adults to his personal area, which offers some privacy due to the arrangement of crates and chests. To Buck's surprise, the others do not stir from their stupors during the Squishy's operation of the re-constructor, with the exception of one, who looked up and slurred:

"Squishy got teats?" Then he fell back to an inebriated slumber.

Buck pours the drink and gulps his down like a man who needs it to ease the shock of what he had just witnessed. Pin and Beema just look at their glasses while silently debating, and as Beema suggests scanning the liquid for safety, Pin gulps his down, followed by Beema without any further thought.

"Dat's it mates" said Buck, as he filled the glasses back up. Then he offers a toast:

"To new things."

He clinks their glasses. Again, the contents are consumed. He fills the glasses a third and final time, then Mr. Buck rises from his seat and said:

"Why don't ye two bunk here for the night. It be better if I prepare the crew for your a, 'coming out' in the morn." He then leaves the pair, laughing and humming a drunken tune.

Beema and Pin remain seated in the chairs at Mr. Buck's table, and they stare at each other as they mindlessly swallow the last of the liquid. A warm glow floats up from their bellies like a wave. Seconds later they are on the floor and it isn't clear how that happened. The room starts spinning and they may have been ill if it wasn't for the behavior that they engaged in next.

Through the ships systems and sensors, they can monitor any and all happenings of the ship just as easy as we can glance across an open room, which makes the privacy that Admiral Black and Lady Jasmine think they are now enjoying out on deck nonexistent. A child would know that this spying is wrong and shameful, but they cannot stop. Pin pulls Beema close as they watch the show in guilty silence. The subjects of their voyeurism are at the peak of their performance when Pin and Beema's mouths join. Things proceeded quick, but awkwardly from there. Within a few bumbling, lustful minutes, the mechanics are discovered, and all doubts of their decision to reconstruct themselves to their original and natural state are erased now and forever. At one point, Beema found her mouth broadcasting in crude and gasping audio, "Yes, _Yes, YES!_ "

There will be _no_ turning back.
Chapter 6

TIME TO GO!

The next few weeks are a flurry of activity. With crewmen to assist Capt. Pin, repairs are almost complete. Also, with the assembly-assembler, walls have been constructed in the cabin area that afford each man some personal space. Beema and Pin share a space together, after the example of the Admiral and Jasmine.

Great joy from the crew is expressed when it is discovered that the assembler can provide food, and in varieties that suit human palettes. Beema modified the system so that Ping could master the controls, and this is a big enhancement to his standing among the men.

Things are going swimmingly, until one morning Beema wakes up ill. Pin is frantic, and at a total loss of what to do. Scans show her to be in perfect health, but here she is, vomiting her breakfast. His anxiety grows as soon Lady Jasmine shows the same symptoms. Pin dashes about the ship, from one control to another trying to find the nature of the illness, until he notices all the crew are standing around laughing at him.

"What is so funny?" Demanded Captain Pin.

"I remind you that this ship will go nowhere until this mystery is solved!" It is only then that he noticed that the words are coming out of his own mouth hole. This astonishes him, but at the weak and childish squeak of his voice, the men increase their laughter to a fever pitch.

Rage swells from some remote part of Pin's large brain, and climaxes with the clenching of his fist. He strikes the nearest laugher in the mouth hole.

"Ow! That smarts!" Reported the sailor.

Laughter that had ceased, returns with a vengeance.

Now Pin is prepared to thrash the lot of them, but the Admiral intervenes.

"Men it is only natural for a man to lose his head when it is discovered that he be soon a father."

Pin couldn't have been more confused, and he stammers:

"A what?"

Even the Admiral can't control the laughter that this brings.

The ship's sensing equipment flashes Pin a warning of approaching vessels, several of them, and all larger than the now sunken Sandylee.

Pin has a thousand questions about almost everything but that must wait as instinct demands he avoid any new contact. But in his mind, there is a frantic search for the definition of this "father" concept. The ship's equipment assists him, and the best example comes from the scan of one of Mr. Buck's medical books in the form of a hand drawn illustration of a baby in the womb of a typical human female.

"My God! New life, inside and growing?"

All of the sudden, Pin's mouth has gone dry. There is a lump in his throat. He feels faint. He thinks of the indescribable pleasures and the growing devotion he has for his Beema, but his thoughts are over-ruled by a scream from his primordial brain that is loudly saying:

Time to go!

The repairs aren't quite finished, but what is left can be completed in flight. Pin starts the steps that will bring up the main power supply, as Beema comes to his side, looking very well, very well indeed, even glowing with vitality. But there is no time to ponder that right now, as he frantically brings more systems on-line, one by one.

"Sail Ho!"

Reports the voice of the watch, and the Admiral brought the news that Pin already knew but he hurriedly added:

"Ye should know that if they catch us, your child's body will be dead in a bottle of brine, and an exhibit in some Swell's parlor."

Pin got the meaning of the statement even if he didn't fully understand, but that wasn't much different than anything else going on lately, so he presses on.

With the power up and stable, Pin put the ship into its normal operating mode for the first time since the crash. The men gasp, and in stunned amazement, they watch the drab, plain, gray inner walls of the cabin areas disappear, and become as clear as glass, providing a view of the sea and the closing ships. A puff of gray smoke from the fore deck of the closest ship is followed quick by the scream of slicing air just above the floating saucer. Next is a booming rumble that rolls from horizon to horizon.

Admiral Black can see that this is a flotilla of the Royal Navy, and he knows that they will have the bearing within one or two more shots. He quickly stresses:

"Captain Pin, speed is of the essence Sir."

Now Pin operates the heart of the craft, the artificial environment. The main hatch closes as gravity and atmosphere return to the normal conditions of Pin's and Beema's home world, and the pirates experience greater strength from reduced gravity but shortness of breath as if high on a mountain. Again, the pursuing ships fire as others start to come in range with their foredeck chasers.

Pin starts a procedure that will bring the ship into orbit around this strange and complicated world. Now the saucer lifts from the surface of the waves and away from the ships of the line as silent and gently as lifting a pillow from a feather bed.

The men cheer but soon grow quiet, as the sea and the land combine in their view and quickly become a round, mostly blue ball, covered in fluffy white clouds floating in front of the ship as if it were a painting hanging in a gallery. The entire ride provides not the slightest bump or jostle and took only mere seconds. They settle into orbit and the men stare out of the projected 'windows' and although terrified on many levels, still they enjoy their view from Heaven.
Chapter 7

TIME TO MAKE PLANS

The assent to the Heavens is quite a shock to the men. They knew Father Brien had said this was their destination, but they had their doubts. Not anymore! But just minutes into the flight, Beema reports a huge problem, but Pin quickly found a solution and after a few hours, the ship is compartmentalized, with most of the ship at Earth atmosphere and gravity levels for the humans, and Pin and Beema's quarters, and the control rooms, at their normal settings.

Beema recognized that foreign environments could affect the development of the unborn children. After the initial compartmentalization, Pin arranged the walls so that a large room could be separated with the same kind of 'window' as the exterior walls. Now they can see and hear each other as if they are in the same room but could not cross without changing from one environment to the other. It is in this room that the meeting will be held after all the repairs have been completed, the place where future plans will be made.

Pin and Beema, have during these past few weeks in orbit, hatched a grand scheme, and if they had understood the meaning of the phrase "hell-bent," that would have described their ambitions most accurately. To all the world, it might look as if without the natural restraint of time-earned general wisdom, and perhaps drunk with the power of their successful transformations, and fueled by the absence of much overall general negative life experience, and a host of other factors both big and small, regardless of exact reason and for all reasons, they have become revolutionaries.

But the real reason for their mental transformation is far simpler.

It is in their personal cabin, the place where they perfect their love making by transmitting their desires while in the physical act, in a way that humans could hardly comprehend, after those sessions and the associated rest periods, is when these two bonded on an intellectual level. Late into the night, while sitting cross-legged on the floor, they explored concepts and realities both abstract and pressing.

The dawn of the new life growing inside of Beema, triggered a chain of thought that inevitably lead to a simple and sobering fact:

"Just where the hell (they have been picking up phrases from the pirates) are we going to live?"

In their new form, and with the unbelievable addition of a miniature being on the way, life would be impossible back at their home planet under current conditions there. There are no nurseries, no daycare, no schools, no infrastructure or assistance or even basic understanding of any kind available. When this dawned on them, they sat in long, stunned silence.

What have we done?

Have humans ever had to overcome any similar clashes of culture?" They scan the data gleaned from the human's books, charts and documents. They look for precedence. They find plenty.

From the expired charters awarded Admiral Black, (Captain Black, at the time of issue) to the texts that frame the human's very religion, almost all of it is about conflict and destruction. There are agreements of the plunder and death between men on the seas. Copies of treaties outlining the slaughter of men on the land. Endless battles for even the residual life forces released after death. (Their very souls.) Everywhere they looked, death, disease, vengeance, destruction, war, famine, drought, pain, suffering, strife, conflict, deception, lies, cheating, etc-etc-etc.

But with God, it can be overcome. They wished they could find out more about how this "over coming" would work exactly.

Regardless of whatever may or may not have happened to the humans in the past, Captain Topsy Pin and Her Lady Beema form the opinion that they have only one option. Their mission is clear; they are going to take-over the planet. (Their planet.) They will offer the pirates an opportunity to join them in this quest. The grand and glorious conquest of a world. Will the humans have the nerve and the dare to accept? Will they have the bravery? They certainly _seem_ to exceed in these traits.

"What will ye be offering for our services as ye mercenaries?" The Admiral asked Captain Pin after they had all sat down formally to make plans and Pin announced his intentions. They turn to the wall vent and await the answer.

"A return trip with the ship loaded to the maximum with the element you call gold."

"And how much will ye ship yield?"

"One thousand tons."

Black, well acquainted with the game of poker and quite accustom to the 'bluff' makes not the slightest tell as he hears the bid. He asks flatly:

"How long be thee voyage?"

"The soonest you could be returned, would span over two of your years."

The men grumble and consort among themselves. After only a few minutes, the Admiral breaks from the conference and declares:

"We be need'n to sleep on it, and in the morn, we be make'n R vote."

Mr. Pin and Beema didn't need the pirates for what they had planned for their home world, but some ruthless cut-throats might be useful, and as there are so many unknowns, all available options should be maintained. But they are down-playing how much they need the humans, Beema especially.

The baby inside her is growing, and on many levels, it is terrifying for her. She would have never, in a million years, have guessed that such a thing was possible even just a few short months ago. Her only link to anything like this is Lady Jasmine and the other humans.

Mr. Buck has explained that he has birthed many women and countless animals and his knowledge and confidence is a godsend to both women. His medical books, with their hand drawn illustrations, are the most and best information Beema would see. That, and Lady Jasmine's experience and perspective, has eased her mind and proved that it is all nothing new to the universe. It is not a trick.

But no matter how much her mind wondered and wandered, she made it clear to Pin that she could not part with the humans, (Lady Jasmine especially) at least until after the birth.

The pirates, on the other hand, have little to lose and much to gain. They are wanted men and will be on-the-run back on Earth. A few years away wouldn't hurt. The Admiral and Mr. Buck want the Squishy's magic, and a long journey may reveal those secrets. Ping's use of the food making devise proves that humans can operate the equipment, but to their frustration, when anyone other than Ping try it, it won't work, even if they do exactly the same actions.

Father Brien is thrilled by the thought of a world of souls to save. In his mind, the nobleness of even _trying_ to save them could guarantee his own entrance to Heaven, or at least it couldn't hurt his chances.

The rest of the men firmly believe that this is a mission to see God and the heart of Heaven and their devotion to this end and to their Captain is unquestioned, regardless of the actual outcome. They _know_ this is the opportunity of a lifetime and relish the chance of adventure.

Lady Jasmine has grown quite fond of her pet Beema and also didn't want to be alone in her pregnancy. She and Beema spend most of their time cuddled up on pillows and in blankets on each side of the divided atmosphere of the great room. She tells Beema stories of being a child, and what it was like, as she shows her tips on how to care for and style her hair and other basic female grooming issues. Beema craves and needs this. All of it.

The morning's vote is unanimous, the voyage is on, but it is decided that any action of force, relies on the Admiral's approval.

Among other duties, Mr. Pin has been very busy analyzing the ship's data files and he has found many important items and some lethal surprises. As designed, the ship's systems can be overridden at any time and changed in nearly any way, from the Master Control, back at their home world. As a system specialist, Pin is well aware of this, and it is considered a necessary procedure for the ship's complete system's diagnostics.

But it is much more. For example, Pin had discovered a cross valve, operated only from Master Control, that has only one function; destroying the ship! That would have raised a few eyebrows if Pin had any. He realized that the ship could receive the destruct signal at any time, or it could have already been sent, and that signal, as it is limited to the speed of light, means that their destruction could happen at any second! The fact that they are light years away from Master Control back at their home world, may be the only reason they are still alive. Captain Pin disabled that 'feature,' and made many other 'modifications' as the repairs progressed.

Just as shocking were programs involving the medical re-generator. In over three hundred pre-programed scenarios, the crew could be ordered into the system for some innocent and routine 'procedure,' only to have their elements returned to stock. ("Stock" are the elements used in all of their regenerating and assembling technology, even the food comes from this 'cargo' located deep in the ship.) Master Control can terminate a mission without destroying an expensive star ship this way. Pin rigged a system to warn them if any signals are received from Master Control, and he brazenly severed all the circuits involved so that nothing could be operated from afar. It was one of the first, concrete steps of the revolution.

He installed a special warning system if the destruct message is actually received. Not only would he and Beema receive that news from the ship's equipment in their normal communication signals, but also, a blue light will shine from behind the pirate's religious altar in the great room. The Captain thought a tie to the human's concept of God, would help convey the seriousness of a destruct order, and the pragmatic central location of their alter provides quick notice to all.

Pin knows that when they neared their home planet and left hyper drive, Master Control would be all over them, scanning them electronically, and his mind spends every spare thought preparing a master deception for use at that inevitable upcoming and critical future situation.

Pin also has analyzed the data to find the cause of their crash onto the liquid surface of that complex and dangerous world that they orbit. (The Earth.) Their original mission was to set a beacon at a faraway, uncharted sector of the galaxy, gather data in that area and then return. The beacon is critical to their direction orientation systems and would be needed for any future missions to that destination, if warranted. While outbound on that mission, they were hit by a stream of concentrated microwave energy ejected from a distant pulsar. It was a one-in-a-billion chance hit, and it started the chain of events that lead to the crash landing and all that has happened to them so far.

Now, it is time to go. The unused directional beacon will be deployed at the outskirts of this solar system for the human's return. Then Pin will engage the anti-matter drive, and begin a voyage lasting just over a year each way. Inside their bubble of artificial atmosphere and gravity, there is no sensation of movement, just as it was when they lifted off from the surface of the Earth. Pin is ready to engage the systems, when Admiral Black decides a toast is in order before they say goodbye to the Good Earth.

"Three cheers mates an sad tidings we share with thee." He said as they clink their glasses and cheer: "Huzza-huzza-huzza!"

Pin touches the wall in the correct places and in the proper order and the 'windows' go black, and then a completely new and wild view appears, with spiral galaxies and star filled, brightly colored clouds of gasses.

"Is beautiful." Marveled Lady Jasmine as she presses up against the window projection.
Chapter 8

A LONG VOYAGE

The anti-matter drive system operates on an anti-physics principle. It allows anything in the artificial environment (the electronic, and mostly transparent bubble around the ship) to drop out of one physical dimension and into another. The beacons are used to establish direction, and after disappearing from the present dimension, the craft will reappear in another dimension that happens to be heading in the right direction. It is a way to beat physics, because matter cannot exceed the speed of light, so instead of that, they will just sit here in the right dimension and wait. And when the dimensions had moved sufficiently, they will reappear back in the original space at the beacon of their destination. They really don't exceed the speed of light at all. Sometime after they disappear, they will simply reappear, light years away, in the correct dimension after the dimensions involved shift accordingly.

Pin would be busy working on and testing his deception program for much of this travel time, but so much else would happen during this trip of standing still, that it could fill a book. Thanks for reading that (this) book.

Within the first few weeks, many changes are made to improve conditions on-board. Pin, with his equipment, erected partitions so each man now has his own, larger personal space, and it is determined that the 'wall' of the great room could come down as the humans preferred the lighter gravity, and it is decided that it will be best to wean the men to the atmosphere of their destination so they will be acclimated, and ready for duty upon their arrival.

Lady Jasmine kept her quarters at Earth normal, but when not sleeping or taking meals, she is usually with Beema sharing girl talk in the lighter gravity and atmosphere. Beema, as a medical officer, is concerned how this might affect her baby's development, but Jasmine will have none of it.

"Babies are tougher than you think, Beema, this will only make it stronger." Declared Jasmine in a minor tirade on the subject at one point.

Both Pin and Beema learn to control their mouths and throats to form the audio projections in the manner of the Humans. It is real work at first, but it gets easier as time goes on and they find audio language oddly fulfilling and satisfying when used successfully. They are quick to add hand gestures, as the humans do. They sound ridiculous at first with their guttural projections and windy squeals often resembling sounds ranging from cow to cat. But with Mr. Buck's patient coaching, a mastery of sorts, is eventually achieved.

Captain Pin and Admiral Black also work with the men in advanced and intense physical training as they prepare for the upcoming action. Pin, under the Admiral's direction, has the assembler produce equipment for weight training, boxing and other sport, but fencing becomes a main focus and one in which Pin becomes surprisingly proficient.

Pin eventually unlocks the assembler to the men to help outfit them with new combat gear. Now, just as Ping can scroll between endless holograph images and choose the perfect loaf of bread, the men can design and fit breast plates, helmets and any other gear they can dream up. Captain Pin demonstrates high-tech materials that are incredibly light weight and impact resistance. With these, the Admiral and the men come up with ingenious battle-suits and they take great pleasure in testing them on each other and then improving them even more. This, plus games such as chess, checkers, card and board games, make time fly as Beema and Jasmine's bellies grow larger.

Father Brien becomes even more empowered in his beliefs and passion, and his Sunday services are dramatic and inspiring as they become more polished as his confidence grows. The men, after all they have been through so far, hold on to his every word now like never before. Beema and Pin have scanned the text of Father Brien's bible, but (other than what they used to justify their own personal plans of revolution) for them, much is lost to in translation. Still they enjoy the sermons very much, and when they recognize a concept from the text in the sermons, it is a thrill. Not so much a spiritual thrill, but more of something on the level of getting the correct answer at a carnival trivia game.

Still, this concept of God speaks to Pin and Beema and with all the change and responsibility and the daunting prospects of the future, they use their new faith like a cushion, as something to lean on. They embrace the concept of prayer as a bonding ritual as much as anything and join with the men in it. But when they are alone, they pray in earnest and for real. They pray for their baby and the future. They aren't sure if it will help or not, but it is nice have some outlet to deal with the uncontrollable and the unknown. Maybe it does help, they still have no physical proof that it doesn't.

After the sermons, hours are spent singing hymns and other songs accompanied by Mr. Buck with his fiddle and Father Brien on the flute. This is Beema's favorite activity by far, and she is always sad when it is done, and she begs over and over again:

"Just one more."

The music and singing stir the children of both women and they let the men line up and feel the activity inside their swelling bellies.

"Tis keepen da beat, dis one is," and other such comments the men say with big grins on their faces.

With Master Pin so busy with the training and the designing of his deception program, Lady Beema finds herself under the wings of Jasmine and in a crash-course of all things womanly. Jasmine has learned and knows these things to the highest levels. She is expert of the things that melt men to goop, and the things that steer gatherings and parties and even everyday life into social legend. With time to kill, and with the thought that musings of lessons learned were going to waste if not shared, she pours her efforts into bettering poor Beema.

First is wardrobe. Jasmine models some of her things for Beema and she is eager to enter this world with her and soon it is a blur of activity between these two as Beema uses the ship's equipment to quickly produce just about anything to assist Jasmine in a shared, joyful effort. It all ultimately results in impromptu fashion shows for Captain Pin and the men.

Jasmine demonstrated how to walk and turn and enlightens Beema with some of her 'secrets' involving the falling of fabric to reveal a bare shoulder, or the step that allows a skirt to fall away exposing shapely calf and thigh.

Some of this behavior in front of the men is a return of Jasmine's normal flirtatious ways that she had developed over the past, long voyages with these men in such close quarters. She knows the limits that Admiral Black will stand before he is not amused, and she stays well away from those points. But those points are well above what is required to turn these poor souls, men mad with desire and love, into mere reflections of themselves, lost in their own imaginations. For them, it is all a real, true, and crushing desire that could make them turn on each other murderously with only a bat of her eyes. Jasmine has proudly built this arrangement and keeps it all in check with just the smallest bits of expert attention here and there.

But Beema is new to flaunting her charms, and as she struts in front of the growing rowdiness of the men during a show of Jasmine's latest fashion creations, she prepares to drop the fabric of both shoulders and Jasmine jumps physically in between her and the men shouting,

"Enough!"

Jasmine locks her eyes with Beema and she is not intimidated at her iridescent orbs and she peers right into her face with a stern expression before beginning a speech in low, harsh, and guarded tone:

"You must never give your affections away!"

"What? This? Not serious. Only fun. Right?"

"No! Not all right, Beema! You make men earn your affection."

"I don't understand."

"Men are dogs! Pigs even! Especially these devils!" She points her finger, with its long, painted nail, in a weaving pattern that covers all the men present.

"I know what you do in your cabins!"

(Beema has noticed this also, linked with the ship's systems, her and Pin 'see' all.)

"You are all a _lot_ of sick bastards!"

The men take the criticism as warranted and glance at the floor.

"Now get out of my sight! All of you! And ye best be offer'n more than your hoots and leers iff'n you be want'n any fair company agin!"

Jasmine scowls as the dejected men shuffle away, and as the last man left the ladies view, she turns back to Beema with a smile and a complete turn-about of attitude, and says in her thick island accent:

"They is _so_ stupid! They think we cross, but mark my words, soon they shower us with gifts and serenade us with song."

It wasn't long before that is exactly what happened.

Beema is fascinated and is diligent with her lessons from Jasmine. Soon she has unlocked the ship's technology for Jasmine and together, they design and produce all manner of stylish outfit and accessory.

Black and Mr. Buck reflect on their goal of learning the secrets of the Squishy's magic. Now that they both have operated the regenerating equipment with their own hands, they should be masters of its operations, right?

Wrong! There is a profound difference between how the humans can use the assembler and the way Pin and Beema use it. First, it requires authorization and it scans the operator for identification, and this is where the humans fall short. This is the point that the equipment would link physically to the mind of the alien being. This is quite impossible for a human, but a lesser 'manual' mode is available, which is the way the humans can make use of the equipment.

Here is how it works; a human walks-up to the machine, (an otherwise blank wall inside of the spaceship) gets scanned, (a process invisible to the operator) and if authorized, that part of the wall illuminates in a checkerboard grid of sorts. Now the system is 'on.' (A difficult concept in itself for _these_ humans) Next an item (any item) is placed in front of the grid and instantly a holographic image of that item is generated and floats in the space in front of the user. A manipulation interface is available at this point, and the equipment is ready to go to work.

Say a heavy, hammered breast plate of battle armor is scanned. With one hand the user 'touches' the floating image, and that action produces a line on the grid that is projected on the wall. Next, with the other hand, one touches that line and the actual material of the example is fixed. Now the modifications can begin. Tracing the finger along that line changes the material of the item that the holograph represents, and what the copy will actually be made of can be adjusted. From substances as heavy as lead at one extreme, to as light and fragile as paper on the other. As this is taking place, more lines illuminate on the grid and each of these represent some other aspect of the operation. These can be touched, and even more lines appear that control color, thickness, surface texture, edge forming, detail, and much more. It all becomes an operation of locking in changes, and moving on to other aspects, locking in more changes and so on. This all may sound complicated, but it is actually easier to master then it is to explain. The men picked it up quick and equip themselves formidably with all manner of new and improved weapons and protection.

But there are limits built-in to the equipment. Most are sensible limitations for safety, such as, it will not produce a bomb with the fuse lit or pour out deadly toxins. But other limits are discovered that the humans find questionable. For example, when the Admiral tried to replicate the space weapon that he possesses, the machinery failed to deliver a copy. He demands an explanation from his Captain.

"The hand weapon's power is tapped from the supply of the ship itself. Each ship is equipped with only one such device."

"Change thee equipment Captain. It is my order!"

"That sir, would be impossible as it would require a complete refit and redesign of the entire vessel, all of which is not be possible during operation."

"How do I know I'm not hear'n a lie?

"Certainly, I would equip myself with my own weapon if another could be produced. The fact that the weapon is in your charge should be proof of the limitations that we both must share."

The Admiral grumbles, but he is forced to except Pin's answer, _for now._
Chapter 9

SPECIAL EVENT

Note from the desk of the editor:

_Due to the wishes and strong desires of the crewmen and the stern direction of Mr. Black and Mr. Buck, the actual identities of the '_ men' _(excluding Father Brien, who eventually lusts for fame, as you may already know) are to remain private. So pressing are these desires that backgrounds and origins of the men have been generally left untouched as per their and their descendant's wishes. Detailed description and even clarifying their race and nationalities could fuel unwanted investigation and speculation. These now established and connected people do not wish or deserve undue scrutiny (personal or legal) for actions and behaviors of so long ago. But some events warrant special consideration, even praise._

During the years of careful research and especially in the many personal interviews, one item kept popping-up. This item showed itself with instant warm smiles and so much genuine joy for all those who recalled the event that I insisted that it be included. The names (complete fabrications are used in most cases) and descriptions remain vague enough that I remain confident that I have committed no breach of trust. This statement pertains to this event as well as this entire literary work. I apologize to readers that you will not get to know these people intimately, but my hands are tied. But some things are epic and deserve recognition, so presented next, is something of pure enjoyment.

Jasmine's scolding of the men that day of the fashion show had turned something already upcoming for her into something even more for her personal gain. It was one of her tricks and was performed in the context of a lesson for Beema. With this, and other examples, Jasmine displays for her the power of woman over man in timeless and practiced fashion. It is a lesson so strong that Beema feels lost in intimidation. She thinks to herself:

I could never preform such a feat, could I?

What has Beema so befuddled? It is a party! Beema's first, and she and Jasmine are to be the guests of honor. It has been in the works for weeks. The men have been busy preparing gifts and when an unusual song literally erupted among the men one night, it was declared that a serious debut was warranted. Jasmine noticed the secretive behavior of the men and has heard their muffled practice as they perfect their special song, and her scolding has ensured that their focus will be in the _right_ direction. (Her direction.) It is all in fun but Beema is amazed. It is the world to her. A world unfolding before her in rapid-fire delight after delight.

Jasmine and the Admiral have been told of a performance being planned and for their own maximum enjoyment, they steer clear of any planning or details so as not to spoil any surprise. But they can tell from the smug, guarded expressions of the men, that this get-together may be something special. They are eager for a break, and they are in a festive mood as the event approaches.

"Oh, the sweet of the surprise, in the plain of the mundane." A lighthearted Mr. Buck mused out loud.

"Indeed-indeed!" Adds the Admiral.

Captain Pin has not a clue, and almost had to be physically dragged away from his work when the time finally arrived.

The Great Hall had been "annexed" for most of the day with guards posted to ensure complete surprise for the honored guests. The Admiral and his Lady Jasmine head the line at the velvet rope in their stunning, regenerated finery, for the formal entrance that is scheduled for eight bells sharp. Beema, is in a flowing gown, drawn in with a wide ribbon around her swelling belly. Pin stands with her, scruffy, unkempt and annoyed looking.

Beema wishes he were more involved and that he would enjoy this evening, but she knows how hard he has been working and especially how important that work is.

_Have I been selfish spending so much time with Jasmine?_ _After tonight I will focus on helping Pin._ She giggles to herself: _I called him Pin._ Instead of using his image as part of her thought, she has made him a thing, strange how cultures collide.

At last, the velvet rope is lifted, and the guests stream in. With lace, curtains, bows, and streamers, the Great Hall has been transformed in grand splendor as it glows under candles and strategically placed lanterns. The guests take their seats, with Beema and Jasmine seated front and center as the guests of honor, while the 'band' plays sweet, soulful 'sitting music' until all are situated and comfortable.

Ping dashes in carrying a steaming pot of something he calls "pan wine" and he expertly pours each guest a tall mug of the brew. He encourages quick consumption with a tilting hand gesture while saying:

"Drink up quick, best hot." (Ping's English is deplorable but for some reason, he is easily understood by all).

Everyone drinks big helpings, as the fruit flavor is mild and refreshing. The heat makes the strong grog go right to the head in a way that is so soothing and smooth that by the second fill-up, laughter and smiles rule the moment.

"Oh Momma! I see where this night is going!" Exclaims Black as he holds his empty mug back at Ping for yet another fill-up.

Before Ping fetches more of the steaming concoction, he presents trays of carefully stacked, aromatic biscuits, each coated in a sweet, shiny glaze.

"Eat with drink," instructs Ping and everyone does.

"Oh man!" Is the collective pleasure moan. The crunchy, buttery pastry reacts with the fruity wine after-taste, and then melts away completely leaving little to swallow. It is eating for the experience of taste and taste alone. Oh, what a taste! Light, but not too sweet, delicate, and an afterglow of a citrus quality with the slightest hint of something, vanilla? There is also a definite saltiness that is perfectly offset with, what else? More pan wine!

Ping's mastery of the ship's equipment for food preparation has become legendary, and Pin and Beema had forsaken their normal 'protein loafs' long ago and wait eagerly for suppers with the humans. But because of this, Ping has become quite the chubby little runt while the other men have built up their physiques with all the training and exertion since their regeneration.

The 'band' plays their 'chamber music' in perfect and subdued fashion and they act as if they have never met anyone at the guest table, and that seems to add to the grand atmosphere. So easy it is to imagine past times of peace and happiness as they munch and drink. Jasmine is impressed at the crew's efforts so far, and she wonders exactly what 'attention' she will reciprocate with. For her, that is a fun thought.

"This drink has gone straight to my head!" She says as she puts her mug down and pats her belly. Beema also restrains from more drink, out of consideration for her baby.

Father Brien and Mr. Buck lead the five-piece band and play an extended, somber duet of violin and flute, backed up by the others with muted percussion. Brien watches Pin, and when he finally looks relaxed, the music is stopped. The musicians rest their instruments and sit statue-like (even Buck) while Brien rises to speak.

Everyone prepares for the prayers to come, but Brien, dressed for this event in a flamboyant, ruffled blouse has waved his Priesthood for this night and has assumed Band Leader and Master of Ceremony only. He picks up a crystal glass and rings it to stifle the murmurs of the already drunken crowd.

"Attention, attention everyone, if I might say some words before the gifts are brought out."

_Gifts?_ Thinks Beema. Her mind delights in the thought of perhaps something special coming her way. Even Pin starts to lighten up, especially as Ping successfully plies more pan wine on him.

"I would like to thank everyone for coming, (Brien talks as if it were some great effort to travel from the other room) as we take time to celebrate the fair sex of two worlds, in the name of love and friendship."

"Here-here, here him!" Is voiced as drinks are lifted high.

"Planned, is a musical number we have been working on," Brien said as he motions his hand towards the band.

"But first, we honor our esteemed guests with gifts."

Applause fills the room as one of the guests, Mawtuc, the Eskimo, (he isn't really an Eskimo, but everyone calls him that and because he has never heard the term before, he accepts it) gets up from the table to dash away and return with something wrapped in soft leather. It is presented to Captain Pin.

Pin is delighted. He has seen the quiet, moody, Mawtuc scratching away on this mysterious item and even after close inspection and thorough reference of the human's books and documents, he nor Beema have not a clue of what it could be. To solve the mystery would be a gift itself. And as he unwraps the treasure, Mawtuc's long labors are finally exposed.

Pin's worries and fears are finally starting to disappear, and he is in the moment as his many worries are beginning to fade to the back burner. Beema finds her man apparently enjoying himself, as she had wished. He eagerly inspects, even fondles the strange, polished, off-white hunk of something.

Mawtuc's work is incredible. The scrimshaw is so detailed. A sailing ship is depicted in convincing relief, riding the breakers of a tossing sea under full sail, complete with wafts of flying spray from its prow, under a sky of puffy clouds. Long shadowing hints of a low sun, and as he peers even closer, he sees what must be the images of Black, Buck and Father Brien on the foredeck and what could only be Lady Jasmine, in a flowing ballroom dress with the garment's excesses caught in the breeze. So minute are these human figures in the work, and even under the closest examination they remain correctly proportional and believably shaded. It is a masterpiece.

"What is it?" Asked Pin as he cradles the work in his hands.

Mawtuc looks to Black as if he would prefer that he answer the question. (Mawtuc hardly ever talks.)

"Is the Sallybird, Captain, A fine ship of long ago, from a time of legit prosperity. French built, procured at auction in London after her capture as a war prize." Black's eyes gleam as he remembers this time of the past fondly. Also, they gleam because of his indulgence of so much drink.

"Sal-ley-bird" struggled Pin as he uses his voice while he strokes the item's smooth exterior.

It dawns on Black that the question was about the actual medium, not the image, so he uses his finger to pull his own lip back, exposing a molar and he tries to say "Tooth" but it comes out "Oooth" and after some chuckles the Admiral tries again, this time without the finger in his mouth.

"It is a tooth Captain, the tooth of a whale."

Pin and Beema light up, they have seen images of whales in some of the human's books and the nearly fall over each other to exclaim:

"We saw the Way-'ol! In the liquid..., the sea! (They try hard to find and use correct words.)

"Before you a..., arrived."

This statement does bring an awkward pause, because their "arrival" certainly wasn't under the most peaceful of circumstances which Pin instantly erases by saying:

"I love gift! Mine to keep? Yes?"

He looked directly at Mawtuc for his answer.

"Yes, my Captain, and with great affection" said Mawtuc with a rare smile.

Pin, perhaps slightly overwhelmed with emotion and strong drink, tries something on a whim, something he and Beema have restrained from before. He reaches across the table and puts his long, stringy hand on the sailor's shoulder, in so tender a fashion that the witnesses present nearly well-up, and he says:

"I love you."

Snorts of laughter intermix with genuine warm smiles and before the moment passes, Beema wants 'in' and she spats out:

"I love also!"

Laughter cannot be held back now as Jasmine rolls her eyes and thinks about a future lesson of 'appropriate conversation' for Beema. But Mawtuc feels neither foolish nor awkward and as the laughter passes, he says:

"Now we are friends, you and I."

So serious and simple is the remark that the laughter stops, and in the pause, Pin exclaims:

"Now I have two gifts!" In a split second, everyone hoots their approval in thunderous voice.

Mugs are refilled again and again and the chatter sounds as if it could be from a much larger group due to its intensity and volume, but Mawtuc looks to his Captain as if he has something else to say. Finally, there is a lull and Mawtuc informs his Captain:

"You have not turned your gift to the other side, Sir."

Pin dives back to the work of art like a kid who has just discovered one last hidden present under the tree and behold, on the other side is the realistic image of Pin and Beema, standing outside on the deck of their spaceship, under a clear sky and floating on a calm sea. He takes in the scene for a few silent moments and as he holds it for Beema to see, he says:

"Now I have three gifts!" Again, there is thunderous jubilation.

Next is a gift for Beema. The 'Brothers,' as the two Africans now sitting in the band are called, who sit among their colorful painted drums and their strange 'shaking rattles' and even the bell from the Sandylee which is currently stuffed with blankets for a muted sound, get up and fetch their gift. Back in a flash, they carry a bundle wrapped in plain, linen cloth. In front of Beema they grin as they unwrap the ware in careful, smooth motion. A strange odor lofts up of sweet grass and spice that hints of a place more than an object. Revealed is a fur, of golden yellow and black stripes.

To Beema it is fantastic. She doesn't equate it to be the skin of an animal, and she is perplexed as to how it could have been made by the humans. She is drawn closer as if by instinct, and her hand reaches for it as if it is not under her control.

"It looks so soft, I must touch... It is! IT IS!"

In a second, she has left her chair and has started gently pushing her face, neck and what is exposed of her cleavage across the remnant, in a state of moaning bliss. Everyone looks at each other with baffled expression, most want to laugh but are too afraid, because of manners.

"Beema, BEEMA!" Jasmine scolded as she jerks her up by the shoulder, and then under her breath:

"Control yourself."

The 'Brothers,' (They, in fact, are not actual brothers. Monjuni, is from a tribe that originates from deepest central Africa, and Abraham Johnston, is a freeman from Ohio.) save Beema from any further embarrassment by quickly displaying the gift's real function, a hooded jacket, not a 'pleasure cloth.'

"With this, you can live the 'tiger spirit' and hunt with the Spirit God." Said Monjuni in his toothy animation. Johnston rolls his eyes at that statement and like a tailor, he starts dressing Beema in the garment, starting by taking her arm and gently guiding it through the sleeve. The leather on the inside has been worked to a softness smoother than peach fuzz, and where it touches her bare skin, it is divine. The Brothers point out detail after detail, draw strings around cuffs and waist, pockets in the sides big enough for the hands but hidden completely by the clever use of the natural stripe pattern. The secret, inside pockets, and last, the hood with the animal's ears still attached. Johnston puffs the ears out as he raises the hood.

"Now you are the Tiger," proclaims Monjuni.

With the hood of the garment cut at about the animal's forehead, and falling at about the same level on Beema, it is a good look for her. But as Johnston looks her over, something is missing.

"Oh Mon, where is the necklace?" he asks the tribesman.

Monjuni runs to and fro. He looks under things and over things. He is acting as if it is the end of the world until Johnston grabs him by the collar and after pinching his fingers, he lifts the 'lost' necklace out from under Monjuni's own shirt.

"I had it all da time!"

The necklace, actually two separate strands of colorful glass beads strung on sturdy leather, each culminate with the four polished claws from the actual tiger itself. Beema explores the items with her touch as Johnston holds them in front of her but instead of placing them around her neck, he said in his perfect, almost haughty deep voice:

"Allow me to show you something."

He takes the cuff of the sleeve of the jacket and pulls it over Beema's hand, exposing the oversize holes used for the drawstring, and one by one, he pushes the tiger claws through those holes from the inside. Then he raises her arm so the rest of the necklace spills down her arm inside the sleeve. He repeats this for the other arm and now they all stand back and look at their tiger.

Everyone looks her over smiling their approval. Beema adores the attention and with Pin's impressions beamed to her like a mirror, she turns and twists to see every angle.

"I love it, so soft and..., unusual. But what is 'Tie-gar?'"

This appeared to be an unexpected question and a moment of stunned silence follows it. But Monjuni can't keep the straight face for long, and begins laughing as he says:

"What is tiger? Ha! There is one jumping on your back right now!"

The guests don't get the joke and as the quiet remains, Johnston approaches Beema.

"I'll show you."

He assists her again by helping to remove the jacket, carefully removing the claw necklaces and putting them around Beema's neck as if he only needed a handy place to put them, then he reaches up the sleeves and with a flip of his wrists, he reverses the garment exposing the soft leather to the outside, effectively making it an entirely new coat.

"And here is the tiger" he says as he shows Beema the back of the coat, and the result of hundreds of hours of expert work with needle and thread, by men with currently no sails to mend. Not just is a large, rearing tiger embroidered, but an entire action scene, featuring a heroic Monjuni, bravely facing the beast with spear and shield in front of his entire, frightened village.

"That is tiger?" Asks Beema as she points to the depiction.

"Yes. It kill many people of my village."

"And in battle, you kill it?" She said as she points to the rendition of the tribesman.

"The greatest thing I ever do!"

"You take skin, and make clothes for me, from your greatest thing?"

"For the gifts you and Captain Pin gave me, I would slay _all_ the tigers!"

Beema can't find words, and she wishes the humans could understand her in her normal way because she has so much gratitude that she wishes to share. Instead, she approaches Monjuni and embraces him in her arms. It feels good, but not quite as good as when Johnston helps her put the coat back on with the furry side in.

"Ow _www!_ " she moans.

Jasmine remains patient, but it is a sour thought of a gift of skins or scrimshaw, she prefers gifts with a certain, _you-can-take-it-to-the-bank_ quality.

Seaman Josh Cranton will present a gift that will hopefully deliver the desired satisfaction. He removes the harness from his snare drum, and carefully sets it down onto the floor of the make-shift stage, (he has it tuned perfectly and he wants it to stay that way) and after a second in the next room, he returns with a velvet bag burdened with a load as large as a medium size dog. He sets it down and the table groans a bit from the weight. The shifting content of the bag produces an ever so slight, musical, "shing-shing" sound.

Jasmine heard that sound and thinks to herself; _Momma like!_

Cranton is a real sailor. Literate, experienced with sightings and charts, signal flags, really all manner of experience with the operation of a ship at sea. In his late-twenties, tall, with flowing blond hair, square jaw, rosy high checks and piercing blue eyes, he is the darling among these men.

He is the one who sounds the men to stations with his drum and handles the piping as well. He drummed in the signing ceremony not long ago as his last official duty. He is an up-and-comer and has caught the eye of the Admiral as a useful man indeed, but also, due to his handsome looks, sometimes as somewhat of a threat.

Jasmine blushes hot at the thought of the close, physical contact Cranton's presentation might bring and that itself is a gift to her. She stares dreamily into his handsome, young face as she waits for her surprise and doesn't notice Admiral Black until he is whispering in her ear:

"Should I have the men douse you with cold water my love?"

"What?... Shut-up!" She said as she punches him playfully in the arm and spins back to stare with animated lustfulness at the handsome, and now embarrassed young sailor.

"With your permission my Lord and master," (Cranton speaks to the Admiral)

"It would be my honor to present the esteemed and gracious Lady Jasmine with a gift from all of the men, given in the spirit of the utmost loyalty and with the deepest gratitude."

Young Cranton bows so deeply that he nearly disappears from Black's view.

"Rise Lad and present your gift in the manner my love desires. Spare not my feelings young man, it is my order."

Jasmine is like, _what did he say?_ Her thoughts race, _if he really meant it, I would take that boy and_... She catches herself.

Cranton, while it is true that he has imagined many a scenario where Lady Jasmine may have come to mind, an 'all clear' from his Master would never have occurred to him in a million years.

He feels the pressure and there is a lump in his throat. The great room of the spaceship is as quiet as a church now. He looks at the guests and sees Black with a comical, interested look on his face. Pin and Beema also stare his way. _Lord knows what they think, I sure wouldn't want to play poker with their type,_ thinks Cranton. This thought gives him a little laugh, and as he looks at the beauty that is Lady Jasmine, he thinks, _I got this._

He moves closer to Jasmine, slow and dramatic is his manner. He pushes the gift laden bag right to edge of the table, as close as possible until it may fall in her lap. He towers over her now, he is bathed and powdered as if it were his wedding day. Jasmine swims in his essence as she looks up at him, her eyes are big and shining. In the silence, Beema blasts to Pin,

"What's happening-what's happening-what's _HAPPENING?!"_

"Please dear, I want to see what they're going to do." Flashes a rather detached Pin.

Beema could just scream right about now.

Handsome young Cranton leans close to Jasmine and in his deepest and most sultry voice he asks:

"May I have your hand my Lady?"

Her arm springs up like a catapult. (Not her most gracious move.) She holds it out as if it is to be kissed. Her eyes flutter as if she doesn't know if they should be open or closed and they can't decide. He takes that hand and turns it palm up in the most delicate manner possible. He can feel her pulse, it is racing. There is a tinkling, singing "shing-shing" sound as something cool and delicate is placed in her hand. She pries her eyes away from the handsome young man's face to see what it is, and sparkles dance among polished silver, rose cut diamonds and glimmering pearls. He closes her hand gently over the item.

"Hold on to this please," he said, and she grips down tight.

Cranton begins a startling, flurry of activity. With a devilish grin and a sailor's skill, he handles glittery lengths of jeweled blurriness as if it is lengths of rope, and Jasmine, the belaying pin. Round and round he wraps, carefully and loosely, but at blinding speed. Her eyes pick up brief, but wonderful, delicate detail and features for split seconds before they are covered with the next layer. The first half dozen wraps are white and silver with diamonds and pearls mounted in little cast and hammered silver likenesses of the spaceship, each centered with a deep set pearl or single diamond, and miniature (about the size of a thumb nail) figures of Beema and Pin (or at least a male and female of their species) with outstretched arms and legs spread wide, linked together like paper dolls with tiny diamonds set for eyes.

The next half dozen wraps are green and gold as emeralds replace perils and gold for silver. She catches glimpses of golden little greened eyed aliens now.

The next section is ruby red, and as it winds down, Jasmine braces herself on the arms of her chair saying:

"It getting heavy."

Last is gold with blue sapphire and when that ends, Jasmine is wearing about forty feet and fifty pounds of 'necklace.'

Months ago, the men with Cranton in the lead, pooled their personal booty for a project resulting in this gift. At first it was to be a 'birthday' gift (although nobody knew the proper date) for Jasmine and it was to be of modest scope, but soon it got out of hand as they competed with one another to 'out do' each other in the finery and ultimately the volume of the work.

Sacks and chests were dumped out, with silver and gold chain scavenged for reuse. Gemstones were pried-out of pendants and medallions resulting in gold and silver being piled up from that labor, and out on deck, the crucible stayed busy. Molten ore was poured into a mold carved from a ballast stone (why it was brought from the Sandylee, is anyone's guess) producing a dozen tiny reliefs of the spaceship and an equal number of alien-shaped 'paper doll' figures with each casting.

After these were popped free of the mold, the men brought them to their quarters and with chisel, pick and drift, they hammered the rough castings to a dimpled finish rendering no two exactly alike. After a buff with a leather pad, the loose stones were reset in the topside center with larger stones for the 'spaceships' and for the eyes of the aliens with the smaller ones.

Each night the men would be "Tink-tink-tinking" with their tools and "Buff-buff-buffing" with their oiled leather, producing a handful of the little images each session. After the task became routine, and steps and actions streamlined, output grew quickly. Gold and silver chain, that was already formed, is linked to the new works, forming uniform lengths where smaller diameter chains are doubled or even tripled for the overall strength that this growing monstrosity required. With gemstones color matched, the project took on a life of its own and eventually exhausted most of each man's personal holdings.

This marked a change in the men. The health obtained by the regeneration, the best food that they have ever had, the cessation of heavy labor, (or any labor, not even a need to keep watches) the inspiration of Father Brien, all these things made their treasure moot. Just pretty things with no better use then to give to a pretty girl. Would they regret it later? Maybe, but with no way to spend it presently, they just didn't care. The prize now is the admiration and the smile of a great Lady. A prize they receive now, but with a plea:

"I'm not kidding, this thing is heavy, I can't breathe!"

Cranton dives in for one last bit of closeness as he slides his arms under the entire coil, lifting it gently up and over her head, taking some of her flowing locks with it, and leaving her muffed-up. _So sexy she is!_ Cranton thinks as sadly, the silly little game is over now, and forever.

Cranton demonstrates how each 'color' is actually four clasped together lengths, making each a more realistic and useful accessory, or actually sixteen of them. He coils each one in a separate pile on the table in front of her as Jasmine declares:

"As thankful as I be, I hope they be no hurt feel'ns, but I wish to share this treasure with our gracious host." She looks around and there seems to be no objections, quite the opposite really.

Jasmine picks through the green sections while glancing toward Beema. She does the same with the blue pile for Pin. She makes a selection from each, and tenderly places them around each of their necks, completing the gesture with a big hug for both of them.

"I choose for to match their hair!" Explained Jasmine.

"HUR _RAY!_ " erupt the men, and the noisy din of conversation returns with a vengeance. Yet another caldron of pan wine is brought, and the men start toasting everything and anything to excuse their consumption. Some of the men are rolling around on the floor before long, and the jokes and comments fall to the crude side as an ongoing debate, usually hidden but now resurfacing, takes hold. It is about the "do-ability" of Beema.

This is causing hysterical laughter until Jasmine gets wind of it, and she motions with her finger for one of the main instigators of this to approach her. When the seaman is within whispering distance, she quietly explains:

"Do you have any idea what kind of curse she could put on you?"

The man is so stunned and frightened looking as he heard the comment that Jasmine has to laugh. She pushes him back and he falls in a heap to the floor. There is so much ruckus, that when the band forms back on the make-shift stage, it is hardly noticed.

