

### THE ONLY THING THAT COUNTS

Published by Anthony van at Smashwords

Copyright Anthony Van 2012

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Chapter 1 – Reflection

Distorted slightly, the mirrored image in the old window spooked him a little as he cast a sideways glance. In the growing gloom, the glow of the monitor cast a surreal radiance upon his face, as if he were in contact with an alien device. As he sat there staring at his computer screen, he reflected on the events that had led up to this dangerous state of affairs.

Steve's mind raced back. How had he become involved? Secrets roiled, and a crowd of questions, like a huddle of bidding stock agents, vied for attention in his mind. There were reports of people dying, and a revelation just too mind boggling to grasp. The ramifications, too momentous to consider, were all pressing down on him like some huge weight. He ran his hand through his dishevelled, sandy hair and read the words on the screen again.

Steve backgrounded the curious trail that brought him to this pivotal decision. At what point had things contrived to involve him? He was trying to think of the first incident that had directed his steps to this critical situation. Was it just some random event, fate, or some giant hand that ordered the cosmos, which had led him to this juncture?

It had only been a few short weeks since his somewhat humdrum life had been thrown into turmoil. Here he was, a thirty-year-old man, feeling as though his world was becoming unstable, teetering. The immensity of events and the imminent need to make decisions along with his own feelings of inadequacy, all compounded to add to his gloom.

The office was darkened with the onset of evening, but Steve was oblivious to the passing of time as he mulled over the bizarre circumstances in which he had become entangled.

*****

He was a qualified biochemist and plant geneticist, having completed his degree part time three years previous. It would have been easier to do the whole course full time, but circumstances had required him to work at his father's plant nursery in the outer northern suburbs of the city. His mother had died while he was a teenager. His dad had suffered ill health for a long time after—all the while trying to keep the business running and raising three children. Neither his older brother John, who was a doctor living in the eastern suburbs, nor his sister Caz were interested in inheriting the business, so it had been left up to Steve to partner his dad.

'Good ol' Stephen Robert James', thought Steve. What had been a short stint of being a helping hand had turned into an all-consuming endeavour. His father had succumbed to heart disease early that year and left him trying to continue running the business with Jimmy, a young local, working full time. Anne and Sally, who were sort of permanent casuals, and Jodie, a friend of the family who came in when needed, made up the rest of the staff.

Steve jumped as his ruminations were interrupted by a loud clatter at the front of the store section. Some further rattling signalled the unlocking and opening of the tired, glass panelled door.

"You here, Steve?" It was Caz.

"Yeah, I'm in the office."

"Sorry for the racket. I dropped my keys and then the docket book fell," his sister said as she spilled the keys and book on the other chaotic desk. "Don't stay here too long Steve. You're always spending too much time in this place." She paused, waiting for some response, but none came so she went on.

"You need to get out and enjoy yourself a bit. There's a barbeque at David's place tonight. It wouldn't hurt you to socialise a bit," Caz cooed in her motherly fashion as she drew near.

She looked casually neat in tailored trousers and black woollen top with the collars of a crisp white shirt splayed over the open neckline. Steve quickly minimised the troublesome email, and left displayed some genetic lineages of plant cultures he'd been updating earlier.

"No, I've got a little bit to do, but I shouldn't be long."

"You always say that and then end up staying half the night." She paused with a look of concern. "Are you alright? You ought to give it a break."

"Yeah, I guess so," Steve offered, and Caz sighed a sort of 'what's the use' kind of sigh and continued.

"Anyway, I thought I'd come in for a short time and process a few invoices... and pay the Watson bill, and then I won't have to come in tomorrow. You don't mind do you?" she added.

"No, of course not; I'm grateful that you come in at all. It's a bit of an imposition on you, especially now."

"What, this?" she said incredulously tapping her belly, "I'm only four months and he....or she, is no trouble at all. I don't know what all the fuss is about. I quite enjoy being a human incubator," she continued, briefly rubbing his shoulders. Steve arched back into the massage which ceased just as he began to loosen up. "Anyway, let me get my work done. We're going out tonight so I need to get a move on."