Brien, Buck, Cranton and the Brothers, huddle together on the stage for a last-minute conference. They reestablish the tempo and remind each other of the changes and pauses. Grinning and head bobbing confirms that each knows their part.

"Let's do this thing" Brien said as the men leave for their places on stage.

At the guest table, Beema has allowed a sailor to don her new coat with the fur side out and with the claws installed, he demonstrates the ferociousness of the tiger by jumping, slashing, growling and roaring in drunken abandonment for the great pleasure of Beema and for the growing curiosity of Mr. Pin.

The others try to over-talk each other in rapid fashion, to best explain to their hosts about tigers, and many other subjects, all so strange and wondrous for Lady Beema and Captain Pin.

Among the chatter, the last minute "Tap-tap-taps" and "Thud-thud-thuds" of the percussion sound checks, go unnoticed as does Mr. Buck's final violin plucking and tuning. Father Brien's flute has been put back in its case and instead, a harmonica is produced from his pocket. The 'band' of pirates give each other one last look and even though the rowdy crowd pays them no mind, Father Brien begins.

A long-winded, and haunting solo wafts from Brien's harmonica for several measures. It climbs subtly a few octaves and ends in a quick, upbeat flurry.

The conversations die-down but it is not clear if this a 'tuning-up,' or the start of the show.

Again, Brien wafts out the haunting intro, and spines are tingled.

Yes, indeed, this is the start. Silence and attention are delivered, demanded even, by the ghostly sound.

Dramatic is the prose from the stage, and the silence from the guests turns to stillness, as Brien plies his talents to a third rendition of his intro, but this time there is no flurry at the end and instead, violin and drum cut in with startling, foot-stomping vigor.

Brien's haunting harmonica's cry is double up-tempo now, with little lost to the dramatic, and is paralleled with Buck's violin in matching and reckless accompaniment.

The Brothers work conga, bongo and even the wall of the ship for a rich bass, as Cranton's snare punctuates the measures and as he reaches for the bell of the Sandylee for a cute little "tink," the melody starts again at the top, this time with Mr. Buck grabbing strong chords while stepping forward as Brien steps back in an adjustment of the sound.

The measure trails off and drum skins are silenced as if the song is already ending and after the shortest of pause, Buck is sawing on his fiddle like a crazy man in a building, upscale solo where he is grabbing flats and sharps as if possessed by the Devil himself. Up the scales he climbs, higher and higher and then back down again, slowing, to that haunting note and he trails off.

Forcefully, the band jumps back in again, this time with the intent of surprise and even fright as the men wear expressions as if possessed, with furled brows and devilish grins on faces that are already flush and glistening with perspiration.

This time, half way through the measure there is a change that finds Brien and Buck trading licks with the former breathing in and out on his mouth harp in a "huppity-buppity" fashion, then the latter is sawing out something similar in a tune so catchy that only a dead man could restrain from tapping his feet.

Now they combine their sounds in a wild, powerful crescendo so overwhelming, even violent, that as it nears the end, the Brothers abandon their drums and spring into a handstand, rapidly kicking the wall in a blur of flying legs for an incredibly strong and perfect closing of the measure in unmatched and fabulous showmanship.

Brien jumps to center stage and while the band starts back at the top and pumps out the wild melody once again, he screams out the lyrics:

Without WAR---------NING!...They fell from the sky

Listless DRIFT-----------ING!...We know not why

Upon our MEET---------ING!...One must die

Our hearts are BLEED--------ING!...Sorry we sigh

A short downbeat proceeds a chorus, sung subdued and flat, by Brien, with sad eyes:

Never talking

Trouble walking

Mending their magic

Back with the harmonica, they belt out several more measures with some subtle changes as the Brothers grab and shake bean-filled gourd and shell and bell covered staff for a wild, reckless diversion of sorts before Cranton wraps it up again with his lovely, almost mechanical, "ting" of the muted ship's bell before the melody begins again as Brien belts out the second verse:

In their BRIGHT------LIGHT!...They disappear

Then they COME----------BACK!...Strong and dear

Seaman A-----------BLE!...Full of fear

As our SPOKES----------MAN!...The way is clear

Chorus, sung calm and sober:

Now they're talking

They master walking

Sharing their magic

More measures of ruckus, this time with extreme abandon. With each musician launching his best saved licks in an extended format with maximum talent expressed ensuring all vibrato is used as the blatant showoffs shamelessly use every trick possible before the last verse:

One by ONE-------------!...We stood in the light

Touched by GOD--------NOW!... What a beautiful sight

Now they JOIN----------US!...Together we'll fight

Travel the HEAV---------ENS!...To the highest height

Chorus:

No more sulking

Sure beats walking

We're using their magic

Brien and Buck play in unison a short wrap-up, and "BAM!" It ends as abrupt as it started. Sound echoes, as if it is in a frantic mission to escape the ship, and finding nowhere to go, the sound dies nobly.

The band, panting and sweaty, look at the guests and find them staring with mouths agape. Did they not enjoy the show? It was played perfectly. So unlike the hymns and sea shanties that they have cut their teeth on, was it too much? But the split-second of doubt is short lived as the reaction is just delayed, out of disbelief.

Hoots and yells precede approaching handshakes and firm pats on the backs. Pin rushes in, he must touch and inspect each instrument. He seems baffled and confused and all he can say is,

"That something-that something,"

His wide smile never ceases.

Beema can't hold back another second and she screams.

It catches everyone by surprise, but somehow the retched and grating noise is recognized as one of joy, and starting with Jasmine, everyone joins in. Pin is the last to start up, as he is sure everyone has lost their minds. The ship's equipment records a "seismic disturbance" before it all subsides.

Food and drink fuel talk until late in the night. The men compete for the ears of the ladies with their best stories, but Pin steers most of the conversations with his many and varied questions. He is making the best of this break from his work.

Beema watches him; he is in the moment. He stands tall and proud, like the humans. She walks to him, there is a sway in her hips. She grabs his arm and as she spins into his embrace, her gown bells-out from the exaggerated turn, and a hidden slit up the side opens, reveling smooth thigh for a fraction of a second. Jasmine gives her a look of approval; her efforts have not been in vain. The men who witnessed the move privately renew their 'do-ability debate' falling closer to the 'do' side more and more.

Music is played once again, and formal dancing is achieved where each man traded turns with the ladies at arm's length. Manners and poise rule this aspect of the evening, but it all falls away when the new song, "The Squishy" is performed again as an encore. Without the surprise this time, the 'dancing' devolves to a circle of self-expression that can only be described in hindsight as a 'pagan ritual.' So fun!

Later, Pin wakes with a start. The light burns in his eyes and he wonders why he is laying on the floor of the Great Room. He tries to move but is stuck fast, glued to the floor in a crust of dried wine, spilled food and God knows what. A dull thud of pain racks is head. _What am I doing here? Where are my clothes?_ He thinks, as he peels himself off the floor with a ripping sound as his head throbs.

Pin hobbles to the cabin that he _usually_ shares with Beema. His scrimshaw gift is prominently displayed on a tiny shelf on the wall. Her claw necklaces hang near it on a hook. The tiger fur coat hangs on a hanger next to the bed where she lies sleeping. He looks at her pretty, fair face, so peaceful and pleasant. He is soaking-in her features in child-like admiration. Her nose, so small and delicate, starts to twitch ever so slightly. Suddenly, her whole face is grabbed by a retched scowl. She is gagging as she beams to Pin what seems like a thousand demands at once, with the top priority being the fact that he stinks terribly, and he needs to bathe.
Chapter 10

BACK TO WORK

Pin never did remember everything that happened at the party, but he didn't give it much thought either as he launched right back into his work. Beema joins him, and she is now wearing a 'maternity version' of their original bib-overall attire. Even Jasmine tones-down her 'fabulousness' as the entire crew take on a subtle but growing demeanor of seriousness. Before much longer, Pin is ready to present the plan that he has been working on so hard.

When Captain Pin finally completed his complex deception program, he, Mr. Buck and Father Brien sat down with the Admiral to present the action-plan formally, for his approval. The basics are as follows:

The spaceship will reappear outside the solar system of the alien home world in the area of the local beacon and they will be immediately scanned by Master Control. Normally, the status of all the ship's systems and personnel would instantly appear on the equipment at Master Control, and Master Control would take over and begin docking operations.

This scanning is only possible when the ship's systems are interfaced with Master Control. Because of the 'trick' of physics that allow the 'bubble' of artificial atmosphere and gravity of the anti-matter technology, it cannot be penetrated electronically without the maintenance interface available. Therefore, a carefully prepared 'May-Day' type S.O.S. message will be transmitted in place of the normal transmissions showing gruesome injuries of the crew and claiming multiple system failures and manual operation available only, and as a result, they will demand an immediate emergency landing without delay.

Pin has ready a completely staged and extraordinary elaborate vision of broken medical and food producing equipment, minimum power capability, questionable hull integrity, overloaded circuits and components, as well as the hoax of the injured crew members, to be transmitted in what should be received along the standard interface channels to Master Control. All this will (hopefully) pave the way for a quick landing before any real evaluation can be completed.

Once inside the landing bay, the 'bubble' will be turned off and the jig is up! Master Control will detect the humans and their gear, and it cannot be known exactly what will happen.

Mr. Pin's knowledge as a system specialist gives him a good idea of what _may_ happen. There will be a pause of a few seconds as information goes to and from Master Control, and Pin knew that the matter of it not being ordinary operations will mean it will cross the displays of living beings for evaluation requiring many levels of authorization, that could stretch the time window much more, maybe up to almost one full minute.

While this is happening, Pin and the men will storm the immediate docking facility, subdue and detain any personnel, locate the nearest control panel (there should be one within a few steps) and download a program that will change everything. This second program is also a deception program, but this one is something epic, powerful, and dramatic, but technically quite simple. Pin's initial deception program for Master Control was hundreds of times more labor intensive to produce.

The Admiral gets up from his chair and paces about the room deep in thought.

"Dis ye 'program' it be changin' dee beings as you and Beema did change?" Black asked while scratching his beard.

"Yes."

"And day be joining R cause when it be over?"

"Almost certainly. They will have free will. They will never return to the slavery of before."

"An if it fail, where do we be?"

"I will process those we capture on the spot and build forces one at a time and hallway by hallway if I have to."

"Dat, I thinks could well take a lifetime!"

"The ship will be set to take you back without need of a pilot. Loaded with your pay and will be ready to leave at any time after the initial assault."

"Aw, you to have me believe'n you can locate, secure and load one thousand tons o' gold so neat and quick?"

"Yes."

"Don't play me the fool boy! Dat be taken a good part of a week even if it be stacked on da quay when we git dare!"

Mr. Pin thought about that and decided to let the Admiral in on a secret. He walks over to the assembler, and with a touch here and a swipe there, the system produces a glistening yellow bar of pure gold the size of a brick. Pin uses all his strength to leverage it up, and while clutching the glistening burden close to his chest, he takes heavy footsteps back to the Admiral and dumps it on the table in front of him with a great thump for his inspection.

The Admiral, with wide eyes and mock anger asks in raising voice:

"You mean to say that you can fill this ship with gold at any time ye wish?"

"No, current stocks allow for the production of less than ten thousand pounds of this element. Restocking once on the planet surface will take less than one hour, and then your pay will be produced and stowed on board."

Mr. Buck, Father Brien and the Admiral, push and poke at the gold bar, and although there is much more to discuss, Pin's ability to deliver is never again in question. But the Admiral is not satisfied.

"What if they don't buy ye distress call and prevent R landing? What be thee back-up plan?"

Pin had to admit he has only this plan.

"I be require'n a backup plan, Captain Pin, before my approval. Perhaps ye could locate thy King, and make an assault at his palace, if denied ye first objective."

This struck Pin as brilliant, even though there isn't anything like a King on his planet, there is a main system hub at Master Control. The wheels of Pin's mind are turning as the meeting breaks up, and at the next meeting, he will have a backup plan to present.
Chapter 11

NEW ADDITIONS TO THE CREW

Pin has become obsessed with his backup plan, and after much thorough and tireless effort, it is nearing completion, and what is more important, it might even work. He has designed exercise drills for the men that simulate what they should expect on the planet and details are worked out to the second. They hone and perfect every move that should be needed and they study hard to understand what they may see and feel. There _should_ be no surprises.

So absorbed was Pin in all this, that as Beema went into labor, it takes him by complete surprise. When he dashed in to see her, she looked to be under so much stress that he thought she might be dying, and he almost faints dead away himself.

Mr. Buck and Lady Jasmine have things under control and because of the way her water broke, and the fact that Beema has been lactating heavy, there is every reason to be optimistic. Still it is a tough birth, and the things Beema broadcast to Pin, and screamed from her mouth, could have made the devil blush.

During the crowning, Pin did faint!

He revived to find his child, a girl, feeding at her mother's teat. How long has it been since this sight was last witnessed? Pin is overcome with emotion on every level. Now the importance and scope of everything happening is defined and simplified with a five-pound, three-ounce lump of gurgling and slurping gray flesh. In less than a month the process will be repeated, but this time the results will be pink, male and human, ten pounds, six ounces worth.

They are christened Bertha and Billy.

Pin is now determined and focused on his plans like never before. He MUST prevail, if there is to be even a world to raise his family in. Talk about intense motivation!

Pin has scoured the data banks of the ship and put together a holographic representation of the planet to assist the men in understanding the objectives and he has discovered one master control hub different from the others. This one has a unique energy signature that can only be caused by one thing; anti-matter technology.

Deep inside a huge chamber is a 'bubble' just like the one the ship produces when in flight. If there is a 'King' in this world, this should be his palace. But unlike the spaceship, where the bubble protects the power source and everything else inside, the power for this bubble is fed externally, from the grid, and _that_ will be its undoing.

"So if thee deception fails, we race to this palace, dispatch the life giving force around us, launch yon missiles ye prepared, which will stun their magic long enough for us to storm the grounds where we use ye hand weapon to blast a hole in yon wall, then we shalt pour in and capture thy King?" Asked Admiral Black in a pondering way, advancing the debate.

"Yes, and then I will run my program."

"Then we be joined by ye kind, and establish rule?"

"Yes."

The self-appointed 'Admiral' and his mates can only grasp this 'program' concept on the most basic and superficial level. They will let Pin play this card, but their overall faith in his plan is frankly, quite weak but they keep that to themselves. Their alliance with Pin is as others have been before; dependent on outcome. With a wink and a nod, Black can rally his men for an unexpected, complete reversal and vicious surprise attack for which his men are well ready and able. Their ties and allegiances to each other run far deeper and trump any mere agreement on parchment. Their _true_ relationships are forged in blood, buckets of it. Black will be launching this campaign with the goal of exploiting the Squishy's home world and after their arrival, he will do whatever is necessary to steer the operation in his favor. He doesn't enjoy the fact that if Pin and Beema become obstacles, they will be dealt with ruthlessly, as have so many others. It is a big, bad, cruel world..., universe, but that's the way it is. They didn't make these rules, but they play by them.

"Well, Captain Pin, I believe they may be a thousand flaws, but risk is part o' life, and it is the part me and my men live for! I be approve'n of this action and putting it to vote immediately." The men approved it without hesitation. In just a few short weeks, the operation will begin.

A somber celebration of prayer and reflection mark the decision. This is when, among other things, hopes and dreams are discussed, and daydreams were expressed without restraint. The Admiral at one point asks Mr. Buck what he wanted to do with his gains when returned to Earth.

"What do I want to do? What I want is to kick old George outa Buckingham Palace and establish my residence!" This brought ruckus laughter only exceeded when he added:

"I be flipp'n da mattress I thinks." Mr. Pin took special note of this statement, and the evening ended after more pleasant hours of music and storytelling, much to Beema's and everyone's delight.
Chapter 12

KING OF THE WORLD

Ahead lay a cold, bleak world of incredible development that had, for the most part, climaxed millions of years ago. The coldness is not necessarily one of temperature, as it is one of attitude and design. Stimulation of all types had proven to be troublesome long ago, and everything there reflects the accepted and approved blandness. Boring, lifeless structures encompass all the surface area of the planet and continue for the hundreds of levels that exist below. The utilitarian theme resembles a beehive as much as anything. There are no forests or oceans or wildlife, no life at all except for the indentured beings, existing only to operate their specific control stations for the assigned labors in their individual fields of expertise. The natural life cycles of their species were overridden long ago, for the sake of efficiency and security. The atmosphere, and all their physical needs are manufactured using their element re-construction technology.

Nobody there is born and raised. These inhabitants are manufactured, in vast and extensive factories, with general knowledge and career specific training already imprinted and implanted in their advanced brains rendering them ready for use immediately. They are regenerated from time to time to maintain good health and that prevents any noticeable aging and unknown to them, they are recycled back into 'stock' when their usefulness had significantly degraded.

No relationships are established. No hobbies, no outside interests or mastery of anything except their duties exist. They keep no homes, (duty stations are equipped with sleeping chambers and they take their meals there as well) nothing is decorated or personalized. One just exists, and no one knows of anything different.

That is, _almost_ no one

Things were very different here some millions of generations ago, and deep under the surface of Master Control Main, lay the ruins of the hallowed halls that house the great computers of the long-ago time. This is where the ancient ones developed and refined their technologies, so very long ago, forgotten by all, except for the beings of a pampered, secret class. Those in this class of special, elite beings hold important posts at Master Control.

If anyone has a name on this world it would be a certain member of this class who roams the discarded chambers of these forgotten, underground ruins with the satisfied content felt as if he is visiting an old friend. He is one of this elite class, meaning that he and the other elites live in the natural state, and are 'supposed' to be subject to the natural progressions intended of their origins and evolution. He is known to the others of this small, (less than one hundred) hidden group as, the Old One.

When the Old One was young, he stumbled upon these ruins under Master Control Main, and he has kept his roaming, expeditions and discoveries more or less secret from the other elites purely for selfish reasons. He didn't want anyone else invading his solitude, as he would steal away down here mostly just to clear his mind and think.

The Old One has formed the opinion that the other elites had lost their way long ago, and instead of living the natural life as they are supposed to do, as a genetic fail-safe and as the ultimate back-up of their race, they have fallen into lives of decadence and hedonism.

They have been regenerating to maintain their youth for purposes of vanity, and no births have occurred in living memory. They live in the anti-matter bubble for reasons of pleasure and comfort. They mock the Old One for his haggard appearance and his serious demeanor, and they have cast him out socially which suits him just fine. But today, the Old One sits among the glorious, crumbling statuary and architectural finery of his forgotten sanctuary, and ponders something troubling; a scout ship is late.

Hundreds of meters up through the catacombs of this lifeless, dull construction, the elites play in their bubble. Anti-matter technology allows any gravity and atmosphere they wish, and with this technology and with the help of the many and varied stored programs and their own imaginations, they surround themselves in luxury, decoration and scenery the likes of which humans could hardly comprehend. Life is but an orgy of mindless sensation and shallow experience shared with any being they can imagine, created from a bio re-constructor.

When not uselessly satisfying their many urges and cravings, they would host debates and discussions among themselves from haughty perspectives and in blatant and condescending manner, mostly to stroke their egos and justify their debauchery. But _they_ don't see it that way. They truly believe that they rule the universe and when they speak, it is the words of Gods. It is their opinion that the universe is lucky to have them.

They would have been lucky if they were at one of these discussions and not fiddling about when the warnings sounded, and a spaceship appeared at the local navigation beacon without the normal telemetry data broadcast.

The Old One, (still quite in tune with the systems of his planet) also received the warning, and he makes his way from the intellectual safe zone that he has selfishly created for himself and journeys to the planet surface.
Chapter 13

GUNS BLAZING!

When they appear in the beacon area, Captain Pin has the ship right where he wants it. Master Control Main is in his forward view, and Pin makes real-time intelligence updates of the secondary objective as he activates his deception plan and releases his illegitimate distress call. There is an agonizing pause as they wait for a return message from Master Control.

As the men wait, they stare at the bleak sphere that is the planet turning below them, and even after all the hours of holographic study, they are still struck by its stark loneliness. Endless structures connected by passageways, both long and short, that become just shapes of a gray-black metallic appearing surface that has filled-in and smoothed-over the oceans, mountains and valleys long ago. The toils of billions of beings for millions of years appear only as a sad, dirty crust.

The pirate crew members who still cling to the hope of seeing God or Heaven, after having a look at this planet, are pretty sure that this is the 'other' place. This horrid world appears to be nothing but a cemetery and prison for souls. Home sickness wells up strongly in most of the men at just this point.

Finally, Master Control returns a message:

"Is your bio re-constructor on-line?" This is a stupid question because the fabricated distress call was quite clear about that, as it stated clearly that they were injured and unable to get relief.

"Negative control, direct us in! We're dying out here!" Beamed Pin in a performance that should have won him an acting award.

Another long moment passes.

"Proceed into orbit and make repairs to your bio re-constructor, further orders to follow."

Pin translated the message to Black, and the Admiral's reply is quick and forceful:

"They're not biting, assault the castle at once! No time to lose!" Captain Pin is forced by circumstances to agree with this assessment, and he engages manual control and off they go. Pin can't help but wonder why his deception program had failed, he spent almost a year perfecting it. Doubt creeps into his overall outlook and he fights to shake that off and find some optimism.

The pirate's religious alter in the great room is suddenly flooded in blue light and as every man knew, that meant, among other things, prepare for a fight! The men, in their body armor, stand at their battle stations near the hatches, weapons drawn and ready to disembark.

Father Brien and Ping stay with the women and children, sealed deep in the strongest part of the ship.

It will take just seconds to reach the required distance for the launching of the missiles and to do that, they will have to disengage the anti-matter generator which will result in losing the protective ball of energy around them and that will leave them most venerable. It will be a rough ride after that, so measures have been taken to restrain the crew, especially the mothers and their babies from the expected abrupt movements of the violent maneuvers.

The "missiles" are modified data probes, loaded with an unstable mix of elements that will explode at a precise altitude and position to disperse an otherwise non-damaging, electromagnetic pulse, (EMP) that should overwhelm and disable all of the systems of Master Control Main, temporarily at least.

"Down with life support, launching missiles," reports Pin verbally in a steady but still somewhat comic voice, as he operates the said systems.

The Old One has made his way nearly to the surface when suddenly, systems all around him began to go dark and the incredible noise of the missile's reports reaches him. He emerged outside of the passages of this area just as a ship (standard scout class) came to a banging, skidding stop at the edge of the main building structure, not that far away from him.

It is an attack on the elites!

This should have filled him with dread, but so deep is his melancholy and his disdain of his peers and his overall dissatisfaction of the current state of his world, that the attack hardly bothers him. He is filled most with curiosity, and as one of the monsters blew a hole in the wall that you could drive a mag-lift thru, he makes his way toward the action as an indifferent but curious spectator.
Chapter 14

THE BUBBLE BURST

The elites were up to their normal perversions as alarms and warnings interrupt their never-ending party. They were all waiting for someone else to deal with the emergency when the anti-matter environment that they play in suddenly disperses, and they find themselves falling and crashing to the floor with their current batch of bio-generated concubines.

Their shock turns to horror as a wall disintegrates, and the monsters pour in, projecting screaming, disturbing audio from their faces and waving violently what appear to be blades from the ends of their limbs. They instantly surround the sorry lot of Squishys, as Captain Pin broadcasts the order:

"Don't move!"

The elites are not accustomed to _receiving_ orders, and one, apparently braver then the others, or perhaps blinded with anger, jumps up, presumably to protest his indignation when he receives a blast from the hand weapon of the Admiral that cleanly vaporizes his torso, leaving his falling head to knock his standing legs over like they were bowling pins.

"Are there anymore heroes?" Beams Pin, as the rest cringe in terror.

"Didn't think so." Pin broadcasts and simultaneously says out loud. The men laugh heartily at the joke and at the berated bunch of Squishys who cower before them.

Just as the thought of easy victory starts to soak in, the sound of a single man clapping interrupts the silence and from the blown open wall, the Old One appears, and he continues his applause as he moves closer and says:

"Bravo."

He stops his clapping, as one of the pirates' yell:

"Is their King!"

Mr. Buck and the Admiral advance on him with weapons drawn, but Captain Pin waves them off. Already there has been in-depth communication between the Old One and Pin and he translates for the humans:

"There will be no trouble from this one."

"The King will kneel?" Asked the Admiral, hardly hiding his disbelief and excitement.

Captain Pin doesn't answer immediately as he and the Old One transmit back and forth _everything_. Pin is told of the ruins, the elites, the past and other subjects deep, and all encompassing. The Old One is told of the crash, the regenerating, the birth, the plans, and last, the program. If text could be produced of the exchange, it would fill volumes, but so efficient is the communication of these beings that it all took only seconds.

The effects of the pulse weapon start to diminish, and as the systems around them return on-line, Pin moves to the wall and with a touch and a swipe, he obtains his own hand weapon and uses it to destroy the power feed for the elite's anti-matter generator in a dramatic flash and an obnoxious, tearing sound.

As the smoke of that action rises above the stunned and frightened spectators, the Old One walks up to a control panel. He appears unfazed and unconcerned and as if it just another day at the office, he motions to Pin as if it is an invitation. Pin produces from a pocket of his battle dress a transparent cube containing the program. He places it in the void provided in the control panel and with a nod from the Old One, he starts the chain of events.
Chapter 15

NEW BEGINNING

All over the planet, the population receive an innocent appearing medical directive to report to the nearest bio re-constructor and undergo an ordinary medical update. These kinds of directives come in from time to time, and although prompt response is required, no one thought much about it. They get up from their workstations, step into the device and in a moment, they step out reborn, and in the natural state that their DNA dictates, and not the limited state that they had only known before.

This was probably the largest example of unintended consequences in the entire universe. So unpredictable and varied are the results. The reactions of the population range all across the board, off the chart. Some succumb to hysteria, while others just went back to work. After some self-evaluation, most were somewhat aware of what had just happened and on some level, they realized how empty their existence had been before, and alone, or in groups they wept in a mixture of joy and terror.

Master Control ground to a halt, and all around them, control panels broadcast warnings and alarms to no one. The panic and confusion reached around the world and right up to the corridors outside of the great hall of Master Control Main.

The reborn beings in the vicinity of Master Control Main start to gather, and as some peek into the great hall, they are stunned at what they see. One look at the humans in their battle dress, and many of them faint dead away. Others spread the word, and soon crowds are pressing in from all directions to see and pay homage to the invaders. Pin is dumbfounded, speechless, his mind races for a solution to his confusion but nothing useful appears.

Then from the direction of the just blasted hole in the wall that the Old One used to make his entrance, all attention is paid due to the incredible event that is unfolding from there. All sound ceases, both audio and the mental method of the indigenous beings. Because emerging from that jagged opening is a sight that is unbelievable yet, as the population will discover in time, explains everything. For proceeding from that still smoldering breech, and moving to the center of the great hall, and in front of the astonished and quickly growing crowd, is the planet's only mother, holding a giggling baby child, wrapped in fine silk. (Jasmine's silk.)

Beema carries herself and her baby with calm and infectious dignity. Her hair is pulled back in a bun with tight braids and with some locks left loose to dangle and catch the breeze as she walks. Gone are the utilitarian bib overalls, replaced by a flowing long dress designed by Jasmine and produced by the ship's equipment. It is a rich, shimmering fabric of a golden green color, chosen to complement Beema's hair and to match her neckless. It is cut to leave her shoulders bare while plunging low in the back. She radiates righteousness and confidence that spills-over with overflowing, smug pride, and when all attention and complete silence is hers, she holds her baby high in her arms as the gift and presentation of the salvation of their race and their world which the child actually is, and the Planet Mother, Beema, declares in her strong, practiced natural voice:

"BEHOLD!"

The beings present, including the humans, drop to their knees and bow deeply, even the former elites in a surprising and spontaneous act display their devotion this way.

The planet's electronic communication systems have allowed this event to be transmitted all around their world, and after the jaw dropping shock that such a thing is even possible, complete euphoria erupted! Never, has a race had such an injection of hope and promise. Confusion is washed away, (temporally at least) and replaced with worship.

"But how?" The legions beg.

"How did it occur?

How did it happen?"

Pin joins her mate, and to partially answer the crowd's questions, Beema turns her head sharply and receives Pin's carefully aimed and skillfully planted smooch.

Before, in their cabin, and now, in their hearts, cozy practice and patient joy have turned hot bumbling into the fine art of calm, cool, perfection that their love has now become. The thrill of that kiss warms Beema from deep inside and her outstretched arms hold baby Bertha even higher for the moment that the feeling reigns.

At this simple display of affection, the assembled masses (many hundreds in the great hall already, and the number growing by the minute) went into a form of hysteria producing an uncontrollable and quite unconscious mass vocalization. A "gasp" of sorts.

So untried and untested are the vocal sounds that leave these new and unskilled lips that the actual sound lasted only but a second. So shrill and offensive was the squawk, that tongues are held as soon as the sound grates on the ears of the actual producers of the verbal offense. So varied is each being's response as to what each subconsciously thought would be an appropriate vocalization, that the entire spectrum and range of sound producing capability of the reborn masses is represented.

To the pirates, it sounded as if it was an entire barnyard of harsh noise.

Baby Bertha, still held high at the extent of Beema's arms, and apparently enjoying the view, grabs the sudden silence and throws out in strong baby voice:

"Gabba-gabba-gooo!"

Now, as if under divine prodding, and impatient to explore the capability of the new toy that is their own mouths and voices, the masses follow their only example. Mechanically and with serious effort, the crowd begins with unsteady but determined cadence:

"Gabba-gabba-gooo! Gabba-gabba-gooo! Gabba-gabba-gooo!"

Over and over until they achieved sort of a pitch that they seem to think is as fine as opera, but to the pirates, trees full of monkeys produce more pleasant a racket.

Baby Bertha, ecstatic at the chanting crowd, swings her arms about her and as she squeals in delight, she displays her wide baby grin.

The chanting stops. Grins appear throughout the crowds. They look at each other and it must be 'tried out' by all. Hands reach out and explore the shaky birth of the smiles of nearby faces, touching and feeling all that is new. In a retarded orgy of innocence and discovery, mouths form circles, pushing out primitive "Ow _www_ s" and "Oh _hhhs_ " as they sample and test with curious fingers. But still quite in control of their normal communication method, all become silent as they listen for the tiny miracle in Beema's arms to say something else.

But it is at this pause that it is noticed that the humans have lost their minds. They are laughing their asses off!

Under these unusual and truly unique conditions, the human laughter is more infectious than plague. The sight of these invaders, minutes ago so tough and dangerous, are now holding their sides and slapping their thighs, with faces red and grins from ear to ear. They look..., funny.

Being by being, the laughter erupts. First it is beings closest to the humans. Then, spreading fast as fire, all in the great hall are laughing. Everyone in the corridors are next. With the assistance of their electronic equipment, round the world it goes. The sound is an abomination of guttural spasm and goofy snorts, which the humans find even more humorous then the baby talk, and their laughter increases uncontrollably to historic and record levels.

The strange appearance, silly mannerism and geeky demeanor of this species have always struck the humans as humorous, and still charged-up from the action of the raid, and high on the realization of the complete and total victory that it seems to have been, these men spill-out with laughter, all their worries, hopes, passions, fears, and above all, joy, in an unfettered display of raw emotion that defies sane explanation or sober rationalization.

This all goes on way too long, but finally, after baby Bertha is taken away to be put down for a nap with Aunty Jasmine back in the ship, things take a more serious turn. But what now? The coup was so successful that Beema, Pin, and the humans are at a loss as to exactly what the next step should be.

But the Old One surprisingly, is somewhat prepared for all this, and he addresses his world.

In seconds, with their system of communication aided by the electronic equipment, he explains and details to a world-wide audience wholesale changes and disruptions that will be necessary and vital in the very near future. About committees and institutions that will be needed. About how hard it will be, and how it will not even be for anyone alive today, (except maybe baby Bertha) but for the future. He went on about the rewards of self-destiny and free will. (His time spent pondering things in the ruins, is paying off.) When it is over, a holiday is declared, and it lasts for days and in many ways it may have never completely ended.

But the homesick humans long for their own kind, and it is not long before they are ready to say their goodbyes.
Chapter 16

PAY DAY!

The scout ship has been overhauled and restocked, including the thousand tons of gold. The ship is now reconfigured for the human's environment, and each man has a larger cabin with plenty of room for his personal stores. Old shabby clothing has long since been replaced by fine, regenerated attire tailored to each man's taste and disposition.

Mr. Buck's library and Father Brien's scripture have been reproduced for the Squishys and all logbooks and records from the journey have been archived and recorded for posterity. The ship is set for the automatic return to Earth, and a gigantic, world-wide send-off celebration is planned.

When the time to shove off arrives, and while delirious jubilation is occurring outside, Mr. Pin (President Pin now) the Prime Minister, (formally the Old One) and Beema with baby Bertha in her arms, make their personal farewells to the humans. This private and personal gathering is a somber event and is a little sad, but it is agreed that there is really no place for humans in this world. Only Father Brien considers staying to complete his missionary efforts, but in a land devoid of forests, rivers, lakes, or mountains, the bleakness of a future here is just too depressing to fathom.

But already the Squishy's are changing their outlook of what is acceptable of life in general and along those lines, they demand parks and open spaces to be used as common areas of shared mingling for social purposes. Many of these new and welcome additions include glorious statuary commemorating the now famous kiss of Pin and Beema. Life-like is the statuary depiction of the scene of Beema holding Bertha so high and her form is captured receiving Pin's tender affection. As a tribute to the humans, their exotic (to them, for some reason) written script is used at the base of the art pieces and spell out the word that has now become overused to the point of annoying:

"BEHOLD!"

Pin and Beema are flattered to be at one such unveiling attended by the humans who happened to have been present earlier for the regenerative 'construction' that preceded the event and produced the large statue previously described and transformed a place of several acres from a bleak service area to charming outdoor walking paths, intricate tiled open spaces and cozy, covered benches. The entire development took less than an hour and no more than a few workers were needed.

Black, Buck, and the rest of the men are simply amazed. Construction without dust or even noise. The Squishys had set up their equipment and from where it is pointed and after the blinding light, perfect pavement, retaining walls, benches and awnings appear and are ready for instant use. The only pause is to reposition the equipment for more continued 'building.'

Black lusts for these secrets but something tells him, and Buck concurs, that these methods may simply be out of reach for humans.

"Their link is natural," reasons Buck.

"Attached to their thoughts as they toil" continued Buck as he and Black discussed the matter.

"It be that God-damn big brains of them! I'd sell my soul to see what be happen'n in that space!" Black exclaimed in frustration.

Buck wonders if there is much soul left there to sell, but he keeps his musing private, but still the humor radiates a miniscule twinkle in his eye, a tell that Black jumps on.

"You ain't no saint ye self, Mister Buck!" So close has their relationship become that banter such as this is common.

But there are other reasons besides home sickness that a prompt exit from this world might be merited.

The rebirth of the population has spawned the birth of the inevitable cascade that followed. Difference of opinion and natural disagreements of everything from fashion to public behavior add up quickly, and what started as discussions with the clearest and loftiest goals and in the noblest of consul, began to degenerate into vicious argument. It is the birth (or rebirth probably) on this world of 'politics.' Already factions form and align among all manner of decision and dispute.

Black and Buck have seen the gold bricks interlocked together under the floor of the spaceship and it whets their appetites. They worry that they have only Mr. Pin's word that the ship will even return to Earth at all as agreed, and they have no choice but to believe him, (they find NO comfort in that fact) and they fear that a change of his heart, or that his leadership power may only be fleeting, could ruin everything. In the dizzying pace that is this world, every minute that passes increases the danger.

"The ether here is of an electric nature as it be before the storm of lighting," Black said as he addresses the men, and he isn't talking of the weather. (The men have witnessed no change in climate during their stay here, not even breeze or cloud. All is controlled, presumably by their vast equipment.)

"Things here could turn quick as a Jack Fish (his name for a kind of minnow) an frankly, we should be gett'n as thee gett'ns be good."

"Here-here Sir!"

Buck and Father Brien second the statement in strong agreement. The rest of the sailors also voice their agreement and even their outright impatience, as their homesickness has grown, as has their longing for others of the humankind, especially for company of the opposite sex.

After the personal farewells, the short trip for the humans across the newly 'built' park turns downright dangerous as thousands of Squishys press in from all directions. They shout joyfully (mostly) in their still far from perfected natural voices. The hoots and shouts seem to be mostly for the humans benefit and entertainment, (they really have no real use for audio projections) and were certainly rehearsed specially for this event.

This attention strikes the humans as awkward and unnecessary, but they try sincerely to acknowledge the praise in the form of gracious waves and bows. Their anxiety grows as progress is slowed to a crawl as this galactic, interstellar, interracial 'pressing of the flesh' goes on and on until finally, they are at the very edge of the decking that serves as the spaceship's dock. Here, the Squishys stop and allow the humans to enter the ship through the main hatch. _Thank God!_

The crew assembles together in the ship's main cabin and as the hatches are sealed, they share troubled, anxious expressions. With little further delay, the ship lifts off, protected and encased in its bubble, it travels towards the beacon, (they hope) amid the continuing world-wide fanfare and celebration. The Admiral holds his son in his arms as lady Jasmine covers his tiny ears and declares:

"Let's get the _fuck_ out'a here!"

The men grunt and nod their agreement as they think:

" _I don't believe I've ever heard it put that way before."_

It will be a long trip, as they very well know. Billy will likely take his first steps and speak his first words at some point during the duration. Ping will keep them all well fed but soon it is discovered that the assembler is locked-out to them for anything but food and drink. (It was done for their own protection, even with the built-in safety protocols, they could still make something dangerous and deadly and be harmed before they realized what they have done.)

Unfortunately, the pirates may have made a serious blunder, though it wouldn't dawn on them until later. They have neglected to define where exactly on Earth they will be landing!
Chapter 17

SERIOUS CONCERNS

It dawned on the Space Pirates that not knowing their exact destination is a serious concern. Without discussion beforehand, it was speculated that the location might be the exact spot that they had left from- the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. That would leave them in a floating metal saucer without means of propulsion. Or God forbid, they will be cast out on the waves only to be left swimming, and their gold bars sinking to the bottom of the sea! Therefore, it became necessary to develop a wide range of plans to try to be ready for anything.

They built life rafts out of the trunks and crates that they still possessed, each loaded with stores and as much gold as possible, in case of being cast out at sea. They develop drills and battle plans for taking over the first ship they might come across if left floating in the saucer. They made plans for defending the treasure if set down on land, or if stranded in a deserted area, they made plans to hide the loot.

The Admiral and Mr. Buck wanted one thing more than the gold (not really, but close) and that is to commandeer this ship, and their hope is to affix ores and sail, and maneuver the strange craft to a safe harbor. The real prize is the magic (technology) within the ship and if that could be unlocked, they would control the world with the power of Gods!

Other than all that, it is an uneventful trip of comfort and leisure with little Billy being the center of attention and the main source of entertainment.
Chapter 18

WE'RE HERE!

Time passes quickly for the crew, but they have no idea just exactly _how_ quickly. Mr. Buck's calendars and his clocks show that close to three years in total have passed since 'meeting' the Squishys, but funny things happen that they could not understand (or anybody for that matter, except maybe Albert Einstein) if even only seconds are spent approaching the speed of light. It is a process that is eventually called Time-Space Denigration by physicists, and because of it, the pirates are quite blind of the passing of just over one hundred years on the Earth while they were away.

Most of the men are asleep when the view from the spaceship windows suddenly and silently shifted from a view of deep space to an image of a blue planet approaching at break-neck speed. As Black became aware of the change and with the clarity of mind that defines his leadership, the Admiral orders Cranton to call the men to stations, and under the roll of his snare, they don their battle gear and ready their equipment. Black pats the space weapon in its holster and he thinks to himself; _whatever happens, you're my_ _ace in the hole._

The blue planet grows larger and larger until it completely fills the viewing windows, and as they get even closer, the outline of the west coast of Europe, and then Great Britain is unmistakable. Soon the Thames river is visible and something else, fires are burning all over the city! A city with many familiar landmarks but also now packed with so much more. Suddenly, strings of fire snake up from the ground from multiple sources and puffs of black smoke erupt all around them.

"England is at war!" Declared Black in an anxious, almost child-like tone.

"And what a war! I've never seen such weaponry!"

Mr. Buck doesn't answer, he is deep in thought, and that thought is the fact that he thinks he knows where they are going. He remembers his musings of wanting to lodge at Buckingham Palace. All he can muster is:

"I be dammed!"
Chapter 19

MANNA FROM HEAVEN

"Lord Churchill, please sir, the all-clear has not been sounded" said the guard, who is posted at the air-raid shelter entrance.

"Blast the all clear! The bombers have passed, I need some air!" Winston said as he lights his cigar.

These have been the worst weeks of the Prime Minister's life. London is in flames. The air forces are on the verge of collapse and he is in no mood. As horrible as the bombing of the city is, at least it may relieve the burden of the attacks on the airfields.

_Bah! Wretched business!_ Thinks Churchill as he takes a big pull on his cigar and looks up at Big Ben and Buckingham Palace, which luckily still looks mostly unscathed, _this time_. But something catches his eye, something falling towards the palace, and just his luck he thinks; _just in time to see Buckingham Palace destroyed._

But whatever it is that is falling, it is slower than a gravity bomb, it must be a crashing aircraft!

Now it is getting closer, really close, and Mr. Churchill gets the best view of it as anyone, and it is not to be believed what he sees. He must be more fatigued then he thought because he is sure he sees a translucent sphere with something, mostly yellow in the bottom, just as gravel in the bottom of a fishbowl would be.

Never-the-less, it seems to land with a dull thud in the inner courtyard of the Palace grounds. He turns to the guard at the shelter door and yells:

"Gather some men and come with me! There's been an air-crash at the Palace!"

Even though it is against all the rules in the book, and he wouldn't have done it ordinarily, he hot-foots it over there, mostly just to see if his eyes are playing tricks on him or not.

Mr. Black (he is no Admiral in this world) has landed on top of scattered gold bars several feet thick. Trunks, barrels and crates intermix with the gold. Little Billy wails in his mother's arms and William springs to her side. He is relieved to find her, the baby, and the other men apparently unharmed. But strangely, their regenerated finery has been replaced by the tattered rags that they were wearing last when on the Sandylee.

There are voices as armed men approach, and even though these men are mesmerized by the glistening gold as they arrive, they have the bearing to raise their weapons and one of them orders:

"Don't move!"

Black reaches for the space weapon, it is gone! The body armor is gone as well. Only the things that left with them from the Sandylee and the gold remain. More armed men arrive and by the looks of their weapons, the muskets and swords spread about with the gold bars will be no match. The pirates have no choice but to raise their arms as directed by the soldiers.

Mr. Black sees a short, paunchy, balding, older man puffing on a cigar as he approaches, and he directs his attention towards him. Soldiers rush to protect and surround this man and it is clear to Black that he must be the boss. This man, Churchill, keeps one eye on Black and as he surveys the scene, he nearly drops that cigar from his mouth. Black shouts over to him respectfully:

"What do you say about making a deal?"

Within minutes, the pirates are disarmed, cuffed and in the back of lorries and under armed guard. As they bounce along to the station, most of the men are deep in dark thoughts.

Back at Buckingham Palace, the initial responders are now themselves under detention and they have been replaced by special agents. A stream of transports come and go from the palace courtyard all night, and by morning, all signs that anything unusual had happened have been removed.

Black, back at the police station, is escorted into the toilet and is shown the bowl.

"Will you be giving me some privacy?"

"No..., very well."

He starts his business.

"Awwww!"

At least the Squishy's didn't take away all their gifts.
Chapter 20

PART TWO: NEW LIFE-NEW REALITIES

Another year has passed and the former "Space Pirates" have found themselves sequestered together in a grand English estate, which offers some of the finest accommodations available during this nation's aerial blitz and naval blockade. The Space Pirates are slowly getting used to this new way of living, with electric lighting and running hot water, but they still find themselves lighting lanterns while light switches remain unused within an arm's reach and they display a host of other 'quirks' as they adapt. The main house remains quite grand still, even after its artwork had been removed for safety and with the windows boarded-up and sandbags stacked high along entryways and venerable exterior walls. Many upstairs areas are also protected but remain off-limits due to safety concerns, and strict "black-out" conditions are observed after dark which usually result in early bedtimes for all.

Servants attend to their every need and want, and they treat each man down to the lowest of stature (Ping) as if he is a great lord and gentleman. This is quite different than the first few months after their sudden 'arrival' during the attack of that fateful night's savage air raid. At that time, they were immediately arrested, separated, and each of them began long weeks of intense interrogation where nearly every means and method available was used or considered to extract any information possible. Initially, they were told that they were being charged with trying to steal vast quantities of royal treasure during the cover of foreign attack. Ridiculous as that was, it is better than the other premise of them being spies, and that they should be immediately taken outside and shot. While this had some effect on the lowly seamen of the crew, Mr. Black, Mr. Buck and Father Brien had little worry. What happened to them, and what brought them here, was as Father Brien said; "A miraculous intervention" and at least until it was explained and understood, it will ensure that their future would be very much among the living. The fact that the deeper their handlers dug into their story, the more it was known that they would never rationally understand exactly what had happened, so therefore the future looked long indeed for the formally motley crew.

Joined together once again at this great estate and encouraged to engage freely in any planning and assessment of their situation or any other conversation they wish, and treated with dignity and respect, things couldn't be much better, all things considered. But unknown to them, all is monitored and recorded by rooms full of specialists. Rooms that have been conveniently "closed for safety," where carefully vetted experts use recording equipment with sensitive microphones that are hidden throughout the great house and the grounds outside. Standard operating procedures for intel gathering operations such as this.

When they were first reunited here, Mr. Black assembled his crew formally for the last time and dismissed himself as their leader. He promised to fight for their rights and do what he could to secure their portion of the treasure, (if possible) but he is no more than a private citizen now, just as they are.

He encouraged them to take this opportunity for self-improvement, and to be thankful for the blessing of the improved health due to being re-generated aboard the spaceship. In that spirit, most of the men and Lady Jasmine began being tutored to read and write. During this first year, they also got up to speed on recent history and current events. They formed strong opinions about the war, and they eventually formed great sympathy for the Allied cause. They also had formed a great bond and even a friendship with their military liaison, a Major Frederic J. Pettibone.

Fred is a good-hearted, up-beat soul, with a nearly constant, engaging smile, who takes great interest in his "guests" and makes their every want and need happen, as far as gentlemanly possible. But he also reminded them that even with their "assets" in reserve, they are guests in a country that is at war, and he pointed out that their comfort and excess is at the expense and privation of others. This hit the group hard, and as a result, they kept their demands realistic. But Fred promised that all this is indeed temporary, and a permanent and quite lucrative future awaits them, if they will remain patient. Major Pettibone is telling the truth, and in a battleship off the coast of Newfoundland, the final phases of that plan and other important matters are being worked out.

Prime Minister Churchill and his staff pour over the reports and documents that fill nearly every square foot of the large (by warship standards) stateroom. He dreads this upcoming meeting with the United States President, but not nearly as much as he dreaded this entire fiasco.

This man, who had been so sure of his thoughts and his general outlook of human nature, and who had drained his energies so completely as he moved up to a position of power, just in time to see it all nearly collapse under his watch, has no time to ponder "Space Pirates," but ponder he does. His main focus at this meeting will be how to pawn all of this off on Roosevelt, without coming off as a complete loon.

The reports are complete, the professional opinions noted, the scientific evidence confirmed, the Pirates origins and histories have been discovered and substantiated as best as can be and it is all true, which is all quite impossible. The good Mr. Churchill would have never been bothered, and the "Space Pirates" would have been safely locked away in an insane asylum if it wasn't for two things: The gold, and the fact that Winston had seen what he had seen.

Winston holds in his hand, a black and white photograph taken with an aircraft mounted gun camera. Depicted is a transparent sphere, about one quarter filled with what looks like a dozen or so humans, mostly dressed in rags, intermixed with what appears to be antique ship stores, and hundreds and hundreds of shiny bricks.

"Baa!" He exclaimed as dropped the photograph and it floated down to the table, landing on the rolled-out parchment that details the mercenary agreement between Mr. Pin and the Pirates.

"Madness! Utter madness!"

Officially, the meeting between Roosevelt and Churchill is to adopt and ratify the historic and important Atlantic Charter, an agreement and outline for the future cooperation between the United States, Great Britain and their Allies. The Charter, the result of the herculean efforts of hundreds, is a done-deal and a piece of cake, compared to what Roosevelt will endure for the next few days regarding the "Space Pirates."

Churchill finds a certain devilish, small enjoyment as he watches it dawn on the American President that all he knew, and all he had ever known, is far from certain, if not completely wrong. Now he has someone to share in his confusion. But share is the last thing Churchill wanted. He wants to rest assured that the best and brightest would handle this, and if he woke tomorrow never giving these former cutthroats anymore thought, that wouldn't be too soon. Quite impossible that would be, but this reflects Churchill's thoughts and mood.

Meanwhile, exactly 1,999,900 LBS. of pure gold (all that was recovered) in bars of exactly one hundred pounds each, are being loaded aboard Roosevelt's warship for "safe-keeping" and will be very helpful for something called "lend-lease" and currently unknown to Churchill at this point, it will help immensely in something that will eventually be called the Manhattan Project.
Chapter 21

THE DEAL

Pettibone arrives promptly at the great house the morning of the scheduled meeting. He is lugging briefcases and boxes sealed with wax bearing the official royal impression. He plops them down on the grand table and rips them open eagerly and without ceremony as the men and Lady Jasmine take their seats around the table. Fred never seems to lose his familiar, trade-mark grin. Pulling out stacks of paperwork for each man and handing them out, he explains:

"This is the result of a lot of hard work by many people, and I have reviewed it thoroughly and completely, but it may not be perfect, and you people must understand that the world is a dangerous and unforgiving place, and many other outcomes other than this were possible, but what we have here is the best and most humane offer that we could come up with. It asks all of you..." His eyes glance around at everyone before he continues:

"To make great changes and sacrifices. But allow me to be straight up with you all, this solution is final."

It was not lost on the men that the words "final" and "solution" were used so close to each other. They were aware of how these words are being used regarding the Jews of Europe.

The offer is thorough and complicated. It will require their relocation to the United States. An estate is being readied near San Francisco for them initially, but they will have the freedom to travel as any other American could. They will be bound by American laws and are urged to assimilate quickly and quietly into the culture. Each is given a believable and solid back story, with birth and family records carefully planted.

"You must learn and believe in these [back] stories to the very end. If not, your fortunes could be found illegitimate and challenged in court. I cannot stress the importance of this. After all is done, Britannia can offer no assistance" pleaded Major Pettibone, and he went on:

"You will be defacto citizens of the United States of America."

A break for refreshments and some debate is called for, with the biggest question from some of the men answered with the pointing at a map.

"Right here men, lush greenery, warm climate, excellent harbor and if it doesn't suite your fancy, you can move anywhere you please" answered Fred, never losing that reassuring smile.

The other questions involved the money.

"Well, you can't very well walk around paying for your wants with nuggets of gold so..." Began Pettibone as he has each person pull out their perspectives, and he explained investments, securities, market funds, stocks, bonds, retirement funds, shares etc. until everyone is glazed over and dulled to the point of boredom.

"You each have a legal team on retainer. They will handle all of this and guide you in any investment and banking issues that may develop."

On the question of just how much money each man has exactly, Fred Pettibone's smile widened even more (which didn't seem possible) and he looks everyone in the eye and says:

"You bargained very well with the honorable Mr. Pin, and your wealth will be generational, even after taxes. You _each_ have more wealth than over half the nations on earth!"

The men and Lady Jasmine just stare at Fred in sudden and prolonged silence, as little Billy plays on the floor with a toy Spitfire aircraft.

The decision to sign is unanimous, and the remaining issues to be ironed out proceed smoothly until Mr. Buck finds a discrepancy.

"There is a shortage of the receipt of gold bars, it is one hundred pounds short!"

Major Pettibone dives right into the matter and after a lengthy review, he declares that he is certain that this was the correct amount recovered.

"One or more of your lackeys is a crook!" Declared Mr. Black, and he added further:

"Mr. Pin would not short us! He was too precise, and nay incapable of deception. The fault is with your charges!"

Major Pettibone finally lost that grin and even though it was a simple thing to amend the agreement, which was done, it meant one gold bar was indeed missing.

Fred knows that this is no small issue. He already holds some top-secret information about the gold. One item he is aware of is that the bars are exactly one hundred pounds weight each. Impossibly exact, to the millionth of a gram.

Therefore, it is Major Frederic J. Pettibone's belief that if Mr. T. Pin said there was one thousand ton, there was one thousand ton. Also, Fred knew another fact, and that is that the gold is pure, impossibly pure. Analysis exceeds current laboratory technology. It is gold at an elemental level without the slightest amount of impurity, it should not even physically exist.

Someone out there may have some of this gold now. It could mean little or it could mean everything. The Major excuses himself and reports this development formally, even though his superiors are monitoring every word with their microphones.
Chapter 22

QUICK DEPARTURE

Within just days of that meeting with Pettibone, the Space Pirates find themselves aboard the most gigantic ocean going ship they could ever imagine. Once a grand floating palace, now she is stripped of paneling and cut crystal and refitted with anti-aircraft cannons and other manner of defenses, which left large parts of the deck a jumble of connected conduits and additional safety and firefighting equipment and God knows what else. Mr. Buck and Mr. Black stand speechless, just staring at all the gear, trying to make some sense of..., anything. Mr. Black finally speaks:

"Sure feels fine head'n out to sea." Nothing else is said between the two of them for a quite a while. A gloom is spreading from somewhere deep inside Mr. Black and it isn't just the fact that this voyage could be dangerous, or the fact that they are hurrying out to sea "blacked-out" and under the cover of darkness. Black's gloom is caused by the realization that all his seamanship skills are now quite obsolete. This powerful mammoth of a ship ignores and heckles the wind and the tides that Black and his men had spent a lifetime learning to read and master. He looks around, and hardly a strand of rope is needed to operate this abomination. Some sailors specialize their entire career in the splicing and the weaving of lines and fittings. _What became of them?_ He let out a sigh. It is like he must make room in the pocket of his soul for a weight, which he will carry, along with other regrets and disappointments, now and forever.

"Cheer up Captain, you know you could buy this ship if you wanted" said a perceptive Mr. Buck. It took a moment to sink in, but those words released Black somewhat from his funk, and he turned to his friend and said:

"I ain't no Captain in this world, besides, don't you mean Admiral?" His smile belayed his real concerns.

"Let's find us a drink!"

"Okay a..., Bill"

It is hard for Buck to refrain from calling Black "Captain," for on many levels he is, and always will be his master. Even though the Capta..., a..., Bill is younger than he, it is a matter of established comfort. You took your lot in life and accepted things. Why prattle about with things that will never be? But Mr. Buck is an intelligent man, and as he and Bill tour the ship, they see things on-board different than others might.

They see the electric lighting and other equipment, as the crude beginnings of a path that will someday lead to the last ship they were on. They are beginning to understand now, that what they had seen and felt on that ship was not magic, it was the end result of thousands, maybe millions of small advancements in reason and knowledge, over vast stretches of time.

They understand (or to be more accurate; accept) that some hundred years have passed, somehow, during their trip to the heavens, and the technical progress in that time back here on Earth has been remarkable. Perhaps ships in outer space won't be that far off after all.

The trip across the north Atlantic is over in less than a week. Running at flank speed and almost empty, the big ship is nearly invulnerable to Nazi U-boats. It is almost as fast as their torpedoes, and running in a random zigzag pattern, make it a tough target. But the fact is, the German submarines are far more interested in stopping in-bound ships that are loaded with cargo.

Offshore from a Navy Yard on the United States Eastern seaboard, they switch to a U.S. Navy Destroyer that is being ferried to the Pacific via the Panama Canal.

Here, the VIP treatment ended. Stuffed into small state rooms, and at the expense of the comfort of sailors, their welcome is none too warm, but the food is good.

Little Billy broke the ice with his wild-eyed excitement of being on-board a real fighting ship, where every sailor is a hero. He learned to salute each one, officer or not, and even the oldest and crustiest chief couldn't help but crack a smile.

These passengers are no strangers to tight quarters, and not a single one succumbed to sea sickness, a fact that did not go unnoticed by the ship's Captain and crew. In fact, when the Captain engaged Lady Jasmine in conversation, he is so overwhelmed with her charms that he insists that she, and the boy take over his cabin and employ his manservant.
Chapter 23

WORLD CHANGES

As the supercargo pleasantly make their way to San Francisco, somewhere in the U.S., top British and American intelligence officer's struggle with what the hell to do. The reports are preposterous, Space Pirates, Squishys, time travel, and it is all insane. It must be a joke. But the gold is real enough. (Too real, actually.)

The leader of the Special Commission Taskforce, Bennet Carter, needs this assignment. His financial and personal problems were discovered by the agency and leveraged against him, and promises were made implying that certain "things" might just "go away" with his cooperation. His tough and effective management style and his proven track record more than qualify him for the position, but his "troubles" ensure the higher-ups that this man will keep his mouth shut.

"Believe it or not, we are tasked with reviewing this information and making our recommendations. So, we're going to buckle down and get it done! For all we know this is some kind of psych test. I don't want to hear any snickering and belly-aching!" Demands Carter of the several dozen, young, intelligent and gifted 'nobodies' that have been assembled for this top-secret, lock-down, intelligence marathon that they have all signed on for.

Weeks later, there is no snickering, but there is little to recommend.

Taken at face value, some of the Earth's citizens had made contact with, and through a legal agreement, assisted and aided in a successful and nearly bloodless coup on a foreign world, at least fifty years away. (At their rate of travel.) Due to time-space denigration in the alien spaceship, the passengers experienced only two plus years of personal time duration during the entire trip.

These aliens apparently possess the ability to generate almost anything on an atomic level, including living tissue. It is also believed that they can communicate silently between themselves and their equipment. (Radio spectrum?)

Also detailed is the physical change witnessed by the humans of the indigenous population being transforming from worker drones, to advance beings, and that aspect of their revolution.

Therefore, we could have a grateful and loving world out there, ready to shower us with gifts of technology and comradeship or, we could have opened a can of worms somewhere where chaos reigns, and if they don't wipe themselves out with infighting, the winner may come for us, for exploitation and/or revenge.

The reports of the bleak, and apparently fully populated world of the aliens, and the fact that planet-wide fertility has been recently introduced, it is the conclusion of the panel that there exist a high probability of invasion for the purpose of exploitation, especially if they experience a sharp rise in overall population, which is highly likely.

The report is bleak, and it gets worse. It pointed out that just due to their fantastic speed, no weapon system we have can touch their ships, judging from the available information, unless the ships operate well within our atmosphere and at low speeds, and even then the effects of our weapons on the "ball of energy" that they seem to operate in, is completely unknown. Also, the fact that whatever we throw at them increases the intelligence they gain of _our_ weapons and tactics, and if countermeasures are develop against us, we could quickly find ourselves in a lopsided arms race, with no available offensive footing whatsoever.

The concluding section of the final report includes a complicated reality. The fifty years travel time works both ways. What intelligence of the Earth that was gleaned when the pirates were taken away, is the latest intel they would have for the study of us. The ship that returned the pirates will update them with current information at the time of its leaving Earth, but it won't reach them for some forty-eight more years. But that is a factor only if that was the only ship that made the voyage.

For all we know they could have sent thousands of ships our way for just the purposes of intelligence. The bottom line is that they may have launched any number of ships after the one that returned our Space Pirates, (or before) and they might arrive at any time. (or have already) Or perhaps they will wait for the return of the ship that brought them back and then be treated to information of a much more evolved and dangerous world of today. (The mid 1940's.) If they do wait on that ship and see the rapid pace of our technology, perhaps they will also consider that we will have another fifty years to evolve before their ships face us again, and hopefully, that may act as a deterrent.

In conclusion, we may be attacked now, with the enemy acting on 1840's intelligence, or we may be attacked sometime around 2040, based on 1940's intelligence. Or they may have been sending ships all along, and dealing with the time-lapse, one ship at a time. Or they may have technology that allows real-time information we don't know about or we are unable to understand, and we could be being watched right now every second.

Roosevelt finishes the final reports, and it makes his head swim. It doesn't do his health any favors either. He could see why Churchill was so eager to dump this in his lap. But Roosevelt has an option Churchill isn't fully aware of.

Some time ago the President green-lighted a top-secret project involving the refining of uranium for the production of an atomic bomb, and that project was supercharged with the addition of twenty thousand (minus one) hundred-pound gold bars.

"And by God if we succeed and catch one of those Squishys (the pirates name for the aliens had stuck and has made it right to the top of those involved in these matters) poking around, we'll pop one (atom bomb) off right in his face! Make him think twice about bothering us!"

The saner and calmer minds know that the gold is the important issue. It proves that molecular construction is possible at the atomic level. Learning these secrets had to start somewhere, and the project of building the nuclear bomb seemed to be the logical starting point. Certainly, breakthroughs on this project will spill-over with insights for the progression of all science.
Chapter 24

SETTLED IN

The Pirates find the Hillsbrough Mansion exquisite. The area and climate are most agreeable, but within a few months with help from their legal teams, most of the men had founded their own estates in the area. Mrs. Jasmine Black (she has dropped the prefix of 'Lady,' it was never official anyway) thrives in her new role as wife, mother, and homemaker. Mr. Buck stays with the Black's with an entire wing of the house to himself and his domestics. Ping also stayed as head domestic, but the position is ceremonial only.

The men took seriously the warnings and advice to assimilate quickly and quietly. The strong, healthy young men (young looking anyway, due to the regeneration) blend in seamlessly as possible to the sunny West Coast.

Except for Father Brien's surprisingly successful efforts to have them all meet for Sunday Church services, most of the men began to drift their separate ways. They all settled in pretty well, and for the most part, they stay out of trouble. So, it is a big surprise when the quietest and apparently most docile former crew member, (besides Ping) is the first to cause serious worry.

That crewman, the quiet native of the Pacific Northwest, Mawtuc, (not an Eskimo, as they had been calling him) just disappeared one day. Weeks later, his banker came around quite concerned, because no money had been drawn from his accounts in quite a while. He feared that he may be dead! Mr. Black who is and will always be concerned for his men as if they are still his own, launched an extensive search using the best private investigators, and after almost a year, they had found not a trace.

Mr. Black is so disturbed at this, that he is considering following the trail himself, but Jasmine puts a stop to that:

"Oh no you're not! You've got a boy to raise! You think I let you go running around the wilderness chasing waterfalls? Forget it Mister!"

But Mr. Buck remembered something Mawtuc said when he was struggling to learn to read English, back at the Estate House in England and a year after Mawtuc disappeared, it dawned on him what this might be about.

"I think I know where he went."

"Tell us Sir" pleaded Bill.

"I don't know exactly where, but I think I know why, and I sense a how." Buck starts to prepare for a journey that very evening.

While struggling with learning elementary school level English back at the estate in England, Mawtuc confessed to Mr. Buck a deep-rooted disdain for the English language. He told of a horrific past in which he and his family were ripped apart by raiders in the night, and how he only learned English out of necessity, from his captors. He found English unnatural and difficult compared to his native language. Back at the estate with his tutor, he was drawing the alphabet and learning his vowels like a schoolboy, and it was too much. It was a humiliation and he abandoned his studies, and no one could blame him if they knew his history.

Buck also recalled an event years before that, not long after Mawtuc joined the crew, when an old man, who was drifting on a raft was brought on board. The Captain was interested if he had any useful information about passing ships, local tides and currents, etc. but his tongue remained elusive to all but Mawtuc.

Mawtuc and the old man talked and talked out on the deck under the stars, until late in the night. Their eyes were lit up and it was all grins and laughter. Their stories were obviously complex, and they used great effort and much animation in the details. At one point the old man turned red in the face and was stomping his feet in uproarious laughter. What was it about? Nobody knew but them.

The next day the old man was gone! Buck and the Captain woke Mawtuc from an apparent sound and restful sleep. He seemed to be in a jolly mood, which was odd from someone who appeared to be brooding most of the time. Mawtuc reported:

"He on water nine days, was blown west with steady breeze, no ships sighted but this one."

In any language but his, Mawtuc is a man of few words.

The Captain gently asked some more:

"What was he doing out here boy?"

"He out here to die."

"And what happened to him son?"

"He die."

Not long after that, Mr. Buck asked Mawtuc about what he and the old man shared which brought so much joy and ruckus. That thought brought back the light in Mawtuc's eyes for a few seconds and he said:

"Stories from home, hunting, fishing, life. He from same land as me."

"Tell me about this land" inquired Buck as he sat back and devoted his full attention as Mawtuc regaled.

"There is no war, little fighting, plenty of good foods from the sea and the forest. Much love, great celebrations," etc.

Buck enjoyed learning about other lands, and he was used to nostalgic embellishment, but this was a little much to be believed completely. Buck recalled that Mawtuc said his land was,

"Two weeks north by land, from the Columbia Bar." Buck reported all he knew about Mawtuc's hometown right away to Black's private eye a year ago, and after checking, they said there was nothing out there.

Buck believed that the private investigators were only in it for the money and also, he was becoming quite bored, and as he had just had a revelation as to what might have been Mawtuc's intent, he decided he would go himself and search for this peaceful land of great bounty.

What may have been Mawtuc's motivation for disappearing? He wanted to find his people, to find someone to talk to. Buck felt stupid for not realizing this right from the start, or maybe he did but felt it wasn't any of his business, so he may have dismissed the thought out of a concern for Mawtuc's privacy. But now that so much time has passed, and the concerns of the others perhaps outweigh his original concerns, now it is time to act. Time to solve the mystery and ease the other's concerns if possible.

Mr. Buck would use his memory of the sound of that strange tongue as his guide. He knew that he alone would recognize it if he heard it again. He believed that he would find Mawtuc if he followed this reasoning, or at least he might find out what happened to him.
Chapter 25

BUCK'S ADVENTURE

After the goodbyes and the last-minute pleading from his bankers and lawyers to travel with a security escort, Mr. Buck finds himself alone, heading north by train overnight to Portland, Oregon. He has outfitted himself with warm, durable outdoor work clothing, a large backpack with extra clothing, his personal sundries and a bedroll.

He knew that Black's private eyes, who would never leave their cars, and who can't stand out in the rain without an umbrella, wouldn't get anywhere with native people. Just the fact that a white man was looking for a native man, would be enough reason for them to resist assistance. He will dive in among them, become them, and absorb their culture from the inside. It is about more than finding a lost mate which _is_ his top-priority, it is also about the fact that he is restless, and he fears he is going soft, both in body and will. God, with the help of the Squishys had blessed him with the health and fitness of a man half his age and he felt that he was wasting his gifts and that those gifts should be put to some good use.

He befriended some local native people from the Chinook tribe after he arrived in Portland and ended up staying with them during their harvest of spring salmon. With them he netted and gutted. He prepared the flesh to be dried on racks. He helped fix weirs, darn nets, and whatever else was needed as he worked alongside of these families who thought he was there for a share when they sold what they couldn't store, and they hoped a white man could help them from being cheated on the price.

It rained here almost every day, and the work is back breaking, but for many and varied reasons, Buck loves it. He ate what they eat. Fish with some kind of boiled millet, shellfish, mussels, clams, venison, elk, various tubers and roots, wild mushrooms, fresh berries in a variety of forms but mostly salmon. Salmon baked, broiled, poached, dried, smoked and even raw.

He started to pick up more and more of the language they spoke among themselves. It was similar to how he remembered Mawtuc and the old man speaking, but different. This tongue seemed to have more 'G' inflections then there were in Mawtuc's language where an 'L' sound was more dominate. After the harvest, he decided it was time to move on, but his hosts insisted that he stay for an upcoming big festival, which they call a Potlatch.

The Potlatch is a grand affair. Native peoples and a large number of working-class whites joined together in foot races, archery, marksmanship, horsemanship, strongmen contests, arm and leg wrestling and much more. The afternoon of the celebration brought foods of all kinds for a feast that lasted all evening. The night brought raging campfires and sacred dances until the wee, morning hours. Around those fires, tall tales were being told that grew taller the higher the moon rose.

Mr. Buck floated from group to group. He is much more at home here than in the electrified city. He has even had some success in attracting some female attention. He is chatting with one such lady, when he overheard a young girl speak something in a voice very much like how he remembered Mawtuc's tongue. Buck pardons himself and dashes up to the young lady, and as her companion's shriek and smirk, the young lady looks like she could drop dead from embarrassment.

You could hear a pin drop as everyone held their tongues, which made Mr. Buck's inquiry about what she had just said extremely awkward.

"Look, I'm sorry, it's just a story, I wouldn't have been going on like that if I knew you spoke Lemakum."

Buck looks at her silently. He sizes her up. She is young, probably about fifteen, and a little on the chubby side. The young storyteller flashes Buck an impatient look that seems to say,

I'll give you a few more seconds to forgive me, before I write your eaves dropping, Lemakum speaking, old white ass off!

Buck begins to chuckle at this thought, and with an exaggerated eye roll, the girl moves to storm away. He catches her by the arm. She stops as if her feet and legs had just turned to stone. Her bicep in his hand, doesn't flex.

"I need your help" Buck said to her ear sweetly.

Turns out the young storyteller was sharing a rather derogatory tale, of what _they_ considered a rather stupid tribe, and the phrase that caught Mr. Buck's ear was an exaggerated quote in a silly voice (she thought) of some mindless remark famous from these historically dumb people. When Mr. Buck chimed in at that very second, naturally everyone thought he was offended. When everyone realized that Mr. Buck was only interested in the sound of that language, they relaxed. Soon they are all very chummy and Mr. Buck learned that they didn't hold any real ill-will towards this allegedly stupid tribe, in fact they didn't even know anyone from it. It was just popular to "cut on them," like they were cross town rivals or something.

"Then why, child, do you do it?" Buck asked as the young lady squirmed, and she answered:

"I don't know, it feels _safe_ I guess."

"Safe, why?"

Suddenly, a harsh elderly woman's voice cuts in from across the group:

"Safe, because they're gone! Long gone! They were stupid, and now they're dead. Long dead! Find some tobacco for my pipe, and I'll tell you all about them."

Opal is her name, and the young lady is her granddaughter, Terra. Opal spoke some Lemakum, but she believed it is a dead tongue.

"The jokes and insults are the only thing that remain." Opal clarified.

Mr. Buck and Opal talked for hours as she puffed on her pipe, filling it with Buck's fine blend. Buck learns that Chinook is the language spoken down here in the river valley, and it is considered by others as mostly a trade language. Further north, those people had many different tongues.

Buck told her the story of his mission to find Mawtuc and the worry of Mr. Black and the others.

"Why didn't you say so sooner?"

Opal led him to the longhouse, a place apparently closed from the party guests where the Council of Elders were assembled. Opal had a short exchange with one of them, a native man in a western suit. The man looks Buck over and said:

"Leave him with us."

Mr. Buck is led to a bench outside of the longhouse among carved totem poles and in complete darkness. As his eyes adjust slowly, the sinister faces of the totems come to life under the clear starlight. Eagles, bears, deer, fish, all craved in a style so exaggerated, strange and crazy. He is left there for quite some time, and by the time he is finally fetched, Buck wonders if he will be seeing these totem faces in his dreams.

A native boy in western clothes brings Buck to the same man in the suit that he had seen before, now sitting in his office at a desk overflowing with papers, pamphlets, envelopes, etc. The room is brightly lit with electricity, the first Buck has seen in weeks. His eyes struggled at the sudden change.

"What can I do for you, Sir?" is how it started out, and it quickly went downhill from there.

"If I might trouble you to see some Identification?"

"Why, I don't..."

"When were you born?"

"Where?"

"Why are you lying?"

Old Buck stammered and stumbled. Why didn't he learn his back story better?

What a fool I is!

Buck is reminded that the Tribe operated as an independent nation, with the full power of arrest and detention. With that said, two large, young men enter the office and flank each side of Buck as he sits in his chair. His backpack is emptied on the floor in front of him by the man in the suit.

The man opens a pouch and dumps out his passport, business cards of his bankers and lawyers, letters of credit from all the major West Coast banks, etc. etc. The man examines the passport and ceremoniously clears his throat.

"Once again Sir, if you please. When were you born?"

Buck can't hide the sweat on his face as stammers out the 'correct' answer:

"June 1st, 1890."

"Very good, Sir! That is exactly what this says."

By now, four distinguished, older, native fellows have filtered into the room, presumably the tribal elders, apparently there to stand witness.

"And that makes you how old?"

The flustered Mr. Buck obviously must do the math before he shouts out:

"Fifty-five!" like a complete loon who his teacher should give a gold star.

The man and the Elders just shake their heads and laugh.

"Now here, Sir, is your social security card, issued 1936, yet as pristine as this train ticket issued only last month. Unusual for someone who travels storing his papers in the pouch of his backpack."

Buck offers no defense at this point.

"And so much money is at your disposal. Yet you travel on foot with less than twenty dollars cash, that is very strange. Now, before I arrest you as the spy you most certainly are, and possibly have you shot, I will ask you again, when were you born?"

Mr. Buck weighs his options and can't help but think back to England and his interrogation at the hands of British intelligence. He was not tricked then as he is now. Then, he and the others relived their mission with Master Pin to his home world gleefully, after some initial hesitation. There was no cover story even considered. When each man realized they weren't going anywhere until they explained themselves fully, they went with the only tale they had. In fact, most of them were bursting to tell someone. The sights they had seen, the wonders they had experienced, it was all truly miraculous. With their handlers hanging on their every word and the testimony duly recorded, it seemed to be the right thing to do, even if it was just for prosperity. Certainly, the fact that everyone's story probable matched up must have led to their reuniting at the Estate and the resulting fair treatment.

"When were you born Sir?" The man asked in a tone that clearly suggested that this would be the last time he would ask politely.

Buck steeled himself, and as soon his words started to flow, a great calm began to envelop him.

"I was born in West London, in the summer of 1778, or so I've been told. An official record of my life probably begins after my baptismal, at age four, an event that I still have some memory of. That happened after my Master discovered I hadn't been. I was indentured to a records clerk who taught me to read and scribe, and even though he was a fair man and only beat me when I deserved it, I went to sea at my first opportunity, as a cabin boy at the age of eleven."

Buck paused to gauge the man's response and he noted not a hint of surprise from him or the elders. Just as he was wondering if they had heard the date correctly, the man in the suit looks him in the eye and with a grin that displayed how pleased he is, he said:

"Now that wasn't so hard was it? Please continue."

Buck did continue, and found that with his former interrogations, and his own reflections, he was getting quite good at the telling of the story without rambling or wasting much time. He even managed to hype the drama during the wonder of when they were regenerated, and of the attack on the elites and other dramatic, high points. When his story was over hours later, he is actually proud of his delivery. He was only interrupted when refreshments were provided, and for translation from the man in the suit to the elders on some of the more complicated features.

With the tale now complete, the men look Buck over intensely and in complete silence for some very long moments. Then, the man in the suit joins the Elders in the back of the room for a hushed conference in their native tongue. Judging from the serious expressions, and the repeated glances in his direction, it is his fate that would be their conclusion. Finally, something is decided.

"We would like to examine your teeth, Sir."

Mr. Buck complied of course, because with his medical examinations as part of his time in Britain, they would see what so many had marveled about before. His teeth, like those of the other Space Pirates, had started life anew some five years ago and they show only that much stain, wear and gum recession. Mr. Buck also removed his shirt to show where he had tattoos that were absent after the regeneration. (Considered scar tissue by the equipment) The men also couldn't help but notice his lean build, a shape normally reserved for a man in his twenties, tanned and toned now from the several weeks of recent labor at the salmon run.

One of the Elders, a thin, slightly stooped old man wearing denim overalls over a thick cotton shirt of a red and white plaid pattern, centered himself in front of Mr. Buck and he started to speak:

"Others have been here looking for the man you seek. White men, telling of a Mr. Black and his concerns. We did not give them any information. If this has caused you delay and waste, I am sorry. But we have no 'real' information to give. The man you, and they, seek, has no want to be discovered, and this is his right. We talked and smoked with him and we believe we are sure of his harmless intentions. He, like you, has been touched by the 'Star God,' and while we are astonished and amazed as any mortals can be, telling of his story will only bring trouble to him. Because of that, it was decided to banish his tale from our story talk. This is what we will do after you leave us as well." He stepped back and took his seat once again next to the other Elders at the back of the room. Buck ponders what he has just heard for a moment before the man in the suit began to speak again:

"You Sir must understand and consider the special situation that we face as we are a Nation surrounded by a Nation that is at war. If there is even the slightest hint that foreign spies pass through this land, our hard fought and feeble freedoms will disappear in a heartbeat. No one is exempt. In fact, we were going to haul you in tonight anyway. We have known of you in the area since you arrived. We are baffled at the fact that you seemed to come here to work when we found that you have vast resources. Your relationship to the Great Spirit and your obvious touch from the Star God compels us to assist you in your quest and we have decided to tell you what I told your friend about his search for his lost people." He pulled out a map from the clutter of his desk and showed Buck a spot on it.

"Olalla, but most of his people were relocated west from there about fifty years ago. Your friend wishes to find what became of his people and seeks someone to speak with in his native tongue. We could not find anyone."

Daylight is dawning as Mr. Buck exits the longhouse. He yawns and stretches and as his eye's focus to the brightening day, he is surprised to see Opal, sitting on a stump smoking her pipe. A cocoon of a brightly colored blanket hides what must be her granddaughter, Terra, sleeping at her feet on the soft, moss covered earth.

"Did you find where your friend went?"

"Olalla."

Opal scrunches her face in a disturbed jester before exclaiming:

"I've been there. Nothing but stinky chicken farms!"

Within a few short days, Buck finds himself traveling with these ladies north as they have agreed to be his guides. Besides offering gracious pay, he also insisted on providing them both with a complete, new wardrobe for the trip, including quality luggage from the finest Portland outfitters. After the lavish outfitting, they took a bus from Portland to Olympia, Washington, where they will take a system of inland ferries that locals call the "Mosquito Fleet" to this place called "Olalla" which is a few days travel north, up the inland waterways. Mr. Buck spares no expense and treats his guests to every luxury they encounter on the way, no matter how impulsive.
Chapter 26

MEANWHILE, IN THE REST OF THE WORLD

World War II is nearing its end but is still in full swing. Mr. Black has kept abreast of its developments, but it really isn't _his_ war. Mr. Buck is even less interested, and his current adventure may have been part of a reaction to his horror of what war has become.

Both of these men had studied 'modern' warfare starting in earnest with descriptions of the American Civil War, and with the rifled gun barrels and the exploding artillery shells that were used extensively in that conflict, they still could hardly imagine twenty to thirty thousand casualties in a day. But that pales in comparison to the horrific world war carnage of the trenches later in Europe. They have also read about and have seen newsreels (a new, and barely believable concept in itself for these two) of a fleet's destruction in this current conflict where thousands were killed in raids from war machines that wage destruction from the sky in attacks that lasted only a few hours. That coupled with the reports of Europe again being dashed and cut to pieces this time by motorized forces, and the apparent and ghastly attempts of the organized extermination of whole religions as well as sects and groups considered 'undesirable,' they are hard-pressed to find any honor in these new ways to kill. If possible, they will gladly leave _this_ war for others to field.

Other important and significant developments are accruing in the world of science, most notable is one which involved something Mr. Black and Mr. Buck knew nothing about, and probably wouldn't have understood in the least although the funding was provided from a certain cash of _pure_ gold that fell from the sky one night. That event was the first sustained atomic chain reaction at the University of Chicago.

In Nazi Germany, scientists at a secret laboratory have in their possession samples of something baffling; a partial gold bar of incredible purity. Even more baffling is that except where one end of the bar has been sheared off, the rest is of dimensions that do not vary, not even to the millionth of a millimeter. The German's also have in their possession, a combat photograph taken over England from a bomber's wing camera of something fantastic. The picture is grainy and in poor focus, but it is still striking, nonetheless. A silvery disk-shaped object, and a translucent ball, about a quarter full of something, seemed to be separating from each other, with the disk going up and the ball going down.

The war went on and as Germany is beat back, a conference is called for the future planning of the victors at a place called Yalta, in the Soviet Union. The final phases of the war in Europe are discussed there among the other important decisions and agreements.

It is at the very end of the formal discussions, and away from the newsmen where Stalin privately presents Churchill and Roosevelt each with a set of rather small, but elegantly crafted gift of gold tie clips. He pins one of them on each of them personally in a rather awkward, personal ceremony of sorts, and then he looks them both in the eye and he said in broken English with his heavy accent:

"Dey are made of _pure_ gold." Churchill cannot repress frowning for a split second which brought out a roar of laughter from Stalin.

Another aspect of this time in history that may in time be relegated to just a 'footnote' involved one of the Space Pirates, and it is certainly a story without comparison or equal. What lasting affect or impression it may have on the world in general remains to be seen, but, while it was happening, it was front and center regarding general interest and as a topic of conversation for many.
Chapter 27

THE RISE OF FATHER BRIEN

Brien started his own nondenominational church shortly after arriving with the others in San Francisco. Mr. Black, Jasmine, little Billy and most of the rest of the crew almost never missed a service. His impassioned, forceful, determined preaching style quickly drew a large following. It wasn't long before he is forced to move his sermons outdoors as his growing congregations begin to overwhelm the biggest venues available. His message plays to the hopes and dreams of his followers not unlike others before him, but with an added passion that seems incredibly genuine. When he speaks of Angels and the heavens, his eyes light up, and his voice demands the attention deserved of someone who _knows_ what he is talking about. He made no bones about the fact that he has seen and spoken with Angels and has seen their world. After an extended dose of his impassioned speaking, most of his followers believe it, or maybe more precisely, they believe that he has seen _something._

What he seems to offer, others cannot quite duplicate. To his parishioners, he is the real deal, and that is plain to see even if it can't be logically explained. In a short time, his fame in certain circles is the buzz of California, then across the United States and finally the entire world knows of his antics. He is a pioneer of coast-to-coast radio feeds that are picked-up internationally. He speaks vaguely of whole worlds ready to be saved, and perhaps not everyone is aware that when he says worlds, he means worlds.

All of this is to the detriment of his government handlers. They hoped and recommended that all the Space Pirates would remain under the radar. But towards the end of WWII, Father Brien is a (albeit somewhat minor) house-hold name. By this time, his messages have becoming more focused and brazenly blunt. He is strongly opposed to racial segregation and bigoted oppression in general. He has developed a message of togetherness that as he said will "Propel us to the heavens." He talked of a social climate that if mankind could "Just pull ourselves together and focus on learning and advancement, even for just a few, short generations, we would forget about war and we could 'unlearn' killing. After that, with all the world's resources at our peaceful disposal, we could 'think' our way out of disputes with sober and careful planning." It is a message that was infectious and gaining ground among people high and low.

Unfortunately, Father Brien was also attracting detractors as well as down-right enemies. At his services, he innocently (or the correct word might be; blindly) encouraged interracial mixing in his pews. This is something large numbers of people (lets be honest here and accurately tell the truth; white people) were firmly against. Civic groups (hate groups?) are becoming more organized and vocal against him. His government handlers, behind the scenes, worry and prepare contingency plans for likely assassination attempts. But on the surface, it is Father Brien's steadfast and growing opposition to the war that is making headlines.

So impassioned and emotional are his sermons, that when he reminds his faithful in his powerful and determined style of the daily causality rate, the "killings of the day," people fall to the ground weeping. When vague reports surface late in the war that America may have, and will probably use, an Atomic Bomb, it is no surprise to people close to Father Brien that when he learned that, he has become totally and completely unhinged about it.

He used all of his clout as he called for emergency prayer meetings all around the world. He bought world-wide radio airtime and broadcasted a heated message that basically said that this new weapon with its evil promise of mass, simultaneous death would simply, "Overload the capability of God to receive souls!"

Most of the population received this message as proof that Father Brien may have gone just a little too far. While he will always have his devoted followers, people want an end to the war. The bomb is considered the true scientific break-through that it actually is, and it was made possible by the conquest of man over nature, which is something that resonated strongly among the people of this time. All of Father Brien's flowery prose is trumped by this cold, hard fact:

_We_ have the bomb and _they_ don't. There will be no doubt of our fortitude to use it, _if we use it_ , so therefore, _we must use it_. It is the logic of the playground, and at some level, that 'logic' is understood by all.

Anyone surprised that the bomb was used? In light of these 'facts' they shouldn't be.

-The editor.
Chapter 28

INTO THE UNKNOWN

It took three days of leisurely travel before Mr. Buck and his pampered guests reached the dock of the Olalla Trading Post and as they stepped off the deck of a charming little steamship named The Virginia V, they hadn't even taken a second step when Opal declared:

"I can already smell the hen houses."

They stayed that night at a run-down little Mom and Pop hotel on the Olalla bay. The proprietors fed them a simple breakfast the next morning of fresh eggs and fluffy pancakes. After that, there is an awkward pause and a spell of indecision. Mr. Buck isn't sure how to proceed. Opal breaks the silence:

"Buck, you're going to need an automobile."

The proprietors of the hotel assisted them by providing some local contacts and with the telephone at the tiny, neighboring grocery store and after much back and forth, a 1938 Packard Clipper is being driven to them from the nearby town of Port Orchard.

It is late afternoon before the deal is finalized. The trio had a late lunch and decided to stay the night in Port Orchard at the much more decent Sidney Hotel. The salesman had been driving them around all that day and while Buck had been watching closely the particulars of the vehicle's operation, the fact remained that he has never operated a motor vehicle, and in fact, this was only the third time he had even ridden in one.

After the salesman had left them, he looked at his female companions and sheepishly asked: "Do either of you have experience in operating this type of carriage?"

Terra starts giggling and said:

"You have never driven a car before?"

Buck scowls at the young, disrespectful 'know-it-all' and said:

"Perhaps you would be so kind as to show us how it is done?"

An eager Terra springs into action and scrambles to climb over from the back to the front seat and after pushing Buck aside, she took the place behind the wheel. She is grinning like a kid in a candy store when, with all eyes upon her, she realized she doesn't know how to start the engine. She looked towards Opal who exclaimed:

"Don't look at me child, I've never driven a car!"

Between the three of them and after some trial, and lots of error, the basic operation is discovered and although the transmission got some extra abuse, they make it the short distance to the hotel without anyone dying of fright. (Although, it was close.)

The next morning, and with Terra's driving skills rapidly improving, they are back in Olalla at the place where Opal believes was the site of the Lemakum longhouse. The three of them poke and prod along the desolate stretch of beach and not a single sign of the small community remains. They were walking back to the car when a local yelled from a distance:

"Hey! Are you looking for that old Indian longhouse?"

He said his name is Jim, and he was nice enough to share the story of how the longhouse was pushed into the bay at low tide in the 1920's with a bulldozer after the occupants were forced to a reservation out west. He also mentioned:

"If you want to know what happened to them, go talk to Hank. He's the Postmaster, he knows everything about everybody."

That is how it began. It went on like that for the next days, weeks and months. They would get some lead, a place or a name, and slowly they worked their way west, following a shameful, forced migration of the past, and a lonely man's trek, decades later. They went west until there were no more paved roads, until there were no more restaurants and they had to stock up on food stuffs and purchase pots and pans and other supplies. Mr. Buck urged the ladies to turn back many times and offered them a large payment for their trouble, but they would have none of it.

They had begun a trek of their own, a mission of their _own_ discovery and until things were settled and questions were answered, they weren't going anywhere. That 'trek' involved the mystery that is Mr. Buck himself. The women have noticed strange things about old Mr. Buck, such as his perfect teeth, and his body, which should have belonged to a much younger man, but it was his past that most intrigued them. He had been a sailor, a scholar, a world traveler and so much more. He seemed to have lived several lives, but he seems to be hiding something. They even caught him telling a story that would have made him over a hundred and fifty years old and when they pressed him on that detail, he changed the subject saying simply and suspiciously:

"That's enough talk."

They have pushed themselves far into the rugged hinterlands of the Great Northwest, along logging roads that were not maintained and that are full of washouts and were often blocked by landslides. Buck put to good use the shovels and the pick that he had included in the supplies that had been obtained. The girls would watch him and make tea with the spirit stove as he toiled without hardly any sign of fatigue. Both are convinced that he is not normal, and their theories of his unusual demeanor and strange motivations vary wildly and daily. Mostly, the explanations revolve around what animal spirit possesses him.

The desolation of this remote area seems to be amplified as the blows of Mr. Buck's pick land with a now familiar "thud" that echoes strangely through the forested canopy. A sound that is returned promptly from the hills and cliffs that must exist, but that are blocked from view by the thick brush and dense forest that surround everything here.

Finally, the roads disappear and just trails remained, and the car will go no further. They are headed to a place called Toleak Point. They had heard that an Indian "Mountain Man" had gone in there. He fit Mawtuc's description. According to their best map, Toleak Point is about thirty miles overland from their current location. It is at the end of a waterway that the map named as Jackson Creek.

Buck begged the girls one last time to take the car and their baggage back to civilization, as this will be their last chance. He will continue on foot. He tells them they can keep the car and a large payment for their trouble. They laugh at him.

"You think we go all this way just to wonder for the rest of our days, what this friend of yours even looks like?"

"He may look like a pile of bones." Replied a somber Mr. Buck.

"We've seen bones before."

The girls thought of making a cache for the excess gear and their fine clothing, but Buck reminds them:

"What's the point, if it is taken, I'll replace it with more."

They moved the car about a mile, to a place at the top of a hill where they will have a chance of roll starting it later should the battery go dead. Terra put the key on a cord and then put the cord around her neck and tucked it under her blouse.

They all dressed in their most rugged clothes. They packed their kits with essential gear and food stuffs, and with two rifles, they hit the trail. Terra packs one luxury item, a cute yellow sun dress, the one that Opal said made her look like a whore.

They follow animal trails and dried creek beds as they make their way as best as possible by compass. The going is rough, and it gets rougher. They had hoped to make Jackson Creek in three days, go down-stream a few miles and then they will be there, Toleak Point.

Buck has another reason to consider making this last leg alone. Beyond merely remote, Toleak Point is also on the coast of the Pacific Ocean and happens to be the Continental United State's most westerly point of land which may have a special, darker meaning. He remembered the old man who they had picked up drifting on a raft, the one who said he went out on the ocean to die. He thought if Mawtuc wasn't at this place, he would look for signs of his camping and of possible raft building, and if any is found, he will be satisfied that he can guess what may have happened.

Halfway into that first day of hiking, Opal started getting a blister on her foot. Buck has her climb on him piggy-back style, and it doesn't slow him the slightest bit. Terra watches this man with an intrigued eye. Something is definitely odd about this fellow. She wants desperately to get to the bottom of the mystery that is Mr. Buck.

That evening after they had made camp, Terra secretly approaches Mr. Buck while he is washing himself at the stream. He has his shirt off and she hides behind a bush and stares at his sculpted body with its perfect clear skin, but with the long body hair of an old man. Still, he is like a Greek statue of a God, and she felt herself tremble slightly as she plans her next move. She remains out of sight as Mr. Buck slips off his trousers and plunges into the cool, flowing water for a quick and invigorating dip. He was only under the water for a second, but it is enough time for Terra to execute her plan. She takes his clothes!

Buck jumps out of the impromptu swimming hole and squeegees the cold water off his body as best he can as he starts to shiver. He reaches for his clothes and gawks:

" _What in thunder?_ "

Back and forth he went, scanning the ground as if the clothes would return if he would just look again. Terra fights to hold back her laughter until she got a look at the good Mr. Buck's private regions, what she saw made her gasp!

Terra had seen male genitalia a handful of times. Boys at school had showed themselves to her once when they were goofing off, and then, for some reason, they wouldn't talk to her again until after they thought all of that was all long forgotten. She found that very odd and she never told anyone about it. She spied on her aunt and uncle once, and she had seen him in full song, and this made the schoolboy's things look like toys. But Mr. Buck, even in retreat from the cold water, has more girth than she thought possible, and she feels a little sorry for him because if that thing became engorged, it _couldn't possibly fit into a woman_. Perhaps a childish thought, but regardless of that, she executes her plan, as spur of the moment as it is. She jumps from her hiding place and is in Buck's face.

"Now, if you want your clothes back, you're going to answer my questions!" Terra said that and she is about to continue, when she notices that Mr. Buck can go a long time without blinking. She suddenly stammers, with her tongue tied. Buck grabbed her by the shoulders and lifted her firmly (but gently) from the ground and with a little shake he asked:

"You took my clothes?"

Terra realizes just then that she is way out of her league, and she starts to regret the entire plan. She squeaks:

"Yes."

He set her back down and released his vise-like grip.

"Where are they?"

She points to behind a tree and she runs away, bawling like a baby.

Buck decides to stay away from camp for a while until Terra regains her composure, hopefully with the help of her Grandmother.

When he finally does return to camp, she has regained her composure all right, and with her grandmother at her side, they gang up on old Buck until he is forced to come clean or forever have no peace. (No peace in the company of these two anyway.) He is badgered and prodded until with the three of them sitting around the campfire, he tells his story yet again, and this time he shows his teeth during the part about his regeneration (saves some time) and he managed to wrap it all up in time for a sound sleep. He slept soundly anyway, the girls, not so much, they spun the story around in their minds as they laid under the stars, comparing the information they had just heard to what they had seen and experienced. Finally, as sleepiness took over, it all seemed to add-up, and finally, they also fall into an exhausted, fitful sleep. It had been a long, busy day.

Early the next morning, on they went, deep into the brush. Opal is still riding Buck like a pack mule. Now she rides on his shoulders, and her and Buck both wield machetes making them an impressive brush and branch clearing machine. There is nothing to do but talk as they walk and hack. Terra prods and pushes, asking question after question about last night's story until Buck can't hide his annoyance any longer.

"Yes 'child,' (his emphasis is meant to sound condescending) I was reborn, traveled the heavens, visited a distant world, etc. etc."

When he finishes the encore wrap-up of his story, in a manner that is meant to be the last word on the subject, Terra, in a way that only a teenager would find appropriate, pushes a button that she has been saving for hours.

"So..., on the high seas..., you killed..., you murdered?"

Buck stops in mid machete swing. He turns toward the teenager and his face, actually his entire head, turns beet red. Opal, on his shoulders, can feel his angry heat and starts to scold her granddaughter, something about respect for her elders when Buck thunders:

"ENOUGH!"

Buck bends down close to Terra's face and Opal has to brace herself with her free hand to keep from falling off her high perch that is his shoulders. Mr. Buck begins a speech in a measured tone as if he is holding back a caged lion:

"Yes, I killed, lots of men have killed. Men you have already met have killed. Men you will meet in the future have killed. Men kill, that's what we do, WE KILL!"

He laid the speech on as thick as a blanket. The child should be trembling in her expensive boots, but she stands her ground and calls his bluff.

"Are you going to kill me?... Mister Buck!"

Opal screams at her:

"You apologize right this minute! Who do you think you...?" She stops her scolding short as Buck raises his arm.

"The young lady has asked a question" he said as his color starts to return to normal and his anger starts to disappear. He looks Terra over carefully and in a new light.

She nearly got my goat!

"No child, I don't _think_ I will kill you. I like you. So, you're in luck. But I think I'm going to talk with your grandmother for a while now, if you don't mind." Mr. Buck and Terra look each other over thoroughly and completely for a moment, a long, memorable moment. Then they all return to the labors of the trail as Buck asks:

"Tell me about yourself Opal." Over the next few hours Opal relived much of the story of her past. A proud, simple life of toil and hardships, but not without happiness and defiance that centers on the importance and dedication of family. She has a husband of sorts, they are separated presently, but it is no big deal. She elaborated on that flatly:

"We will probably reunite when it is time to die."

They reach Jackson Creek (they hope it is anyway) in the late afternoon of the fourth day and make camp. They couldn't help but notice a change in the vegetation and the climate here. Drier, with more grasses and less evergreens. A fresh breeze blows from the west and from its feel, and even its taste, it is certainly from the ocean. Just a few more miles down the gentle creek valley to the sea. Tomorrow would be the end. All questions should be answered, the riddle solved. Exhausted from the trail and after a hardy meal of canned beef and boiled rice, they all fall into a deep, well deserved and restorative sleep.