Caz went to the other desk and cleared a space so she could settle down to work. She mumbled something about computerising the bookwork using a better program and then concentrated on her task, leaving Steve to resume his reverie.

Since his dad had died, Caz had helped with the financial records, transferring them onto computer— a task that had been long overdue— and trying to keep the business profitable. This was a great relief for Steve who hated the bookwork side of the business. He was much more interested in propagating plants from cellular tissue cultures, cuttings and seed, experimenting with developing hybrid strains and modifying plant features.

In fact his involvement with his cultures sometimes meant he slept the night on a bunk in the back room behind the office, rather than drive the ten minutes required to travel to the family home. A home in which he was the lone occupant. It wasn't just that he was alone; it was also the memories contained in the place, and its rambling size, that added to the oppression of the solitude.

Involuntarily Steve shivered. Although it was a chill October evening, the shiver had little to do with the temperature. He focused again on the email on the screen. It glowed more brightly in the fading light. The instructions were familiar to him now but he reread them anyway.

'... go to the service elevator in the basement. Press the 'B' button three times, Press the '1' button twice and then Press the 'B' button twice...'

It seemed weird the first time he had read them and it still verged on fictional farce in his mind. He thought to himself that maybe if it hadn't appeared so unreal— if he wasn't so curious—he would approach this problem more analytically.

His inquisitiveness now tantalised. He had to find out what this was all about. Maybe it was some sort of sick joke. If Steve hadn't been so curious he may have been more aware of the possible danger—or at least more cautious with his actions.

Why was he considering going? Did he need some sort of adventure and start taking risks to shake himself from his apathy? Steve's mind wondered again as he brooded over his meandering life.

When he came out of university he was so sure of himself. He would go into genetic research and make a name for himself developing dry land, disease resistant vegetables that would feed the world—or something like that. Steve smiled sardonically. It was all a bit hazy in his mind now. He was very tired and he stared in a dreamy trance as his thoughts wandered haphazardly.

He reflected, illogically, that his plans had definitely included marrying Angela.

They had known each other for years and had talked fondly. He had thought they had an understanding. It wasn't as if they had dated or anything, because, he reasoned, he had been busy with his studies. They had both been involved in the church youth group and that was probably the extent of their social interaction together. Angela, who was an attractive natural blonde, seemed to regularly gravitate to his side when they were at church. It was almost ironical, if it hadn't been so shattering, that on the day he was going to ask Angela out for a date, she came into church with her new boyfriend, Jeff, on her arm. For all his uncharitable wishes about Jeff, Steve reluctantly admitted to himself that not only was he relatively good looking, in a tall, dark sort of way, but he was a genuine guy in a 'what you see is what you get' style. Jeff was friendly and thoughtfully aware of Angela's close friendship with Steve and also seemed to understand his pain.

Steve recalled how he tried to withdraw honourably, but in truth he had often been sulking and morose in their company for most of the four years since. Jeff, Angela and he had become friendly acquaintances, although he still found himself occasionally envying Jeff, in his lower moments. And their recent wedding had renewed his depression and self-pity.

Again, he had to shake himself loose from his day dreaming. Was that the source of his recklessness? Was he being a bit self-destructive? The idea rattled him. The thought that he didn't care enough about his own future—his own safety—to try and preserve it at all costs, made him chew his lip distractedly.

But that wasn't the case, was it? It wasn't just about him. This dilemma hinged on issues greater than his personal safety. If his information was true, this was about basic things such as right and wrong, about protecting people and, maybe, nations; and bringing some kind of justice to bear on those guilty of betraying their countrymen. He knew he had to find out.

His meandering thoughts were broken by Caz leaving. She came

"Have to go Steve, didn't realise it's so late. Do you want the light on?"

"No, I'm right. Thanks for coming."

"Will we see you at church this week?"

"Probably, if nothing comes up," he replied, but avoided eye contact.

"Steve..." she hesitated and then avoided her inclination to berate his attitude.

"Don't stay too long," she growled half seriously, and then her face lit up as she left, "You'll get a pastoral visit if you're not careful," she quipped. Her exit coincided with her calling out, "See you," and then she went, the door slamming behind her.

Steve got up from the desk and paced around the dark office. The streetlights now showed brightly through the window. He hesitated and then bypassed the main light switch, turning on a small light in the kitchenette, considering its light sufficient for his movements. After getting his rather grimy coffee mug off the sink, Steve put in his customary measure of coffee and spoonful of sugar and then added the boiling water and milk. His mind was elsewhere again.

It had all begun with his interest in plant propagation.... He sat down and reran the events in his mind.

*****

Weeks earlier...

It had been a very wet Monday morning. Warm thunderstorm downpours had deteriorated into cold steady rain and Steve was pottering around the flowering pots replacing some of the stock that had been sold that weekend. Jimmy had told him that the warm weekend had brought out lots of customers and they probably needed to order some new stock. He would be able to tell how much after he had processed all the sale items and produced an updated stock list. So they both busied themselves, Steve renewing some of the stock from mature cuttings in the greenhouse and plants from the back storage area, and Jimmy tidying up receipts and the book work for Caz. Sally, who did the majority of the cashier work, dealt with a very occasional customer and tried to look busy behind the counter.

By early afternoon both men had finished their immediate tasks and Jimmy went home as there were no customers, and few were expected with the weather being so bad. Steve told him he'd call in Jodie if things picked up. So Jimmy left, grateful for the extra time added to his rostered two days off.

After getting Sally to begin setting up new displays, Steve went to his computer and started checking out some tissue culture sites. He was keen to read about some of the latest breakthroughs and research and he soon became absorbed in technical data.

Caz came in a little later that day and brought him some lunch before settling down to balancing the sales and cash. His sister had been called Caz for as long as he could remember. It was an affectionate name for Casey. She was always trying to look after him even though she was younger. She knew Steve wouldn't do anything about lunch and so as a matter of habit would bring in sandwiches or soup. Caz was two years younger than he but, unlike Steve, was very settled. She had a husband and two children, a boy at school, a girl at kindergarten and there was another child on the way.

By the time she was ready to go to the bank Steve was looking at his professional association site and hardly noticed her farewell. He checked out the job advertisements and some further updates on some issues he had been following when he noticed a tender advertisement for the supply of vegetable cell cultures of a range of vegetables. The list coincided with most of the vegetables he had done for the supply of seedlings in the vegetable section of the nursery. Steve smiled wryly at the 'seedling' misnomer. Perhaps he should refer to them as plant clones.

The advertisement was accompanied with an email address and Steve spent some time writing his expression of interest and detailing his expertise and ability to meet the stipulated requirements.

Halfway through his cogitations a delivery truck arrived unexpectedly. The distraction took him to the main shed.

"Where do you want it?"

"Just dump it here," was his blunt reply while he waited impatiently, a little annoyed at himself; and then he signed the delivery docket.

Back in the office he was quickly on the phone. "Jodie, could you come in and sort out some deliveries? I'm halfway through a tender I want to send off quickly." He waited as Jodie explained that she wouldn't be long and then asked why Jimmy wasn't there.

"I forgot about the delivery and let him go early," confessed Steve sheepishly.

The afternoon had regressed to cold and showery, and he was still working on the tender when Jodie popped in to tell him of her arrival. She came over to scrutinise the tender, always inquisitive about Steve's work, when Angela came into the office.

"Hi Steve, hi Jodie," Angela greeted lightly.

"Hello Angela, what can we do for you?" asked Steve, a little too upbeat, which made it sound a trifle false.