Terra woke up in the middle of the night from a strange, disturbing dream in which a vision of a thousand stars change to the form of eyes and watch her. She bolts-up and shakes that strange vision off while being bathed in the light of a bright, full moon. She is anxious, not just because of the dream but because of everything. She has been growing restless lately. Her brave toying with Mr. Buck earlier may have been a symptom of this restlessness. Buck and Opal have established a certain comfort, they have bonded and seem to enjoy each other's company. But Terra is always lost in thought. Her mind races, she recognizes that she has started to become spoiled at Mr. Buck's endless generosity and wonders if she can return to her former life with any happiness. She fears that she won't be able to. She worries and schemes about the future.

She has a basic education, which is something very new to her tribe, and that has caused some distance from the elders, including her grandmother. She is expected to become a clerk for the tribe, and marry a suitable bachelor, but she has her own longings. She isn't sure what those longings are exactly, but Mr. Buck's stories of the big, wide world have fired her imagination of what might be, of what could be. She is starting to feel that she is wasting her life. She includes this pointless trip as part of that waste. She hopes to leave this adventure with some assets and start something new. But what? She has not a clue. She is full of confusion and what seem to be longings, powerful longings, and also urges, powerful urges.

The moon is bright, so bright that she swears she can feel its heat. Her eyes have adjusted completely to the light as she prattles about the camp in sleeplessness. She reorganizes her backpack several times for no good reason at all, and finally, she removes the yellow dress. She looks at Buck and Opal, they are wrapped in blankets and soundly sawing logs. They seem content with life.

What is wrong with me?

She takes the dress and heads to the creek. At the creek bank she sits on a fallen log listening to the creek babble on by. She hangs the dress on a bush next to her, laying it out as if it is another person. She stares at the water and knows a quick leap in that cold will snap her out of her funk and quell any urgings. She removes her clothes, folding each item neatly beside her but she does not immediately go in the water. She is naked. She enjoys this, this 'freedom.' She allows her mind to race with thoughts; dirty thoughts! She remembers her friend from school, Sara. She had a piece of wood, craved and polished that she showed her once. She said she used it on herself and she warned Terra:

"You had better start, or you will be barren, and end up an old basket weaver." Terra didn't believe that. Sara is such a liar. Terra had not done anything like _that_ , or at least she had done very little, and she certainly had not done anything _right_.

She looks down at her body. She has lost weight. Her 'baby fat' is gone. All this walking has left her muscles toned like never before. Also, she is taller now, the result of a recent growth spurt. She watches her chest heave with her breathing. Her breasts have grown large and, _admit it,_ they long to be touched. She remembers boys in her past that had begged to fondle them, (and whatever else they could) even when they were smaller, and she remembers how she fought off their advances. Now she aches for that kind of attention. Her nipples are pointed like the flame of a fire, and through them she can feel the direction of the breeze. She lets out a troubled gasp from the bottom of her soul, as she jumps into the water.

It is still hours before the dawn, and after she has dried herself, she puts on the dress. The cold had done the trick and it has beat back her passions, _for now,_ and she is a new woman. She admires the fit of the now, not-so-tight, bright yellow print garment. It is cut above the knees, which is scandalously racy from where and when she is from. She pulls the skirt up some as she twists this way and that, exposing shapely thigh in a manor she wouldn't dare do in front of anyone. _Maybe my passions aren't as 'beat back' as I thought._ She has no shoes with her, so she joyously went on her way barefoot, something she is well used to. _It is so nice to be out of those boots_ ; she thinks to herself as she mindlessly heads down the valley towards the sea. _Scouting ahead,_ she tells herself. She is just plain..., restless.

The valley opened to the sky as she crossed the natural boundary from forest to an area of grassy meadows. A place which is currently filled with fragrant spring flowers.

Sand dunes appear off in the distance, just visible in the moonlight from this high vantage, and beyond that is what must be the ocean. She thought she might go on until she can view the sea before she turns around and heads back to camp.

There are a billion stars above. She imagines herself as a ballerina as she playfully moves in graceful dance step from obstacle to obstacle of rocks, logs and bushes. In the complete desolation, she doesn't restrain herself. She swings her arms to her spins and turns, all to exquisite music playing in her head. She thinks to herself in her most haughty voice; _if someone could see me now, they would be most impressed. I'm sure I would be asked to join a traveling dance troupe; of that I am certain!_

But someone does see her. She has been watched and followed since her 'swim' at the creek, which is even easier now because of the yellow dress she is wearing under the bright, full moon. Her pursuer watches, intently absorbing every bound, leap and spin as the natural 'cravings' grow and flourish to a maddening level. Behind and out of sight, her scent fills nostrils with no example to compare. Ideas fill and turn through this mind, vacant of words, as Terra spins and moves in complete, innocent abandon. Instinct and desire rule this desperate being. Logic and reason are void, cast aside because now only action will bring the prize. A mouth waters and must be satisfied. Lust is the dominate emotion, and it will strike menacingly. Just a few more feet and the best place will be had. A body in fullest physical readiness, impatiently waits to strike another, who, in a way is also 'ready' but for exactly what, she could have never imagined. Just a few more steps!

Terra is blindsided, pushed to the ground by incredible strength. The first thing she sees are teeth of pure whiteness that flash in the moonlight. But they are not the teeth of an animal as her instincts first implied, they appeared to be human, or at least they used to be, because this _man_ has left his world and _became_ a wild beast. Terra manages to break away and the beast lunges, and his horny claw hooks the fabric of her dress at the neckline, and in a flash, it tears away completely. Her sudden total nakedness stuns and stupefies the attacker for a split second, and in her most demanding voice Terra yells:

<"STOP!">

He does stop and he looks at her with the strangest, most confused look on his otherwise handsome, but dirty face. Terra is surprised that the monster yielded and suddenly she is looking over a fine male specimen, rather hairless like the native he must certainly be. His engorgement, large, but not anything like the Mr. Buck freak-show, is dropping like a stone sinking in a pond. She had hardly realized that she had yelled "STOP" in Lemakum. Then, also in that language she thoughtlessly exclaims:

<"You are Mawtuc, I come for you.">

As soon as the words have left her lips, she wishes she could grab them back.

He is startled at the words, but a warmth envelops him as he can hardly believe his ears and his engorgement is yet again reversing when Terra gives him an open hand slap to his face with all she has!

He stumbles to the ground and Terra picks up the torn dress to try and cover herself. Mawtuc stays seated in the dirt as a pitiful rush of guilt and embarrassment powerfully overwhelm him. He looks up at Terra for a second and then shamefully he covers his man-tool with his hands. Terra's eyes are like fire and they look as if they could shoot daggers and Mawtuc wonders how anyone so angry can also be so beautiful. As the guilt wells-up forcefully and peaks at a debilitating level in poor, pitiful Mawtuc, his whole miserable life flashes before his eyes. The years of killing and death. Sins and punishments, both received and administered. So many opportunities wasted. Goodwill forsaken and denied. His raft is ready. In a few short hours he will have the morning offshore breeze required to move away from the land and into the open ocean. To think of what he was just trying to do, it shames and embarrasses him so deeply and completely that he may throw up. He fought that, but couldn't hold back his tears, a lifetime worth.

What have I become?

Terra is about to storm off and is considering going back to get the gun, when she saw the tears streaming down Mawtuc's face. That rugged, handsome face. They are streaming down to his chest. That brawny, bold, exquisite chest. She felt herself moving towards him, as if saving a baby bird that has fallen from its nest. Now she is wrapping him up in her arms, wiping his tears, first with her fingers and then with her lips. Their essences and odors combine as if now they bathe in a common steam, a fog of togetherness and closeness that wraps them up like a blanket. A blanket that excludes the outside world and where only _they_ exist now, inside and protected, where nothing can enter and disturb them. Nothing would dare! Their nakedness dawns on them both as if it is a surprise. Mawtuc is too stunned to return the kisses that he finds on his longing lips, but his manhood responds, and Terra focuses her kisses there and she does not stop! She knows she is being a 'bad girl' and she likes it! _You can have your 'toy' Sara!_ Mawtuc shakes off his stupor, and with growing boldness, he 'takes charge' and his hands explore her body as Terra welcomes and treasures his every, forceful and dominating touch. Within just minutes, and beyond his control, his seed flows and makes a mess of her, but in just a few more breathy, additional minutes, he is back, and after he lifts, flips and positions Terra forcefully, but with a certain gentle, calm, practiced and apparently expert precision, he fills her proper, three more times before sunrise to which she yielded completely, regardless of the mess or even the pain.

It was late morning when they wake to find Mr. Buck and Opal standing over them. Mawtuc recognized Buck and nearly salutes his former better which would have made Buck laugh if he wasn't so disappointed at that moment. He throws them a blanket, which lands on their intertwined nakedness with a folded-up _"thud."_ Terra's clothes from the creek side are wrapped-up inside.

"Come back to camp after you get cleaned up" is all Buck can say and they both answer at the exact same time, "Aye Sir" for Mawtuc and "Yes Sir" for Terra, which also would have been humorous, if it weren't for the shame. Mawtuc takes Terra to his camp in the dunes where he has fresh water, and he puts on his only clothes. They eat some dried fish, and when it was time to go, instead, they indulged in each other again and this time Terra 'allows' herself to enjoy it. So much so that after Mawtuc is first spent, she 'helps' physically to a point of demanding intensity where she won't be denied and now she leads the 'dance' and as Mawtuc 'responded' for a second time, Terra is the boss and she gets all that can be got until they are both reduced to a panting, spent heap of exhausted tan flesh.

By the time they make it to the camp, their guilty looks and sheepish grins say it all. Not a word is spoken as they all eat baked beans and more canned meat around the now spent morning fire. Mr. Buck made Mawtuc promise he would not leave the area until they have had time to talk, to which he agreed, after which he went back towards his camp and within minutes, Terra gathers her gear and joins him. She is not stopped.
Chapter 29

NEW PLAN-NO PLAN

There was plenty of time for "talk" in those next days and weeks. Mawtuc told Buck of his disillusionment and the disappointments that led to his self-exile and descent into madness. It is a mindset that Mr. Buck could relate to and, on many levels, he may even share, but not nearly at the same level.

This remote area, like the area that was called Olalla (roughly translated to mean something like 'land of many berries') where Mawtuc was from, really is a breadbasket of resources. Fish, shellfish, game and edible roots and, of course, many species and plentiful amounts of wild berries to be harvested. Here, Mawtuc is an expert and master of everything around him. For him, the 'real world' is one of bewilderment and mistrust. Solid work around the camp including hunting and fishing make both Mawtuc and Mr. Buck feel useful and needed. Buck and Mawtuc have brought everything back from the car and over time with those tools, they have built a proper cabin. A smoke house and root cellar are next to be constructed. The first winter is tough, but as skins are dried and cured, and routines perfected, life becomes almost comfortable. With all the busy work, there isn't time to be melancholy. This is the kind of life that Buck, Mawtuc and Opal can understand and feel at home in and Terra, who is so love-struck and pleased to have a man that has been, "touched by the stars," she would have stayed with Mawtuc even if they lived in a tent. (Which they did for a while.)

When the first child arrives, a boy, Maytuc, the 'real world' is just a far-off place where people care about ridiculous things and are fools. Back in that world they are killing each other with fire storms and atom bombs and this small group couldn't have cared less. Somehow and slowly, Mawtuc had converted them all to speaking some Lemakum, and by boy number two, Mactuc, Maytuc has spoken his first word, "Poeda," Lemakum for daddy.

Time went on, and by child number three, Glenda (The tuc suffix is reserved for males) Terra lowered the boom and declared that when Maytuc turns five, they will have to move to a place where he can go to school. It is non-negotiable demand and that will be in less than two years. Mawtuc is worried about this inevitable change, and he and Buck stay up late outside under the stars, planning and comforting each other about these upcoming but necessary changes.

"You think you can live in the bush forever Son? You have to raise your boys to live in 'their' world, and so do we" Buck said, and of course, he is right. These kinds of things and so much more can't help but strike them both as sad and disturbing and often they would sit out there under the brilliant night sky and remain silent, just thinking. They are talked out, so they would just sit and think. What joy, what terrifying joy is life.

This is what they were doing, just sitting in the cool, calm night air, thinking, planning, dreaming when it happened. The thing that changed everything. Nothing would be the same after. They came over silently from the west, low in the sky, a row of silvery disks, moving directly towards _them._
Chapter 30

THEIR BACK!

The will of God. What else could it be? Oh sure, the proximity of this little group, as far west as possible on the land mass of the Continental United States, could have made the contact, 'first by default' but that doesn't explain the incalculable odds involved of what could be the first recontact, and that recontact would be for not just one but for two that have been previously visited, that they would be revisited, and as improbable as that must be, that is what seems to have happened. God's will? Can't be ruled out, can it?

Over time since then, complex theories have been developed referring to the use of some kind of 'marker' that may have been used by the aliens to locate these two or any of the other original Space Pirates for some 'special' reason, but no proof can be found of anything like that happening, so all that remains conjecture. So, if someone wanted this to be the first contact, that _someone_ must have been God. Simple as that. That is what Buck and the other Space Pirates believe, and the matter is NOT up for debate. For them it is a ridiculous waste of time to believe anything else. To do so would be stupid, even insulting. "Who do you think _you_ are?" is what they would say, strongly hinting of such inquiries as being blatant blasphemy.

_Editor's note: Questioning people who have traveled to the heavens and witnessed multiple and continuous miracles, don't take kindly to doubting and dissenting views on this, particular subject. You_ have _been listening, haven't you?_

But we're getting ahead of ourselves. Let's back up and just see what happened. You can make your own decision as to why. So, with that said, here is (as best as we can tell) the how:

After the Space Pirates had left Mr. Pin and Beema's world, a thorough study of all available human information was undertaken by their kind. One of the things discovered while studying the 'data' stored in the bio-regenerator, (The complete 'inventory' of the entire human anatomy, not just on the cellular level but on the atomic level, the very atoms that make up them, and all the positions and placements that are involved. Can you imagine?) that discovery was a means and a way for an alien-to-human communication device that they invented and equipped at least some of their ships with.

The aliens found that they could tightly focus an energy beam from several miles away to a human's skull and transmit a signal that the human[s] would pick through their audio perception systems. (Their ears.) Also, the system is calibrated so that if the human spoke, that audio information would be transmitted back through the same energy beam and be received by the alien's systems and equipment (computers) to be translated for the Squishy's to understand.

That same, thorough, world-wide study project also analyzed the data from the the human's level of technology during the time they were at the Earth, (1840's) and those levels of advancement were not deemed to be very threatening overall to the aliens so little precautions were taken by the aliens as they returned for an apparently peaceful research mission in which this initial recontact was made.

It seems that their new communication device can only operate with the ship's protective energy shield (the transparent, electronic 'bubble') of the anti-matter system off-line, that means they will be venerable and visible during these times of communication. Therefore, in the name of caution, it was decided by the alien researchers to approach one of the least populated areas of the planet first, to gauge the human's response in a more controlled environment. Therefore, the research fleet peacefully approaches the shoreline off the northwest coast of North America after penetrating the atmosphere over the largest ocean of the planet in an effort to remain undetected as long as possible before they initiate contact on _their_ terms and in a discreet manner.

They were in luck: the sensors show the thermal images of two humans standing directly in the current flight path. The system operator gets the go-ahead from the group leader and a greeting is sent through the new and untested equipment:

"GREETINGS EARTHLINGS!"

The words are blasted in Buck and Mawtuc's ears. After a moment of shock and amazement as they gaze up at the line of unexpected, but for these two, familiar crafts. The message, as it has been rattled in their ears so loudly and rudely that Mr. Buck yells to the sky:

"QUIET YOUR TONE!"

Mawtuc looks so confused and perplexed at this moment that he may start to weep. The lead ship stops directly above them, and apparently, Buck's demand for a lower "tone" seems to have had an effect because with less volume this time, the all-encompassing, metallic and mechanical voice continues:

"Greetings earthlings, we come in peace, on a mission seeking knowledge and understanding."

Mawtuc looks to Buck as if for leadership and Buck doesn't disappoint. Buck, who is surprised that he seems to have just been heard, has given much more than only a little thought over the years to what he might tell the Squishys if he ever crossed paths with them again, and he seems to have prepared an earful of 'advice' and 'suggestions.' He has thought of how their systems could cure all disease, and how men would fight to control it for their own personal profit and gain. He thought of how their powerful weapons would be used ruthlessly by man against man if they were given half a chance. He thought of how men would make deals with them for _any_ secret that could be pried away with only their personal gain as their motives. Maybe he was just mad because he had just been yelled at but for whatever reason, he went off at those Squishys with both barrels:

"Can you hear me Squishy?" Asked Buck, speaking towards the sky in a plain flat tone, hoping to verify that he indeed has an ability to communicate. The word "Squishy" triggered special attention from the aliens because it is known to be a name used by the original Space Pirates for them, and for this random human to know this, it might mean that for the humans, their existence on Earth is well known and probably widespread.

"We hear you human" replies the flat, mechanical and strangely unisex voice.

"Good-good... Now you listen, and you listen good! You take your lights and your magic, and you get your pasty skin and your bug-eyes the _hell_ out of here! And don't come back! You hear me Squishy? And you tell Mr. Topsy Pin that if you so much as steps foot on this land, you will be hunted and caged! I am not fooling! This is not a land of "peace, knowledge and understanding," not by a long shot! So-get! I said GET! _NOW_ GET!

There is a pause and no further communication. After a moment, perhaps an awkward moment up on that craft, the ships move silently away. They continue on their original course.

Mr. Buck shakes his head and mutters:

"Stupid Squishys!"

Buck and Mawtuc watch as the row of ships disappear over the mountains to the east. Then they go back to the cabin and find that the girls and the children have slept through it all. Buck pulls Mawtuc aside and he told him to be on his guard and to be ready to move at all times from now on:

"I got a bad feeling Maw, we should be ready for anything."

All over the Pacific Northwest that night, civilian and military radar systems are tracking the flying disks as they head towards the greater Seattle area. Fighter interceptor aircraft are scrambled from a dozen airfields, and others in the area are put on alert. Weather is the only thing that saves the Squishys from immediate and possible violent confrontation as the strange crafts flew into the almost ever-present cloud cover of this area. Fighters buzz and circle, trying to find the bogeys whose locations are being called out from the ground radar stations. The flying disks reappear out of the gloomy weather just south of Seattle as they are about to pass by Mt. Rainier. Fighters are directed to that location as a lone civilian pilot happens to be flying his private plane in that area.

His name is Kenneth Arnold, and he radios flight control that he is observing a line of what he describes as "flying saucers," a description that the newspapers were only too happy to repeat over and over again for the next few days and then for the next weeks, months, years, decades, etc. In time, radio, television and the movies make this description a permanent part of the English language.

Back at the Hillsbrough Mansion, Mr. Black and Jasmine, (now with two more children, Buster and Dolly) have heard the news reports and have read the papers. While it was being light-hardheartedly reported as some kind of amusing joke, "flying saucers" has special meaning to them, and because the reports are from the area that Mawtuc and now Mr. Buck have disappeared in, it has caught their attention.

"Bill, do you think da Squishys come back for them?" Asked Jasmine.

"I don't know Honey; I just don't know."

But Bill wants to know, he wants badly to know, and soon after those initial reports, he has tracked what should be the trail of Mr. Buck with the help of some hired, elite professionals to a remote area, deep in the hinterlands of Northwest Washington State.

It didn't take those men long to find the car Buck had purchased in Port Orchard, Washington, now abandoned on an overgrown logging road deep in the middle of nowhere. It had been sitting for years, but apparently, there seems to be no sign of foul play. The men also have found evidence of a trail heading deeper into the wilderness. They wait for Black's decision about a plan to bring in a two-way radio so Mr. Black can speak to Mr. Buck if the men can locate him, but Black decides to go and hike in personally, so he can choose the best course of action, or to decide if any action is possible or even appropriate.

Black charters an aircraft (his first ever ride in one) and he meets his assembled team at the nearest local airstrip of the remote area. Waiting for him are a dozen equipped and experienced men, in four, heavy-duty and well previsioned four-wheel-drive trucks. The excess equipment and the over-the-top preparations might be pure overkill, but regardless, hours later, Black is standing beside a beat up and faded 1938 Packard Clipper, on a desolate and overgrown service road, in the middle of a quiet and peaceful, thickly wooded nowhere.

Black passes on a plan to have the area over-flown to see if anyone could be located, he thinks it might spook them. Instead, he chooses six men, including one who worked on a survey in this area years ago to follow the trail.

"There is nothing out there, nothing," the surveyor has said.

The others stay with the trucks and make a basecamp.

It is easy to track the old trail with all the scarred brush from when Buck and the girls hacked their way through and when Buck and Mawtuc had repeatedly come back to the car for the supplies and equipment, all those trips added plainly to the marks and clues.

Black and the men would be at Jackson Creek in only two days. Here they make camp. Early the next morning before daybreak, those men are being watched from three different directions from eyes well suited and quite hidden in this thick forest canopy. Buck had spotted Black and he has stealthily evaded the man on watch until he got a positive identification.

"Ya, it be him alright" whispered Buck to Mawtuc, as they remain invisible in their camouflage dress of clothing that they had stuffed with brush, moss and grasses. Buck is glad that he came, but still he wants to play his cards close to the vest. He gives the signal and Maytuc, who at four years of age, can track and move through the forest without a sound and with great speed in the manner of the example of his animal friends. The boy takes a note that Buck has prepared, and in just minutes, he has infiltrated their camp to the point that he is in a bush just six feet from the slumbering Mr. Black. His young, bright, all seeing eyes scan the camp with the keenness and focus of a wild beast and when the time is right, he scampers out of the shadows and places the note in the sleeping hand of Mr. Black. He gives him a little shake and before his eyes are open, he is back in that bush. Just minutes later, he is back at his father's side, watching with him the man's reaction. Imagine Black's surprise when he opens the neatly folded paper and recognizes Buck's distinctive script.

" _Go for a swim at daybreak old chum!"_

Black tosses the note into the fire pit and it flares to ash on the nearly spent coals. Black is wide awake now, and in awe at the operation that had brought him the message.

" _Bravo,"_ He said to himself quietly. Black realized that now he is being watched, and that his crack crew are a bunch of hacks. Later, as day breaks, those men are banging around fixing coffee and fiddling with their gear when Black announces rather loudly:

"I believe I'll be taking a morning swim." He heads to the creek. His high-priced, hired men watch him, and one even stands on the bank smoking a cigarette while Buck wades in gingerly.

"It's not too bad, I've been in colder" exclaimed Black and with that said, he dunks under the water and he doesn't come back up. The men wait and wait, and then wait some more. Suddenly, it is an all-out panic as some men jump in the water and others run up and down the banks of the creek looking and calling:

"Mr. Black? Mr. Black?"

Already, Black is on the bluff overlooking the 'professionals' who have been thrown into a frenzy, much to the entertainment of a reunited Black, Buck and Mawtuc.

"How much are you paying those clowns, Bill?" Buck said with a laugh as he helps his friend with dry clothes that they have brought for him.

Buck and Mawtuc were under the water waiting in the creek breathing through reeds. When Bill dunked himself under, Mawtuc pulled him by the ankle into deep water while Buck, also underwater, hand-signaled for him to come with them as his breath bubbled-out from the corners of his silly grin. Behind some logs, they went up for air and then they moved again towards the far bank. Another stop for a breath at a fallen tree's gigantic overturned root ball that hid a connection to a branch of the creek that led to a beaver pond, and from there, out to the ridge where they dried and got dressed in the dry clothing that was waiting there for them and then they watched the hired pros turn into putzes.

Black and Buck shake their heads at the frantic men as they look and call out along the banks of the creek, and Black decides to leave them be for a while. The old friends move to a cave camp, high on the hill that is the second home of the wilderness family. This location was prepared because it offers strong defense from storms or attack, if required.

Inside, Mr. Black is introduced formally to Mawtuc's family. Maytuc kept watch as Mactuc bounces on the knee of his new Uncle Bill.

"We've heard a lot about you, Sir" said Terra, as she nursed Glenda.

Black enjoys these cheery, pleasant long moments and is relaxed and content in this lamp-lit, fur carpeted, camp home that Buck, Mawtuc, and the girls have carved out of nothing so far away from anything. He doesn't give a second thought as to why someone would give up the modern world for this life of quiet, peaceful solitude that he understands so well and that he even envies. Here your words are given full consideration and heard without distraction. Thoughts seem to be completed and conclusions drawn in a way that can prove difficult in the busy, 'modern' world. Time seems to stand still in a different kind of "time-denigration" as Mawtuc's young children squeal and laugh as "Uncle" Black lifts them high above his head and swings them round and round. The spell is broken as Maytuc bursts in to report that the "hired whites" have reached the shack in the dunes.

"I best calm their fears before they call the National Guard" said Black, and he walked towards the meadow camp, sporting the buck-skin clothing that was made for Mr. Buck, but fits him rather well.

Black's hired men are certainly surprised when Mr. Black comes strolling back to camp wearing the strange attire and he wasted no time as he began to chastise and belittle the men without mercy with the demeanor and practice that his years at sea, being the Pirate Captain that he is/was came through strongly. Back and forth he paced in front of the men, ranting on and on. It is easy and natural for him because the men had acted so poorly. They were supposed to the best men that money could buy, Responsible for his protection and with his safety guaranteed by written agreement. The words poured from his mouth without the slightest effort and he was rather enjoying the dressing down, and it continued until the men are staring at the ground and kicking their shoes with shame. When Black had finally finished, he busts out laughing:

"Let this be a lesson boys, no one can keep up with me and my crew!"

Black's hired men eventually join Mawtuc's family at the shack in the dunes and end up staying for several weeks. They rotate with the men at the camp by the trucks and as it is mid-summer, they all end up having a nice vacation. Officially, it is an 'advanced training' seminar for the men and they spend much of their time there trying to track little Maytuc through the brush and back country. Maytuc loves this game. The men would lose him so completely, just to have the little bugger repel from a tree, rock face or some other feature and secretly put a feather in one of the men's hair or tie their shoelaces together without their notice. These are some of the best hunter-trackers on the planet and yet little Maytuc often took them to school. But these men are professionals and they take it all in stride and the lessons start to take hold and soon little Maytuc finds it harder and harder to toy with his new summer playmates.

The lessons didn't end in the woods as stories around the campfire lasted late into the night and under the dramatic, star-filled skies. Stories of battles and combat from Buck and Black that leave the hired men spell-bound and amazed. Certainly, these strange men with their perfect white teeth are full of malarkey, but the telling and the subject matter made the men wonder about everything. These stories were mostly about their raids and adventures on the high seas and certainly it was all pure fiction, but the telling is so smooth and easy and at times so vivid. But how can Mr. Black fill in the blanks and add details for Mr. Buck so naturally if it is all bullshit? And what of Mawtuc nodding along and adding his own details? Very strange indeed.

Privately, Buck has told Bill about his and Mawtuc's 'conversation' with the Squishys, and what he told them and why.

"I don't think the world is ready for them, Bill."

This news unsettled Mr. Black and he shares Buck's bad feeling of possible trouble to come.

He has Buck and Mawtuc bring him to the exact spot where they were standing when they observed the saucers and heard their message. He has them relive the entire encounter including the exact words that were spoken. Black paced around as they spoke, and his uneasiness was plain to see. He asked question after question to clarify every detail. He asked about the weather, the time of night, the exact flight path, the speed and altitude the crafts took, the position of the stars at the time and anything else he could think of.

But soon that was all shattered as a runner from the camp where the trucks are parked brought a note that transcribed a radio message from Jasmine:

"Government men request you return immediately. Matter of utmost urgency!"

"Seems you have been called to duty" Buck said to Bill as he read the dispatch.
Chapter 31

ON THE JOB

Regardless of the peace, solitude and happiness that their wilderness outpost had provided, the goodbyes are short and without heavy hearts, at least for the adults anyway. Deep down they each knew that it was all a temporary and perhaps even a preposterous situation. The dispatch from Jasmine (and the call of the 'real world' in general) was the excuse that was needed to wake-up and face the guilt that had been growing about abandoning their fellow human beings. They pack the best furs and some of the nicer woven baskets, some collectable shells and stones and with the help of the hired men, they breakdown the rest of the camp and reach the trucks in just over two days.

The men insist on carrying Opal on a litter to save time, and they treat her like royalty with constant offers of refreshments which at first she seems to enjoy, but she soon grows tired of the unnecessary attention and by the second day, she dismounts and keeps pace just fine on her own two feet. The babies are carried by Terra and Mawtuc, with Buck and Black ready to take them when a break is wanted.

Little Maytuc bolted far ahead and left them all in the dust as he has made the camp at the trucks in less than twenty hours, and he even had time to bag a wild turkey on the way. When he is told by the men at this camp that it would go to waste because they would have plenty of food for the trip and no time to cook, he plucks and roasts the bird on the spot, sharing it with these men as they wait on the others to arrive.

It would be the last such toil for a long time for Maytuc, but he doesn't yet realize it. It will prove to be a tough time ahead for little Maytuc. He is the master of all his world out here in this wilderness, but back at Mr. Black's and Jasmine's estate where he is going, he will be as lost as any little boy can be. His father, Mawtuc, who had forsaken the modern world and degenerated to the point of a violent rapist, (Something that haunts and disgusts him more than he has yet to admit) will also have major problems readjusting.

But that is all in the future, and now after everything is packed and secured, they make their way in the trucks along bumpy roads to a waiting and gleaming, four-engine Constellation aircraft, specially chartered for them. Mr. Black is the only one of the them besides the hired men who has flown in a plane before, (and then only once) but the professional service crew of this plane pamper them with the "white glove" treatment so completely, that by take-off time, all is calm.

Maytuc is awash in over-stimulation, with the riding in the trucks, and with the seeing of the lands beyond his valley for the first time. He gazes out the windows of the aircraft as it lifted from the runway thinking of birds as he shares their view of things. He has seen aircraft before but only at altitude, and even then, only a handful of times. Below is the world, but is it _his_ world? His father came and sat close to him and they share something in Lemakum, something that seems to soothe the both of them.

In a private, forward cabin, Black and Buck are in a meeting with an old friend with an unforgettable grin.

"It is just Fred Pettibone now, Sir" he explained as Mr. Black started to address him as Major.

"I'm working here with the Yanks now" he elaborated further in his cheery English accent:

"It's rather hush-hush as you can imagine." He begins the story of the reason why they were plucked from their solitude with the statement:

"They got one."

It would take a while before Buck and Black would begin to understand the technical aspects of the action that had taken place, but they share right away a gloomy feeling of what a hornet's nest they (The Government) had poked. Black especially, who had operated their space-weapon in his own hand, knew that man, no man, can understand what a risk that is being taken by crossing these beings. They just gaped at Fred as he outlined what had happened and what is needed of them.

After the initial contact with Buck and Mawtuc and the UFO sightings near Seattle, more sightings were occurring at an alarming rate all over the world. Radar systems were painting targets and fighter aircraft were playing cat and mouse with them and getting photographs, both in the round 'energy ball' state and in the silvery "flying saucer" or what the experts referred to as the "naked" state, which is considered to be their more vulnerable state because they move slowly when in this condition, less than 500 MPH which when compared to their other, unbelievable recorded velocities, is a snail's pace.

Vulnerability in the naked state proved to be a correct assumption. It was when the Squishys happened to appear over a top-secret nuclear testing facility in New Mexico in that condition, when there was a lucky break. (For humans, maybe, definitely not for the Squishys.)

It was no accident that the super-secret, Nike Hercules prototype missile system was armed and ready, just for this kind of improbable occasion.

First conceived of in 1945, the NIKE site missile systems were developed to protect cities and military installations against air attack, and to replace conventional, anti-aircraft gun systems. The NIKE Ajax system used conventional warheads, later to be upgraded to report using small, nuclear explosions as the NIKE Hercules. But the unexpected UFO activity green-lighted more aggressive measures, and at this desolate desert testing range is a Commander who has drilled his crew intensely and nearly endlessly to the point of mindless, robot-like efficiency and as he has seen the correct radar signature, a box-pattern of four, 10 kilo-ton, nuclear tipped missiles are sent speeding the relatively short distance to the radar painted targets.

The operators watch the meters, gauges and cathode-ray monitors that is their equipment, barely remembering to breathe, as all they have trained for and their entire careers hinge on the long seconds until impact. The intercept is apparently successful, four airbursts of nuclear explosions occur right in among the five saucers that had formed the line, with one of them very near the first saucer which was apparently in the naked state. The four other saucers instantly returned to the 'energy ball' state and moved away from the scene using their tell-tale, unbelievable speed.

The one saucer that was caught close, falls away and the men in the NIKE site control center begin cheering their good work but their Commander shouts over them:

"You lose that bogey and I'll have you shot!"

The stunned men, their pride wounded, call out the positions of the falling craft until they detect an impact with the ground near Corona, New Mexico at a place called the Foster Ranch.

In the cabin of the chartered airliner, Mr. Buck listens to Pettibone's report in detached, chilling amazement, finally he chimes in:

"Your fire brought one down?"

Fred's grin widens and he says proudly:

"Yes-yes, and we got bodies, three of them!"

That gloomy feeling looms larger now. Black remembers Seaman Briggs and his weepy despair over the Squishy he had fired upon, and for a second, he imagines the whole world with that despair. He shakes-off that thought and asked Pettibone more:

"What do you need of us?"

"Why, to show us how it works, Sir" answered Pettibone flatly.

Buck and Black feel they are the last people on Earth that would know "how it works," in fact, they believed it was all magic for the longest time.

Of course, Pettibone was half joking when he said that, but he does believe that Buck and Black could provide valuable input as they are apparently some of the only humans that have seen the inside of an alien ship while it was in operation.

"What about it, will you help us? They could be planning an invasion; we must learn all we can" pleaded Pettibone.

Buck and Black stepped aside and talked privately. Soon they have an answer. Black speaks for the both of them:

"We will be glad and eager to assist for our country, and our world, but we demand that this matter only be addressed by us, and not our former crew. They will be left in peace and if some detail is needed that one of them may know, I will contact that man personally." Black declared as he remembered the intense interrogation of the English Secret Service. He continued:

"Agree to this fair demand and Mr. Buck will reward you immediately with important information you do not yet know." Pettibone opens the case of his portable typewriter and takes a legal pad out from within, ready to listen and take notes to this "important information."

"I, wholeheartedly agree to your sensible demand and I'm sure so will my superiors and I will type a draft to that effect for your review, but if this new information is crucial, I may want to send it ahead as a message in code, with your approval of course." Buck looked at Black and with his nod, he began:

"The Squishys can talk from their ships, from high above, very high, to a man on the ground, but the sound of their voice is only in his ears and apparently not able to be heard unless specifically aimed at him. There is not a sound outside of the receiving man's ears and in return, he can speak, speak normally mind you, and be heard by the Squishys as well, even though they are far away, much-much farther than a hail could reach even with the strongest voice. I know this because I had conversation with them, some months ago."

Pettibone looks shocked:

"My God man, what did you tell them?"

"I told them to turn around and not come back!"

Pettibone's jaw is agape and he meekly asked more:

"What did they do?"

"Well, they did not turn around, and now three are dead!"

Buck said that as he wondered how long it will be before the dead will number higher than he can count.

This _is_ truly important, and a message is promptly sent. Pettibone has information that this dovetail's with.
Chapter 32

TIN HAT CRAZY

The first report of an alien communication with a human that was considered legitimate, reached the intelligence officers of those involved with such matters from a retired U.S. Army General living in Hawaii. General Howard Magnusson Dorner was sitting on his front porch at his home in the suburbs of Honolulu when he observed what he describes as a metallic looking disk silently hovering in the sky above him. He thought, at first, that it was a balloon of some kind, and as he was about to get his field glasses, a voice invaded his mind. The flat, machine-like tone said:

"Greetings Earthling, we are on a peaceful mission of knowledge and understanding."

General Dorner reported that the voice asked a series of questions to which he felt obligated, because of his skepticism, to provide evasive answers.

"Who are you?"

"Mickey Mouse!"

"Where are you from?"

"Tim Buck Two!"

"What is your occupation?"

"Boob inspector!"

Etc., etc.

The communication lasted only a few minutes, before the disk moved on, probably to find a more serious and helpful contact. This only became known because the retired General was convinced that he had experienced some sort of new Soviet information-gathering and mind-control device. He made detailed reports and used all his connections to push the reports of the encounter right to the top. He didn't give a damn what people thought and everyone involved did, at first, think he was crazy until other substantiated reports started to filter in. A housewife in Kansas, a California truck driver, a police officer and the speeder that he had pulled over in Nevada and others shared similar events.

Another important development was when an intelligence officer in New York, overheard a Psychiatrist commenting at a cocktail party of a steep rise of schizophrenia (where people hear voices they can't control) and how some of them had started to cover their heads in tin foil.

"It blocks the voices so they can get some sleep." The doctor said. As these types of reports became more common and as many in the intelligence community took this kind of testimony firsthand, many of them secretly started carrying folded tin foil in their wallets and often a metal construction type hard-hat, or their old army helmets found their way into their cars.

Eventually, a special team was assembled and began interviewing these mental patients and others who came forth with this kind of testimony and it wasn't long before a perfectly nice, elderly lady related an extensive conversation in which President Pin and First Lady Beema were the main topic. There was no way to explain how this lady could have had information detailing Pin and Beema as details of those two wasn't public knowledge. But probably the strangest reports of all came out of a remote island area in the Pacific Ocean called Bikini Atoll. Here, contact is almost daily, but no one there spoke English, so an English-speaking Japanese fisherman was brought in as a spokesman. He was asked to tell the voices to leave them alone. (It seems they have no tin foil.)

Buck, Black, and Pettibone flew on to a classified location after stopping to drop off Mawtuc, Terra, the children and Opal to stay at the Black's Estate in California with Jasmine and her children. Buck and Black and a group of government experts and their support staff are heading to a place later identified as the Roswell Army Airfield in Nevada. There, in a secure hanger and in a special medical facility serving as a morgue, wait specimens of alien origin for inspection, reverse engineering, and ultimately; dissection.

After landing at this rather nondescript, featureless and face it, bleak looking desert airbase, Buck and Black are processed at the personal office. After that less than pleasant experience, and with their new badges still warm from the laminating process, they join Pettibone, the Base Commander, some of his staff, and a team of resident PhD's in lab coats. They ride in a Spartan bus, through multiple armed security gates as they make their way across the base.

Finally, they exit the bus and make their way through a final checkpoint, which, after passing through zones of razor-wire enclosed rings that are patrolled with guard dogs, and as they are watched intensively from guard towers, they are lead to a tiny, almost cute little building that houses the entrance to the elevator shafts. The party enters, and the operator secures the door, and down it went.

Their badges show that they are authorized to operate in an "Area 51."

After a long, sinking ride, the elevator opens to a great lobby, where staff members greet them, and they receive a final badge check. Already one of the PhD's, a Doctor X, (there is no need for actual names, so they are not used for security reasons) is blabbing on about this vast underground laboratory facility, and how it was originally built for biological research.

"We were very lucky to have this complex ready and operational when the craft fell into our laps" bragged Dr. X.

"Don't you mean blown out of the sky, Doctor?" Asked Black, as if he may have lost a friend.

"Certainly, Sir, please forgive my poor choice of words" replied the doctor with all sincerity.

They walked down hallways that passed laboratories that are staffed with technicians who are busy operating equipment and logging results with pens and clipboards in hand. It is clear as they emerged into a central corridor that this is no ordinary "hanger." They stand in the entrance of a hallway that circles around a 'clean room' of about 300 feet in diameter, with large windows circling that space for viewing from those hallways. Inside the climate controlled and hermetically sealed work area are dozens of technicians, all completely encased in their white, hooded suits. They perform their work viewing everything through acrylic face shields. The focus of their attention is something that Buck and Black had seen before and knew intimately, or what is left of it anyway.

Thin metal poles from the floor and cables from the ceiling prop up jagged and broken pieces, in their approximate location, of about 90% of what was a scout-class alien spaceship. The basic shape was achieved by the reconstruction team with the control room area the least damaged. Black looked with mixed emotion and some anxiety at the section of floor where he and his men had undergone their physical reconstructed in an identical ship. Doctor X noticed the focus of Black's attention and said:

"That is where we found the crew."

They walked around the operation, viewing through the windows from the hallways as Doctor X droned on about the how the material that the ship is constructed of is something that resembles "bake-lite" (an early type of plastic) and then the Doctor went on to explain something about "long strand polymers" which for Buck and Black might as well been something in a foreign language. When Black paused to look at the strange and intricate charring on the exterior of the largest intact section of the ship, Doctor X explained:

"That is from the nuclear blast, ion bombardment to be exact. We were able to use its 'wave-grain' signature to reposition the damaged and broken pieces quite accurately."

Buck and Black are starting to wonder what help they can be, but they suited-up nonetheless, and after entering the massive clean room through the air-lock, they began to mimic the actions of the Squishys, as best as they could remember of how they operated the craft for the benefit of the team. But walls and counter tops that were alive with light and color during the actual operation of the ship are plain, dull and lifeless now.

Black explained that the walls and the other surfaces, currently as solid as stone, were windows of the clearest transparency under the control of the Squishys, and how with a swipe of their hand, compartments would open in what is now flat, solid material, without the slightest hint of door or opening. After a while, some in the group seemed skeptical of Buck and Black's recollections and input, but Doctor X is not one of them. He encourages his guests to relate anything they could remember, and he and his staff take copious notes and hundreds of photographs. Several days are spent reliving and demonstrating in this way for the staff.

When this phase is exhausted, it was time to examine the bodies. They are in a more conventional, climate controlled operating room with very large viewing windows for the gallery seats that are tiered in ascending rows. Buck, Black and their entourage stand outside the operating room, up against the windows as an older, Oriental man preforms the autopsy and speaks to his aid in what Buck believes is Japanese.

"Doctor Z, gentlemen" announced Doctor X as he pointed through the glass.

"We are incredibly lucky to have him with us. He is the world's best pathologist, bar none, although his options were few as the Japanese war machine fell." It is a grizzly scene; three naked Squishys, all beaten, mangled and black with bruises. The one Doctor Z is working on, is opened-up like a gutted steer at a butcher shop. Trays are lined up behind him with each most likely containing an individual internal organ along with its associated bits and goo. Behind that is a wall of back-lit X-rays, which guide his gruesome progress. The man is so engrossed in his work that he doesn't seem to notice his audience. He has a strange look in his eyes of wonder and amazement. Black couldn't help but think they seemed to have found the right man for the job. _God knows I wouldn't want it._ Black notices something else, and a look at Buck shows that he sees it too. Black pats Doctor X on the back to get his attention and said:

"We've seen enough here." He motions towards the door.
Chapter 33

DEBRIEF

Hot coffee and sweet pastries are served in the brightly lit conference room, which is just down a few halls from the main lobby where they first entered this vast, underground facility. Buck, Black, Doctor X, the base commander (minus his staff here) and Mr. Pettibone start the meeting with Mr. Buck retelling of his and Mawtuc's 'communication' with the beings out on the dunes near the Pacific Coast.

Mr. Pettibone updated the others at this meeting on how that fit with the rise in "schizophrenia" and other reports involving random citizens that have claimed to have 'spoken' with beings somehow not present. After some debate and discussion on these subjects, the focus shifted to Doctor X and his report on the structure and systems of the ship itself.

"The material used to construct this ship appears to be a simple and basic mix of elements and this mixture, this substance, is used universally throughout the entire structure and every system. It is formed into shape without evidence of mold or machining. It appears that it was formed, created in its final state and shape right from the beginning. The craft is devoid of what we would call machinery. But our analysis shows it is much more than the 'blank' construction that it appears to be now."

"Chemically, the material here is basically everything; all known elements are present and in nearly equal quantities, locked together somehow with a process that we are trying frantically to unravel and understand. It shouldn't even be solid, but obviously it is held in a state of stasis by what appears to be a long-strand polymer that we haven't been able to identify. The secret of how it works, how it is operated, is by a manipulation at the atomic level with a process that frankly, we haven't even started to understand. We believe that the Squishys, (the Pirate term for the aliens has spread through the government world quite thoroughly) activate the ship's systems using commands from their brains, most likely on the radio spectrum, and as easy and thoughtlessly as we would move our arms through the air.

We have identified areas in their brains where these signals must originate but without a living demonstration, the powers and forces involved remain elusive. Even more profound, is that we believe that they are so integrated with these systems that it is, or more accurately, has become their way of life, their world. We have evidence that they have not the slightest actual technical knowledge of their own systems, yet they can operate nearly anything on board. The material the ship is made of can be configured to preform nearly any task, from an electrical computer to a section of high-pressure pipe. The elements react on the atomic level, from commands sent unconsciously from the alien's brains, instantly operating the 'machinery,' without effort or strain or even conscious knowledge."

"To master this technology and the resulting promise for mankind is simply incalculable. But without the proper inputs, [the cooperation of a willing, living alien] it is all just chunks of element-rich plaster board."

Black, who might be lost technically at most of what he has just heard, and in a helpful, but somewhat thoughtless spirit, interrupts Doctor X:

"But what of me and my men? Who have built weapons and battle armor, and of Ping, who prepared us meals? We had used the systems, what of that?"

Doctor X has a ready answer:

"It seems the 'shown examples' of things such as a loaf of bread, or an armored breast plate, or a shin guard, or whatever, and with your authorized hand motions on the controls, you could only change things, bigger, smaller, thicker, thinner, hotter, colder etc. This was only made possible by alien interaction and authorization, and this is very different from what the Squishys do. It is as different as driving a car is, to, say, building a car, starting with the mining of the ore for the steel" explained Doctor X.

"What of their portable 'repair device' that my men assisted Mr. Pin with to make repairs. Certainly more than their brains were required if that was needed. How does that factor in, why was that required? Inquired Mr. Buck.

"That device we believe was a blueprint, a plan of sorts. Required to reestablish the structure back into its original form and was needed for repairs. We believe that a 'device' could reconstruct even this wrecked ship back to serviceability or into just about anything else or it could even be recycled back to raw materials."

Doctor X goes on about experiments of bombarding the alien material of the captured spaceship with a broad spectrum of radio and light waves, and how promising that line of research could be as they look for reactions in the material. But it is clear that the only sure result of all of that will be the lifelong employment of Doctor X and many others.

Next to report is Doctor Z and the medical staff, but Mr. Black is growing weary and has little desire to hear how the Squishy's gooey bits might function. He believes he has pertinent information for the medical staff, and he interrupts the proceedings once again.

"Them three corpses, are of the state before Mr. Pin had ordered the beings through their re-constructors. They are but eunuchs, without free will and were most likely schooled only for their mission. This could mean that their revolution may have failed, or any number of other unknown outcomes. Lord only knows what chaos could have erupted after our departure from that bleak world. All we seem to know for sure is that other ships have been launched towards us in the years after we had left."

Black sat back down in his chair, satisfied he has earned his keep with that important input. The minutes of this meeting and all the research, and everything and anything else, is being duly logged and recorded, stored away for future evaluation and analyses at the highest levels.

Buck and Black stay a few more days, but they have little more to add, and soon enough they find themselves back at the Black's Estate. Buck, and Black especially, are growing less interested in the whole matter of alien contact which is very much the opposite view of the governments of the world. Buck and Black are starting to distrust the direction of the people involved in this research the more they work with them, a fact they hide as they try hard to show loyalty but regardless, their dismissal from the project is mutual. If they knew all that was being hidden from them, their distrust might be outright resistance.

A hyper-aggressive program of nuclear detonations, anytime the UFO's appear, is initiated whenever possible. Officially, it is "nuclear testing," and it nearly got results at the remote place in the Pacific Ocean where it was discovered that the UFO's most often enter the atmosphere. The place of the contact weary natives, that place called Bikini Atoll.

The Soviets are at it as well; certainly, their spies have tipped them off to what the United States is up to. It is suspected by the foreign powers that America's new NIKE missile sites, springing up all over the United States and in European NATO allied countries, are for much more than aircraft and missile defense. As the Governments desperately try to shoot down another saucer, they simultaneously try a different tactic of establishing contact in an effort of possible alien infiltration or outright physical capture.

Special teams of highly trained agents have fanned-out all over the world, with the hope of befriending an alien or succeeding in some other alliance, either by mutual agreement or forced coercion of some (any) kind. These men will attempt to establish a relationship with an alien, in any way possible. With the ultimate goal of boarding their craft, and they are prepared and conditioned to leave the Earth if necessary. Many of these people are driven by the promise of their own physical regeneration, as much as, or more so than by civic duty. These men, in their secret circles, have the nickname; Pettibone's Tin Hats.