"Well I was wondering if you have any of those plant hole-diggers we could borrow. We're planting a whole lot of natives next weekend."

"Sure," replied Steve, refraining from saying something politically incorrect about planting 'natives' and continued with a hint of a grin, "Jodie, will you get that for Angela?" And as an afterthought he added, "And you can keep it. I never did get around to giving you two a wedding present."

"Oh, thank you Steve," smiled Angela and Steve felt himself getting uncomfortable.

"This way Ange," said Jodie as she ushered her out the door.

Between trying to make notes about the tender and ruminating about whether his affection for Angela had ever been more than friendship, or appreciating her quiet caring nature and her obvious attractiveness, Steve doodled a fanciful flowchart regarding possible directions for his life. He was just at a point where a number of branches were appearing: a) go back to uni and do research and do his doctorate, b) Take up offers from his professor to lecture at the university, c) Sell the business and work for a big agri-corporation, d) Status quo...

For 'e)' he had put two question marks when he ran out of ideas and then quirkily wrote 'None of the above.' He smiled and chewed the end of the pencil before returning to more concrete tasks.

About an hour later a weary, dishevelled Jodie came back. Her face was grimy, her overalls dusty and her dark hair lank from the intermittent rain. Her mood seemed slightly testy as she detailed what she had done with the supplies.

"I've put most of the bags and bottles in the equipment shed. I wouldn't try the storage shed, it's a mess. I brought some of the pesticides into the shop since we're just about out." Steve looked up and then suddenly felt guilty as he realised that he'd left Jodie to do all the work, and he considered what heavy lifting was needed to shift the delivery.

"Oh, Gee, I'm sorry Jodie; I shouldn't have left you with all that lifting. Jimmy can stack the shop later." A little mollified Jodie softened her gaze.

"You look distracted. You're not still thinking of Angela are you?"

His head jerked up, "What do you mean?... no, no of course not. I'm involved in this tender." It sounded a little unconvincing, even to him.

She then gave Steve a short lecture about forgetting about Angela and getting on with his life, as only a good friend could. Jodie left rolling her eyes at Steve's protestations.

"We were only ever just friends. I mean, I don't even know what you're talking about. She's just a friend." There was no-one there to hear his final feeble comments.

Steve put his head down and addressed the requirements of the contract submission before him.

Late that day the tender was finished. He paused a minute at the thought of what Jodie had said. Something about not just marking time but making his life more meaningful, or perhaps more purposeful would be more accurate. 'I guess I have felt sorry for myself,' he thought. 'Too much business and no social life, but I can change that,' he contended, and then considered the incongruity of contemplating recreation as he sent the email in an effort to get more business.

Chapter 2 – The Contract

The following week was reasonably busy and Steve only occasionally checked his email for a reply to his submission. On Thursday the weather was unseasonably warm and Steve found himself in the office with a can of soft drink discussing the placement of a new greenhouse with Jimmy.

"If we build behind the potting shed there's enough room for another medium size, climate control shed."

"What do we do with all the stuff?" asked Jimmy.

"What stuff?" said Steve draining his can.

Jimmy paused and lobbed his empty can into the small bin. "Three points!" he exulted with both arms raised and then continued as if transported back to reality. "There are a whole lot of old pallets, fertilizer bags and pots back there. Haven't you seen all that junk?"

"Oh, right," said Steve as he remembered his habit of hiding stuff behind the shed thinking it may come in useful one day. "Order a dumpster and we'll get it carted away."

"I don't believe it."

"What?"

"That you're finally going to clean that junk up."

Steve stopped briefly, then with mock seriousness, "This is the new decisive me. I'm purposeful, I've got direction."

Jimmy ignored Steve's over dramatised claims, as he frequently did, so as not to encourage him. "You want me to do that now, or shall I stack it up first?"

"No, order the dumpster now and we'll load as we clean. It'll save time putting the stuff straight in."

Jimmy was just about to pick up the phone when it rang. He made a wide eyed face, "Whoa that's spooky," he uttered using a gravel voice, trying to be humorous. Then picked up the phone and answered in the same raspy vein before correcting himself. "Sunset Nursery...er um sorry... Sunset Nursery, Jimmy speaking." He listened for a few seconds and then held out the phone.

"It's for you. I'll make that call later." And he left Steve to answer the phone.

"Steven James?"

"Yes, what can I do for you?"

"Well Steven, we like your tender for vegetable cultures and I thought I'd contact you and sort a few things out."

"Well that's great," said Steve enthusiastically, feeling pleased with himself. "Why don't you just email me the details and then I can give you a firm quote."

"I'd rather talk to you personally if you don't mind."

"No, not at all, er when would you like to come around?" Steve gave a concerned glance around at the messy office wondering how much time he'd have to clean up.

"Isn't there a coffee shop not far from there?"

"Um there's one about half a k up the road called 'Inn for Coffee' and there's another one about 2 k up the road."

"No, the first one... 'Inn for Coffee'...why don't we meet there tomorrow at, say, eleven a.m. and we'll talk over a coffee."

"Okay, that sounds like a great idea," said Steve, feeling relieved at not having to worry about cleaning up. Then suddenly, clarifying his thoughts, he blurted, "Wait! What's your name? How will I know you?"

"My name's Paul. I'll be wearing a..." he paused momentarily, "a green tie." Click. He'd hung up.

He called Jodie. Her cheery voice responded to his call and she said she was happy to come in on Friday.

Jodie explained that her Biology degree in plant genetics was almost complete, so she would be available for a bit more work in the short term.

"I'm just proofing my final paper. It will be good to get it finished and handed in."

Steve was sure they would miss her invaluable contributions to the propagation side of the business when she left for more rewarding returns and said as much.

"I don't know what I'll do when you're gone," he offered and then thought to himself, 'It was just as well that she was winding up her university studies for the year, since he was committed to his meeting with Paul, and he didn't always want to fall back on Jimmy. After a short silence Jodie replied with a questioning inflection, "When I'm gone?"

"Well, I guess you'll want a real job once you're qualified."

"Oh... yes," was the uncertain response. Steve felt he was saying something wrong but proceeded, hoping to explain himself.

"I mean, I couldn't afford to pay you what you're worth."

"I understand. I'll see you Friday."

Steve heard the connection close. "I think I missed something there," he mused barely audibly.

*****

Energising rays of deliciously warming, morning sunshine streamed through the window of the office and heated his back. It was Friday and Steve was mulling over his somewhat clandestine rendezvous. He had the same silly grin on his face that he got when his mind was entertaining the implausible or ridiculous. It was then Jodie came in dressed casually in jeans, white sneakers and black tee-shirt.

Jodie Brandon was twenty six and an extremely attractive girl with long dark hair and dancing bright blue eyes. She had been a friend of his family for a long time and Steve treated her as his little sister. Many times in his younger days their two families would spend Sunday afternoons together. Jodie had always been friends with Caz and, in the past, her sister Jamie would mostly follow them both around. As they got older the five children—John, Steve, Caz, Jodie and Jamie—would amuse themselves as the adults talked. In their teenage years it became more about the church youth group and Steve had gravitated towards Angela. Jodie had taken on some leadership responsibilities and thereafter, to his mind, she had faded into the background.

Since she had started working with him he had admired the way she encouraged Jimmy to visit their church, but he sometimes resented her half serious scolding when work had intruded on his Sundays. The fact that she was much pursued by hopeful suitors completely escaped his attention. In truth, he hadn't really noticed that she'd grown up; which says something about the distractions he'd had over the previous years. There was his preoccupation with his studies, his unrequited affection for Angela and his almost obsessive involvement with the business.

She paused at the doorway and tilted her head inquisitively. He still had the grin.

"What's so funny?"

"What, oh sorry, I was just thinking about meeting a green tie instead of a red carnation."