One man also shares a strong desire for communication with the Squishys although his reasons may be more innocent, but he pursues it feverishly, nonetheless. That man is Father Brien.
Chapter 34

FATHER BRIEN'S OBSESSION

Buck, Black, the rest of the former crewmembers and their growing families have been slowly drifting apart from Father Brien these last few years. They still go to his services when he is in town but as he became so widely famous, it seems the former pirate preacher has bigger fish to fry. In fact, he has hardly spoken to any of them since Buck and Mawtuc mentioned to him their encounter out on the dunes with the Squishys. The truth is that for some reason, Father Brien is insanely jealous of that interaction, and he is obsessed on making his own contact.

Father Brien does not believe that the Squishys are a compilation of centuries of higher learning and technology as Buck and Black have come to realize. Rather, he sees a window to God, and his strapping, regenerated body reminds him of that fact every day. At his stadium-size events, he begs the crowds to "Come forward if you have heard the voice of God in your mind," and he perks his ears for any talk of Mr. Pin or Beema, and he has had some success with this method of investigative inquiry. He interviews schizophrenics while portraying himself as a caring man of God on a hospital visit, but certainly he is there to glean information that he duly records and follows through with. But now he is ready to send his less than veiled message on the newest medium that is sweeping the nation and the world; television. He has prepared a 'sermon' that should guarantee that the Squishys will notice him.

By this time Father Brien has built an empire, which he has named Reach Out Services, or as it is more widely known, R.O.S. Ministries and the R.O.S. Radio Network, where his standard message of love, hope, and togetherness, is combined with a plea to "join him in spirit." A message in which people are encouraged to bond with him in mass prayer, where thousands chant and shout in an impromptu choir under Brien's charismatic lead. He asks his parishioners for their acknowledgment of a higher power, and they beg that the "power" show itself and let everyone "marvel at the glory." Brien's non-denominational ministry is crafted precisely as to be so vague and all-encompassing, that it is truly open to all religions and races. If one simply believes in a "higher order," that is all that is required to be welcome. Further definitions as to exactly what and how one should worship is not necessary or defined.

Established churches came to view his 'revivals' as a supplement to regular services, and many well-known clergy are guest speakers at these events. While each separate group would prefer their particular sect to gain support and attention, it all eventually forms a homogeneous and natural combination of a somewhat rabid, often trance-like group participation that allows percipients an 'no-holds-barred' experience. This aspect is empowering for the masses and the highlight of the event and by far the most popular, especially with common folk. It all is reserved for the end of the show and always held outdoors, under the stars with the chants and slogans that Father Brien leads, directed up towards the heavens.

In the weeks before Brien's upcoming televised extravaganza is scheduled, much of this event had proven to spawn a life of its own. People from all over the country and from all around the world converged on the Nevada desert plateau that was being prepared as the site for the one-of-a-kind event.

When Father Brien first announced his plans for this mega-spectacle, he declared it would be "The place to be," and the whole affair had since become known simply as; "The Place." Caravans of trucks and cars made their way towards the site with banners declaring, "The Place or bust," and "Go to the Place and find your place," along with other more standard religious slogans declaring partisan beliefs.

Many hitch-hiked, and they filled towns as they passed through, marching towards the site on their own, personal pilgrimages. Reporters from the press asked them questions such as:

"Where are you headed?"

"The Place!"

"Why?"

"Because, it's the place to be!"

Then they would ask something that has a million different answers:

"What do you expect to find there?"

This is the genius of Father Brien's revivals. People's expectations are a blank page. People fit their personal goals and desires in with the power of mass excitement and group togetherness. Here the lonely, the outcast, the unpopular find others just like them and mix seamlessly with the more adjusted in a complete integration not bound by race or position and for at least most of one day, they belong with each other and with the larger world in general. It is a beautiful thing.

What use will it all be when it is said and done? Beyond raising some money for charities, not much. For most it is a party, and a way to blow off steam. But for Father Brien, this latest extravaganza will be something the Squishys cannot ignore.

By the day of the show, the crowds are massive. Father Brien has dipped deep into his personal fortunes to provide infrastructure for numbers that have increased exponentially since the early planning. Hundreds of thousands are entertained by an all-star line-up of gospel singers and other popular musical guests during the day, building up to the main event that is scheduled for after sundown.

As the sun starts to set, the chanting has already begun:

"BRI-EN! BRI-EN! BRI-EN!"

But the Father makes them wait until it is good and dark, and by that time the crowds have whipped themselves into a frenzy. The darkness is essential for what Father Brien has prepared. It is something brand new for these early 1950's. A choreographed outdoor light-show waits to begin that combines moving spotlights of every color, stage pyrotechnics and nearly every other kind of firework, all electrically timed precisely to the movements of an amplified, full-orchestra.

As the show slowly begins under the clear desert night sky that provides a backdrop of a billion stars for a show that grows and grows in scope with the subtle building of the music, an original score commissioned just for this event that builds louder and faster and at a point not easily defined, the music has grown to an impossible whirlwind and blur, and that is when spot and strobe lights provide dizzying action and movement and they were triggered surprisingly and without warning to seamlessly accompany that building music. Dense fog is pumped-in and back-lit with colored light as it emerges ten feet thick from the rear of the stage. At this point, the wild, raging music has risen to a swelling crescendo as stagehands and an engineering team in the employ of Father Brien flip the switches on something recently invented, and built to a size of never-before-seen proportion, (and at wild expense) an argon laser-beam emitter, pointed straight up.

Just as the laser is activated, the music ends abruptly and perfectly on cue with a sharp note that echoes around the nearby hills, in the otherwise sudden and complete silence. The impossibly straight, incredibly bright shaft of pure blue light, seems to reach to heaven itself, and it illuminates the dissipating stage fog with an eerie blue glow.

In the few short moments of the powerful silence, people gape at the strange and beautiful light and hardly notice as Father Brien emerges from the fog, dressed in a flowing silk wrap that billows across the stage in exaggerated length. The masses go completely wild, with hoots and applause beyond what is almost believable, to a level that is frantic. The stage lights go up, but the laser remains activated and seems to increase the importance of these proceedings as it is a lighthouse and a beacon that can be seen for miles. When the wild accolades finally die down, Father Brien begins to speak with his trademark, glowing confidence.

"My friends! Tonight, is the night..., and this is the place!"

The crowds go crazy once again as Father Brien works his flock like the master that he has become.

"Tonight, I will share, for the first time, a story so epic, so incredible, that it will someday supplement the scriptures of every faith!"

This is a bold and troubling opening statement, and it could disturb the uneasy peace between Father Brien and the conventional clergy who are surely watching, both here and on nation-wide television. He has never been on firm theological grounds with established churches, who's leaders tend to put up with him for the benefit of increasing religious interest in general, but they also resent his popularity and his blatant showboating.

All over the world on televisions and with radio, people listen and see what could certainly be labeled later as unabashed blasphemy.

"Tonight, you will hear how God saved a world!"

His voice booms with self-importance.

"How two believers became rulers of a world from the humblest of personal beginnings, and how I've been personally transformed from the touch of God himself!"

He says this as he flings off his robe, revealing his body which could be the model of a Greek statue. People gasp and are shocked at the freak of nature that stands on the stage, wearing now only a silk loincloth, tied with a gold ribbon.

Back in California, gathered around the best and most expensive television that the house staff could procure just for this event, the Black's, Buck, Opal, (and now her sister, Pearl) Terra and Mawtuc and their family, Ping and his expectant new bride, household staff and others watch the screen of the new-fangled device, most with bated breath.

They watch in a silence, born for most here from more than interest but because of an element of surprise and some growing dread. Guessing what is to come, Buck leans over to Bill and says:

"Brien seems to have gone tin hat crazy!"

Halfway across the Country, Fred Pettibone's phone is already ringing off the hook as he is glued to _his_ television set, wondering how on Earth he will put a lid on what is unfolding. He watches the screen in a dumbfounded state as Brien's perfect body glistens under the spotlights, his clean white teeth are flashing to the crowds and to the cameras as he tells an embellished and glorified version of the "freeing" of Beema and Mr. Pin, and the bloodless conquering of their world.

He tells of his transformation, not as a benefit of higher technology, but as a miracle from God's own hands. Well-rehearsed and at a lively pace, the tale unfolds with Brien milking every bit of drama possible and with a genuine sincerity that came across in the television close-ups quite convincingly.

But his story differs markedly from reality, because he implies that he was alone in this odyssey, much to the relief of everyone involved in the real version who have worked so hard to conceal all of that in the hope of a 'normal' life, especially for their children. Also omitted (thankfully!) is the fact that the alien spacecraft was raided violently, and the severing of Beema's arm, the Squishy's initial imprisonment, and anything else deemed by Brien as unsavory.

But it is at the end of his story where more alarms are raised:

"I may have taken this adventure to my grave, if it wasn't for one important fact. You have heard the reports and you may have seen something yourself. They enter our skies in their silvery disks and seek what they lack. They crave the concept of 'understanding' that we too often take for granted. A concept so engrained and natural for us, yet elusive for them. They have in their hands the power of God, but yet, they yield it as children. They seek us out to be closer, to understand, to be at one with God!"

The crowd cheers and claps, but it is here, even now, that some doubt is aroused. The tale is just a little too fantastical, even for _this_ crowd but it was a good story, and the frantic, mass cheering drowns out the skepticism, temporarily at least.

"Beema and Pin, come back again!-Beema and Pin, come back again!-Beema and Pin, come back again!"

Over and over the masses chant at Brien's urging.

The television broadcast ends at this point and most viewers just shook their heads as they switched to something more palatable to watch, but out in that desert, most stay up all night with their eyes glued to the heavens. But the plea, no matter how heartfelt, was not answered on this night.

For several days, the whole event is big news. But within a few short weeks, most established churches declare it to be all nonsense, best forgotten. Father Brien is branded the nut-job that many people suspected he was from the start.

He will always have his die-hard followers, and his antics continue to draw news coverage, but from now on, it is only in the entertainment pages. He never again draws crowds anywhere near the size as what "The Place" attracted. It seemed, father Brien, who had been illuminated as a rising star across the globe, had been relegated to shooting star, destined to soon burn out.
Chapter 35

THE YEARS ROLL ON

Physical regeneration or not, the Space Pirates succumb to the fate of all mortals; they grow old. The former crew members that have started families are rooted in the way of the living just as most everyone else is; through the lives of their growing children. They do their best to guide them through the world of beatniks, hippies, rock and roll, women's liberation, the draft, the war (take your pick of which one) and an endless list of other influences and situations that keep one grounded in the present. With the passing of time, the trip to space with the Squishys seems but a distant memory, hidden for the sake of practicality and eventually nearly forgotten.

Father Brien continued his quest for re-contact and funded many private efforts using equipment that ranged from sophisticated to absurd, but he never made the connection he craved. His embitterment toward Buck and Mawtuc grew, as if for some reason their encounter should have been his. _Would he have said something different?_ Buck would sometimes wonder, then he would push the thought from his mind with, _he's an idiot._

Buck became smitten with Opal's younger sister, Pearl, and they became a couple. They were both too old to start a family, but fate intervened, and they ended up raising as their own the daughter of their house maid, Maria, after her mother was killed in a tragic auto accident. The world can prove to be anything but fair.

Mawtuc's son, Maytuc, had papers forged that allowed him to illegally join the Army at age fifteen. By the time that was officially discovered, ten years later, he was in the jungles of Vietnam. When he was to be approached about that in the field, he bugged out. Technically, he deserted and joined the South Vietnamese. He became an officer with them until he was identified again, after several more years. How Maytuc avoided court-martial is unclear, but the fact that he never cashed any of his Army paychecks may have had something to do with it. Instead of punishment, he was eventually reinstated as a U.S. officer, and he became highly decorated for his unbelievable courage and nerve. No doubt his upbringing in the forest influenced his tactics and awareness, but the events and stresses also damaged his psyche. For the rest of his life he would occasionally wake up covered in sweat and screaming. "It comes and goes" he would say.

At the Hillsbrough, back in California, Mrs. Jasmine Black became involved in all kinds of charitable causes and good works. She sponsored an entire wing at the local Children's Hospital named, The Jasmine Center. She supported Women's equality and rights but reserved her right to be fabulous in all manner of style and culture. She and Bill were invited to all the hippest and most exclusive parties in which Mr. Black would feign no interest. They would go at Jasmine's insistence and with his perspectives and insights, he would usually end up being the most popular guest.

They all struggled with life's ups and downs and there were many other notable items of interest, such as Mawtuc, who recorded for posterity volumes of his oral stories in his native language which reside in stacks of recordings, somewhere in the Smithsonian.

An interesting side note, the pirate clothing, and most of the original gear from the Sandylee, found its way to a Museum in England, but without much hint of its true origin. Many other milestones and triumphs occurred as well, as can be imagined, but they are now the stories of ordinary people, important to them, but hardly worth mentioning here.

The Government remains fully committed and active in the quest for alien re-contact and the research of alien technology and as a result, the "Tin Hats" remained active for decades. Father Brien's closest associates, unbeknownst to him, ended up mostly Pettibone's men. These activities and many others continued but, for all the effort, they all remained largely unsuccessful in regard to any meaningful, technological breakthroughs.

Scientific analysis of the downed craft at Area 51 might as well have hit a brick wall. After decades of research, they hadn't moved much further than the discoveries in those first few thrilling months. No attempt to energize any of the ship's systems were even slightly successful. The alien's secrets came to look as if they would remain secret, for a long, long time.

The key is the brain of the Squishy's themselves, but medical understanding was halted by a fierce and sudden underground fire that destroyed the alien corpses and took the life of Doctor Z and several others.

It is rumored that Doctor Z started the fire himself, in a selfish act of suicide. Even more suspicious because it was found that all his notes had also perished, and his back-ups as well. It was well-known that the Doctor had eventually started to harbor misgivings about the morality of the work, and he had been accused of dragging his feet for years before the 'disaster' halted all progress completely, and for all intents and purposes, permanently.

Research continued on the ship, but it mostly became a 'rite of passage' for each new American President to tour after his inauguration. The President also receives the latest edition of a report that includes an official version of this brief summary:
Chapter 36

FINAL REPORT

The key aspect of understanding where the human race stands in regard to our relationship with the contacted alien world and race centers upon the reality of the fifty-year travel time between these two worlds. By the 1990's, the ship that delivered Mr. Black and his crew will have completed its return to its home planet with the latest gathered intelligence of 1940's England, during the Blitz of the German air attack, and in all probability with data from that time of our entire planet.

That ship certainly could have made a complete survey of the entire Earth before returning, and this would have been a most logical action. We (the Government) operate under the assumption of this as fact.

Evidently, before that ship completed its return to its home world, other ships had been dispatched towards Earth, which were detected starting in the late 1940's. At least one of these ships was manned by beings in the unnatural, 'manufactured' physical state, which raises a number of questions:

1)Was the ship in-flight, and missed the mass regeneration of the revolution?

2)Did the alien revolution fail, and the previous way of life reestablish?

3)Were volunteers unavailable, and as a result, generated beings put to task?

The list of additional questions may be endless but let us focus on these three.

1)The fact that the downed ship was part of a small fleet that had earlier made human contact on a "mission of knowledge and understanding," may conclude that it was not part of any hostile intent but we have no way to definitely know that is the case so, we must proceed, so not to be naive, as if their information gathering is certainly _for_ hostile use. The English language was used in the contacts and Mr. Pin and Lady Beema were mentioned which means that they were launched clearly after the global interaction with Black and his crew.

2) Information gleaned from various contacts hint that President Pin and Lady Beema are well known in their home world and evidently they still could be in charge of the alien planet, or at least they remain major players in their politics, but the exact nature and breakdown of their current power structure is completely unknown.

3)This is a more troubling aspect of the alien's behavior and it points to their current level of morality. Before the revolution, the 'Elites' had no problem with the enslavement of virtually the entire population of their world. Manning long and dangerous missions to a basically little known and potentially dangerous planet may not have suited newly enlightened and self-aware beings, and sending beings of stunted development would prove to be prudent for a host of reasons, but it speaks volumes of their concept of 'equal rights' and of their concept of 'rights' in general. The fact that these crews probably had no awareness of their limited physical and mental capacities, as Beema and Mr. Pin did before their 'enlightenment' and subsequent regeneration, may have eased the guilt of the leaders who sent them, however it raises questions of the structure of their society. Certainly, if they could produce lesser beings for space travel, they could also produce such beings for manual labor of all sorts.

Indeed, they have the facilities in place, and they could easily produce an army fitted with all manner of 'improvements' such as increased strength, speed, vision, etc. That army could undoubtedly be equipped with their latest and most powerful weaponry as well. Unfortunately, all of this seems to be well within their capabilities and due to the evidence, it would not only be possible, but it also would not be outside of their apparent moral fortitude.

This is why we must examine carefully what information they may have about us. By the 1990's they may have a complete survey of 1940's Earth. And we project that starting by the late 90's, other ships will be returning with additional data of Earth conditions starting from around 1947. The most noticeable change for them to observe would be the exponential growth of our radar tracking systems. Nearly nonexistent when the ship over England delivered the Space Pirates and their booty, it is now a fully integrated and worldwide system which their technology should easily detect.

The aliens have modified their actions considerably since the first encounters of the 40's and 50's, showing us plainly an evolution of their tactics, proving that they are not 'coming in blind' as it appeared that they were in their earliest, recontact missions. This led us to a theory, and a subsequent project related to that theory.

The 'beacon' must be the key. The theory is that when the alien crafts enter our dimension at our local beacon, a data transfer occurs, containing information updated to at least that of the last outbound ship. This informs the inbound ship[s] of the latest state of our tracking capability and other data. To do this, the aliens most likely transmit this data on the radio spectrum, in a digitized form for reasons of compaction, and in code, or in a foreign language ( _their_ 'language' or 'data blast') that to us, might as well be code. Regardless, if we can detect this information transmission, we should be able to triangulate the exact location of the beacon which is the absolute key to our future action regarding these matters.

This is the reason for the SETI project.

The Search for Extra-Terrestrial Intelligence (SETI) project, is exactly what the public press releases proclaim, except that the radio transmissions that we _really_ seek, are an attempt to locate the alien navigation beacon, located somewhere on the fringes of our solar system.

Unfortunately, SETI may have been initiated too late.

Confirmed contacts that numbered in the hundreds during the 40's, 50's and early 60's, have fallen to virtually zero from that time and beyond. It is highly unlikely to be a coincidence that just as we have perfected our tracking capabilities for their and other foreign detection and our own space missions, they have apparently ceased all contact with our world. More likely, they have developed some replacement data gathering system that does not rely on sorties that physically penetrate our atmosphere or perhaps even our solar system. It is likely that a new, long-range system has been employed that operates beyond the scope of our current understanding and that is apparently undetectable to us.

The real tragedy regarding our understanding of the alien contact and their general behavior, has been the loss of the alien cadavers. The suspicious nature of the complete and total loss of that division, due to the compressed gas assisted underground fire, is only exceeded by the lapse of judgment of not setting up an off-sight records library. Only a few copies of an initial X-ray remain and those only because of their recovery after petty thievery.

It has become clear, that to ever gain any real understanding of the wreckage assembled deep beneath Area 51, it will take a living and willing alien under our employment or control.

While all our space flights, planned moon landings and long-range probes increase our knowledge and understanding considerably of our own solar system and the galaxy beyond, it is obtaining the location, and the possible capture and/or the destruction of their beacon that drives most of these efforts.

But time is growing short. If after the 1990's when they have received complete information of Earth from their returning space craft, and if they decide to mount a major attack, we can expect that event around the year 2040.

If in fact the barrage of contact during the 40's, 50's, and 60's had indeed been suspended, they may be waiting for all of their outbound ships to return. If they decide to attack after that, it may come sometime after 2060.

Either way, it is believed that if we could destroy their return marker beacon before the earlier of those times, it could prevent their attack altogether, or at least it could delay it.

It is likely that the beacon hides in the Van Allen meteor belt, well outside our solar system among the millions of asteroids there. It is hoped that advances in our radio telescopes may be able to identify an item of unusual density or shape in this region, and all our efforts are directed towards that goal. If located, a recovery effort will be considered and a reverse engineering program will be employed, because if a breakthrough could be made, we may be able to advance into _their_ world, and perhaps with the element of surprise on our side.

It is the consensus of this division, (exactly who makes up this "division" remains Top-Secret) that we must take all steps to secure their technology, as opposed to merely destroying their marker beacon. Because the latter may only delay their advance on us, whereas the former could advance and secure the human race as a major power broker and leader of the entire known universe.

BOOK TWO
Chapter 37

2017

Maria Gonzales Buckwald, fifty-one years old last month, thinks to herself, _why?_ The grave-side service was successful as far as by the time the words, "As ye walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil," were spoken, Pokémons had ceased to be sought and candy remained uncrushed for those long minutes. It is a measure of respect that was about average or even exceeded the dozen or so similar events that she had attended in the last decade.

_Why do I bother?_ _Why do I care? Why did I do it?_ These are all stupid questions, with the answer so close, within her arm's reach, at her side, today anyway, and on her side at least symbolically since childhood. The object of her attention, the _real_ reason that she is here, is driving another almost new but already bashed-up and filthy top-of-the-line Chevy truck. They haven't spoken a word since Maria asked him for a lift to the wake, and then all he said was: "Yes."

She understands what's happening here, this game they play. She knew he would notice that she was being dropped-off at the funeral by taxi and that she would need a ride later. He notices everything. This man, this dangerous man; Maytuc.

She studies his face out of the corner of her eye, unsuccessfully trying to look like she isn't. He is well into his old age now, but he could pass for being in his forties with his chiseled good looks and his athletic build, but time has not escaped him as lines compete to take over his features, especially his eyes. Maria sees a view frozen in time. Frozen from the time of that whirlwind summer, so long ago. She was only sixteen. When the word got out of their affair, his Mother told her; "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree," _whatever that meant._

Something is on his mind, as always. She can guess it is something epic, something dangerous, something with the fate of thousands on the line, and she would be right if she substituted the word thousands for the word billions. But even Maytuc doesn't know that this is the scope of what awaits them at the ranch home outside of Sparks, Nevada of the recently deceased Fredric Pettibone, who passed at the remarkable age of 104.

Maytuc wears new but rumpled work clothes of a western style. He changed from his suit even before leaving the funeral parlor. Besides his late-model truck, and his handmade, lavishly adorned cowboy boots and the Rolex wristwatch that he wears, there is no other outward hint of his vast fortunes. Not that Maria would give any of that much thought as she is the heir to the fortunes of her adopted Father, Reginald Benson Buckwald Esquire, or as everyone he knew referred to him: Mr. Buck.

Maria knows she is fooling herself when she believes that Maytuc's life of danger, as he jet-sets around the world to the most unstable and unsavory places imaginable, being the secret-agent-super-spy-assassin, or whatever he is, keeps him from being normal, keeps him from being with her. He could make changes to accommodate her, to keep in touch, to be..., civil.

He is so selfish.

Maria is pretty. She knows she is pretty. Even at her age, her face remains smooth, her chin tight, and her body thin and strong. At the gym, men half her age and younger, jockey for a chance at her attention. If they knew of her vast financial assets, most of them would probably double their efforts. _Why is Maytuc the way he is? Is it just to hurt me? Why am I so stupid? Stupid-stupid-stupid-stupid-stu..._ her thoughts are interrupted by the first words between the two of them in almost an hour:

"You look good."

The mechanic has tightened the correct bolt of the jalopy that is their love.

_Bastard, son of a bitch, jerk face... sometimes I hate that asshole so much!_ But, before she retorts with a pleasant, "Thank you," he says more.

"I've been thinking of making some changes, of settling down."

_Oh, that is it! The last straw! Dammit_ , the love jalopy has been restored, with a supercharged racing engine now installed.

He looks at her, waiting for her reaction, her 'answer.' She plays along by returning his gaze like the catcher returns the pitch.

"Really Maytuc, I think I've just heard it all!" She says sarcastically, and with an exaggerated eye roll.

For people who try, for people who care, age brings wisdom. That wisdom is being demonstrated by the silence that these two share at this moment. The wisdom to keep the slate clean, the wisdom to keep options open and the mouth shut. How many times have good things been ruined at just this point with thoughtless comment? Wisdom points to the answer; most of the time, and for many, every time.

Oh, how happy we could be if we could be born with the wisdom of the ages.

A long, dusty drive leads to the rather modest desert home. Maytuc parks among the dozens of other dust-covered vehicles. He waits in front of the truck for Maria and offers his arm and they walk to the house, together.

Crowded in the front room, about thirty people mill about, all but Maytuc still wear their fine clothes.

"Why couldn't you have stayed dressed? You looked dashing in that suit."

"I'm here on business" said Maytuc as he shows Maria a single key from his pocket.

"What is that for?"

"I have no idea, Uncle Fred sent me a message awhile back, asking me to stay after the guests have left and check something in the back."

"You could have done that in your suit."

Maytuc looked around, _the gangs' all here_. The memories of the days of old flood back. Pleasant thoughts, before the truth, when they were young and dumb, and the cloud that hovered over them was invisible. The glue that bound them then was of their own choice. Now the truth is being handed out and passed around among young nieces and nephews as if it is part of a gift bag. The entire affair reduced to 'swag.' _What the fuck are 'those' doing here?_

The dusty cardboard box of over five decades of age was ripped open and its content was spilled out on the coffee table, presumably by old Pettibone himself, perhaps as nearly his last physical act before he passed away. _Some things should die._

"Space Pirates, I've heard of this" said a cheery young voice of a new generation as the aging core group looked them over with troubled expressions, each wanting to say in their own way, "beware," and/or "danger." But to these youngsters, it is nothing but a story, a family legend, and to keep it that way the elders have zipped their lips in their collective 'wisdom.'

The core group, the elders, the half-dozen guest that have been reunited again, just like the last time, because of the pall of death. They can't help but to each think back in their own way, to those heady days, those days back at the Hillsbrough, when they were inseparable, when they were a gang, a club, a peer group, and not just thrown together because of their families, their parents, and the 'others' that hovered around them, watching them, guiding them, in the billionaire, trust-fund kid's version of 'caring.'

"It's all true, right?" Asked the twenty something niece with the nose ring.

"What's true?" Answers Maytuc, his thoughts interrupted by the naive truth-seeker.

"This" she said as she holds up an example of the commission produced by the deceased Mr. Buck and Captain Black, a copy of a book that he knows all too well and of which he has several of his own copies: Space Pirates. G _eez!_

"It's whatever you want it to be, child."

A frown crosses the young face, caused both from the evasive answer and at being called a "child."

"Maytuc, don't be rude" demanded Maria as she steps-in to try to put an acceptable spin on the girl's question and the 'reality' that is the book.

"It was mostly written in the late fifties, and things were different then; simpler, less sophisticated, we know so much more now. For example; there are parts involving the nuclear testing in the Pacific, now we know that a big part of that was to study the natives that were subsequently poisoned by radiation and..."

"It's bullshit! All bullshit, a total load of crap!" Interrupts an obnoxious eves-dropping guest. This man is a cock-sure, throw-back to a time the niece and the others her age make a point to steer clear of. He displays a boldness that rubs them the wrong way. His name is Steve Powers, and he looks around at the other elders because his words are a taunt. Satisfied with his domination, he continues with his evidence:

"A historical narrative written with the action in the present tense to hype the drama. Written tongue and cheek with the point of view all over the place, filled with gags, and in a child-like prose, of course its crap! Garbage even."

He looks around again to see if his words have raised any objections; they have not. But between Steve's bitching and Maria's preview and 'insight' the young lady probably found herself even more intrigued and with new and added interest, she opens her new/old copy and begins reading. Actually, Maria is happy that Steve interrupted her. She was wishing that she hadn't waded-in on the subject of the book, "Space Pirates" as soon as she started speaking, risking looking as if she was defending the book that had caused her, and really all of them so much embarrassment. Mr. Powers was doing her a favor by bailing her out like that and she knew it, after all, they are old and dear friends.

Of everyone here, Mr. Powers may have good reason and the clearest right for such an outburst even without the protection of Maria to consider. The 'cloud' that hovers over the core group is dark and stormy for this man. He alone has been living under the added shame of the public scrutiny that has been the result of his birth as the only son of a man labeled long ago and thanks to the internet, forever, as a first-class nut-job, the son of the once famous Father Brien.

So complete is his discontent that at age eighteen he took the legal name Steven Austin Powers, in a blatant effort to sever all ties to a past that embarrasses him. His reckless behavior may also be part of that rejection and of being the son of a disgraced man of God, but with his collection of vintage Corvettes, his private jet, his five-hundred-dollar haircut and the string of arm candy that he keeps, he comes off as a jerk. A rich, and even at age fifty-nine, handsome jerk.

The latest blond bombshell at his side searches her phone for Wi-Fi and the buffet for alcohol. She finds neither. _Not even wine? Damn!_ She plops down in a comfortable chair and like almost all the others sitting around, she picks up a copy of Space Pirates and begins to read, there is not much else to do as they wait for the words of praise and remembrance that will surely be spoken.

Maria eyes young Josh Cranton Jr. as he stands talking to the brother's Black, William and Ben, or as she knows them, Billy and Buster. _Little Josh looks good! Talk about the apple not falling far from the tree! Hubba-hubba!_ She turns to Maytuc:

"Josh looks..., well" she said in a Freudian slip that barely masks her fantasy back-up life plan. Maytuc turns toward Maria with the smallest of one of his rare smiles. Maria thinks, _that jerk sees everything!_ Maria knows she is busted. This is the game they play. It is a game they both enjoy. A 'proof' that they are 'into each other,' conversations deep and thorough with but just a look or a comment on the surface. She takes a break from their play by asking;

"Is his father still alive?"

"Yes, Darling, I believe he is."

Maytuc called her "Darling." She knows this is his last advance. It is up to her now. She feels the weight of decision as the heat of a blush in her cheeks. She takes a breath. She takes his arm and his reaction to her touch and the way he gathers up that arm, is an answer loud and clear. Once again and somehow also for the first time, again, they are together, a couple.

"How old is he now?" Maria asked in a new and comfortable way, now that they have bonded, and their guards have come down so completely.

"Who?"

"Cranton Senior" she said in playful, mock irritation.

"Let's find out" said Maytuc as they move to join young Cranton and the Blacks.

"Young" Cranton at age forty-seven, was just a kid back in those days at the Hillsbrough and everybody kept him shielded from the scrutiny of being associated with the Space Pirates. They also shielded him from many other vices and bad habits. One of them was to grow up _normal,_ if possible. The effort was not in vain as Josh is a dedicated family man with five daughters and a wonderful, loving wife back home in California.

"One hundred two."

That is the answer to Maytuc and Maria's question. Cranton Junior expands on the subject of his father by relaying news about his father's good health and that he lives in a senior neighborhood in Florida.

"Housekeeping, medical staff, nothing but the best for my old man. The whole family stays Thanksgiving through Christmas with him every year at his guesthouse" reported Josh but he added:

"But frankly, for the last ten years, I thought it may be the last time, but he keeps hanging in there!"

As he talked, the elders listening each think to themselves, _the last living Space Pirate_.

After kind but quick gracious words of tribute towards the iconic "Uncle" that was Fred Pettibone, and a plate or two from the buffet, most of the guests make a beeline for the door. Many leave with copy or two of Space Pirates in tow. A brown UPS van must fight its way around them up the long, dusty drive. It brings a package for the deceased Frederic Pettibone. Maytuc signs for it.

Everyone has left except for the core group and the young blond that has wrapped herself up in that chair, apparently enjoying a book of a simplistic style that seems to suit her.

"I don't read much, but I'm kinda getting into this" she announced.

"Did you guys know it's about spaceships and aliens?"

No kidding.

Steve introduced her as "Daytona," and later, under his breath and behind her back, he proclaimed that she is his "day" girlfriend, which meant that by his standards, she is the face and the measure of his morality. She might not even be an exotic dancer; hell, Daytona might even be her real name. _Will wonders never cease?_

"You going to open it May?" Buster asked, regarding the delivery.

"It might be something important" added his brother Billy.

Maytuc pulls out his knife and begins cutting the tape of the hand-wrapped parcel as his mind asked, _what fresh hell is this?_ He folds open the flap and pulls free a packing slip: Craig's List, origin- Atlanta, Georgia. Content- Jewelry. Prepaid. Maytuc unwraps a layer of muslin cloth and with a shing-shing sound, a necklace of a familiar design (to all but Daytona) emerges.

At the sound of that jingling, Daytona has abandoned her reading and like a moth drawn to a flame, she is there in a flash, inspecting the item.

"Ow, look at that! That is hand-made, and old! Especially the chain! See that chain, it's Italian, and this, this is French, and this piece is English and probably from the seventeen hundreds."

They shouldn't be surprised that this girl knows a little something about jewelry. But to the core group, the descendants of the Space Pirates, they are stunned because of the design, little flying saucers and aliens, arranged like paper dolls. Stunned because they have seen the design before privately and as a family 'secret' of sorts. Daytona asks if she can try it on and that request is granted, then she hops back in her chair and resumes her reading.

"Gramma Jasmine's Jewelry is in the vault at the Hillsbrough, there is no way it got sold on Craig's List" Maria proclaimed.

"Besides...," she said as she moved towards Daytona, and they all gather around her as Maria lifted a section of the necklace as Daytona stays engrossed in her reading.

"...this is new, see this spaceship? It has a row of X's with a row of O's in between. Gramma's doesn't have one like this, I would remember, she and I spent hours wearing hers, ever since I was a little girl. No, hers is different than this, I'm sure of it" assures Maria.

The significance of this is only lost on Cranton, who asked:

"Does that mean something?"

His question remains unanswered as Maytuc pulls the key out from his pocket again. All but Daytona file out to the back rooms of the house. In the laundry room is a dead-bolted door. The key fits and the tumbler is turned. The door is pushed open and jaws drop at the sight of what is in there.

What the fuck?

The sight is like a trip back in time. Row upon row of tiny light bulbs (not LED's) flash. Reels of magnetic tape start and stop as they advance on their spools behind glass cabinet doors. A printer the size of a washing machine has spewed out hundreds of feet of paper, overflowing the hamper and curling up all over the floor. Cranton examines some of the latest sections of the print-out as the machine continues to noisily hammer-out more paper, inch by inch:

"Beacon contact 965, azimuth 110, what the hell is that?"

But it is the brothers Black who have some answers. They share some pages and point to the rows of numbers in the upper margins.

"There they are, incoming routing, we need the code book. Hey everyone, there should be a clipboard, or a file around here, something with a graph, a code key. Let's look around and..."

"Found it!"

Maria hands over a three-ring binder with the words "CODE KEY" written in fat, red felt pen across the cover. It was right next to her, in the center of the room's only table.

"You know about this stuff?" Maytuc asked the Blacks.

They stop what they're doing and look at Maytuc with strong, mock disappointment. After a moment, Bill, the elder of the pair speaks for the both of them.

"Really May? A masters in computer science? I've only mentioned it about a hundred times. Remember Caltech? You know, when you were off saving the fucking world, or whatever it is you do, some of us had to go to school."

The brothers return to their efforts.

"Were gunna need them access covers off, to see which feeds are hot. Sure would be nice to have a volt-meter about now. Hey May, you got your tools in that truck?"

"You know I do Billy."

He dashes out, taking Josh with him to help carry a well-stocked box that he has moved from truck to truck for decades.

Within an hour, they have got a handle on what all of this is, and it is not good. They have grown-up in the shadow of the stories from their parents. Each of them has tried to throw off the yoke that is the reality of their parent's pasts in a hundred different ways. They have tried to go on with their lives, believing that they are immune from the truth somehow, like they had a choice in the matter. It is laughable now. Except no one is laughing. Only Cranton still fails to grasp what is going on.

"You mean it is all true? You have GOT to be kidding me!"

He scans faces of stone.

"Come on! This is a joke! Right?"

He pleads further:

"Tell me it's a joke! I'm begging you! You're fucking with me, right?"

"They're not fucking with you Josh" said Maria, and if she says it, it must be true.

"Well fuck me! Fuck me to tears!" Josh said just as Daytona runs into the room with a finger in her book.

"Look! Look here! The necklace is in the book! Not forty feet, but part of it. This;"

She holds up some of the necklace, a section with flying saucers and a length of paper-doll aliens.

"It's in the story, isn't that cool?"

Her excitement falls on silent, gloomy faces

"What's the matter with you guys?"

What's the matter indeed.

Built-up in this backroom, over the span of many years, Mr. Pettibone had assembled a relic, but a working relic. It is connected to the world by a dozen phone lines, land lines of solid copper, old fashioned two wire type, a type not used in new installations since the 1970's, but still very much in active service.

Routing codes deciphered from the code key show source origins from NORAD, NASA, the SETI Institute, the FBI, and the CIA as well as some other government agencies not easily identified. The data shows that several weeks ago, a signal began being transmitted from the Kuiper Belt, a region of our outer solar system beyond what used to be called Pluto. Within days of that first signal, the equipment tracked something, an object, that as far as could be known, may have landed (or crashed) somewhere in the Middle East. After several weeks of quiet after that, the signals resumed with some one thousand one hundred separate data burst, each slightly different, and all unreadable to us.

"The beacon is repeating its signal to whatever landed in the Middle East" reported a somber Mr. Black Jr.

"It's a goddamn, mother-fucking attack!" Proclaimed Steve Powers,

"A thousand one hundred contacts? Each one is a cock-sucking, mother-fucking warship! Tell me I'm wrong!"

No one does.

"GOD DAMMIT! GOD DAMMIT ALL TO HELL! FUCK ME!"

Maytuc has went and got the parcel that the necklace was shipped in. He stops at Pettibone's desk and rummages through some loose papers and right on top, he finds what he is looking for; a receipt for a money order of five thousand dollars. "Pay to the order of Bren Sedgwick." It is a name Maytuc remembers. His mind, mostly free of 'conventional' education, searches back and he finds a face for that name. Powers realizes what he may be thinking:

"That necklace! It's from the alien! Where did it come from? Atlanta? We'll take my jet! We'll find that mother fucker, make him talk."

"Maybe," Maytuc looks thoughtful as he pauses;

"But we do it my way. If we go charging in there, we'll spook him. First thing, Maria and I will go to Atlanta, I want to pay Miss Sedgwick a visit. You Josh go on to Florida, and visit Josh's Dad, only he has seen that necklace before, if it's even real. We might all be being played."

He looks critically at Brien Jr., or 'Steve Powers,' _I guess:_

"And yes, your jet will be helpful."

"You know this Bren Sedgwick? Asked Steve as he looks over Maytuc's shoulder at the receipt.

"You've met her too. Pretty little thing, she was just a teenager back then. Pettibone's intern, before he retired. Remember?"

Steve wakes his squeeze, who, back in her chair had fallen asleep. They all parade out into the night, heading to the airport. Maytuc lags behind. Then, when the others have driven a good distance away, he retrieves a can of gasoline from the back of his truck.

"Wait right here, this won't take but a minute," he says to Maria as he returns to Pettibone's house.

That fucking psycho.

With a whoosh, flames erupt, starting from the rear of the building.

Maytuc returns, stows his gas can and calmly gets in the truck and drives them away.

"What did you do that for?"

"That beacon sends its signal to more than the alien. If Pettibone's system here isn't already known, it soon will be. Our fingerprints and DNA are everywhere in there. We might need more time, might as well keep them guessing as long as possible, it might be important."
Chapter 38

2015

C _hildren are dumb!_ It is a thought this 'teacher' has had so many times before. Thrust upon her by 'position,' and with not a single consideration for what she may want, she guides, shapes, pushes, consoles and disciplines the children of the court, the block, the prefecture, the hemisphere, the planet. The burden of the first-born child was well-established and firmly in place before she was old enough to present any coherent opposition. The routine is now expected, and her parents are much too busy to listen to any pleas for change. Not now anyway. Not ever.

But this will be the last time she will put up with the dumb questions, the thoughtless exclamations, the meaningless concerns, everything that she has grown so weary and sick of, everything that has been expected of her, everything that has become unbearable will cease; tonight.

She has something of her very own, and it is none of their business what it is. It is the conduit that has shaped and molded her very being. Under its umbrella, it has _all_ come together. The reason and excuse for it. She has told no one, and no one has asked. _Why would they? She shouldn't have any reason to want anything. She is the luckiest girl on the planet._ _I'll show them! I'll show them all!_

What does she have? Her free will.

"It is your destiny to marry the prince of the dark side, [of the planet] can't you see that it will bring peace, the relief from opposition, why are you so selfish? Do you want to hurt the entire world, or just me?" If her Mother had said it once, she may as well have said it a million times. Her Mother, the Planet Mother; Beema.

_What I want, they don't want to hear,_ rationalizes Bertha.

She doesn't want to hurt anyone, but they hurt her. To presume that she would fall in line with this 'option' this 'solution' this 'madness,' is brutal. _If my Mother is hurt, it will be a pain of her own construction!_

She has consulted her free-will and it has given her permission. The minute she was informed of her 'destiny,' her plans and schemes hatched and grew. Tailored and refined now, she stands over the sleeping Planet Mother, who is exhausted from her day of dealing with the weight of the world. She reaches for the green necklace hanging from the hook. She leaves the blue one alone, it belongs to her Father. A shing-shing sound is made when she moves the keepsake, her mother stirs, a smile as if a pleasant dream has crossed her face. _I'm so sorry Mother_ she thinks as she takes the tiger fur coat as well.

Bertha is on her own now. A scout-class ship secretly awaits. It has been over twenty Earth years since her birth. She is, by default, the oldest of the planet's children. Her body is mature now. Her future is in her hands for the first time, and only because of her bold action. She will reinvent herself, make something of herself. What will that be? She has not a clue. All she is sure of is that it will be of her own making. It will be better.

Beema awakes alone, yet again. Tops is on the other side of the planet, mending the fragile balance between factions wide and varied. Placating, promising, and agreeing in negotiations without end. Beema has determined that only a truce based on the blood ties of her daughter's union to the prince of their strongest rival will ease the pressure, bring her, and their world, peace. A peace that will bring her husband back to her side and back to her bed. A peace that will give her a break, and allow her time to live, time to be happy.

_What the_... She thinks back for a word from those long-ago days... _Hell!_

Beema bolts upright in her lonely bed, the fur coat... _Gone!_ The green necklace... _Gone!_ There has been a theft! _Why?_ In a world where anyone can easily make nearly anything, it is preposterous! She runs to the chamber of her daughter, she calls her name, both in her telepathic method and with her voice in desperate tone. "Bertha? Bertha! BERTHA!"

Gone! She is gone!

Beema collapses on the floor of her daughter's room. She may be out on some errand, away with a good reason. But she knows she is not. A Mother knows. Her tears flow amid desperate moans. A lifetime passes through her mind. A happy life, (she thought) as best as she could provide, but due to circumstances, far from perfect. But in a sudden twist, her grief turns to anger.

I will have her back! How dare her!

She gathers herself up and at the control panel, she calls her husband:

"Bertha has run away!"

President Pin is shocked at the news. His fondness towards his only daughter is boundless. Surely, she knows this, right? Their bonds are unspoken, was that a mistake? Where would she go? That is a stupid question, there is only one place she would go, and it is the fault of the Old One.

"He poisoned her with his mentoring. Filling her full of foreign concepts and ideas. He is to blame!"

"Yes, he is to blame" agrees Beema, in convenient concession.

"The King here has ships ready to follow, we will find her and bring her back."

"I will go with those ships; it is _our_ matter to repair" rationalizes Beema and her tone demands that it is not a suggestion.

Pin looks to the King and with his nod, the plan is approved.

But apparently, this 'King' is not as ready as he thought as it takes several weeks before the fleet moves, but there is deception and treachery causing the delays. Pin and Beema are told of problem after problem regarding equipment and other technical aspects both large and small, and the grieving parents fail to think critically as they just want their baby back, but the real reasons for the delays are far more sinister.

This planet, some twenty years ago, thrust into a state of chaotic reality so suddenly, is far from any state of cultural 'Zen,' and factions bicker endlessly about everything. This 'King' is of the opinion, shared with a growing number of a like mind that this 'world of the humans' should be brought into the fold. Here, like anywhere, there are those who want to rise above, who are eager to make their mark, those that want more and more.

They have been waiting for the return of the craft that had ferried the Space Pirates back to their home. When it arrives, then a careful evaluation of the latest and most complete information of the Earth can be utilized along with information from the spaceships that had been launched after that, but, with this opportunity presented, and with the faction most in opposition of their plans for planetary expansion currently in disarray and perhaps with their thinking clouded in emotion, bold action has been initiated. Besides, the information gleaned from Pin and Beema's original ship tell of a primitive culture, and from the information of the human's texts and charts, all point to an easily subdued world. The time lag of over a hundred years is only a blink of an eye and there is no reason to expect any significant changes there.

After all the delays, Beema has finally boarded what she is told is the lead ship of a "small fleet" but, unclear to her, the number of ships she travels with is over one thousand and one hundred. Her ship is manned by beings generated for pleasant and non-threatening company, there to sooth a mother's worried mind and discourage any unexpected action, while the other ships are packed with beings and equipment secretly developed with all their systems enhanced and perfected for the arts of combat and killing.

Bertha enjoys the solitude of her stolen ship. No irritating children, no impossible demands from the others who are supposed to 'love' her. She wears the tiger fur coat and fingers the necklace. She knows she took them both to hurt her Mother. She feels some guilt now. It was an impulsive act, not part of her original plan at all. But what is done is done.

She was raised by and shared a deep connection with the Old One. With Pin and Beema so busy with the world and its state of permanent flux, the Old One delighting in little Bertha, it is just the way it had worked out. The Old One had shared his hidden underground sanctuary with her and together they explored everything possible about their favorite subject; the humans.

Why did he die?

He could have regenerated anytime he wanted, but he wouldn't. Even when he suffered, he refused. All he wanted, and what he had made Bertha promise, is that when it was done, she would drag his body to the re-generator and return his remains to 'stock,' while she read the note that he provided.

" _As ye walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil..."_

But Bertha's plans and schemes involve much more than wounding her parents or morning her mentor, there is a method to her madness. As the daughter of a medical technician and a systems specialist, she has picked up more than a few things. Her exposure to the technology of the past from the mentoring of the Old One, also affected her decision to do what she now prepares for as she adjusts and calibrates the equipment. With everything ready, she stands in the proper place and with a swipe here and a touch there, the light forms and envelops her completely.
Chapter 39

2016

Bertha appears at the beacon of our dimension after more than a year had passed since her reconstruction. With the ship's equipment she has remade herself and she has added even more with increased physical strength she acquired from a rigorous exercise regime she initiated that was designed to cope with the added gravity of her destination. She had also adjusted the atmosphere and gravity of her ship to mimic that environment and she has become acclimated so completely that she has nearly forgot that she had even done those things.

Soon, she will test her bold and clever physical change as well. Not just the physical change of strength to cope with the higher gravity, but something else, something of her own design, something that she came up with on her own that remains untested and resides in her brain itself. Something that fills her with smug, self-satisfaction. She often said to herself with a laugh:

I'm such a smart girl!

As the child of a systems specialist and a medical technician, and with the technology of the ages at her disposal under the mentoring of the Old One and with her access of the great computers of the hallowed halls of the forgotten chambers under Master Control Main, and with her knowledge of the invention of the ship-to-human communication system used in the research information gathering ships that had been launched after the return of the Space Pirates, Bertha's advancement seemed a logical and natural evolution to it all.

Why did nobody think of it before?

Their sooo stupid!

She worked on the program in secret for months before she had run away. She didn't even really know what use it would be. (If any.) But with the vanity and sureness that only her youth could explain, she did it. She ran the program along with her regeneration and now it is done. What will it mean? What use will it be? She hasn't a clue, and what more, she doesn't care!

In her brain, she has installed with the ship's equipment an organic version of the communication devise invented for silently talking to the humans. It will have limited range and will require an uninterrupted line-of-sight to function, but one thing for sure: (She hopes.)

They will hear me!

But as she appears at the beacon of the solar system of the human's, she has work to do. First, she must download all of the data of the last outbound research ships for her careful review at her leisure. Next, she will modify the beacon to act as a repeater.

If anyone comes after me, I'll be the first to know!

Last, she will set a course to the blue planet. She will take her time and pour through the beacon's data and make an informed decision as to where she might land and to what she might do.