"What?"

Steve looked at Jodie's nonplussed response. An expression which quickly changed from 'What the...' to 'You dope...' when it dawned on her that he was using a typically abstract tone.

"Sorry, I was thinking about a business meeting I'm having this morning."

"You mean the meeting. Jimmy told me you were all excited about a vegetable culture deal. Do you know what they want?"

"Not exactly, but a fair idea... just a list of specifications for hardiness and resistance and high density foliage, and they have a very short timeline to work with. We probably need about 200 trays. So if you get any time today, there are a whole lot of dishes and nutrients to prepare." Steve watched as Jodie started making a coffee.

"Do you want one?" she asked.

"No thanks. I'm going out for coffee." Jodie raised her eyebrows as if in shock.

"You're going out for coffee!"

"With the man in the green tie..." Steve smiled and left the office pleased with the level of intrigue he had created.

He drove off in his old Toyota and a few minutes later pulled up outside the quaint 'Inn for Coffee', which seemed to want to convey a 'Ye Olde World' charm. Brick paving fronted the café, and some tables under umbrellas and a large plane tree added to the trendy setting. A light breeze rustled the new leaves of the tree and feathered his face pleasantly.

The bell jingled metallically as he entered and a number of customers glanced up at the intruder who would dare disturb their quiet caffeinated bliss. At first Steve thought he had preceded his 'green tie' appointment. He was about to sit at a vacant table, when his eyes became more accustomed to the comparatively weak lighting and he noticed a table near the rear of the café. Paul was looking intently at him as if sizing him up. The green tie was a noticeable lime green, but everything else about Paul was quite unremarkable. He was average height and weight with wispy blond hair starting to bald on top. Yet his face was almost juvenile, with a certain youthfulness and positive energy. Steve made his way to the back, "Paul?" he inquired uncertainly. Paul stood up confidently and held out his hand.

"You must be Steve." They shook. "Sit down and we'll order and then we'll get down to business," he continued in an unmistakeable American accent.

Steve noted the casual pale shirt and tan slacks along with a subdued academic quality about him. Steve ordered a cappuccino and appropriately sweetened it to his taste, while Paul was content with a flat white, unadulterated. They made small talk as they waited for their orders.

"So how did you get involved in plant cultures?" Paul ventured.

Steve briefly explained his education and qualifications. Soon however, the company being so affable, he found himself explaining about his early high ideals and the inheritance of the plant nursery business. Paul listened politely and Steve suddenly stopped. "I'm sorry Paul. You don't want to hear my life story."

"No, I don't mind. It's nice to know you actually enjoy what you do... bit of background never hurt a business deal you know." Steve acknowledged the comment with a nod as their drinks arrived.

"Tell me, what can I do for you?" began Steve.

"Well, basically I need a fairly broad range of plants..." he fumbled in a small satchel and pulled out two sheets of neatly typed and tabulated lists. "They're all on here," he said handing over the sheets. While Steve perused the lists, Paul continued, "We're interested in high foliage vegetables with reasonable productivity. And these need to be supplied as cell cultures to minimize storage and ease transportation." He waited as Steve studied the list and then took out a pen. "Can I write on this?" he queried Paul with an upward glance.

"Sure, I have another hard copy at the office. That's yours. I can email the list for your use if you like."

"So, I take it this is not for local use," Steve observed as he marked some potato variety on the list. Paul didn't respond to the question as Steve made eye contact, instead he changed the direction of the conversation.

"We'd like to pay a reasonable portion of the tender fee up front to show our good faith." He again felt around his satchel and produced a substantial cheque. As he handed it to Steve he commented, "Don't worry, we've done our research. We believe we can trust you to complete the order as required. But I need you to sign this receipt," he added while pushing across what looked like a well-used docket book.

After briefly reading and signing the page Steve carefully folded the cheque and put it in a compartment in his wallet.

"Well, I appreciate your trust, Paul, as you could probably guess, I will sub contract a number of these plants, so a healthy bank balance makes all that a lot easier."

After marking off one final plant variety, Steve sipped at his cappuccino and peered over his cup at Paul.

"So what is the main thrust of your work Paul?"

Paul seemed to compose himself and gave a very studied reply.

"Well, we need large amounts of identical plants to ratify our research. It's quite academic of course, but it will involve a close monitoring of nutrient input and CO2 conversion." He gave a slightly forced laugh, "You know how important it is to establish the integrity and reliability of your research results."

"So you'll have sealed units." Paul nodded warily. "And are you using lamps to establish energy input?" Steve was probing.

"Both. We want to do a comparative with natural lighting as well. You see..." and then Paul suddenly pulled himself up realising he was enthusing too much. "But I won't bore you with any more technical details."

Paul took a long sip of his coffee. It was apparent to Steve that he was being very guarded about the purpose and use of the plant products they had negotiated. Of course this was not uncommon among researchers who were often very protective of any developmental work. In fact, with many scientists, security was usually a key consideration until after publication. Their main aim was to avoid being trumped by some competitor and be first to obtain commercial patents, or at least intellectual ownership of some process.

After a few moments of quiet reflection on what had passed between them Paul spoke.

"Steve, it's really important that you can meet these delivery dates. You'll contact me if there is any problem won't you?"

"Yes, certainly, but I don't foresee any problems. We have many of these in stock ready to do the tissue cell propagation. I'll probably start on it right away, and we have enough time to verify the viability of the cultures." Steve tried to alleviate any fears Paul might have and suddenly felt he'd been too effusive. 'Why didn't I just say Yeah that won't be a problem,' Steve thought to himself. And then obscurely added, 'Me thinks he protesteth too much,' as he became aware that Paul was reiterating something.

"So Sunday the twelfth is right for delivery?" Paul looked at Steve.

Suddenly Steve hesitated. "Is the twelfth a Sunday?"

"Is that a problem? It has to be on time!" Paul seemed to be about to rise and amplify the point when he regathered himself and settled a little, though still strained in an attentive lean.

"Well, it's strange I know, but we're one of the few plant nurseries not usually open on Sundays. Would it be a problem if I delivered on Saturday the eleventh? I mean, I could do it on the Sunday if necessary."

Paul relaxed noticeably and responded with a smile. "No, no, I understand. I'm Southern Baptist myself, no, Saturday is fine." Paul held up his hand in deference and Steve felt a little more congenial toward him as he explained.

"Well it is my custom to attend church, but my father felt more strongly about it than I do, so I guess I just do what he did in respect," Steve tailed off, thinking that of late he had been quite irregular. He knew 'his custom' was, in truth, mostly about appearances. People he knew expected him to do the 'right thing' and so he did, without any real convictions about what he believed. It was just more comfortable to be with familiar friends.

"No, it's fine. In fact it's good," Paul affirmed. "I used to regard Sundays more than I do these days, so I understand how important it can be. We should talk about it one day. Be great just to discuss something apart from the temporary and material. You know," he tilted his head, "spiritual... It's a sure thing I don't get the chance much these days. My dad used to say, 'The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love.' I think it's a verse..." thinking for a second he then added, "I'm glad you believe...I need to be reminded about what's important." He stared blankly just briefly as his thoughts drifted off on a tangent, before reconcentrating on the task at hand. He went on, "Anyway, it just means you have one less day."

They finished their coffees with Paul giving a brief history of some of his time in Texas and both relating more as friends than business acquaintances. Almost abruptly, it seemed as if he had just realised the time, Paul stood up, put five dollars from his wallet on the table, and then held out his hand. He gave Steve a firm shake. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you Steven, as they say. I'll be in touch to see how things are going." He smiled and left the café.