I'm sooo smart!

But already there is a surprise. She is receiving radio and television transmissions. They are very faint at this distance but with the ship's equipment, she adjusts and amplifies the signals and picks a frequency more or less at random and earth music blasts from her console:

" _I'm on the high----way to hell"_
Chapter 40

LATE 2016

As Bertha nears the blue planet, she has been able to intercept and decipher the television signals and monitors the transmissions and what she sees on her display has become shocking. This planet, this culture, is far more complicated than she had originally envisioned. She has started to become filled with doubt and worry and is maybe ready to consider abandoning her entire plan.

I miss my Mother.

There must be a way to undo this, to save face. But how?

Bertha racks her brain. She searches for a plan. The realization is now plain to see that to step foot on these lands, to be seen by these creatures would be dangerous, even deadly.

What was I thinking?

From her monitoring she has discovered that the humans are violent, vengeful, petty, immoral, and even disgusting. But as she considers undoing her regeneration and returning to her natural self, the thought of her forced marriage waiting back home for her burns her soul.

It pisses me off!

She has been picking up phrases from the TV.

What to do, what to do, what to do?

Whatever she decides to do, she knows she must make a decision soon. She is close to the blue planet now, perhaps even being monitored by their equipment.

What happened to the vessels that floated on the liquid, pushed about by the atmosphere and constructed out of organic materials?

Now her ship is, perhaps, already in range of their weapons systems. She is in way over her head.

But it is already too late. But the danger is not immediately from the humans.

While the forces of the King, and the ship that brings her Mother took some time to assemble, a hideous probe was launched right away, and it follows Bertha. It arrives at the beacon much sooner than the fleet that follows. As a matter of fact, it arrives at this very moment!

Bertha has taken a break from her worry and despair and had settled down to watch a television transmission that she has found rather enjoyable titled The Big Bang Theory, and that was when all hell broke loose. The probe had locked on to her ship's maintenance interface and a complete system take-over is only seconds away. Bertha springs into action and knows only a manual disconnect will prevent a complete loss of her ability to control anything.

She dives to the access panel located on the control room floor and with only a second to spare, she releases the safety switch and pulls the disconnect lever.

Ha! Take that! Think you can make a fool of me?

But no sooner has she prevented her ship's capture, when the probe switches to its back-up program which is that in the event that the ship and its crew (Bertha in this case) cannot be captured, the cross valve will be operated that will destroy the ship. Bertha is only aware of this because the access panel she happened to open, has a view of the cross valve and she can see that its destruct sequence is displayed, and she knows that the counting down is not reversible. She has less than one minute before the ship, and her, is vaporized completely. The thought of destroying the valve crosses her mind, but she knows that will only ensure that the matter and the antimatter components will come in contact with one another even sooner, and with the same catastrophic result. Hindsight shows her clearly that she should have disabled those systems that could be taken over and operated from afar.

How could I have been so stupid?

In a frantic mad dash, she activates the controls that will allow an emergency abandonment of the ship. She has only time to program the destination as "at the planet surface," and she accesses a storage compartment containing an emergency kit (a feature added to all scout ships after Pin, Beema and the Commander almost starved, over twenty years ago) with just enough time to spare to grab the tiger fur coat and the necklace before an energy ball forms around her.

Away from the ship she goes, down through the atmosphere. She can only hope that she will reach the planet surface before the power systems of the ship disappear, ending the safety of the ball of energy that encases her only to leave her falling exposed and unprotected. She can only hope that she will touch-down on land, and not be cast adrift in the sea. (Another glaring example of 'brilliant' hindsight.)
Chapter 41

ALEPPO, SYRIA

RUN!

Mad with hunger and her mouth dry with thirst, Noorhan clutches her baby, Ruba, to her breast, a breast that would not yield any milk that morning, as they follow her thirteen-year-old son, Mahmoud, down the street. They brave the potential sniper fire as there is no time stay hidden among the ruined buildings with their interior walls that have been busted out as passageways for secret movement. The situation is beyond desperate and blindly they run without any clear destination or plan.

Assad's helicopters approach, the barrel bombs boom and shake the ground only a block away. Baby Ruba lets out a desperate loud squeal and it catches the attention of a man as he dives for cover. He hesitates for a split second and yells towards Noorhan,

<"HEY! THIS WAY!">

His arm beckons them with a waving motion as his other hand points down to an opening leading to a basement. Noorhan reaches for her son's shirt collar and redirects him towards the man as what is left of this family leaps into the safety of the basement as the man receives a bullet to the head for his compassion. His lifeless body slumps down and blocks the opening that was just used by the fleeing family, protecting them as a barrel lands right out in the street where they were just running and explodes.

The air is sucked out of their lungs as the building above them collapses, hopelessly trapping them all together under tons of debris. Mahmoud's chest is crushed as he is pinned, and the only mercy is that all three of them are unconscious which prevents pain from adding to the cruelty of their doom.

That was it. The end of the al-Haj Ali family. Father Waseem was killed months ago, lined up with a dozen others and shot execution style for being in the 'wrong' sect of the same religion. Noorhan's oldest daughter Azizeh, took her own life when faced with a future as a sex slave, to be traded among warring factions as a token of appreciation regarding 'real' agreements. A scattering of other relatives and in-laws may or may not exist alive but that is a moot point now. Even if they did survive, none would be in any position to help. They are all but limbs and branches of a family tree, broken down to fall with the winds of war. Nothing new here in human history. In fact, it is all too common, even to the point of being boring for much of the rest of the world. Just another end to an often repeated and always tragic saga, except for something that happened next that would make this one very different.

The energy ball streaks silently from the sky. There is no sonic boom because it doesn't push the air out of its way as it travels, it erases the matter that its electric surface touches in a way alien to the physics of humans. It does the same to the concrete and steel it encounters as it penetrates the rubble of the collapsed building and leaves a perfect circle, a tunnel in the debris as it travels like a hot knife through butter, leaving the sides as smooth as glass. But those edges are unstable, and most of this 'tunnel' instantly collapses behind the energy ball that formed it.

This energy ball happens to pass within a hair's breadth of what is left of the trapped family, freeing them from what binds them but sending them to a new potential disaster as they fall in a lifeless heap. High above in outer space, the system that generates the energy that supports this marvel of physics ceases its output as the display of a special valve reached their expression of the concept of zero, and with a violent flash of explosion, there is suddenly one less scout-class spaceship in the universe.

Only meters from the programed stopping point when the energy ball dispersed because it had lost the energy pathway that had kept it formed, there is still enough kinetic energy to send the former ball's occupant, Bertha, hurtling ahead to slam against a brick wall that was the foundation of what is now an enormous pile of construction debris and household items. Bertha has the wind knocked out of her as three apparently lifeless human bodies (one tiny) and a spattering of other items and materials rain down on top of her.

Pitch dark and for a moment at least, completely silent, Bertha experiences an illusion of dancing stars circling around her as everything grows dark in her mind as unconsciousness starts to grip her. She fights it. Fights it like the tiger depicted on her mother's coat that she is wearing. And with the greatest of effort, a breath is drawn into her lungs. Pain shoots through her and the darkness of her stubborn, impending unconsciousness tries to return with a vengeance.

Oh no you don't!

Another breath is drawn, then another and another after that.

Panting, pain throbbing from every part of her body and from her very soul, she looks around her, assessing the impossible situation. In the pitch dark, her insect-like eyes revert to the infer-red spectrum and temperature provides _her_ with a clear view. In her lap is the tiny human, lifeless and growing cold. Bertha locates her survival pack and retrieves the devise inside. She links her mind to the egg-shaped machine that is about the size of a loaf of bread and it produces a golf ball size sphere from a seamless opening.

I don't know if this will help or harm, but it is worth a try.

She stretches the baby out in her lap, she pulls the tiny jaw down and tilts the head back to clear the airway. She hesitates as she must force a mixture that she has prepared into the creature with only a wild guess as to its effects based on the size of the tiny body and her limited knowledge of human physiology.

How will I do it?

The answer dawns on her.

Of course!

She breathes the mixture deep into herself from the golf ball size orb and leans over and seals her lips over the tiny mouth and nose to force it into the baby. She repeats the process again and again and again and finally with a spit-up of goo, the tiny body heaves and responds with a wail.

"Waa-waa-waa!"

Bertha forgets her pain and experiences a warm rush from the bottom of her heart to the top of her head to the tips of her toes.

"Waa-waa-waa!"

It is the most beautiful sound Bertha has ever heard!

Bertha turns her attention to the female adult human, the Mother. Her breathing is shallow, the heartbeat week. With those unblinking eyes, she switches to the X-ray spectrum in a move as natural as blinking would be for a human. Each eye snaps an image, milliseconds apart and her brain reconstructs a 3D picture in her mind's eye very much like a cat-scan would be for humans. She sees the digestion system is empty, and also, she senses dehydration. She links again with her machine and it produces a concentrated capsule that she pushes into the Mother's mouth. Bertha lifts the blouse of the human Mother and places the baby to the teat.

" _Be patient little one, the milk will soon flow."_

(Hopefully.)

Bertha saves the worst for last and she has her doubts as to if she can help. She examines the badly injured juvenile human. What her vision produces is an apparently bleak prospect. Four ribs are shattered and have punctured the left lung. The heart is squeezed, limiting its effectiveness but otherwise it doesn't appear to be seriously damaged. The boy also apparently suffers from chronic hunger and advanced dehydration. Bertha has her machine produce a tablet that should relieve these last two problems and will address the severe blood loss, but as the damaged lung fills with fluid, and without a biological re-constructor available, she knows that only surgery can save this human. She pauses and reviews the steps that will be required. She wonders if she has the fortitude and the nerve. She sees a starting point and knows that time is of the essence.

I will try.

Bertha clears a work area. From her kit she takes a special folded cloth and lays it out. She strips the boy of his clothing and tries to lift him but pain shoots through her. She has forgotten her own injuries. She has her machine produce something to relieve that and she tries again, this time with success. She lays out nearly the entire contents of her kit next to the boy. She sets her machine up as close to her as possible. Everything is ready.

Here we go.

Bertha starts by releasing a mist from another small sphere into the airstream of her 'patient' as he takes in his labored breaths. This should keep him unconscious and eliminate any pain. Once again, the exact mixture is a wild guess, but she has no other choice. With blades that to a human would seem to be made of some kind of plastic, she makes an incision low on his damaged side above the kidney for a tube that, with the help of gravity, will drain the lung. With that completed, fluid flows copiously at first but soon slows to a trickle and then is just a drip-drip-drip.

Now Bertha focus her attention to the boy's chest. She knows that speed and precision will be required for success, so she gets right to it. She knows that to linger could trigger her own anxiety and promote useless and dangerous second guessing.

Must stay focused.

She makes long, careful cuts making sure to not go to deep by using her x-ray vision and when finished, she lifts the skin with one hand as she uses her blade to clear away the parts the stick as blood flows alarmingly. With the skin folded back, the beating heart is exposed. With her fingertips, she digs around in the chest cavity to retrieve the broken pieces of the ribs which she lines-up one by one beside the boy in the order that they were located. Interfaced with her devise, it produces a tube-like container of a substance which she uses like a glue to reattach the broken bones back together. This is proceeding smoothly until there is a mix-up and she has two pieces with no clear answer as to where each should go. She guesses.

Next, she must address the punctures of the lung that has collapsed and to assess the damage and to make the possible repairs, it must be inflated. Without any other means available, she must use her breath to inflate it, and she seals her lips to the boy's mouth while holding his nose closed. She can see out of the corner of her eye that it is working but when she releases her seal, the lung falls back to the shriveled state.

No-no-no-NO!

Noorhan wakes with a start.

< _Where am I?_ >

She feels little Ruba at her breast and she is sleeping soundly. Somehow, she knows that she has nursed.

< _How can that be?_ >

Her own hunger is also vanquished and so has her thirst. It is pitch dark, but she feels a presence. She can hear breathing and something else, the sound of busy hands using tools. She digs in her jacket pocket and finds what she is looking for, her tiny flashlight. She points it at the strange noise and turns it on.

The horror! Shocking unspeakable horror! The creature, the blood of her son up to its armpits! She sees that her son's heart beats, bare to the world!

"Ashhada al-la ilaha Llah," (I witness that there is no God but God) Noorhan says with a heart full of terror, and the beam from the flashlight shakes in her hand.

"You are awake. Good, I need your help."

Noorhan heard the words, English, but the creature did not move its lips! She doesn't speak much English but managed to pick out "you" and "good." Stunned, stupefied, frozen with fear, Noorhan soaks in the creature's features. The head is huge, the hair cropped short and butch, the ears nothing but holes, the nose tiny, she wears a fur coat; tiger fur, she sees a hint of jewelry; a necklace that glistens of gold with what appears to be a row of paper-doll shaped figures. But those huge, multifaceted unblinking eyes, steal all reason from her view.

< _God help me!_ >

"Look, I need you," Bertha said, and again her lips do not move as she points her long boney finger at Noorhan, who shakes in complete fear.

"To breath-in," Bertha demonstrates by taking-in an exaggerated breath,

"Then seal the mouth," Bertha holds Mahmoud's nose and presses her mouth to his,

"Then blow and hold."

Again, she hears the creature's words even though its lips are busy blowing a breath into her son, and she sees his lung inflate and hears the hissing as it leaks from the damage.

It is too much, and Noorhan's eyes begin to roll deep up into the sockets and she is about to faint.

"Look!" Bertha says as she grabs the Mother's chin with her bloodied hand and with firm grip.

"There is no time! You will do this!" She shakes Noorhan's face as she speaks.

"Or the human will die!"

Noorhan catches the word "die" and it pulls her back from fainting.

"You will take a breath," again, Bertha takes an exaggerated breath,

"And blow and hold!"

She pulls Noorhan by the chin towards the boy's mouth.

"You will do it! Do it now!"

This time the lips did move and the voice, although squeaky and mechanical, is demanding.

Noorhan moves over her son's face. She has grasped what the monster demands. The order is loud and clear. She takes a breath and holds her son's nose while filling the lung. Bertha can see the air hissing from the damage, and with a dab of something, she repairs a hole as if using glue.

"Again!" Demands Bertha. Noorhan hesitates out of fear.

"Now!" Barks Bertha.

This time the frightened Mother puts her all into the task and two holes are repaired.

"Again."

Another repair is made. Noorhan takes another breath but Bertha stops her with a hand on her shoulder.

"It is done" she said gently.

Noorhan holds a shaky light as Bertha sprays a mist from her sphere over everything in the chest cavity and on the back side of the flap of skin. She folds the skin back over into its proper place and with something that she produced from the egg-shaped devise; she mends the incision as if gluing together a broken toy.

Noorhan continues holding her flashlight, pointing it at the Sufis, this jinni that is Bertha as it lifts Mahmoud's unconscious body and retrieves the blood-soaked cloth from under him. Bertha steps away and with a shake and some pats, the gore that permeates the cloth's material falls away completely as if it is dry as dust. Next, she uses that same cloth to wipe the blood and dirt off from Mahmoud from head to toe. After another shake, she wipes herself, cleaning every part of her, even the fur coat. She is left as fresh and as clean as if she had showered and her clothing had been just picked up from the dry cleaners.

She produces a tablet from her devise and slips it into the boy's mouth.

Now she moves toward the baby with her cloth in hand and with Noorhan's help, they wipe the child down completely and so gently that she doesn't wake and only produces the slightest murmur and coo during the process.

Last is Noorhan, and she submits completely, even holding her arms up high like a child as Bertha gently but thoroughly wipes away the grim and even the tension of this remarkable and unbelievable day.

After a final shake of the 'magic' cloth, Bertha tucks it around Mahmoud, leaving only his face exposed. Then she joins Noorhan, and with the baby between them, she takes her arms and wraps them around them both and pulls the mother and child close and they share each other's warmth and prepare for a long and well-deserved sleep.

Noorhan wakes in a comfort she hasn't known in months, maybe years, maybe ever. The dream is still in her head. A dream of her and her son and someone else, someone with short, fizzy hair but otherwise the image was not quite clear. They stand in the warm sunshine as helicopters approach and they laugh as they throw flowers at them and the helicopters turn into hummingbirds. She feels a contentment as the dream fades and it is so nice to be sharing this sleep, this comfort with someone and she caresses the face of the other as she feels a warm breath on her neck.

The baby, Ruba, stirs and she starts to fall back asleep just as Noorhan's free hand roams and explores soft, short hair and the warm skin of a face hidden in the pitch dark when reality jolts her, as her fingers announce to her brain that there should be an ear where there is not.

Noorhan battles to remain calm as she retrieves her flashlight and turns it on. The creature sleeps, tenderly holding Ruba tight against the soft fur of her coat. Perhaps it is shock, but she finds herself okay with what she is seeing.

She shines the light to her son. He is wrapped tightly in the thin cloth, sound asleep and breathing deeply. Even in the dim light, she can see his face has a healthy pink glow. She moves slowly and carefully towards him. She lifts the cloth and sees evidence that the long incisions on his chest have already healed as if weeks have gone by. She gently tucks the cloth back in place and the boy murmurs something softly at her touch.

With her mind clearing and calm reigning, she examines her surroundings. They are in a 'cave' of about five meters in length and some two and a half meters wide. Directly above is a cavity formed of reinforced concrete sections that appear to be solidly locked together. One flat section of one side is stained with a splat of blood, the blood of her son. It appears that most of the loose 'ceiling' has already fallen away and now makes up the debris of the 'floor' where she is standing. Still, she is drawn to the sides and parts of the ceiling of the cave that are cut so smooth that she must touch it to believe it.

<How very strange.>

Noorhan pushes the disbelief and confusion from her thoughts and replaces them with a mother's resourcefulness. Smashed furniture and rooms full of items litter this space and she begins to gather up needed items. Soon she finds a package of candles and with her lighter she lights some, placing them around her. With that done, she can save her flashlight and she began scavenging for needed items, such as blankets, clothing and finally, cans of food.

< _Thank God! >_

Her and her family had been so hungry for weeks before this latest attack. She had given all of her money to a man that promised to smuggle them to Turkey. That man never returned for them. But why was she not starving now? She remembers the capsule that the strange one had given her son. She turns suddenly towards the creature. It holds her baby and she can't help but relive a flash of horror. But that feeling is short lived and apparently unnecessary, so she decides to leave them together awhile longer as she searches the rubble for more needed items and for a way of escape.

Several hours later Noorhan has found no pathway out and she has become convinced that none seems to exist. They appear to be trapped, locked-in by slabs of interlocked concrete each weighing many tons. She gently takes her baby from the worrisome embrace of the sleeping creature and places her to her bosom while she opens a can of peaches. She eats a few as she racks her brain for a solution to this predicament but as she is still more exhausted than she will admit, she lowers her head into her folded arms and falls quickly back to sleep.
Chapter 42

BOOM!

Rattled from an explosion above them as dust and grit rain down, the mother, her two children and Bertha awake with a start. Mahmoud gets his first glimpse of Bertha in the candlelight that his Mother had left burning. He tries to leap up but is checked by the ache of injury yet to be fully healed. Looking down at his bare chest after pulling the sheet aside, he sees the evidence of what has been major surgery, and he stops his advance towards the creature and questions the danger that his instincts had presented.

What the fuck?

His mother, baby Ruba and this, this thing, all stare at each other. Mahmoud can see the surprise in his mother's and even the baby's eyes, but the large, multifaceted insect-like eyes of the creature defied such a tell. There is more noise and vibrations from above. The sounds and the vibrations of machinery outside keep a stream of dust and dirt flowing down from above but the locked together concrete slabs of their 'ceiling' remain secure.

"Who _are_ you?"

Demands Mahmoud while his mind fights for clarity as he tries to assert himself as the man of the family, a condition thrust upon him but so far, little tested. He asked the question in English. It is a mindless default and a result of his confusion that something so strange must be dealt with in anything but his native Arabic.

Mahmoud speaks English fairly well and can even read some. His childhood of being exposed to American soldiers during the occupation is what enabled that. But as he waits for his answer and as he looks Bertha over, he believes he should have asked:

" _What_ are you?"

"Mahmoud!" His mother scolds,

<"She, (Noorhan has, of course, noticed Bertha's breasts) is a 'doctor' sent from God.">

Mahmoud glances again at his chest and the healing incisions. He wants to take-charge of the situation, but his mother's stern look deflates that plan. It is just in that second that baby Ruba grabs Bertha's chin in playful fascination as she uses all her efforts to climb into the alien's lap and grasp a handful of Bertha's short-cropped hair.

"Ga-boo-eel" squealed the little one and all tension is suddenly defused from the situation.

"I am Bertha" replied the "doctor" without using her mouth and with Ruba touching and exploring her face without the slightest protest from Bertha. Noorhan lifts her child away and happy squeals turn to cries for a few moments. Words fail Mahmoud now. Like a dream he is floating from question to wonder to disbelief and back again, over and over. Bertha breaks the spell with a question of her own.

"What is _this_?"

Again, the sound fills Mahmoud's ears, but the creature's lips did not move. He wonders about _that_ , but he is also curious by what she meant by " _this_."

Noorhan senses something is happening.

<"What do you hear? What does she ask? Tell me my son.">

<"She asks, what is _this_ ">

Both mother and son feel, _know_ , it is a question deeper than what this cave is that they are trapped in or why the injuries and the hunger that were evident when she arrived or why the rubble is above them, it is question of the over-all condition and situation all around them.

"It is war" answers Mahmoud.

Bertha is shocked. She had studied battles and scrimmages in the books of the Space Pirates, but it was always something abstract. Like a myth or legend, never something serious. Never had she imagined that it would be something that could affect her. Now that she is right here and in it deep, a chill runs up her spine like nothing she has ever felt before. The concept of populations aligned and organized for the destruction of each other has never been grasped by her before on this, this personal level. She starts to feel physically ill. It is a powerful and growing discomfort of which she has inadequate defense. The thought that beings actually declared on each other and participated in this concept, a concept she thought she knew and understood, is something that the seriousness of what had just dawned on her, is something she realizes that she hadn't understood in the slightest. This is her thoughts as she bolts-up, runs to the rear of their cave and violently vomits.

As Bertha retches in uncontrollable convulsion, she thinks about her own traumas. The unacceptable situation that prompted her to leave her world seems trivial compared to what these trapped humans have endured. She spins around and looks at these people stare at her. In time, she will learn that they have been through similar realizations. For Mahmoud, it was when he hid in the shadows as his father was lined up to be shot. For Noorhan it was when she learned of that, and even more when she went to the market after her oldest daughter had disappeared and she had seen her swinging from a lamp post with a rope around her neck. Her daughter knew that they would not leave without her so she ended her life publicly, to be sure that her mother would know, and therefore would not delay her escape with what was left of the family.

Above them in the street where technicians had just exploded an improvised unexploded devise, (IUD) the brave volunteers in the white plastic hard hats of the Mercy Corps move-in with heavy machinery. The group leader is pushing his luck by moving into yet another block without military authorized oversight, but he knows that by the time that would be granted, it will be too late for anyone that might be buried in the fresh rubble to have any chance of being saved.

He assesses the area, he observes a stray dog, some kind of Rat Terrier mutt intent on digging on the edge of a newly collapsed apartment building. It is sad and gruesome, but this man knows what the dog must sense; a body, and for the dog, a potential meal. He waves the excavator over to start digging at that very spot.

<GET! GET LOST! You mangy mutt!> Yells the man as he kicks and throws stones at the fleeing creature.

He directs the bucket of the machine to a slab of concrete near where the dog was busy and it drags the heavy chunk away, exposing an opening. But at just that moment, a "Technical," a pick-up truck with a mounted "Dushka," a heavy machine gun bolted down in the truck's bed appeared far down the street and opposite from where the Mercy Corps have entered the area. Men in black with hoods over their heads and with their faces covered, stand at the sides of the truck under the black battle flag that swings on a flexible pole mounted to that truck. It is a ritual that the men in the white hardhats know well.

The Mercy Corps are technically neutral and help people from both sides, but that can change in a heartbeat depending on the desperation of who they encounter. Already the excavator is retreating at best speed and the workers jog away as well. This man at the newly exposed hole turns to join them when he hears the faint cry of a baby from deep underground. He considers jumping in to make the rescue in spite of the militants, but the matter is decided for him because the newly opened hole is just too small, when out of nowhere the rat-dog flashes past his legs and down the hole. With that, the thought of what is going to happen next makes this man feel as if he can't get away fast enough.

The removal of the slab produced a shaft of light through the fresh dust at the rear of their cave but before the thought of rescue sinks in, a dog scurried in from that new opening as a blur of pumping short legs. With no time to react, only Bertha lets fly with her voiceless command:

"HALT!"

Deafening in the sensitive ears of the micro-monster, it skids to a sudden stop at the feet of Bertha and the trapped family. This creature is under no illusions of what it has just heard, its mind has not the sophistication to read-in any more than the voiceless command just received and due to the domestication of its upbringing, it reverts to a subservient nature and yields with exaggerated submission. Yields gladly even, as pleasant memories flood back to a time when it ran, jumped and played with a family that is now long gone. A time when his dinner was served in a shiny metal bowl, not extracted from digging after following his nose and fought for with others of his type.

Could this be a return to the happiness of that kind of life? Thinks the creature in his wordless fashion. He sits wagging his tail in his best behavior, intent on showing plainly that he is a 'good dog' as he sizes up the family and the family sizes up him.

Bertha is fascinated, mesmerized. Of all that has happened, all that is and could be, she, never in a million years would have predicted or expected something such as this. She thinks back to the books and texts of the Space Pirates. There were passages and sections referring to the use and actions regarding non-human creatures. Most of that information involved breeding, castration, feeding and preparation for the consumption of their flesh for substance. But there were other stories, of creatures used for hunting, creatures that provided companionship. Bertha searches her memories. She wishes that she would have studied these sections more carefully. Those passages were nothing but abstract concepts to her at the time. Not unlike the concept of war was to her. She never thought that she would have interaction with something like this..., this, _animal._ Bertha is pleased that she remembers the term. Next, she nearly jumps with joy as the word " _dog_ " surfaces from her thoughts.

Bertha scans the "dog" critically. She can see it is hungry, thirsty and suffering from parasites. She can see that it is a creature with a mouth formed for the tearing of flesh and the crunching of bones. It has a physical composition where its main sense is geared for the use of odor for its day-to-day operations. She uses the device of her kit and produces a tablet infused with the smell of seared flesh, and the little animal can hardly contain itself as Bertha holds the morsel in her palm towards the creature and it disappears with a flit of its quick tongue.

Fascinated, and focused to the detriment of all else, Bertha approaches the little bundle of pure energy with her 'magic' cloth and begins wiping the creature down as its tail wags in a blur and its tongue searches in equal zeal, scoring countless hits on Bertha's arms, neck and especially her face. So infectious is the affection that before Bertha is finished, she has erupted in laughter and works with a broad, ceaseless grin.

The infectious fascination is not limited to Bertha, and when the scrubbing with the cloth is complete, and the dog has emerged clean, shiny and is the picture of good health, they all surround the tiny beast patting and petting until it (now with its belly full) collapses at their feet in sound, contempt slumber.

The little group joins the dog in a nap, but for Noorhan the break is a short one. She wakes her son and must evaluate his condition. Her questions are concerns about his ability to travel. The strange doctor from heaven has done well, and it is remarkable the boy's advanced state of healing and recuperation, but that only alleviates a portion of the mother's worries. She has no way of knowing that Bertha's device can produce enough tablets to keep the group fed and hydrated for several months and even if she did, to rely on such a source would be folly. No one knows what the next hours, days, weeks or months might bring.

Noorhan has inspected the hole to the outside that has brought them their newest family member and it is far too small for any human escape, except maybe for the baby. Any enlargement of that breach will require heavy equipment as it appears to be surrounded with the same interlocked concrete as the ceiling above them.

The mother takes stock of the situation in the most pragmatic way possible. Canned food enough to last maybe two weeks if rationed rigorously, a dozen plastic bottles of water that will last only days, especially with their new four-legged mouth to feed and already a bowl has been provided and filled with some of that precious fluid for him. They have no money, no identification papers, only the clothes on their backs and what can be salvaged from the items littered around them which is very little. But Noorhan's biggest concern is their strange companion. Sent from God or not, one look at this being would bring the wrath of anyone who's eyes met that alien face. A plan is needed and Noorhan has found some things that might help.

Her and her son discuss the situation and have come up with a plan of action that just might allow them to travel. That is, if they can get out of this cave that traps them and even then, they still have no place to go. Only the promise of the refugee camps near the border of Turkey offer some hope, and even that is dicey based on the reports that they have heard that vary wildly as to the actual conditions at those camps. But Noorhan is determined to include Bertha in her plans for the immediate future if possible. While the promise of what the strange being might still have to offer is a strong incentive, her motherly instincts tell her that their new friend will need guidance and protection as well. She assembles the items she has gathered for Bertha and with Mahmoud's help with the language, they will present the plan.

"You will have to wear the jilbab combined with the khimar and together they will form the burqa that you must never remove in front of anyone, especially in public and in front of men. This is our tradition for females but for you it is of much greater importance. If anyone gets a glimpse of your..., a..., difference, what may become of you, God only knows. You must trust us about this" pleaded Mahmoud as his mother prepares the garments that she has salvaged and is ready to assist Bertha in changing into the new attire.

"My mother and I believe that a...," he searches for the correct word in English.

"'Deception' will make things easier. No one will expect much from someone who is deaf, blind and dumb so you must play that part."

Bertha spins towards the boy at these words and he continues in a calm and flat tone:

"We will lead you around when it is time to move and when not under our guidance, you will grope around madly."

Mahmoud demonstrates with a comic display of flailing his arms around as he nears the edge of their cave only to settle-down when he touches something solid.

"The more helpless you appear, the less scrutiny we all might receive."

Bertha is quick to grasp what is expected of her. To pretend to be something she is not is an intriguing challenge. The logic is inescapable, but what more, she finds the ruse somewhat enjoyable and she spends hours perfecting her 'disability' by moving about the cave with arms swinging which delights baby Ruba, confuses the dog and promotes him to yapping fits, while mother and son must laugh as they coach Bertha for ultimate realism.

In time, Bertha convinces the others that the tablets from her devise are all they need for substance, and they pack away the canned goods and what is left of the bottled water for travel and as a back-up. Also, they pack what useful clothing and blankets they have found along with some pots and pans, spoons and knifes, drinking cups, candles, a cigarette lighter, Band-Aids, and a bottle of aspirin. They find a large handbag and Bertha wraps her devise in her fur coat and stows it in that bag for her to keep with her close. They bury Bertha's original jump-suit overalls and the strange grip that originally housed her medical kit to avert and avoid any future scrutiny.

As ready as can be, they focus on enlarging the hole at the rear of the cave, but even with a piece of iron re-bar to use as a lever, their efforts appear to be in vain. Instead, they affix a brightly colored scrap of fabric to a long piece of plastic pipe and they use it as flag through the hole to attract attention. They take turns waving it though the opening and it has become imperative that they be found and rescued because even under the ground they cannot mistake what they smell in the air that drifts their way; fire!

After a few days taking turns waving their flag at the hole, they hear activity and feel a definite change in the airflow around the opening. Mahmoud works the flag feverishly because the 'activity' he hears is the crackling and popping of fire so close that he starts to feel its heat. There is no way to know if the fire is across the street or if it is the rubble directly above them that burns. He swings the flag back and forth like a mad man until he feels a resistance and hears a call:

<"Hey! I see you! Are you trapped?">

<"Yes! For the glory of Allah! The opening is too small for escape! Please, if you have the means, enlarge this hole! There is a whole family down here!"> Yelled Mahmoud with his face as close as possible to the opening.

He can hear a discussion lasting several long moments. Finally, there is a response:

<"Stand back and cover yourselves if possible.">

From this warning, Mahmoud expects that an explosion may follow, and he knows that due to the small enclosed space that is their cave, that could bring disaster. But to his relief, a large steel hook is positioned on the edge of the opening and after the gunning of a diesel engine and a mighty grown that sends loose dirt and other debris raining down, a section of the reinforced concrete of almost a square meter, violently snaps away under the strain.

<"Praise Allah! Praise be the glory...,"> Noorhan said as she scrambles out clutching baby Ruba tightly to her bosom and dragging her bundle behind her. Next is Mahmoud, carrying the dog and guiding Bertha, who has her handbag held tight in her arms. Noorhan has fallen to her knees and her tears rain as she hugs the feet of the closest rescuer. Mahmoud is silent, speechless as he takes in the scene. He sets down the dog and it runs away, to hide, but not so far away that it can't keep track of the family. Mahmoud takes hold of Bertha's arm as a guide might, already presenting their deception act. The men, soldiers, gather up the chain and hook that, with the power of a tank, a captured American model of a formerly Iraqi tank, that was used to bust them free, all under the black battle flag. Bertha can't help but notice that the flag reminds her of the Skull and Bones, the Jolly Roger of the captors turned friends of her parents. She knows they certainly started out as dangerous adversaries regardless of what eventually became of them. She wonders if perhaps these humans may in time become useful but for now, she will play the deaf mute as she was told to do.

Noorhan continues her thankful sobbing at the feet of the soldier as an older, battle-hardened officer stomps his way toward them and the other soldiers snap to attention as he nears. This man looks to be in no mood for nonsense as he stomps right up to Mahmoud and stops with his face only inches away from the boy's face and he 'asks:'

<"Why is this man not in uniform?">

Noorhan raises to her feet and begins to answer:

<"The boy is only thirteen and...">

_SMACK!_ Noorhan receives a backhand that spins her back to the ground.

<"Silence! You will speak only when spoken to, and you will keep your face covered!">

Again, the man is in Mahmoud's face and his anger at what the man had just did to his mother cannot be hidden. The man sees the anger, and almost seems to enjoy the rise from the boy.

<"Why have you ignored the recruitment? Where have you been hiding?"> Sternly asked the officer.

Mahmoud matches the man's steely stare. He doesn't back down, grovel or even call him sir. He answers his question in even and matching tone:

<"I've been in the hospital, Assad's helicopters collapsed a building on my chest. Several surgeries later, we had to leave as that building was also destroyed.">

He lifts his shirt to show the man the scars of his chest.

The battle-hardened officer leans in, even closer until their noses are almost touching and in a low gravelly voice meant only for the two of them, he says:

<"How dare you speak to an officer like this, have you no respect?">

Without even a blink, Mahmoud answers flatly:

<"My 'tone' is one of a civilian addressing a fellow citizen, respect for your rank will come only after my own enlistment.">

The man ponders that statement for a second and with a hardy laugh, he turns to his men and exclaims:

<"Seems we have a 'lawyer' in our mitts!">

His men snort a shared, non-committed "harrumph" of some kind, and the officer's eyes are smiling and just when Mahmoud thinks things may have cooled down, the officer pulls his pistol and it is pointed at Mahmoud's head.

<"What do you have to say of the 'law' now?">

<"Your authority is not in question, but it is _not_ the law."> Squeaks Mahmoud as sweat drips from his forehead.

"Ha-ha-ha!" laughs the man as he puts his pistol back in its holster.

<"I believe I just might put this 'lawyer' on _retainer!" >_

His men join him in laughter, but it fails to mask their own nervousness.

<"What is her story?"> Asks the officer of Bertha, who seems to stare off into space without the slightest reaction to all that has taken place in the preceding moments.

<"She is from the hospital, the mental ward. Deaf, dumb and blind as far as we can tell. We have been feeding her as we have had some extra food. We believe her presence is a test from Allah and we continue to believe that. Our luck has been good since she joined us, and that just _might_ continue for _you_.">

Luck. Judging from the officer's quizzical look at just this second, Mahmoud may have hit on something. With the advance of Assad with the help of the Russians here in this part of what was Syria, and the advance with American's help from Iraq, "luck" might be a tangible concept for this man and his men.

The officer shoots a look to another, older man standing behind the troops. This man wears the robes and turban of an Imam and he shares the quizzical look. Perhaps a little luck _is_ just what is needed for these men.

The fire of the burning rubble just across the street from the collapsed building that was the impromptu prison of the al-Haj Ali family grows in intensity forcing the soldiers and their captives to move out. But first Noorhan is searched including her bundle which is dumped on the ground. Mahmoud is frisked, but as the men go to Bertha's bag, she protests violently with arm swinging and animal-like squealing and grunting from behind her veil. A soldier pulls his pistol, but it has no effect on the deaf, dumb and blind, besides a dozen soldiers already have their rifles trained on her. Mahmoud steps in.

<"She doesn't liked to be touched"> said Mahmoud as he gathers up her arm.

<"But _you_ touch her.">

<"She is used to me, we think it is a matter of smell.">

"Humph!" snorts the soldier as he dumps out the handbag and the egg-shaped sphere rolls away from the tiger-fur coat. Bertha paws at the air and grating screeches emanate from behind her head coverings.

<"What is this?"> Asked the soldier as he picks up the egg-shaped devise.

<"It is her baby..., she used to have a doll..., we think it is a fishing float.">

<"Is heavy for a fishing float.">

With that, the Imam comes forward and inspects the item. He turns it, feels it, shakes it and looks puzzled and after a moment he orders:

<"Bust it open.">

It is a moment of terror for Noorhan, because surely, they will find the magic cloth, the surgical instruments, the food tablets and who knows what else. As proud as she has been of her son so far, he won't be able to explain all that away. The soldier puts the thing on a slab of concrete and with his rifle butt, he gives it a solid "whack."

It shatters into a half a dozen smaller chunks. To Noorhan's surprise, there is nothing inside. It seems to contain nothing but some kind of powdery plaster.

Just like the scout-ship in Area 51, the devise is nothing without the interaction of an alien brain. But just as Bertha makes a plan to work her convincing flailing over towards the broken object, a real tragedy occurs. The soldier kicks the pieces into the spreading fire.

While that set-back is occurring, the Imam has picked up the jacket and after inspecting the garment inside and out, he folds it over his arm carefully and with a pleased look on his face, he takes it away.

Stripped now of all their gear, even the items from their pockets, things could still be worse. So far, the deception has been successful, and Bertha's true nature remains undetected. They are ordered to move and with the soldiers surrounding them, they walk right down the center of the street to an abandoned soccer field only a few blocks away and join about a hundred other children and mothers that are camped right in the center of that field. They are given strict instructions to remain about three meters apart except for mothers and nursing babies. An exception is granted for Bertha and Mahmoud and he remains her guide. The soldiers' ring the woman and children and they stay tightly packed together with their trucks, tanks and other vehicles parked as close as possible near them.

The dog has followed but he remains mostly out of sight.

To the newest arrivals, this arraignment may seem odd, but to those that have been here for some time, they seemed to have grown used to it. Before long, selected women begin building cooking fires and big, industrial size cooking pots are put to use for soup, boiled rice and porridge. All of this is spread-out in an area much bigger than necessary and strangely out in the open when there appears to be large, abandoned buildings all around.

Bertha is starting to understand what is happening here. She and she alone is able to receive the signals and perceive the infer-red and radar 'painting' and she detects the electronic 'traffic' to and from flying platforms, to the circling satellites. She has even decoded the simple algorithms used by much of the equipment. She shares her findings in her noiseless way with Mahmoud.

"We are being watched by equipment in the sky."

This is no surprise for Mahmoud. He mumbles under his breath and while looking away:

"They park us this way to provide them protection from drone-strikes. Haven't you ever been a 'human shield' before?"

"I could never be a ' _human'_ shield."

Mahmoud is stricken dumb by this comment. After some reflection he mumbles:

"Was that a joke?"

"Yes, but don't react, we mustn't appear that we are communicating."

"Don't worry, I won't."

Bertha sees the battle-worn officer and the Imam from before and they are engaged in a heated conversation and she gets an idea.

"Mahmoud, I am going to relay the voices of those humans to your ears, and I want you to try to understand what they are up to, will try to do that?"

Mahmoud nods eagerly.

"Here we go."

That's how it begins, Bertha zeros-in on a conversation in Arabic with her built-in, modified communication devise and relays it to Mahmoud who absorbs as much of the information as possible and later, after all are asleep, he whispers the translation as if talking in his sleep while Bertha is 'tuned-in' on him. They don't even have to be very close to each other, they only need an uninterrupted line of sight. In this way it won't be long before their hosts inadvertently spill the beans of their true plans and Bertha can search for a way that she may turn it all towards their advantage.

Fragmented and out of context, the information is a mixed bag to say the least. They speak of a closing window of opportunity regarding immigration because of the new American President. They debate whether 'it' should even be done at all, but the officer is adamant that they must use the "weapon of fear" to show the Americans, and the world, just how far they will go and just what they are capable of.

<"The Americans, and their new President, have no stomach for what we endure. Their people's protests and their last President proved that. This place [Syria] and Iraq will remain a diversion, a 'side-show' as we consolidate in Libya, with its seaports, that is the prize. This 'operation' and others like it will keep the West at bay. Without the 'fear' we will have nothing to bargain with when it is time to join them in negotiations over trade. Only then can we build a nation on our terms. Anything less will only keep us in their shadow, keep us as their puppets, to labor for our 'betters' while they dictate what they see as right and wrong for us, as they live as they please.">

It is speeches like this where these two and most of the others seem to agree with each other. Much of the talk and disagreements revolve around details involving execution of their 'plan.' Execution of exactly what is planned remains elusive for Mahmoud and Bertha, whose main concern is keeping their bellies full and Bertha's identity hidden.

They have been joined briefly from time to time by the dog, but his allegiance is fleeting as he grows fat and happy begging from and delighting the many children of the camp. But all this comes to an end one morning as a line of open trucks are driven right into the former sports field and a strange, almost circus-like loading operation is begun.

The trucks are decorated with colorful streamers and the children are given candy and balloons as they are loaded in the trucks with careful consideration being made that no mothers and children are separated. It is a festive atmosphere and the soldiers are all smiles as they direct the operation. Rumors are flying and the scuttlebutt is hardly believable. They might be allowed to immigrate to the United States!

The trucks have been packed with cases of bottled water and ample snacks of nuts and raisins to ensure that they arrive at their destination without any hint of mistreatment and the colorful decorations and pageantry is used so there will be no mistaking them for a military convoy which should help prevent attack from either drone, military forces or bandits, and hope is so high that everyone on the journey sings themselves horse with joy. But it is a long, dusty trip and by the time the caravan arrives at a military airstrip somewhere far to the west, the travelers are exhausted, and the songs have long ago ceased.

But out on the tarmac is a glorious sight. A sight that lifts spirits and hope to levels never before imagined. The travelers float off the trucks as if in a dream. For out there, glistening in the brutal sun is salvation in the form of a chartered Boeing 747. And after lengthy processing and intensive medical examinations, the promise of new life, of a future, awaits them all after they board and take-off.

The glory of Allah, the grace of God, blessed is the day!

All are ecstatic, all but the al-Haj Ali family. "Intensive medical examinations" is an upcoming part of the processing that fills them with dread. Bertha sheds tears under her veil.

"Go. Go without me." She demands in her voiceless manner to Mahmoud.

"I will fade into the shadows. I will find some place to hide. If I can evade them, it will not compromise your escape, leave me!" Noorhan wants to thank her for all that she has done but she can see that what she says to her son in her voiceless way, is needed. To save what is left of her family is a greater goal than the affection that she feels to the strange being, no matter what she has done for them or of what use she still might be. Tougher still is the fact that it is best that they abstain from displays of affection and tears and they must just drift apart right here and right now in the crowd. It is very sad but Noorhan must think of her family, of the future. Just as they start to part, a man appears that they recognize, and they are all stopped in their tracks. The Imam!

The robed and turbaned elder is flanked by armed soldiers and Bertha and the al-Haj Ali family are singled-out and directed to come with them to a tent nearby. A flap is lifted and without fuss or protest, they find themselves in front of the officer from before, who is seated at a small table. He seems pleased, as if he is reuniting with old friends. Smiling, he begins to speak:

<"I have good news for you. Your family and your 'special' friend will be going to America. Even better, we have arranged special treatment that will avoid the lines and processing that the others face, and you will be escorted directly to your waiting seats."> Noorhan can't believe this fortunate turn of events. Her family will remain together, and Bertha may remain undetected. It is a blessing direct from Allah!

<"But, there is a condition to receive this special treatment"> added the officer, and he looks at Bertha as he continues:

<"We insist that under her burqa, she wear this."> He holds up the tiger fur coat.

<"It will be colder where you are going, so we have added some 'insulation' for her comfort. We demand that she is fitted with the garment in front of us and that once in the plane that she remains in her assigned seat.">

Noorhan and especially Mahmoud are instantly suspicious, but Bertha, who has scanned the jacket thoroughly from behind her veil, noiselessly reassures Mahmoud and begs him silently to:

"Play dumb."

"Their plans will be easily defeated, I assure you" she secretly adds.

<"Of course we will agree to such a kind and generous request. It will be an honor and a privilege to comply with your wishes. But it is an awkward process to dress this 'disabled' one. Only I seem to be able to calm the poor girl and then she might allow me and my mother to assist her. Let me start with her 'touching' that coat which she has had with her since before we met her and for which she seems to have such affection for. It is a mystery how she came to possess it and its return should fill her with gratitude."> Mahmoud explained, as he has taken it upon himself to speak for them all as the man of the family.

The Imam hands over the jacket to Mahmoud. Its weight has more than doubled with the added "insulation," but he makes no outward notice of that. Mahmoud takes Bertha's hand and guides it to the coat and as her fingers contact the soft fur, she gasps in a primitive squeal and gathers up the garment and hugs it to her chest as if it is a living being and an old friend.

Together Mahmoud and his mother struggle with realistic difficulty and under staged, childish appearing and primitive protest, they finally manage to fit the garment under Bertha's outerwear and most importantly all was done with strategic staging and careful attention that blocked any view of Bertha's gray skin to the men seated behind the table. When it was done, Noorhan shows the garment is installed to the men seated at the table before she drops the robe that conceals it, just as they have requested.

A short while later, the family find themselves in a van waiting near the jumbo jetliner on the tarmac. United Nation observers and reporters observe the loading of the carefully screened refugees when a 'certain' U.N. official approaches the van and under noticeable haste, the family is hustled in with the others waiting to board the plane.

At the entrance door, _their_ official presents papers and after the family is given a once-over, they are escorted to seats in the lower level, near the center of the plane directly over the right wing. Strangely, the 'U.N. official' insists that the 'blind' Bertha take the window seat.

Already the plane is nearly full of elated refugees consisting of almost all women and children. It is an electric atmosphere of happiness and each face is filled with relief and hope. Unimaginable hardship and suffering have given way to unbelievable joy. All except one family share this joy. A mother with a baby in her arms, a teenage boy still recovering from major surgery and a big-headed girl, that head completely covered, wait in growing uneasiness and dread.

But inside of that big head is a big brain, and although the paperwork proclaim that this head suffers from a condition known to the medical staff members as "elephantiasis," that advanced brain is hard at work. Already eyes of unbelievable capability have examined completely the "insulation" installed in the one-of-a-kind jacket and this brain of beyond human ability has come up with a plan that will defeat the longings of the evil doers that insist that their ideas must win regardless of the costs and suffering of the innocent.

The physical defects of the system were far easier to identify for Bertha than her ability to wrap her mind around the concept of what is wrapped around her body. She is amazed at the range and depth that these creatures, these humans, operate under. Just as she comes to grips with one shocking concept, another makes that one seem tame. Luckily, just a couple of coated copper wires disconnected here and there, render this particular disgusting application moot, but what will the next horror be? Whatever it will be, she is learning that it will not be a surprise, neither in scope or of concept and especially in finality.

What will it be?

Bertha's inspection of the modified jacket that she wears was not disabled without some careful evaluation. She 'heard' the 'pings' of its electronics as it checked-in regularly with the local cell-phone towers and she was careful not to disable that feature. Certainly, those who initiated this devise, also monitor it for continued operation and a change in the normal location reporting, may bring unwanted intervention. Also, with Bertha's uniquely receptive mind, she will receive the signal that would have completed the circuit and she will keep her mind clear and wait for that signal just to satisfy her curiosity as much as anything. As she waits for that signal, she wonders what fresh hell that will bring as the big aircraft lumbers down the runway and lifts into the sky.

She loses herself in thought as she finds herself captivated at the fact that this craft uses differences in atmospheric pressure to stay aloft. Not in a million years would she have thought to use that concept in this way. How clever these humans can be yet so much of this intelligence is used for death and destruction. Her mind wanders and she naturally found herself comparing her race to the humans, wondering why and how their race had avoided such barbarity. A chilling thought crosses her mind:

Are the records of the past accurate? Have unsavory elements been erased?

As the jet liner levels-off at cruising altitude, she notices the absences of the locating pings from the cell-phone link built into her jacket. She decides she can relax until the atmospheric balanced structure that she rides in descends back nearer to the planet surface when it will be reconnected to the microwave spectrum that is used with the cell phone towers back at the surface level where she will resume her monitoring for the signal that the equipment in her jacket is tuned and waiting for.

Time to catch-up on some well-deserved sleep.

The dreams assault her in a rapid-fire review of recent events and situations. Troubling and unpleasant is the over-riding theme that accumulates in a shocking, terrifying nightmare of thousands of spaceships from her home world heading out on a mission of destruction.

What a strange vision. Where the hell did that come from?

She wonders about that as she shakes off the sleep. But the question answers itself and she is bolted awake in freighting clarity.

The beacon repeats the signal of some one thousand, one hundred spaceships to her, just as she had programed it to do. It is the first step of the fleet as it prepares to enter this dimension. The 'lock-on' that she receives, usually happens two or three weeks in advance of their physical arrival but without the equipment of her scout ship, she has no way of pin-pointing the exact time. Her mind starts to fill with helpless, growing anxiety, to a level that she has never known before. She looks about at the faces of the beings that surround her. They cannot even comprehend what this means. Bertha realizes she must face what is coming. She searches for a plan, an option, anything that might help but all she draws is a blank. This, she fears, is the end.

What have I done? My foolishness has brought them. I've destroyed a world. Way to go girl!

Bertha's mind spins in a rabid fervor of dark shame. She beats herself up and is raked with guilt. The more she thinks, the more hopeless it all becomes. There are no options, no plan, and no hope, no anything. Looking around at the peaceful, sleeping humans she knows that soon all they know will be a living nightmare.

Could I be exaggerating?

That thought provides a glimmer of hope. But it is fleeting. No, she knows it is an invasion. How she knows this is unexplainable, but she _knows_ it, knows it deeply in her bones. Her recent exposure to the ways of man, to the ways of the world, the ways of the universe, reinforces the coming reality. There is nothing she can do. No plan or action is available. They will come and that will be that. Even if they come in peace, something will trigger a conflict and one side or the other will be forced to 'defend itself' with the same catastrophic result. There is nothing that can be done. Nothing at all. Nothing... Suddenly Bertha thinks of something, something crazy.

" _Oh Lord, please forgive me for I have sinned. Grant me the power to see the light. The power to fix this, to change this..."_

She stops herself. This is the stupidest thought yet.

" _What am I thinking?_

Even if there is a God, what right does _she_ have to call on him? She did this, she is to blame. Her dark thoughts spin to a point of pure, naked anger that focuses to a climax in the form of her own clenched fist that she uses to punch the back of the seat in front of her in a pointless display of aggression:

SMACK!

But there is something in the pouch of the back of that seat that absorbs her blow. Something rigid yet yielding. Something that shouldn't be there. Something that the cleaning crew must have missed. Bertha reaches in and an old, tattered book emerges. Not a popular book, not a best seller, but something mundane, self-published and rare. The title means nothing, but she opens it to the preface and reads a name that makes her nearly fall out of her seat. She looks again at the cover:

Space Pirates.

If the universe were a game of chess, the invisible hand of God has made his move. The chances, the happenstance, the odds of many crucial events are immeasurable, highly unlikely and incredibly hard to believe. Yet these key developments, these turning points, these game changers do happen and have led people who think, people of science and learning to accept concepts of higher powers over and over again. It is easy to write it off as a product of senility as people age and approach their own inevitable demise but when faced with irrefutable evidence as Bertha now holds in her hands, the proof outweighs the faith and the mysticism.

Bertha's prayers have been answered.

She has thrown away her deaf, dumb and blind act and embraces her 'reading' eagerly and with growing excitement. For her, the information that she absorbs is of greater importance than prose or pace. This tattered document is for her not a vehicle of recorded posterity or a form of leisure and entertainment, it is her world. She flips the pages in a blur as her advanced brain processes whole pages at a time. Familiar names and events align and coordinate with her studies in her youth with the Old One. Her parents are depicted acting out the situations that they shared with her so many times. It is all a pleasant divergence and a temporary relief from the gloom of the upcoming disaster that awaits this world until she reaches a certain point of the information that is new to her and of paradigm shifting importance.

"Mahmoud, Mahmoud, wake up!" Bertha said in her silent way as she shakes the boy sitting next to her. He stirs slowly and with protest as he regains conscience and his mother also forgoes her slumber and she is alarmed at Bertha's apparent abandonment of her deception act.

<"What does she want?"> Asked Noorhan of her son in impatient tone and while giving Bertha a sideways glance, obviously not happy of her breech in their careful deception act. Her tone is warranted as a member of the flight crew notices Bertha's agitation and as this woman has read the passenger roster and has noticed the special medical condition of the passenger with the big head at the window seat, she makes her way towards them ready to assist in any way she can.

<"She wants to know where Area 51, Nevada is"> answered Mahmoud to his mother's question.

<"What? Where did she get that book?"> Snapped Noorhan. But before Mahmoud can answer, the courteous flight attendant is there offering kind attention.

"Do you need assistance? Can I offer you a beverage? Do you need a blanket and a pillow?"

Gently asked the kind, older, caring flight professional.

Noorhan and her son clam-up. Even though there is no reason to advance the deaf, dumb and blind act to _her_ , they are not ready to change anything right now. The flight attendant senses a language problem and signals a younger, olive skinned co-worker to come over. Noorhan fumes and shoots Bertha a cross look because of this unwanted attention. But regardless, the young lady is there in seconds, her pretty face framed in a powder blue headscarf and she asks in perfect Arabic:

<"How can we be of assistance?">

<"Oh, there is no problem. Our 'friend' is becoming anxious, it is a long flight"> stammers Noorhan, desperately trying to be left alone and not be under any scrutiny. But Bertha will not rest until she has answers. She gasps and grunts while holding up the book with her finger under the words "Area 51."

<"Let me see what you have there"> said the young attendant as she gently takes the book from Bertha for a closer look, surprised that the strange passenger can read, especially English, or even see it through the tiny slits of her head covering that is further obscured with the black, woven-mesh veil. Regardless, she makes her examination, flipping back and forth a few pages from where Bertha indicated. She looks perplexed, both at the subject matter and at the motivations of the passenger's interest but she renders an answer:

<"Area 51 is a creation of Hollywood, where space aliens are kept in the movies.">

"She asked about Area 51, I told her it is a creation of the movies" translated the attendant to her older co-worker.

"No, Area 51 is real" adds the older attendant as she takes a turn exterminating Bertha's book.

"It was a 'secret' test base for new fighter jets. Hollywood merely redefined it" continued the older attendant with an air of worldly knowledge meant to impress the younger attendant more than answer the original question.

"Not much of a _secret_ " retorts the younger woman as she hands back the book.

As soon as the attendants are out of earshot, Mahmoud is bombarded from both sides. Bertha, in her silent method, fills his ears with rapid-fire information about her story of why she came to this planet and what she has learned about what she believes is an invasion approaching in the very near future. His mother, in harsh whispered tone, demands her son to relay to Bertha a list of important, non-negotiable 'truths' required for their immediate security and future situation:

<"You tell her that we must continue to act as if she requires our assistance because if her nature is discovered, we all will be detained, questioned, sent back or worse. We have a chance at a new beginning, with sponsors ready for us. Any change in their perceptions of us will ruin everything. The chances of us getting away with this are slim as it is, it is crazy that we have made it this far! You tell her to put that book down and stay unnoticed!">

Noorhan's anger rises noticeably even at a whisper.

It is more than Mahmoud can handle. He throws his hands in the air shouting under his breath:

<"Enough! I can't follow you both with all this yelling!">

Both women pause and Noorhan's stern look demands that she take precedence.

<"She must continue with the deception, and with luck, we have a chance to become settled.">

Mahmoud informs Bertha of his mother's demands and with reluctance, she stops her reading and conceals her book under her clothing.

Turning to his mother, Mahmoud said:

<"Bertha apologizes and agrees with you. Of course, they must continue with your plan and she begs your forgiveness and promises not to stray again.">

<"Well, that's better. See to it that she keeps that promise my son.">

A somewhat awkward silence follows. Noorhan is wide awake now and her mind is spinning in thought. She weighs options and sorts through possible scenarios involving their immediate future. She can't ignore the fact that to ditch the strange one that is Bertha would bring her family a better chance of a successful new life, the fact that she had saved her only son leaves her thankful but there is more. Allah factors into the equation. The strange being certainly has been touched by Heaven and as trying as her presence might be, it is a test and her behavior towards her will be answered to, if not in this life then the afterlife will grade this test. But it is also something more, and an instinct, perhaps a motherly instinct demanded that she care for this strange creature as long as possible. Somehow, she feels, _knows,_ that something big is in their future.

Noorhan looks towards the strange one and she can tell that she silently 'speaks' to her son even now. This voiceless communication chafes at her sensibility. The fact that whatever they share, no matter how innocent, it is like a party where she is not invited, and it rubs her raw. Later, her son will catch her up but for now, Noorhan resents being left out. But she realizes it is just another burden from a long list and a minor one at that, compared to all that has happened. Still, she hopes for better days in the future and takes solace that now there is even any hope at all, a dramatic improvement over their situation of only a few weeks ago.

< _Trust in Allah and his bounty will continue. >_

Mahmoud is under a barrage. Bertha pummels him with information to the point that he must use hand signals to slow the onslaught. Now and then he must lift his hand to slow her cadence. She has touched on some of what she tells him about the past, things about her trip here but now that she has received the signals from the navigation beacon and after what she has learned in the book, "Space Pirates," she must express her thoughts and her unfolding plan to the boy.

Bertha's communication "upgrade" is closer to her natural way of communicating compared to vocalization but because their kind uses images in otherwise silent discussion, she must try hard to keep the discourse in the realm of human (English in this case) language. Complicating things further is the fact that neither are masters of the only language that they share. But she must not only explain a complicated situation, also she feels she must convince the boy (or some other human) to join her in a yet mostly unplanned and presumably wild and dangerous mission.

The things Bertha asks, and the reasons and the scope of what must be done shock Mahmoud to his very core. She has spent hours detailing what she knows and why she believes the only course of action is what she recommends and as it dawns on him that it is not a game and that she is serious and what more, it needs to be done and he may be the only one on the planet that is in any position to help her. It is all more than most men could handle, and much more than a boy of thirteen should have to grasp but this is no ordinary boy. Mahmoud has already had to suffer more trials and disappointment than most grown men. The more Bertha explains, the more Mahmoud can see that he, and maybe only he, is the only chance that this crazy, dangerous action will have any chance of success. With fear in his heart and butterflies in his stomach he thinks: _What needs to be done, must be done, Allah wills it and he will smile on my soul._

For the last few hours of the flight, Bertha and the al-Haj Ali family sit in silence. Noorhan has nursed little Ruba and she is in a fitful sleep. She looks to her son and now she sees the face of a man. Something has changed. His face is stoic, determined and serious. Somehow, she knows she will never see him play and goof-off in the way a boy his age should.

< _What have they shared? What does it mean? >_

She looks down at her precious little girl.

< _You will be my hope, my last chance. There will be school and college. A husband, grandchildren, everything normal, quiet and predicable. >_ The thought fills her heart with a warm glow. She allows herself to succumb to a joy that she has so long denied herself, the joy of hope.

A light meal of chips and sandwiches is served, followed by a final nap by most of the passengers. Finally, activity is stirring as two U.N. delegates, a man in a business suit and a woman in slacks with a head scarf, bring everyone to attention with a presentation describing what will happen and what will be expected of them when they land at the transportation hub, in Atlanta, Georgia.

<"The buses waiting will take you all to the compound which has been prepared outside of the city. Here will be temporary but relatively comfortable (air conditioned) housing where you will be secured in a process that could take up to several weeks. Many of you have been matched with sponsors already and if everything 'checks out' your stay at the detention center will be short indeed. There will be strict security at the camp and due to a large population, schedules involving meals, medical appointments and interviews must be followed precisely.">

The two of them went into further detail involving how their luggage (for the few that have any) would be retrieved at the terminal and how they will be transferred to the buses, etc. But than they were told of something that awaits them that to most is a complete surprise.

<"In the public areas of the concourse, and due to the freedom of America, and due to the divided views of American citizens, there are large protest groups waiting our arrival.">

This news brings a murmur of uncertainty through the captive passengers.

<"While the crowds that wait to greet you are mostly pro-immigration, many are not.">

The murmur changes to displays of worry.

<"American news reporters with camera crews will be on hand as well. It is important that we all keep moving and remain orderly as we load the buses, but we have not the personal or the authorization to prevent their involvement and their desire for interviews, which is their right as we make our way. Please try to be polite and answer their questions honestly even if they seem harsh and brutish. We will not tell you what to say but some 'gratefulness' could go a long way towards future integration of others in similar situations.">

These words strike the refugees as important. Most have friends and relatives very much in "similar situations."

These two finished this presentation with more details and advice, than they move to other parts of the large aircraft and repeat the speech until all have heard it. The passengers are left in hopeful chatter as they rehash the words and pile-on their own thoughts and worries to each other in a mood of togetherness that belays the fact that most were perfect strangers at the beginning of this historic day.

Though worry remains as these people ponder a future far from certain, smiles and hope rule conversations among passengers as overdue introductions are made between seat mates as rivalries, religious differences and other issues seems minor and unimportant, at least for now.

This friendly banter was long overdue and continues even as the electronic chimes ring and seat belts are fastened as the 747 slows for its final approach.

Bertha, who even in her deaf, dumb and blind act of deception, is caught-up in the pleasant hopefulness of the people around her and also as she marvels in the technical aspect in this balancing of atmospheric pressures that we call 'flight' and she can't help but feel some satisfaction, or at least a measure of entertainment.

She listens and feels the changing of the power settings of the engines like a child might as the altitude decreases, and the ground comes into detailed view. Closer and closer everything appears, and buildings and roadways become defined. The urban sprawl is apparent and strikes her as a primitive version of her home world, which is a welcome and at the same time a disturbing thought. With all that has been happening and all that still must be done, thoughts of home and her parents have been few and far between. But as the altitude continues to drop, her special senses pick-up the electronic back and forth of the human activity between their cell phones and the towers.

Bertha knows that a signal coded for the electronics hidden in her fur coat waits for her detection. Although the deadly consequence has been averted, she knows there will be disappointed humans and she wonders if they will be waiting and what they might do because of their thwarted plans.

In the view from the window, urban sprawl has been replaced by an area of much tighter packed and larger structures. Still they are not nearly as crowded and dense as her home world is, even after the efforts involving parks and open spaces that were added during her life there. But there is living greenery and liquid water features here.

It is beautiful

Bertha's mind wanders about the feasibility of introducing living fauna to her home world and what ramifications that might bring.

She is so lost in her thoughts that she is startled when she notices a large section of the rear of the airplane wing that she is sitting above had started to move.

_The increase of the wing area increases the lift_ _and allows for a slower atmospheric balance!_ (Flight.)

The thought brings her some childish, smug satisfaction and just as the physical loads on the wing are at their maximum, and with a start that makes her nearly jump out of her skin, she detects the signal to the electronics of the device in her fur coat.

Now it has begun. Without the chemical reaction occurring, which would have resulted in the destruction of this atmospheric balancing craft, and, in turn, a large swath of the constructions below, and everyone down there and up here, including myself, there is now someone or someone's that are disappointed. What will it mean and what will they do?

Bertha detected the signal over and over again as they made their way on their final approach to the landing strip. She decides as it is obvious that the devise has been rendered inactive, and that she can defeat the 'pings' that can be used by their enemies for location purposes, which could be a big advantage if disconnected. With stealth and cunning, the remaining wires involved are disconnected without anyone's notice except those who might be monitoring the signals. It could be a small measure of invisibility, but it is a great relief for her personally as the correct wires are secretly severed from the connections.

The plane docks at the gate in the usual way but as they disembark and assemble in the lobby to wait for their guide as they have been instructed, the scene is anything but usual. Hundreds pack all the available space except for an area in the middle just large enough for the forming group of disembarking refugees. This area is ringed with reporters and their camera crews who lug their equipment of lights, cameras and microphones with them, all of which is trailing bundles of cords and cables. They waste no time as they dive into the first of the arrivals with translators bursting forth a barrage of questions. But many of the arrivals have decided in advance to show their feelings and they throw themselves to the ground kissing the floor and the shoes of the nearest reporters and their crews. Video rolls and still cameras flash in the pandemonium as two of the refugees stay hidden in the crowd.

Large groups of protestors chant and wave signs. The welcoming faction's wave and shout at the incoming refugees as more direct their wrath at the counter protesters who mostly seem to have issue with the first faction of protestors and virtually ignore the arriving refugees. Back and forth they scream and yell as the atmosphere in the lobby devolves to a loud din, so much that the reporters must shout directly into the ears of those they wish to ask questions. It is an anxious moment for the handlers and the security people as they try to keep the group together and moving towards the waiting buses.

It is an opportunity not lost on Bertha and Mahmoud, and with a look towards Noorhan and with a sad look of understanding on her part, they break-away and duck into a foyer that leads to the rest rooms. Pushed up against the wall by the packed crowds, Mahmoud looks around and decides that no one has noticed their parting from the rest of the refugees. They work their way around the back and edges of the humanity until they meet TSA agents who are so busy trying to keep more people from entering, that they don't seem to notice (or care) when two have left.

Noorhan did notice when Bertha and her son departed, but she knows it is of great importance. Her son had tried to explain the nature of their mission, but she stopped him.

<"You are a man now my son, even if you're age says different. Allah brought this..., this Jin to us and if she demands your assistance, it is God's will. They will come and question me sooner or later and if I remain ignorant of your plans, I can't betray them. I will say that you informed me that you must continue to be her guide and that you left with a medical team that I did not meet or see, and that we were all to meet at the camp later."> So, in the madness of the lobby, that is how they parted, with just a sad look and without even saying good-bye.

Mahmoud and Bertha walk and walk, lost in the sea of humanity. Security is everywhere but they are mostly focused on preventing unscreened entrances. The pair take a convoluted route past baggage carousels and posted TSA agents, not so much out of deception but because of the fact that they are actually quite lost most of the time in the gigantic airport facility. Finally, they make it outside to the heat of the afternoon. A bus with the word "DOWNTOWN" on a placard above the windshield waits at the curb. They climb aboard.

"Three dollars" said the driver. Mahmoud stares at him blankly. The driver, rolls his eyes as if annoyed that yet another non-English speaking refugee that must be coddled, must be dealt with and while holding up three fingers he said:

"Three dollars or use your transit pass."

"I have lost my transit pass" said Mahmoud in thick accent.

"Oh, for Christ sake! Just go sit down."

Not long later, the bus pulls away from the Airport and weaves its way down the maze of city streets. Mile after mile they ride. At one point, Bertha silently asks Mahmoud,

"What is three dollars?"

"It is money, of which we have none."

"Will we need this 'money' for food and lodging?"

Mahmoud turns to Bertha with an irritated look. It is dawning on him just how desperate their situation really is. No money, no food with only the clothes on their backs and traveling with a strange, big headed 'person' with a mind in many ways barely above that of a child, their chances of getting very far are much less than slim.

"Yes, we will need money, and fast."

"Is gold money?"

"Yes, gold is money."

Bertha starts wriggling around and after some effort, she produces the gold and emerald necklace.

"Can we get money for this?"

"What the...? where did you...? how did you hide that from the...?"

"Never you mind!" Snapped Bertha.

"Can we get money for it or not?"

The bus stops across from a large, wooded space.

"Midland Park, end of the line. After this it is back to the Airport." The driver directs this statement directly to Mahmoud and Bertha. They quietly shuffle off the bus and into the park.

The pair walk down the winding paths in the setting sun. Mahmoud keeps a lookout, but for what, Bertha has not a clue. In a more dark and secluded area of the park, he sees what he is looking for. He directs Bertha to a park bench and tells her:

"Stay right here."

Mahmoud walks straight over to a man sitting on a bench not far away. The man is dangerous looking, unkempt with his arms covered in tattoos. He stops in front of him and begins to speak:

"My man! 101St Airborne!" Said Mahmoud pointing at the large tattoo on the man's forearm.

"Nice!"

"What of it?" Grumbled the man.

"What of it? Shit bro, you guys saved my ass! My whole family! Back in Saddar City, You're a fucking hero in my book!"

The man's glum demeanor seems to lighten a bit as he looks Mahmoud in the eye for a split second and said:

"Don't mean shit around here boy. Not a fucking thing."

"What? I can't believe that! What you guys did was the bravest thing I had ever seen. I can't believe that..."

"Believe it! No one gives a flying fuck around here! You got that straight?" Snapped the veteran.

"What do you want boy?

"I meant what I said, Sir. Take the praise or not, but I want to thank you, that's all. Have a nice day." Mahmoud starts to walk away but he pauses:

"There is one other thing Sir, could be worth some real money."

"I'm listening," says the man, who has dropped his guard considerably with the recognition heaped upon him that is so rare that strangely, lashing out seems to be his go-to response.

"My sister and I, (Mahmoud points to Bertha, sitting on the park bench) have something we need to sell."

"So, sell it" the man said.

"It is not that simple Sir. We paid people to escape from where we are from. We had no choice. We couldn't stay and we must keep out of sight while we are here. It is all very complicated."

"So, you want to drag me into your problems? Get me in trouble?"

"No, no Sir. Just a business deal. We have a family heirloom, very valuable. We sell it to you, and you can sell it at the pawn shop, or wherever, and make a big profit. We would if we could, but we can't. But you can. It's win-win."

"What is it?"

Mahmoud looks around and satisfied no one is looking, he steps close to the man and displays Bertha's mother's necklace.

"Over half a kilo of gold and dozens of fine emeralds."

The man looks intrigued. It glitters in his eyes.

"How much?"

"One thousand dollars and a handgun, a good one, an automatic with a full clip."

The man can see why the pair need help if this is what they want.

Once again, this may be a point where it is necessary to point out the working of the hand of God. This veteran could have knocked poor Mahmoud out and taken Beema's necklace and no one in this seedy part of the park would have said a damn thing. But even though this man may have been down on his luck, and the fact that he may or may not have been here to score some rock, it doesn't matter because deep down, this is a man with at least some honor. Some recognition of good deeds done long ago may have influenced him and reawakened things long dormant, but this is a man who lives by a code of honor, and of all that has been taken from him, this honor is something that has not been completely lost. So, he will take them to his rundown apartment and hide them. He will feed them, find them some clothes at the thrift store and provide Mahmoud with the gun that he asks for. But as for the money? He can only scrape together four hundred and eighty dollars. It will have to do. Compared to what could have happened, isn't this proof of God's hand in things?

Need more proof? This man has an on and off again girlfriend. Her name is Bren Sedgwick.

After Mahmoud and Bertha have left to continue their mission, Bren is in the man's apartment and imagine her surprise when he shows her the necklace. Of all the people in the world to see it, here is a young woman who has seen something very similar years ago as the intern for an iconic high-level government employee, a Mr. Fredrick Pettibone.

It is this young lady who places the ad on Craig's List, but it is only to provide a paper trail and an air of legitimacy for the benefit of Mr. Pettibone. With the ad placed, she can send the information to Fred and as it is in her hometown, she can act as the go-between to ensure a smooth transaction. The fact that she has purchased the item from her beau for two thousand dollars (her credit card limit) and resold it to Pettibone for five, also may have played a part in her interest but as she was just the go-between, she has no control of the price, right?
Chapter 43

BACK TO 2017

Miss Sedgwick spent the morning working on her latest novel. It is the follow-up to her debut, fantasy-fiction that earns her a small income as people down-load it all or in part from the internet through a publishing website. Nymphs and fairies battle with spells and magic weapons in a dramatic, far away, enchanted land of long ago and yet somehow also in the future. Her main characters fight for right against impossible odds yet find love in the universe and for each other.

She is satisfied with her work of this particular morning and she feels she has earned a break. After she ate the last of some take-out from the other night, she loses herself in her video game. Her mother, who worries and harps on her about this "waste of time" is not here to bitch at her so Bren is deeply lost in this electronic world of action and make-believe. After securing the super-weapon and dispatching the goblins that had guarded the gate, she is on top of the world as she 'levels-up' in a difficult and frustrating section that has eluded her on so many other fruitless attempts. _Ya, fuck ya!_ She thinks to herself as she hits quick save.

Her mother, who usually makes her dis-pleasure known without mercy of this time wasting, but due to the fact that she has drove to her job as a waitress at the local diner on new tires and with new brakes because of the windfall Bren has shared with her, she would have had little to say about it anyway. That windfall is all but already gone anyway. The help directed toward her mother has continued to secured her basement lodging, a comfortable but demeaning situation, with a welcome long ago worn out or at least a less than preferred situation by her mother, who would have thought that such an attractive young lady would have landed a suitable husband by now, not that burnt-out ex-soldier that she steals away with from time to time when the need seems to suit her.

Helping her mother, a new leather jacket, a pair of stylish boots and a couple of outfits in the goth style that she prefers as well as a few decadent meals, one of which the take-out she has just finished, has depleted the profits that she has made by the deception of both her on again off again lover and the sweet angel of a man that is old Pettibone. But there is little guilt because it was all an honest business transaction. No one expects her to not make some money out of all of that, but just how much she made is none of their business. In fact, Bren is proud that for once, she has seized an opportunity and grabbed the prize. Self-respect is what she came away with, not guilt. In fact, she vows to ensure that any and all future endeavors will follow the same pattern.

I'm tired of the world walking over me!

Deep in her electronic world and at a point of reprieve from the zombie, specter, ghostly enemies that she will certainly face in this new level of her game, she has time to take stock of her weapons and she checks on supplies such as plasma grenades and shotgun shells, but it is at this point that she notices that someone is knocking on the front door _._

Dammit!

Unsure of exactly how long the knocking might have been occurring, she bolts up the stairs but pauses to peak out the window before she answers the door. A brand-new Mustang is parked in the street. Not just any mustang but a GT 350 model, white with blue racing stripes. Bren is far from being a car enthusiast but, even for her, the thought _bad ass_ crosses her mind. She answers the door with the chain preventing anything but a crack of a couple of inches to expose the real, outside world.

"Yes?" Bren asked meekly to the face of the man in a fitted business suit that somehow seemed familiar but that she failed to place immediately. He stands on her mother's threshold with an attractive woman in a conservative outfit of skirt and blouse featuring a stylish blazer, all of it dark blue and of expensive, high quality. A thought flashes through Bren's mind that she tries hard to keep from her face: _Cops!_

"Miss Sedgwick? Bren Sedgwick?"

Politely asked the man who intimidates her slightly with his recent close shave and tight haircut. She begins to narrow-down that face as one she may have met long ago, almost back in another life to her now, back when she was an intern for Mr. Pettibone. A rush of guarded caution shapes her answer.

"Who wants to know?" Asked Bren in a manner of speaking that is all business but not the least bit impolite.

"Of course, and please forgive us for arriving unannounced" said the man as he produces an identity card, a California State driver's license from a wallet that came from the breast pocket of his jacket. Maytuc is the name on the card. No first and last name, just Maytuc.

It all comes flooding back to Bren now. That mysterious man, a 'friend' of Mr. Pettibone but also something more. Something she was never told about or authorized to know. Something that she remembers that attracted her to him back then and even now she finds intriguing. There is a twinkle in her eye for a split second as she compares the photo of the card to his face. A twinkle that is not lost on Maria and she doesn't particularly like it.

"This is the lovely Maria Buckwald, who I have the honor of her gracious assistance in an important matter involving the estate of Mr. Fredric Pettibone."

Maytuc's introduction is designed to convey that she is more than an assistant but not quite a girlfriend and certainly not his wife. Maria extends her hand to Miss Sedgwick while simultaneously shooting Maytuc a veiled but obvious scolding look. Bren shakes her hand with a look of understanding as she joins her in shooting an also less than pleasant look Maytuc's way.

As if on autopilot, Maytuc continues his speech to Miss Sedgwick,

"Although it was several decades ago, I want you to realize that your service to Mr. Pettibone and to this Country is appreciated and has not been forgotten. But it has come to our attention, as we deal with his estate, a time-sensitive matter..."

Bren interrupts Mr. Maytuc as she feels that her recent 'dealing' may be coming under scrutiny and this will be a good time to change the subject.

"The estate of Mr. Pettibone? Are you telling me that Fred is dead?"

After an awkward silence and looks of honest sincerity from both Maria and Maytuc, He struggles to go on.

"Yes, I'm afraid it is true, and I deeply regret that I have bumbled that news so completely. I can only offer my deepest condolences and my humblest apologizes. Please forgive me Miss Sedgwick."

"Fred Pettibone was a saint among men" declared Bren in a heartfelt tone.

"I mean it! Always polite, never degrading or overbearing. The only problem I had after working with him was that I expected the same respect and treatment from others. Boy, that didn't happen very often!"

They all share a moment of silence and Maytuc and Maria couldn't agree more with Bren's kind words.

Not wanting to mention or delve into this "time-sensitive matter," but knowing that the paper trail must have led them here, and fairly confident that she has broken no laws, Bren wishes to continue on the subject of Mr. Pettibone as long as possible.

"I can't say I'm surprised, Fred was up there, way up there, he was well into his nineties, right?"

"One hundred four" reports Maytuc, and he adds:

"Died in his sleep, quite peacefully as far as we can tell."

Bren has a strange thought as a reaction to these words and as the mystery of Maytuc surfaces again:

Died peacefully, something tells me this fellow knows something of death other than peaceful.

But that thought is shattered as Maria, who, after swiping her smart phone a few times, cuts to the chase and shows Bren a picture of the necklace.

"What about it?"

"We need to contact who ever had this item, it is a matter of national security," Maria said in flat and level tone.

"World security" added Maytuc.

"So, you're cops? You didn't show any official I.D."

"No. We're private citizens, and we are here to offer a lucrative per diem, whether your assistance is fruitful or not. The authorities will come later, and trust me, your assistance to us will be much more profitable and is completely legal."

"How 'lucrative'?"

Maytuc pulls a bundle of hundred-dollar bills from his pocket of nearly an inch in thickness. Bren expects him to peel a few off for her.

It better be more than just a few.

He hands her the entire wad through the chain limited opening of the door. Speechless, she holds the money. More, by far, than she has even held before.

"This might be all over in just a few days. Maybe even in just one day and that car," he points to the Mustang.

"Will also be yours, all taxes paid."

Even Maria looks shocked. She gives Maytuc a cross look.

"What? It's only a car!"

"What do I have to do?" Asked Bren as she fingers the money and looks lustfully towards the car.

"Just help us track down the origin of that necklace."

"But I never meet them."

"But you know someone who has."

"Yes, but there is no guarantee that he will help you."

Already Bren regrets the use of the word "he." She has revealed something she didn't have to.

"Is he a rich man?"

Bren doesn't answer that and instead she asked:

"What will happen to him?"

"No harm will come to him. I will try to persuade him as I have you to help us find the original owner of that necklace and that person will need our help and will be glad that we have found them. But what is most important is that we find them before the authorities, because they will not be so kind and we cannot trust that they have the same motives as we do and their delays, could be cause to ruin everything."

"Exactly what are your 'motives'?"

"We believe that the original owner of that necklace could avert a world-wide catastrophe and we want the chance to persuade them to listen to our plea before people who are only guided by power and greed find them. We are ahead of those forces right now, but time is of the essence and your cooperation must begin immediately."

Bren Sedgwick is not completely clueless as to the nature of Mr. Pettibone's 'department' and the work he had done for the government. Her internship touched on many irregular 'concepts' and bizarre situations. She is familiar with the Space Pirates and Father Brien and other details but as Pettibone explained to her at the time, it was all a department meant to record such anomalies to be sure such things were not used as cover for spying or other crimes. Of course, she was sworn to secrecy, and she takes that oath very seriously even now, but as she has also heard what her boyfriend had said about his strange 'guests' of several days and as the memories of the things from her time with Pettibone had started to come back to her, and now these two, who say they work as private citizens, seek her help to somehow save the world, or whatever, it is all just too intriguing to dismiss. Her fantasy fiction books may or may not take off, but her instincts point to a story here that could be big, very big. She could be on the ground floor of it all. She could be the only one, alone in part of a unique situation with the ability to make hay from it all somehow. Her intelligent mind spins with possibilities.

"I'll do it under one condition, you take me with you to the very end. I will be your shadow wherever this leads."

"There could be danger involved."

"I'm not a little girl! That is my offer and you will take it right now or you can get the fuck off my porch!"

Maytuc and Maria look at each other, Bren's ultimatum has raised their eyebrows. Maria answers for them both.

"Okay Miss Sedgwick, please allow me to help you pack a bag. We need to leave in five minutes. We have wasted too much time already."

Bren called her 'boyfriend' and he isn't home. He is at work and due to the fact that he has no cell phone and that he works in construction, he could be almost anywhere. They consider going to his boss's office to find out where he might be, but as Bren explained, he would think that no matter what they said, he would think that it is the authorities and he might disappear. All they can do is be there at his apartment when he is dropped off after work by the company van.

With several of hours to kill, Maria makes a suggestion:

"Look..., Miss Sedgwick..., we never know where we might have to go or what might be in store. Might I suggest a new wardrobe, just in case we need to go to a place where..., your 'attire' might not be quite appropriate. No offense dear."

The downtown department store was not far out of their way and with some help from Maria and a department store staff member, a fine dress, stockings, a pair of pumps that cost more than her Mom's monthly rent and a long wool coat transform a goth cutie into a social debutant, all with time to spare for a gourmet lunch at a place where her new look would fit right in. A place where Bren would normally only dream of going.

Later, as they wait in the car across from the seedy apartment of the boyfriend, a call comes in that Maria takes on her smart phone. Josh Cranton Jr's face fills the screen. His father and the pretty young lady, Daytona, seem to be lost in laughter in the background as the old man and her go through passages of poetry with Daytona's finger in a book. Bren slides forward to take in the scene on the screen and to ease-drop on the conversation.

"Ya, May, the necklace is the real deal alright. The old man recognized it right away. Much of it made by his own hands. No doubt about it."

"What's going on there behind you?" Asked Maria.

Cranton Jr. turns his head and adjusts his phone, centering the scene on the phone behind him as the old man and Daytona wave and he answers:

"Oh, Daytona's still reading that damn book 'Space Pirates' and she couldn't rest until the old man worked out with her that damn song, 'The Squishy,' remember that? Geez! Their having the time of their lives! Or at least the old man is, the horn-dog!"

After that call ended, the three of them share a light moment as Bren recalls that she remembers "The Squishy" from that book which prompted Maytuc to relate stories from his youth of when his parents and the other elders would get drunk and relive that song in the form of an impromptu and usually, horribly off-key reunion gigs.

"It makes me smile now but back than it was _so_ embarrassing."

The editor insisted that that song be included in the book because every time it was mentioned, it brought nothing but smiles and here, decades later, that is still the case.

The mood had not completely passed when the work van stopped, and a weary laborer shuffles out and enters his apartment.

"Give him a minute, I'm going to enjoy this." Bren said as they climb out of the car and smooth and straighten their fine clothes.

"Let me do the talking," Bren insists as she ambles to the door with a spring in her step and she knocks on the door with a musical rapt that must be a secret code of sorts. There is a pause as things are banged around inside as if messes must be cleared before the door can be opened for this surprise visit. The disheveled man answers the door holding a bottle of beer already three quarters empty and his jaw drops at the stylish young woman and her equally well-dressed associates. She burst in, signaling her companions to follow. She does a spin for the shocked and speechless man and said:

"Like my new outfit?"

"It's..., you're..., beautiful" answers the tongue-tied working man as Bren smiles wide.

"Hey, remember how I told you that I used to work for the government? You know, super-secret hush-hush stuff, remember?" Her voice trails off to the point where, for a moment, she sounds like a little girl. The confused working man looks from her to the other two and back in a laughable manor, but he remains silent.

"Well I'm back and...," she pulls the wad of bills from her pocket and starts peeling some off one at a time and places them in his hand:

"We are going to need your help."

Already the pile of hundreds starts to overflow from his palm.

"Is that something you would be interested in?" She uses her cutest, sexiest voice, and stops the money stream as she waits for his answer.

He looks at the pile of cash in his hand, but he is so befuddled that he can only nod.

"Good my pet! But you must never tell a soul that we were here. Can you do that?" She starts the stream of bills moving again and waits for his answer, and when she pauses, the stunned man nods again.

"Excellent!"

A few more bills are added to his palm.

"Now then, you must tell my friends here all you know about those two that had that necklace. Will you do that?"

Again, bills start to flow but quickly stop.

"Don't worry baby, no harm will come to them. In fact, they are here to save them from some very bad people" her voice is still sultry, but she adds in a more serious tone,

"I'm not kidding about that last thing lover!"

She clamps down hard on the still fat money roll and it is clear that the fun is over, but she holds it up as if a promise, if he will play ball. Her playfulness has disappeared, and she stares in his face without blinking for the longest time.

_Who is this girl?_ He asks himself as he struggles for something, anything to say.

Finally, words form and come out of his trap as barely a squeak.

"I..., I, a..., I don't know where they went. They had something to do, something important. A mission of some kind. I don't know anything about it, I swear! In fact, the girl, the one with the big head, she didn't say a single word the whole time they were here. But, and get this, I swear she could talk to the boy. At first, I thought she was using some kind of hand signals, sign language or something, but when I looked closer, really looked, that wasn't the case. Those two gave me the willies! I'll tell you that!"

He talked past Bren now and directly to the couple,

"Look, all I did was put them up a couple of days and bought their weird necklace and sold it to you" his eyes are back to Bren now.

"That's not good enough my sweet, close, but if you want the rest," she waves the remaining money in front of him,

"We are going to need more."

"Oh, I've got more." His voice has found itself.

"Much more, but if you want it, and you will," he talks to Maytuc and Maria now:

"We need to get some things straight. First, I don't know you and you don't know me. Second, this money, this meeting never happened. So, don't expect any sworn testimony, no official statements, no anything! You got that?"

Maytuc and Maria just nod.

"Good, I like that, just nod, its better if I don't even hear your voices. And last, if I don't see this young lady again and soon, I will hunt you two down and I _will_ find you. That is what I was trained to do. You _do_ understand that, right?"

Again, the pair nod.

"I knew you would understand _that_. Okay, so we have a deal?"

With that, the man moves to the corner of his tiny living room and after moving a large, framed poster of a nearly naked Marilyn Monroe, (the only art he has displayed) a gun safe is exposed. He bends down whips the dial this way and that with his body shielding what is going on. With a clunk, the door is opened, and he retrieves a Colt 45 automatic and after he chambers a round, he jams it in his waistband. Next, he picks up something small and holds it up for everyone to see. It is a computer thumb drive.

"I've got several miniature cameras in here, (meaning that he has pictures of Maytuc and Maria now) and this contains dozens of pictures of the pair you are looking for. Good ones, in every profile, but it is the pictures I got after they were asleep that you won't believe. Especially some after the 'female's' headscarf fell off. You're not going to fucking believe it! Because I can't."

He holds the flash drive out to Bren and she looks to Maytuc and he gives her the nod. The rest of the money passes and the drive takes its place in Bren's hand.

The deal done; they all move to leave when the man reminded them:

"Remember, if Bren isn't back here in a couple of weeks, and hopefully in that exact outfit, I'll come for you!" He has his hand on his weapon as he said that.

"Oh, and one other thing, that little brown boy is packing, so be careful."

As they walk back towards the car, Bren speaks to both Maytuc and Maria:

"I expect to be reimbursed."

Back in the car, they load the drive in Maria's tablet before they even start the engine. They scroll through the pictures and it is clear they have good stuff. But when they reach the photo of a sleeping Bertha with her headscarf removed, it leaves them all speechless.

The family stories, the book, "Space Pirates," Pettibone's cryptic Freudian slips, none of it had made that dramatic of an impact, that final leap of fate, the credulous evidence needed to make them believers never was fully developed. Even Maytuc, with all his secret spy work, had never been privy to the details of Pettibone's department or had he been authorized to visit Area 51. And Bren, who had filed a thousand photographs and a thousand reports, never thought much of it all. But this, this picture up on Maria's tablet, this brings it all home. This is what they are up against. Now it is real. Maytuc and Maria have been on the trail for several days but only now has it become tangible. The three take a long pause and must remember to breathe before they finally put down the tablet and start the car.

* * *

The fire is out, and investigators sift through the ashes of a burned to the ground ranch home outside of Sparks, Nevada.

"Ya, it's arson all right" said the senior man as he scoops ashes into a plastic baggy.

"We'll know for sure when we get this back from the lab, but I'll bet my bottom dollar."

"What the hell is..., all this?" Asked his assistant who stands among twisted and melted metal cabinetry with the chard electronic guts of melted circuit boards, patch cables and other wires visible through gaping breaches of puckered sheet metal.

"Computer equipment, old stuff. The old guy who lived here used to be some kind of government annalist, probably it was just being stored here."

"No Boss, this stuff was wired in" proclaimed his sharp assistant as he points out the remains of power and phone feed cabling.

"No kidding" said the boss as they both bend down for a closer look.

Traveling toward this crime scene in his hastily loaded, beat-up van is someone who is quite familiar with that melted equipment, or at least familiar with similar equipment of that type, and he is in an urgent, even desperate mindset as the long miles roll under his wheels as he has crossed nearly the entire Nation to arrive here as part of his own, personal investigation.

His 'investigation' is only personal because of the fact that he has found no one, even after filing exhaustive reports and after extensive, desperate pleading with everyone and anyone who could authorize such a trip. People who should be interested, people whose job it is to be more than interested, people who are required and are responsible, but none of those officials would lift a finger or stick their necks out in any way, they didn't want anything to do with what this dedicated man was outlining and recommending. So, after he cashed in a backlog of unused vacation time, he goes at it alone and at his own expense.

Doctor Dewy Tagret Dumphery, chief records clerk, Washington DC branch of the National Archives, a division that organizes and houses historical records for the CIA, the FBI, the office of the President, the House and Congress, the Military, the Smithsonian and others, is aware, and is worried, and very worked-up over something that has come to his attention through back-channels, apparently channels no longer deemed relevant, even considered obsolete by the few who have even bothered to put any time and attention towards them, a system that was once a top-priority, a matter of grave, national security, but somehow, as the people involved retired and passed away and were not replaced, and as new people had bigger fish to fry and no desire to touch on the obscure, the strange or things unsettling, it is left to this man to fight the good fight, alone.

This man, with aging equipment and knowledge of programs still technically open and operating, but largely forgotten, has received signals from the edges of our solar system, some one thousand one hundred such signals, and due to his unique and specialized skills and knowledge, he has tracked down and found, discovered really, an off-site system link and hopefully he will find people there who understand and share his concern for what he believes is coming.

He has driven night and day to the point that his eyes are a blur and his butt is beyond numb as he steers up the long, dusty drive to the ranch house. But even before he stops, the smell of the recent fire fills his nostrils and dread, intensive paranoid dread fills his stressed, weary mind.

The investigation crew has long since left and the sun is setting as Dewy kicks around the charred remains of the equipment. He can tell that the fire has been recent, very recent, but what does that mean? Was it a cover-up? An accident? There is just no way for him to know for sure. But it doesn't matter. Although he should sleep, he starts his van and begins a trip to a new destination. The only place left to go and a place that all logic says he should go. Unknown to him, it is a place that others are also heading, by a variety of transportation methods and under a variety of motivations.

* * *

Mahmoud and Bertha pack their kits with the item most valuable for this last leg of what has been an extraordinary and exhausting trip. That item is bottled water. They watch TV at the highway motel waiting for nightfall. So far, they have made their way in a most convoluted miss-mash of buses, trains and even taxis, but for this last stretch, with their money nearly gone, they must walk. Due to the desert heat, this walk will be at night.

Even with America in a constant and nearly fanatical state of heightened security due to terrorist threats, they have remained under the radar by making each section of their quest short. Greasing the palms of willing street people provided tickets when ID's were required. Beyond that, it was found that rural bus stations and train terminals are surprising lax in actual security.

Homeless people were also helpful in obtaining hotel rooms, but it was discovered that the seedier establishments also are incredibly lenient, especially as they neared the southern border states. With the sun dipping below the horizon and with Bertha and Mahmoud as rested as possible, they hope to make the last twenty miles before sunrise. Out the door and down the dusty highway they go. As they begin their walk, their backs face a sign intended for travelers going the other direction:

WELCOME TO ROSWELL, NEW MEXICO.

In a stunning contrast to the heat of the day, the desert cools quickly at night. A full moon and a clear sky provide ample light after human eyes have adjusted and assist Bertha's superior vision as well. The time before sunset and again at sunrise are times of activity for the creatures of the desert (and the rest of nature as well) and with Bertha's strange meddling, an unlikely following join our two heroes but keep their distance.

The owl was first to join them, and he circles overhead. Bertha, always curious, delights in using her special method of communication on the animals they encounter because of the primitive over-reaction they seem to display. It started with the dog back in Syria. Unlike humans, animals are not fooled when they 'hear' with the method Bertha can use. Instantly, they understand that they are receiving signals very different from ordinary sound waves. When they experience such an uncommon phenomenon, such as Mr. Owl has, they often become transfixed, spending hours with Bertha in their sight. She toys with them by sending little chirps and yelps their way and it drives them bananas and they often approach incredibly close, far closer than their instincts would normally allow, as if all their reason goes out the window, replaced with not just curiosity, but with some kind of worship. Can they tell and understand that they are in the presence of an advanced being? More advanced than humans?

With Bertha's infra-red capability, she can pick out these creatures from the pitch dark and in a short time, a fox and a small pack of wolves shadow the pair as well. When under Bertha's spell, they seem to forget their normal social orders and routines and exist in a state best described as drunken fascination, temporally at least.

As Mahmoud and Bertha walk and succumb to the boredom of the road, Bertha detects and snags something that she finds utterly remarkable. A full-grown, mature Puma! While this top predator is no push-over and normally wouldn't allow himself to be intimidated or influenced by even an advanced being, he answered Bertha's signal by stopping and directing his fiercest roar back at Bertha. Amused, Bertha answered that call with a mocking impression of her own back at him and waits for a reaction. The large beast, not used to taking any crap from anything on this planet, turns and runs straight at the pair stopping just short and in plain sight. He just stands there with his head tilted and looking a little confused.

Hey kitty-kitty, what do you think your gunna do?

Mahmoud is petrified with fear and he removes from under his shirt the pistol that he is packing.

"Don't be frightened Mahmoud, I have a surprise for the pussy cat" declared Bertha and with her method, she directs a "hiss" of sorts in a volume many times beyond anything possible under atmospheric conditions and the big cat jumps straight up in the air a good ten feet in a display that is so comical that Mahmoud and Bertha must stop, and they laugh so hard they must hold their sides. And just as that starts to die down, Mr. Owl must get in on the fun and he swoops down with a screech that further startles the beast bringing fresh laughter. At this point, even the big cat can see the humor of the situation and accepts that he has been bested and he moves back, but as Mahmoud and Bertha seem to be going his way, he joins them and they all move as one happy pack, except with the big cat is on one side of the road and fox and wolves are on the other.

The hours pass and when they stop for a light meal of crackers and vending machine candy bars, their entourage stays close. Is it fascination? Or just a lack of anything better to do? Impossible to tell but remarkable none the less. But in time, their presence has become so common that it is nearly forgotten.

The hours and the miles drag on to the point that all thoughts of anything but keeping the feet moving rule the moment. Exhaustion, sore feet, aching muscles replace any joy of taking in the landscapes and enjoying the sights or any amusement from their animal friends. The stretch of highway that they travel leads to only one location and as that place, the Roswell Army Airfield, has been long since decommissioned, not one vehicle has passed for hours. But they know that the heat of the coming day will bring dangerous conditions, so it is one tortured footfall after another as their minds tune-out to a blank of unpleasant and necessary labor.