Steve suddenly thought about this strange meeting and felt at a distinct disadvantage. He quickly deposited his own five dollars on the table as the waitress moved towards him with a tray. He folded and pocketed the sheets of paper and strode out of the shop. Paul was just driving away in a late model Ford, giving a small salute as he left. Steve jumped in his car and headed off in the same direction. His interest had been so stirred that instead of going back to Sunset Nursery, he followed Paul as inconspicuously as he could. It wasn't long before he saw Paul's car turning left into the highway ahead.

Steve mused on what had instigated this pursuit of his. He replayed the events in his head muttering, "What are you up to Paul?" He recalled Paul providing some obscure comments about his research needing pure identical strains of plants. How his demeanour was one of someone trying to conceal a high level of excitement about what he was doing. His failure to sound matter of fact when confirming and then emphasising the importance of adhering to the arranged schedule was also a little 'over the top' for a 'normal' business arrangement.

Now on the highway Steve remained about one hundred metres behind the Ford, a little disquieted at the recollection of his words, "I'm glad you believe...the only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love." He was now even more aware of the charade he was playing to his family and friends. What did he believe? What was he committed to? He accelerated to get through a set of traffic lights and went past just as the amber turned red. His foot over compensated on the brakes as he rapidly converged on Paul's turning vehicle. The wheels locked momentarily sounding a tell-tale squeal, before Steve was aware enough to pump the brake and allow a smoother deceleration. He hoped Paul hadn't been alerted to his indiscretion, as he considered the difficulty of explaining his current actions. Beyond this hope, he was even more thankful that he wasn't driving the work van which was labelled 'Sunset Nursery'.

Chapter 3 – Twisted Mind, Strange Encounters

Paul had swung into a service road on the left parallel to the highway. It bordered a medium sized industrial park. There were mainly light industry and technology based companies operating on the various premises. He passed a specialised printing works, a distributor of optical instruments and a building signed 'Byting Data' representing the ubiquitous software corporation. The businesses mostly were fronted by neat gardens, and looked modern and up market. There were cars and vans and a number of people obviously going about their business.

He saw Paul turn left ahead and slowed down to delay his arrival. The last thing he wanted now was to stumble around the corner and bump into Paul. His skewed thought patterns were already creating the scenario: 'Oh hi, I was just in the area... oh nice place...' He shook himself. 'Did other people have this problem,' he wondered, always entertaining the ridiculous. Then again other people wouldn't stalk a client to his place of business on some whim, or imagined impropriety. The roadway here was quiet, being away from the adjoining service road there were no cars or people.

Steve pulled over to the kerb and walked to the corner. Not far down the side street, Paul's car was parked before an unexceptional looking medium sized, multi storey building, with a sign on the lawn stating 'Horizon Earth Sciences'. This seemed to be Paul's destination. On the left of the building there was a driveway that, beyond a chain link fence, appeared to dip and enter a basement car park. The site itself was older and less well kept than the other establishments he had passed. Steve approached cautiously, when he heard a door slam around the corner on the far right side of the building. He hesitated, briefly considering what he was doing. Wasn't it enough that he now knew the mysterious company he was dealing with? He now knew where Paul worked. His mind raced. Maybe it was because of the minimal information he had received. Or maybe it was the feeling that this place was quite unlike any of the plant development and propagation facilities he knew of. It just didn't look right.

He glanced tentatively around the corner. Behind the multi storey frontage there was a big factory like structure. Looking past this he could see a rundown barbwire fence much farther along, indicating where the road ended. The area was sullen, even eerie. The whole section was paved concrete, interspersed with stringy clumps of weed. If anything, the factory seemed disused, slightly dilapidated, compared to the other buildings he had gone by that were clearly occupied and operating.

This back driveway provided access to a large loading bay. It was closed up by two large mechanical doors which rolled into place. There were a few pallets and drums, some parking spaces and the side door next to the loading bay. Feeling that he had avoided detection, Steve went to the door and tried the handle. It was unlocked. He opened it carefully, concerned that it might squeak, or that