The thought of what they will even do when they reach their destination was never clearly defined. What Bertha learned from the worn and obscure copy of Space Pirates, only provided her with a clue and a hope of what might be possible. She has no clear plan or even any conformation that what she read was anything other than pure fiction, but it is all she has. It is all there is to cling to. The thought of what is coming, what she knows is coming, is too much to stand by and ignore. This trip, this mission, is the only way she can keep from falling into a trap of despair. To do something, anything, to the point of dragging this young boy along who is risking a bright future to help her clean-up the mess that she alone has caused, is still much better than doing nothing. Bertha can't ignore the signals that she has received from the beacon and what she has read between the lines of the comments and statements of the opposition forces back at her home world. Things that before meant nothing, now radiate hidden meanings and hint of secret agendas as she reviews those conversations in the new light of recent events.

Her studies of the humans with the Old One from her youth point to the lengths at which humans have gone to reach levels of domination and control and she realizes the folly to believe that those of her kind will not match or even exceed those levels in their quests for power and greatness. Those motivations may start off honorable and limited; for the good of the universe, for the advancement and improvement of fellow beings, for the sharing of knowledge and culture, but Bertha feels, _knows_ , now, that these are only the myths, the straw-dogs that illegitimately authorize the beginnings of bold actions that are eventually manipulated and bastardized as they are steered away from the wholesome, beneficial programs that they were initially and become the tools for obtaining, gaining and the holding of power. Her musing and opinions point to an understanding that she, and maybe she alone holds that these kinds of bold adventures, ultimately turn dark and evil.

But what can she do? What will she find at this mythical place where they travel? Will she be able to do anything? Is what is described in her book really exist there? Will she even be able to get anywhere near any of it? Do forces exist ready to guard and prevent her from any course of action if any of what she hopes is even remotely true? The dreary thoughts are only matched by her fatigued body. Bertha saves a thought that she wished to keep for more desperate and important situations, but she lets it fly now.

_Lord, I pray for the strength and the guidance to make it through._ The heartfelt expression seems to have made a difference in a distant way. She feels better now, as if the words have covered some bases that were somehow left still exposed. _Fascinating!_

With that, Bertha's thoughts return to the blank of fatigue. In this relaxed, venerable state of mind, her and Mahmoud both fail to notice and grasp the significance of the headlights that approach from behind. Clear thinking and heightened attention may have suggested that they hide, ditch the approaching vehicle but if any thoughts such as this came to mind, they came too late.

The sound of squealing brakes, a leaking exhaust system and the rattling of damaged and rusted loose sheet metal are nearly drowned out by the tinny, amplified screeching guitar music that blasts from a sound system featuring half-blown speakers that the two drunken men in the cab of the pick-up truck bob their heads to in over-exaggerated fashion for a moment before it is shut off.

Oww, snakeskin cowboy,

who the hell do ya think you are?

Riding around in your high-heeled boots

do think ya gonna be a star?

"Well-well! What do we gots here?" Slurs the passenger as he staggers out while the driver lets loose an extended;

"Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee- ha!"

With that, both men laugh with faces red, the sound only interrupted as they swig from open bottles of whiskey. Already Bertha has used the X-ray version of her vision and has informed Mahmoud in her silent way of the weapon tucked in the standing man's belt, behind his back and under his shirt. Also, there is a long knife slipped into his right boot.

"Hey! You ain't heard the news? Little brown boys and dare rag-headed bitches ain't welcome round ear no more! You got that?... Ya un-cut pecker?... Not in _my_ Country! Bitch!" The spittle flies and his partner laughed uncontrollably as the hate poured out.

"Well, looks like me an Billy Bob just might hav ta have a lit'l fun..., just ta make things right! What da ya say Billy Boy..., Dat sound fair?"

But "Billy Bob" stops his laughing and fails to answer as at just that moment, Mr. Owl swoops down and lands on the hood of the truck. The standing man is also silenced and turns to direct his glazed stare at the bird who stands in motionless attention facing him. After a second of tense and baffling silence, the bird pumps his wings and scratches his clawed feet just as a roster would and directs a short but piercing screech directly into the drunken man's face.

This is too much and the drunk nearly falls down laughing after he shoots a spray of spit in an uncontrolled gasp of surprise. But that is short-lived as absolute silence follows the tell-tale click of the hammer of Mahmoud's pistol. He has got the drop on the man and Mahmoud stands ready and willing to take the next step without the slightest hint of reservation or remorse.

It is a stand of absolute sureness, without any hint of regret or uncertainty. A lifetime (albeit a relatively short lifetime in the number of actual years) steels him as he holds his aim in a fashion that covers both the drunken rednecks as the full-metal-jacket ammo should have no problem piercing the first man, passing right through him and entering the second. His thoughts and a world of unfairness have schooled young Mahmoud to point that what he does now, and his confident, rock-steady aim are as natural and righteous as his easy, natural breathing. None of this is lost on the redneck peckerwood who, at the fly of his blue jeans, a wet spot grows.

"Now son, I was just fun'n, I didn't..."

"Shut up!... Shut the _fuck_ up!" Shouts Mahmoud, his voice is large and in charge, he continues that way:

"Now you listen to _me_ now..., _my man!_ Very-very slowly, you're going to reach around your back and bring around your weapon."

The man remains still, befuddle and petrified.

"I said DO IT!" Screams Mahmoud as he lunges forward a little which makes the wetness of the man's crotch grow a little more.

The man complies, moving exactly as directed. The gun, a semi-automatic nine-millimeter, is held out for Mahmoud to see with the barrel held harmlessly towards the ground.

"Toss it into the back of the truck."

The man complies.

"Now, slowly, take the knife from your boot and toss it in the back also."

The man, who has sobered up considerably in just the last few seconds, wonders how the boy, make that young man, knew of his weapons as he tosses the knife.

Next, something happens that is completely unexpected. Wolves start to meander up from the side of the road. First a pair, then they are joined by several more until five or six shuffle back and forth, they display low keyed growls with the hair of their backs raised. Mahmoud wonders if Bertha is responsible and how did she make that happen. As he has that thought, Bertha silently speaks to him:

"Ask the men if they believe in God."

Mahmoud, takes a step towards his captive audience with his pistol still in calm but deadly control and with cool precision he asks:

"Tell me _my man_ , do you believe in God?"

The man hesitates, stupefied, he begins to look for his voice but is stopped as the Puma appears towards the front of the truck in the shine of the headlights, and parks himself, sitting with ears back tight against his large head and a continuous, low pitched growl is voiced that is only interrupted as the animal licks his lips in a look of hunger.

"You have been asked a question."

"Yes-yes, sure I..., we do."

Bertha silently speaks again to Mahmoud after which he says:

"And if God told you to do something, you would do it?"

"Yes..., of course!"

With that, Bertha focuses her special communication ability to the booze-soaked minds before her and in a deep, male voice, dramatic and with a slight echo effect added, she booms out the following:

"William Robert Pritchard and Jacob Steven Wright, (Bertha used the X-ray spectrum of her eyesight and gleaned information from their billfolds) you have sinned so badly and so often that even 'I' have nearly lost count. When you and I meet face to face, your eternal damnation will be at stake. Can you comprehend 'eternity'?"

"I..., a..."

"SILENCE! Of course you can't! The question is one of when and how we will meet. Will it be as a result of the bullets from the gun of my righteous agent before you? Will it be from my divine and hungry creatures? Will it from a combination of both things?"

"I..., a..."

"SILENCE! It is my decision! My agent may still need his bullets, his work for me is far from complete. If the beasts are fed, it may be the only good that will come of you two! Yes, that may be the best."

"NO! Please God have mercy!"

"SILENCE!"

Bertha lets the words of her blasted blasphemy sink-in, before she begins again in the booming voice:

"Perhaps I will delay our meeting for _now,_ if you will assist these two in their important work. Footsore and weary of the road, a lift in your carriage will curry my favor for the time being. But remember, if you fail to repent, the next time we speak, the decision of your eternity _will_ be the subject."

The two stunned, but suddenly much more sober fellows have a lot to think about as Mahmoud, after another quick, silent conference with Bertha asks:

"So..., will you two consider giving us a lift?"

Within minutes, Bertha and Mahmoud are in the cab, the animals have dispersed and Jake and Billy Bob, now acting like their two new best friends, apologize continually to the point of irritation as they all drive off into the night.

Jake and Billy Bob were originally heading to the foothills, a couple miles from the abandon airfield, a spot that overlooks part of the base. It is a local party-spot where they were intending to camp for the night and consume mass-quantities of alcohol and smoke up their stash. But Mahmoud has declared their intention that they enter the old facility, but Jake has his doubts that they will be able to get in.

"Look, that place might be shut down, but it is still patrolled, and I hear day are cameras everywhere. We may hav ta drop ya off at the gate and skedaddle, I gots warrants."

But as they arrive at the overgrown and dilapidated main gate, it is wide open.

"It weren't like dat da last time I seen it" declared Jake and Billy Bob confirmed that fact.

They motor slowly through the main gate past several more lesser gates all of which are just as open, with padlocks and chains hanging, the gates have been pushed through and over brush as if it all has just recently been done.

The four, packed tight in the cab of the truck stay quiet as they pass over acres of crumbling tarmac, where grasses and weeds fight their way through cracks and expansion joints. Hangers and other buildings plus various vehicles and other equipment share faded and peeling paint as weeds grow right to their edges, hiding flat tires and obscuring boarded-up entryways. All is dark, as the electricity had long since been disconnected. But a general direction is established marked by open gates and with some fresh tire tracks in the patches of blown-in sand that cover areas of the worn asphalt.

After several miles of cautious and tension filled slow driving, Bertha detects human activity and the heat of cooling engines from parked vehicles around a small, shack-like structure. She informs Mahmoud and he directs Billy Bob to steer towards it.

As they approach, whatever the people there were doing has stopped and the small group of men and women turn their attention towards the beat-up pick-up truck as it stops several hundred yards away and Bertha and Mahmoud step out. Jake and Billy Bob waste no time and leave with a screech of their tires, their duty fulfilled. They have no desire to stick around and see what all this might be about. Whatever is going down, it could only be trouble for them and is certainly none of their business and they aim to keep it that way.

Bertha and Mahmoud start the long walk under the intense scrutiny of the assembled people as they take guarded steps towards a scene that was surely busy with activity a moment ago, but that activity has abruptly ceased with their arrival. A beat-up van is parked close to the small building with its doors wide open and with toolboxes removed and the contents of those boxes spilled about. A brand new, but filthy as if it had just completed a long, dusty trip, Mustang GT 350 is parked there as well. A door has been forced open of the small structure that a faded stencil identifies as "STAIR WELL" and a heavy door behind it bares the tool marks and damage caused by hours of fruitless labor by men who have rolled up the sleeves of clothing ill-suited for such work. A hodgepodge of hammers, crowbars, axes and other equipment litter the threshold of a work sight now quiet as the new arrivals replace their attention.

Bertha and Mahmoud walk right up to the scene and are approached in a friendly manner by what appears to be the oldest of the group.

"Welcome. We've been waiting for you."

That man is Maytuc, and the rest of the group flank him as he speaks.

"We all took a gamble, and with no other options, we thought that this is where you would end up."

He said in a flat but friendly tone with a hint of a smile.

"Who are you?" Demands Mahmoud.

"We..., we are friends, here to help. We and we alone, know of the coming trouble and understand what is at stake."

But suddenly, Bren Sedgwick, who had at some point during the trip here had returned to her goth attire and wears cargo pants, combat boots, a low cut blouse and a leather jacket, steps forward and faces Bertha, she demands in a tactless manner that betrays her youth and hints at her simple up-bringing, and with an impatient, get-to-the-point attitude asks, _demands_ :

"The real question is, who and what are _you_?"

Bertha, understands completely Bren's mindset and as the sole cause of this..., situation..., this 'trouble' and in a spirit of cooperation and even with a show of affection towards this brash young woman, who she has instantly taken a shine to for some reason that she doesn't understand, and as she is tired of her long 'deception' that has been required everywhere so far on this planet, she decides to answer the question in a manner that will leave no doubt, and she will find it as a relief and an empowering experience. She removes her robes like one might discard a Band-Aid or a cast, revealing thrift-store bought overalls under a thick, bulky tiger fur jacket which hangs loosely from her shoulders and is open in the front. Last, she removes the headscarf to the gasp of everyone present.

This group, perhaps the only people on the planet who would be ready for such a display, still cannot hide their disbelief. In stunned silence, each must move close and get an eyeful under the bright moonlight and even than they each react with grim, spastic, contorting reactions. Hairs raise on the backs of necks, shaky body-rushes must be fought down, eyes roll, and mouths become dry at the freak-show presented in front of them. No ears- just small holes, tiny nose, huge head, but it is those large, unblinking, multifaceted eyes that capture their attention and that will find their way into their dreams and nightmares. Like a train wreck, they can't turn away.

But this group; Maytuc, Maria, Dr. Dumphery and Bren, are not the only ones who wait for Bertha. Someone else, someone privy to secret, back-channel information, someone with power and connections, with the pull to have gates opened and to send guard details away, someone with an ax to grind and strong, personal motives also waits. Waits watching closed-circuit monitors at the control panels deep underground of this vast complex and former research station, and at Bertha's unveiling, the wait is over.

Still under the spell of the sight that is Bertha, the foursome at the small building nearly jump out of their skins as the lights of the small building are switched on from an unseen hand. Mahmoud, Maytuc and even Mr. Dumphery find their hands fingering concealed weapons as a rumble emanates from behind the double doors. Next to the stairwell door, the elevator buttons now have their down arrow icons illuminated. The whirring, bumping sounds grow louder as the elevator car slowly makes its way up from far below. Finally, the noises stop, and the doors slide open.

Impatient, Bertha moves towards the open doors but Maytuc stops her with a gentle hand to her forearm.

"Wait" is all he can say as he seems to be searching for more words.

Dumphery, who seems best informed of what may lie ahead, quickly adds his personal insights:

"We don't know who waits below for us. It could be a trap."

"A trap? Will that detain us?" Asked Bertha in her squeaky, labored, and seldom used natural voice. A voice that takes the others by surprise with its unusual sound and cadence.

"I cannot be detained. Too much time has already been wasted" continued Bertha.

"What do you have planned?" Asked Maytuc.

But the question remains unanswered as Dumphery points to a mirrored dome in the ceiling of the elevator car and with hand signals and gestures, a conference is resumed with everyone packed among all the items still inside of Dumphery's van.

In hushed and hurried voices, plans are hatched assisted by pages of wrinkled and worn floor plans produced by Mr. Dumphery that came out of boxes of cardboard tubes, hastily packed in the van and all but Dumphery get their first look at what may lie below.

"Bill Clinton was the last president to tour the facility personally. It is unclear if George W Bush even watched the virtual tour. It is rumored that his father kept it from him, as a favor to keep him from being distracted, but many think he just wasn't interested. He seems to have had his own agenda."

"What is described in this is true?" Asked Bertha as she holds up her beat-up copy of Space Pirates.

"I think so" answered Dumphery.

"But I don't know for sure. They've been very careful about releasing photographs as you well might imagine."

"Just get me on that ship. If anything can be done, I will know only when I am at the controls" Bertha said in a declaration that is less than certain and not very comforting.

But it is clear that this is all that they have got, and time is running out. It might even already be too late. Without a clue as to who, or how many are waiting below, and what their intentions are, they quickly come up with a bold and dangerous plan that without time to think it through completely, they execute immediately.

Maria trades her dress shoes for a pair of boots out of Bren's things and without any concern for style, which for her is just plain awkward. She and Bren tie their hair back tight to prevent any unnecessary flyaway. The men also donned their most sensible attire with all emphasis geared towards quick movement and unwanted restrictive excess that may hamper the upcoming action. They gather hand tools and Bren holds a can of dark green spray paint from Dumphery's things as Maytuc officially initiates the action with the words:

"Let's roll!"

Bren is first out of the van and she screams like a banshee as she runs up to the dome in the ceiling of the elevator car and gives it a healthy and thick coat of paint, hopefully hiding the rest of their actions. The men use tools to pry the hinge pins from the heavy fire door that they had forced open and they drag it into the elevator. Next, they drag the toolboxes in as well and they use them to prop the fire door up on its side as a barricade and they all crouch behind it. Those with weapons, ready them. Dumphery hits the button marked B3 and the door promptly closes, and the elevator begins its long descent. Maytuc passes out road flares from the van to be used as a distraction and/or for lighting if necessary. Maria fingers a large flashlight with instructions to try to shine it in the eyes of anyone who opposes them when the doors open. She feels and tests the flashlight's heft as she knows it will make a fine club as well. Bertha has prepared an audio blast in her special way which should confuse and disorientate any who happen to be located in a direct line of sight which will ensure its effectiveness.

Time seems to slow to a crawl and nervous perspiration forms on palms and brows as the car gently bumps and whirs forever down. Finally, the first of the three lights above the door flashes, B1. Flares, handguns and Maria's flashlight are held at the ready. B2 replaces B1 with illumination and with weapons cocked and rounds chambered, breaths are held. The car ceases falling and with some final up and down adjustment, B3 lights up and the doors open.

Flares and the flashlight remain unlit as the large, silent lobby is well lit and apparently quite empty. Maytuc rolls like a commando from behind the overturned door to the right-hand side of the open door and from behind his drawn weapon, he surveys half the open lobby as Mahmoud duplicates his action at the left side. Dr. Dumphery, in a slightly shaky and somewhat uncertain manner (he is no commando) covers them both from behind the table with his ancient revolver.

Only the sound of buzzing ballasts from fluorescent lighting greet them. The lobby area is stripped of furniture, even the carpets have been peeled away leaving only splotches and lines of dried glue behind. The reception counter is covered in thick, dusty plastic and where phones and computers once were, are now only marked by outlines of faded paint and lengths of scraggly loose wires still hanging from where junction boxes used to be.

As Maytuc and Mahmoud continue their commando-style room clearing, Dumphery carefully but dutifully follows. The only thing they find is that the heavy double doors at the end of the lobby, normally accessed by electronic card readers, are wide open. It seems to be an invitation, just as the open gates were up above. As it is the only way forward, they continue clearing the way down every hallway and every room until they arrive at the viewing hallway that surrounds the wrecked alien spaceship. Here they find that the airlock doors are also wide open, the hermetic seal apparently long since disregarded.

It's true, it really _does_ exist.

Fascinating!

With no apparent danger, the ladies catch-up, and they all spend several moments gaping at the wrecked ship through the large viewing windows. With many of the light fixtures around and in the ship burnt-out and others flickering, it is a dreary sight. Tables that surround the hulk have more thick plastic covering them and what little equipment is left. Most of the workstations have long since been cleared away with more fragments of loose wiring to mark the spots where they once were. Bertha can't wait any longer and she moves without restraint through the defunct airlock and with everyone else in tow, she makes a beeline to the deck of what is left of the ship. Her mere presence seems to activate parts of the ship as she nears them and walls and counters, blank for so many decades, spring to life in colorful display. Bertha seems to be taking stock and running tests with rapid-fire determination when a voice sounds over the facility's public-address system.

Stunned, dumbfounded, even Bertha is stopped in her tracks by a voice that even she finds somewhat familiar, but that she cannot quite place. The others, even Mahmoud, have no problem placing that voice but that doesn't make it any more believable. The message starts with a laugh, a cackle really, then this:

"Well-well! I've been waiting down here in this shithole for nearly two weeks! I was beginning to think you weren't coming. It was a rather pie-in-the-sky idea, but here you are! Splendid!"

"What do you want?!" Demands Maytuc as Bertha beams to him in her silent way that there can be no more delays, a warning that he finds surprising but effective.

"Oh Maytuc-Maytuc-Maytuc, I haven't seen you in years. You should know that I know all about your father and all of his shipmates, the 'Space Pirates' and I know what happened, what the machinery of a ship like this did for them."

"But how did you, of all people..., how would you know?" Stammers Dumphery.

More of that cackling laughter follows, this time with an air of craziness, not fully restrained.

"That is a dumb question Doctor. Especially if you knew me! I bet you've heard of my 'private servers,' you know, those 'evil' computers in my basement. What do you think they are _really_ for? They are there to keep track of you and your silly department, among 'other' things. But now that we are all together, we can get down to business."

"What _business_?"

"Oh, a simple thing. Something that should be no problem for your alien friend there. Something I've given a lot of thought to over the years. Something that will give me another chance. Something I've earned and that I deserve. And make no mistake, I will have what I seek, and to ensure that you see it _my_ way, I have some leverage that I will now demonstrate."

With that said, klaxon horns blare and red strobe lights blink at every exit as a computer-generated female voice announces:

"Emergency destruct system activated; thirty minutes left to reach safe distance."

Dumphery suddenly looks white as a sheet. His mouth is dry, and he fights a lump in his throat. All eyes are upon him as he tries to speak:

"No, no..., it can't be."

"What Doctor, what is it?" Maria asked the question that they were all thinking.

"Thermal nuclear transmutation."

"What's that?" Asked Bren, who just happened to get the question out first.

"This..., facility, was designed and built for biological warfare testing. As a fail-safe, if something happened to get out of hand that couldn't be controlled, a destructed system of transmutation was to be activated, but it couldn't still be active, could it?"

"Oh, it can, and it is Doctor!" The familiar voice of the public address answered and continued:

"While the rest of this base has been deactivated, we couldn't have an alien spaceship lying around, just ready to be _discovered_ at some time in the future. So, this destruct systems remains and has been maintained and is very much active. But don't you worry, I'm going to join you now on that spaceship and when I am through with my little plan, I will deactivate the destruct system with a code safely stored away in my head and you will all be free to do whatever you feel you need to do."

To protect against any run-away biological treat, thermal nuclear transmutation was planned, and it is a simple, but ultimate solution. A thermal nuclear explosion with a temperature of several tens of millions of degrees, and with an event window, a zero point of several miles in diameter, it would cause a phase-transition, a vaporization-sublimation converting any killer pathogens to harmless (by 1950's standards) nuclear fallout. Doctor Dumphery understands this logic and he also understands the thought of the secrets of the alien technology falling into the wrong hands, he can see why this system would have been maintained. He can see that this is no joke.

"I need to get moving" squeaks Bertha as she fails to understand the delay, as she has the systems of the ship that she will need active, and her patience is at an end. But the reason for the delay appears, as a reinforced door to the side of the containment area, slides open. And there, braced against a walking cane, is the source of the voice from the public address system and the reason for their delay:

Hillary Rodham Clinton.

She makes her way from the doorway with labored gait under the eyes of the speechless spectators. Even Bertha is transfixed by the surreal spell that is this scene. A spell only broken as she pauses at the steps leading to the deck of the spaceship proper. Mahmoud, a true gentleman, rushes forward to assist her up those steps and after she looks around, she places herself at a certain spot on the deck and looks to Bertha and asks:

"This is the right spot, yes?"

"Yes."

To all but Mahmoud, it is grasped what Hillary Clinton is here for, and those people can't say they approve. While they would have to admit that if the thought had crossed their minds, they might have also considered it, but with Hillary's demand for it, now it reeks of distastefulness but they're not sure exactly why that is, but it does.

"Twenty minutes to reach minimum safe distance."

Bertha enables the controls and the grid appears next to her on the wall. With an attitude reflecting a _let's get this over with_ mindset, she asks in her squeaky but flat voice:

"How old do you wish to be?"

This takes Hillary by surprise. Certainly, she knew that the process could nearly double her life span and would reverse much of her aging, but an actual return to a younger state is a pleasant surprise. Her mind races, _fifty, forty, thirty? Oh, what the hell!_

"Twenty-two."

"Twenty-two Earth years it is."

Bertha adjusts the equipment by tracing her finger down a line of the electronic display grid. Then with a swipe and a touch, the square of blue/green light begins to envelope Hillary and just as she begins to disappear completely behind that bright light, Bertha, in an act of brashness and without much or deep thought, reaches over to the grid and traces the line almost to the bottom!

_Think you can delay me?_ _I'll show you!_

Everyone is watching, and they express a collective gasp as the light fades away and it is obvious what has happened, still Bertha is asked:

"What have you done?"

"I will not be delayed any longer! The woman will pose no threat now." Bertha said with smug self-satisfaction, but she fails to understand the shocked looks that fall on her.

The last of the light had faded away and a smiling toddler looks back at the shocked, worried faces. The child sets her gaze at Bertha and while pointing she blurts out:

"Sparkle eyes big head!"

"Fifteen minutes to reach minimum safe distance."

Maria steps towards the child. She leans down to her and in a pleasant voice she asks sweetly:

"Hillary honey, can you tell me what the abort code is?"

"Bort-bort-bort silly sort-snort!" and the child laughs and laughs.

Dumphery loses it. He grabs Bertha by the shoulders and screams into her strange, alien face as he shakes her:

"Do you know what you've done? Were all doomed!"

"The elevator is out of action she must have cut the power!" Reports Bren as she frantically pushes the dead buttons.

"The stairway door is locked!" Adds Mahmoud as he pushes and shoves it in vain.

"What have you done? Do you know what you have done?" Pleads Dumphery as he continues his grasp of Bertha.

"Explain" demands Bertha using her telepathic method, which is the first time Dumphery has witnessed this and it causes him to freeze and he frees his grip. He heard her loud and clear and didn't fail to notice that her lips did not move. Shocked, but still determined to express the gravity of the situation he stammers out a chain of words:

"This..., this place will be vaporized, in less than fifteen minutes..., by a run-away chain reaction... of splitting atoms. Only the woman..., Hillary Clinton, can stop the process. Change her back! Immediately! Change her back, NOW!"

"The process will only work to change a body to a more youthful condition. Only the passing of time will bring her back to her former state."

"But don't you see? There is not enough time to get to a safe distance! You must take us with you!"

This is a thought that makes everyone gasp collectively.

"At least take us away and set us down far enough away for safety. Can you do that?"

"No, once I encase the ship in its energy sphere, to release that condition in the vessel's current, damaged state will cause what is left of the ship to fail structurally. That fact, and also because of the sudden depressurization that will occur, could destroy your physical bodies, that means you cannot leave this place aboard this ship."

"So that's it, we will die here if we stay, and we'll die if we go with you?"

It dawns on Bertha that once again she has caused trouble, big trouble, but a thought crosses her mind that might fix things:

"There is another option. The escape system. If you all assemble close together, it should be adequate."

Maria grabs up baby Hillary and they all stand close together.

"You need to be closer; the escape area is round. You will need to form yourselves in a ball shape."

They do as Bertha asks to the delight of Hillary who is enjoying this fun game. The second Bertha's equipment gives her the 'go' signal, she swipes the controls and without even a wave goodbye, the energy ball forms and away they go, speeding straight away, right through the reinforced concrete wall and on through bed rock and dirt as if it did not exist. Bertha watches them leave and tries to be strong because unknown to the humans, she was counting on that escape system.

Why was I so stupid!

"Ten minutes to reach minimum safe distance."

"What is done is done." Bertha says to herself as she readies the controls and prepares for her now one-way trip with destiny. She reviews all that she must do and compares it with all that she should do. If there was time, she would modify the ship and disconnect all that could be operated from afar to prevent a take-over like her original ship was. She could even use the assemble-assembler and make repairs to the ship but there is no time for any of that now, she will have to take her chances, too much time has been wasted already. She is as ready as she can be, so she operates the controls and the energy ball forms around her and what is left of the ship, and as the energy ball is taller than the formally hermetically sealed room that the ship has been in for so many decades, the ceiling that is in contact with the energy ball instantly vaporizes causing everything in the laboratories above to rain down, and those things also become vaporized in flashes of light and puffs of smoke as each item falls and touches the energy ball.

The structural integrity of the entire complex is compromised as one by one girders and bulkheads collapse each weakening some adjacent structure in a cascading increase of destruction. It is a symphony of tearing metal, exploding equipment and falling construction debris as Bertha and the damaged ship start to rise out of the chaos.

Packed together in their mini energy ball, four full-grown humans, one adolescent and the toddler Hillary speed through impossible strata in a fantastic display of melting bedrock, vaporizing ground water and exploding gas pockets, all in view for only a split second and with that action mostly towards the rear as the tunnel created by their energy ball collapses and caves-in almost as soon as it is formed as they pass. All are wide-eyed and terrified except for little Hillary who is grinning and cheering every single catastrophe as if she is a kid on an amusement park ride.

Up above, Jake and Billy Bob lie awake on their bedrolls even though they have drunk all their whiskey and smoked their stash. The brown boy and the strange Muslim woman, and what must have been the voice of God, still, no matter how much they drank and smoked, all of that plays over and over in their heads. They have talked about it with each other until they were blue in the face but nothing much was settled. Now, the both of them, separately try to make sense out of it all as the entire experience turned over and over in their minds, and they have made very little progress.

Certain key aspects couldn't be ignored, "If you don't repent, the next time we talk...," and, "Do you know the length of eternity?" Over and over these things spin round and round until each of them wonder if they will ever sleep again. So, it should be no surprise that when they felt the ground shaking below them, they both sprung to their feet, wide awake.

With the speed of a bullet, sinkholes fell in a straight line from the direction of the airbase. One swallowed their dying campfire; another took away their cooler. Never have two men moved more quickly and even before Jake had taken four steps, Billy Bob is already behind the wheel and starting his truck. Jake is preparing to dive headfirst into the truck's open window as he turns for one last look towards the base when, in the moonlight he sees, or he thinks he sees, what appears to be one giant sinkhole forming far inside the base itself. He makes that dive through the window and even though they have left their bedrolls and camping equipment behind he yells at Billy Bob:

"Go-go-go!"

Down the hill on the dirt road, Billy Bob is driving like a mad-man, power-sliding the tight corners of the switchbacks like a professional dirt-track racer. Then, as they reach the bottom and as the road flattens out, they cannot believe what they see. It is the brown skinned boy and he is waving his arms frantically. Billy Bob slams on the brakes and in a cloud of dust and flying gravel, they skid to a stop as the brown skinned boy is joined by others.

All of them are covered in dust and dirt as they sprint towards the pick-up truck and Jake has only time to open the door and take half a step back before Maria, holding Hillary in her arms dashes past him and into the cab. She grabs Jake on her way in and with strength far above what her small frame should have, she pulls him in, and he falls down to the floor of the truck beside her as everyone else jumps into the bed of the truck. In an instant, Dumphery is pounding on the roof above Billy Bob shouting in his ear:

"Go-go-go for God sakes GO!"

No time to think, no time to evaluate the situation, Billy Bob is back to driving balls-out as Dumphery keeps looking at his watch. He yells at Maytuc over the noise of the truck,

"It's going to be close, we need five more miles, ten would be better."

Jake is looking at this attractive woman beside him who is wearing a miss-mash of expensive clothing and scuffed-up Doc Martins, all currently filthy. In the truck bed, he sees the brown skinned boy, other than looking dirty as if he had been dragged through a ditch or two, he looks the same as before. The older man, a man of Native American descent, sports a tight haircut and wears a Rolex that must have cost more than Jake makes in a year, probable two years. The other man, the one who keeps checking his watch and shouting at Billy Bob, looks like he hasn't slept in days. Last in the back is a scraped-up Goth chick with eyes as big as saucers with a grip so tight on the truck's bed rail, that he wouldn't be surprised if her fingertips poked right through the sheet metal. But the strangest one of them all is the toddler in the lap of the woman next to him. She is wearing a fitted beige pants suit with the strangest shoes he had ever seen on a small child. Little flat-sole pumps. He has never seen an adult shoe miniaturized like that for a child, _Adorable._

Something else catches Jacks sight out of the corner of his eye and he swings his head around again towards the rear, towards the direction that they are now all speeding away from. It is something fantastic and he can hardly believe his eyes. Everyone in the back sees it too and they watch it for the moment before it disappears up into the night sky. A translucent sphere, still shedding dirt and debris as it zooms away with incredible and unbelievable speed.

What the fuck?

"Hold on!"

It is a warning from Billy Bob as they transition from the dirt road to the paved highway. Dumphery is pointing and screaming himself horse.

"Go left-go left! We've got to head west!"

It's a wonder that they all stayed in the truck as Billy Bob hit the berm that made up the shoulder of the road and the truck and everything and everyone in it went airborne. BAM! The impact was tremendous. Little Hillary sunk low between Maria's legs, but her energy is absorbed by the ratty seat springs and the 'child' seemed to think it was all just part of the fun. The impact was so hard that the headlights of the old truck blinked off for a second and the CD player ejected a CD. Hillary uses her foot with that neat little shoe to push it back in.

Ted Nugent's guitar starts to blast and is joined by the bass and drums and Billy Bob is too occupied to notice or care. Hillary turns to Jake, proud of her contribution to the madness, and in silent agreement they both decide the music is fitting.

Here I come again now baby,

like a dog in heat.

The truck rips through a pothole and suddenly the music skips to:

I've been smokin' for so long

ya know I'm here to stay

Got you in a stranglehold baby,

You best get out of my way!

***

NASA, the NSA, Homeland Security and the heads of a handful of other agencies sit through a meeting listening to the man at the podium tell his story and make recommendations about a project completely foreign, but each attendee feels as if they _should_ know about what is being said, so there is a lot of nodding and other mindless input as texts are sent to lower level staff members demanding files be pulled and updates be sent ASAP or heads will roll. The overall consensus is:

What the fuck?

"Lucky for us, we happen to have our Kuiper belt probe, Alstat Seven, close to the area of the transmissions and we will be receiving data starting late tonight. Unfortunately, the intercept mission, has laid dormant and even with aggressive fast-tracking, and if we had a heavy lift rocket available, and assuming we could make the summer launch window, the soonest intercept will be still be over four years from now, and assuming we have a successful recovery, the soonest we could start an in-depth evaluation, taking in account the return trip, that will be over eight years away."

The man at the podium has stopped talking. This signals the question and answer portion of the presentation. Who will take the risk of looking stupid and ask a question? This all started out with clear-cut directives reviewing each departments responsibility in this matter, and the word "responsibility" caught the attention of these department heads gathered here because that word translates to 'you could be in trouble.'

The text messages returning from lower level staff members all say pretty much the same thing: "Dr. Dumphery, the head of archives department, is on vacation and all efforts to reach him have, so far, been unsuccessful."

One department head representative, whether it is out of stupidity or perhaps curiosity, raises his hand with some questions. _Thank God!_ The others think as maybe his questions will save their bacon without risking a display of their own incompetence.

"This 'data,' will this be in the form of pictures? Or is it the coded transmissions you were talking about."

The speaker rolls his eyes and begins again, this time in a slightly impatient tone.

"Ladies and gentlemen, once again, we have already received the 'coded transmissions;' some one thousand one hundred of them. The data that we will receive starting tonight, will be from the Alstat Seven, which will send pictures of whatever sent the coded signals."

"And these coded signals? Do we have any idea what they are?"

"We believe it could be navigation data, linked to a decades-old UFO program. A program that is still active and under _your_ combined jurisdiction, that is why you were all called to this meeting."

"Oh, come on now, you can't expect every crazy, back-burner project to be fresh and ready, right off the top of our heads, give us a break."

"Of course not! But time is of the essence. This meeting is just to make sure each department is aware of what is happening, so that appropriations will go smoothly, so there won't be any surprises, that's all."

A sigh of relief circles the room. All this is a heads-up, so no one gets in a tizzy about some lost funding. But one unsatisfied young attendee still has some more questions:

"These signals, one thousand one hundred of them, possible navigation data you say, is there any chance that each one could represent a..., vessel..., a warship perhaps of some kind? Could we be under attack?"

A silence floats about the room for a moment before everyone there erupts in hardy and extended laughter. And not nervous laughter, but the red-faced, tears in the eyes, thigh-slapping gut-busting type. When it finally dies down, the speaker makes one last comment:

"Don't worry son, this is just some kind of anomaly, will get to the bottom of it in time. An _attack_... Jeez, I've heard it all!"

The meeting is about to wrap-up when some in the audience start to receive bulletins on their tablets and phones of nuclear fall-out east of Nevada.

"No way! This must be some kind of fluke"

But videos start to flood the internet as the network news stations pick up the story and before long, and before the meeting breaks, the President has called them all, and many other experts to the White House.

"There must have been an accident at a missile silo."

That is the general consensus as they search for more information before reporting to the President.

"It's going to be a long night!"

***

All is quiet as Bertha, peacefully alone again, speeds towards her destination; the navigation beacon. Only the electronic bubble of energy formed around her and the ship, protects her from the vacuum of space as the integrity of the hull, with its gaping, missing section, a breech which she stares through as if it is a window, which of course it now is, means that if there is even the slightest hick-up in her energy systems, her mission, and her life, will be instantly and dramatically over. If only she could have saved her escape system, but of what use would it have really been? The only escape destination would be back to the planet of the humans, Earth. What would that have meant? A lifetime of hiding behind head coverings and other disguises? Or to be forever sequestered by government researchers in secret laboratories, to be pricked, plucked and probed to the end of her days?

The quiet, the peacefulness of this time alone, is helping her to cope, to see, to understand, to accept what is to come. There is no use fighting anymore, no use searching for a way out, all of that is over now. This ultimate realization of her fate is strangely bringing her calm, helping her to relax, her anxiety is fading, being replaced by a confidence, by a sureness, even a happiness that there will be no more 'trouble,' no more unpleasant anything. It will _all_ bring only answers, finality and..., rest.

Her mind is clear, her breathing is deep and paced. She has only to think of the exact way she will complete her mission. She feels with her fingers the fur coat she wears and is conscious of the "insulation" added by the Imam and his cohorts. She notices the lighting equipment, installed by the humans, above her on what is left of the ceiling, used when the ship was static in their research facility- useless now. Her mind puts together these things and she begins to move, to start the work, the final pieces of the puzzle will now fall together.

But as she works, her mind wanders in a way that surprises her. She sees visions and scenes that seem to keep her entertained in a way. Odd things, interesting things, strange impossible things. It may be a coping method, but she surrenders to it, accepts it, revels in it, enjoys it.

As she tears down the human lighting equipment, Sir Elton John plays a sad, descending piano movement in her head while Bertha has a vision of the exaggerated sized boots of the Pinball Wizard as he is being dragged away by the crowd. It is from an entertainment production, a "movie" as Mahmoud called it that was projected with a cathode ray device back in a hotel room that they had stayed at. She strips and separates the wires from the lighting system that she had pulled down and that is now at her feet as Mr. Bob Dylan, an entertainer that she heard singing at some point during her brief stay on Earth assists her with his voice by singing these words of encouragement:

It's a simple thing and here's what you do

Take them wires, red, green and blue

Take them other ones', black and white too

Ya strip them bare and take them holes

The holes in the cuffs, and ya push 'em right through

It is done. Electrical wires are connected inside her fur coat to a fully charged battery and stream down inside of her sleeves and exit from the oversize holes designed to hold the tiger claws that still hang in her mother's bedroom. Several feet of shiny, newly exposed copper exit those holes and gleam under the lights of her spaceship. She holds her arms as far apart as possible because as everything is armed now, and for the left and the right to touch would mean premature activation.

Already her spaceship has slowed as she has nearly reached her destination. This is the time to be strong, but her body resists and tears flow from her eyes. Still she must position the ship and herself and as she chokes and sniffles, the final work must be done.

She tilts the ship, exposing the broken-open part of the ship directly to the front while in her mind music plays. Music of Earth, a piece she had heard but she knows not exactly where. A passage that builds and builds, led by an electric guitar sound that climbs and falls, searching and finding notes that pitch higher and higher in growing, chaotic perfection and intensity until this mastery hits upon the final chord as only the true artist can, because the mark of perfection is when it is known when to be done. The bass guitar thumps-out a calm repetition as the lead guitar fades away in subtle, studio enhanced feed-back and Bertha gets her first view of the beacon.

It is an unassuming cylinder of about two feet in diameter and about five feet in length that she has seen before. Her ship floats in under her careful control and at precise speed with the gaping hole of the damage in the exact position. Still the music plays in her head and as Bertha stands bravely, erect and ridged, with arms spread wide, like Jesus on the cross, and as John Osborne sings which gives Bertha the strength she needs right now:

No more tears

Bertha waits, as the music is replaced by applause. Not the wild applause of a rock concert, but respectful and building applause. The applause of hundreds, thousands, millions and billions and it fills her mind, her world, her universe, fills everything and it is backed by the imagined images of the faces of the ages. Proud, beautiful faces of a universe of beings, all there to cheer her on, to reinforce her courage, to celebrate her righteousness. It warms her heart as the sound changes, to the sound that a thousand million birds would make if they all rose in flight at the same time. But that is the last of that, her 'daydreaming' as Bertha has reached the end. The point that with a last swipe of her hand, after which only destiny will guide her.

She does it.

The electronic bubble dissipates. The damaged scout ship fails structurally and begins to break apart. Bertha, with every ounce of her last bit of strength struggles to keep her arms wide. No more music, no more applause, only a painful ripping as her blood boils and fights to escape the confines of her physical body with a sound resembling the creaking and popping of a ship in a storm. In the vacuum and weightlessness of space, her saliva, her snot and her tears turn to vapor and float away forming perfect spheres. She floats towards her goal, the beacon. Under only momentum, the universal direction of physics, assisted only by her careful aim. She fights to remain conscious regardless of the pain. The air in her lungs cannot be held and it escapes in a silent, horrible scream. Still she approaches the beacon. Visions race and compete in her mind. Her Mother, her Father, The Old One, the humans, the pain, oh the pain!

The impact, though it appears slow, has enough energy to bring her arms forward, around the beacon in an embrace that brings the bare copper together completing the simple circuit and with the predictable result.

The Alstat Seven, aimed in the correct direction, recorded the destruction and beamed the digital pictures dutifully back to Earth.

Beema, on the lead ship of the invasion fleet, cannot know why contact was lost to the navigation beacon with only minutes before they were to appear at it. But without that bit of technology, the universe is infinitesimally larger. Now, the planet of the humans could be almost anywhere. It is a short coming of their methods and technologies that so much is relied on with the systems of beacons for successful, dimension assisted travel.

Beema and Mr. Pin will never know what happened to their only child and the Squishys will never be able to find the Earth again in the great vastness of space. Sad for them, lucky for us.
Chapter 44

### EPILOGUE

Slightly less than nine years after Alstat Seven recorded that heroic event out at the Kuiper belt, the recovery mission that followed returned to Earth with some interesting items. Little of it was of any use for the interests of science; some bits of element-rich plaster, pieces of the beacon and/or the scout ship (impossible to tell which is which, and useless to human's without alien psychopathic input) and something unexpected, a small piece (less than a square foot) of animal skin, tiger skin to be exact. On this piece is a section of embroidery depicting a tiger, reared up on his hind legs in an aggressive stand of attack.

That artifact found its way, along with some of the plaster bits, to the hollow inside of a controversial statue erected at Arlington National Cemetery. The statue, controversial because of a vague reference not to any dead hero (The story of Bertha and the Space Pirates was never determined to be currently palatable enough for the general public, but maybe this book will help pave the way) but to a concept, a concept of effort, dedication and hardship expended towards the goal and expansion of higher technology. While critics moaned that that in itself made its erection and dedication in a cemetery of hero's inappropriate enough, especially as so many scholars and academics were busy trying to promote a community culture identity of shared survival concerns where high technology motivations seem to fall towards the evil corporate side of the ledger, but it was the actual design of the statue that most found in poor taste.

Fashioned of polished stainless steel, the life-size statue of the big-breasted, short-haired, insect-eyed, large-headed alien was seen as a joke to most people. Leading Senators and other important leaders vowed to fight its erection but strangely, one-by-one, they would quietly drop their opposition without explanation after their own study of the issue. But all that became a moot point after the official dedication and the viral video that surfaced from that unforgettable experience.

Appearing to be about twelve years old by this time, a remarkable young lady who had already gained fame with an award-winning, powerful and uplifting essay titled "Stronger Together" was invited to 'speak' at the podium during the dedication ceremony. This young lady has a natural knack for public speaking, and it wasn't much of a surprise that she was asked to be here. Even if hardly anyone knew of her 'personal connection' to the things and issues surrounding this, particular event.

Award-winning essay or not, to all but a very few watching both here and on live streaming, the girl walking on stage sporting a big, confident smile, could have been almost anyone. No one except those close to her could have known of her musical passions that she had practiced and perfected with all the professional classes and voice training since she was a toddler, and even those teachers and coaches didn't see it coming as she stepped-up to the podium and adjusted the microphone stand. During the polite applause after her more-or-less standard introduction, she waited with smug, almost selfish pride before complete silence was finally hers when she proudly, strongly and without any hint of embarrassment or uncertainty and with a seriousness and calm usually reserved for a much more seasoned and professional entertainer, this happened; She belts-out:

(In unaccompanied, big-voice cappella)

LIVE... FOR... THE... MINUTE!

USE-LOVE... WHERE-YOU CAN... FIT-IT!

KEEP THE FIRE... WHERE YOU, LIT-IT!

TAKE IT ALL... TO, THE LIMIT!

(more subdued and natural)

I'm not sure what God did to me

I'm told that it's plain to see

Life just won't let me be

They say, I hold the key

I just want to be free

So I...,

(back to her big voice)

LIVE... FOR... THE... MINUTE!

USE-LOVE... WHERE-YOU, CAN... FIT-IT!

YOU'LL-BE, HAPPIER, THAT-YOU... DID-IT!

DON'T-TELL-ME, TO... QUIT-IT!

(subdued and natural once again)

They call it pure ambition

So, help me make the right decision

Before I start my mission

I promise this time I will listen

(big voice)

"Everybody this time!" and, surprisingly, many yield to her demand!

LIVE... FOR... THE... MINUTE!

USE-LOVE, WHERE-YOU, CAN... FIT-IT!

YOU'LL BE, HAPPIER, THAT-YOU... DID-IT!

TAKE-IT, TO-THE... LIMIT!

(natural voice)

Take one step before you walk a mile

Yes, I've read the file

Never _seen_ such a pile

Now I face life with a smile

Laughing all the while

She takes the mic with the stand and moves to the edge of the stage and she has her hands ready to punctuate with clapping.

(Big voice)

"Come on everyone! I want to hear it this time!"

LIVE... (clap!) FOR...(clap!) THE... (clap!) MINUTE!... (clap!)

"That's better!"

USE... (clap!) LOVE... (clap!) WHERE... (clap!) YOU-CAN... (clap!) FIT-IT!... (clap!)

"I mean-it, people!"

YOU'LL-BE... (clap!) HAPPIER... (clap!) THAT-YOU... (clap!) DID-IT!... (clap!)

"Oh, that's nice! Beautiful people! Last line now!"

TAKE-IT... (clap!) TO-THE... (clap!) LIMIT!

"Thank-you-thank-you-thank-you sooo much!"

No body seen _that_ coming. She blows kisses and takes her bows as she exits the stage to wild and extended applause. The crowd, certainly not here for a concert, but none-the-less, they increase their accolades with whistles and foot stomping, demanding an encore until, finally, the master of ceremonies, a director of the cemetery who introduced himself earlier but who no one bothered to remember, came up to the mic with baffled expression and when it was clear that there was to be no more 'entertainment' the noise of the crowd started to die down.

"That was...," He must look to his notes before he can continue:

"Hillary." The crowd erupts once again in passionate, approving accolades but she is long gone. She will not let this be her swansong. She will not be typecast as 'just' a singer or even an entertainer. She is to smart for that; way to smart. She will be back on stage soon enough; the world stage that is. They will be other 'stunts' other papers and essays. At debates and conventions, she will launch into songs and 'raps' that leave her opponents forgotten and their campaigns sunk. She will stun the world with wisdom and antics as if she is wiser than her years should explain. It will be as if she has already lived a long life and learned from mistakes already made. This time she will be more human, more engaging, more entertaining as she rises to the top to eventually rule the nation. She doesn't know why she is the way she is. Starting as a toddler, she was raised 'normally' by her extended family, but memories must remain, implanted, imprinted, buried, but they are there, and they are available to her on a subconscious level. The few who know of these things keep their lips zipped in their 'wisdom.' Sure, some have told her 'things.' Some have even handed her papers and reports, but you have to ask yourself; would you believe it if those 'things' were about you? Think about it, your fame is rising, and a bizarre document turns up? Please! This a perfect example of truth being stranger than fiction.

Hillary (she only used the one name like Cher, Madonna or Prince) never admitted or commented on any ties to the Squishys, but she must have had been privy to information not public because before she passed away, she successfully spearheaded a plan and provided funding for the likeness of that statue at Arlington to be added to Mt. Rushmore.

### THE END

Special thanks to Bren Sedgwick for her book two contributions.

-The Editor

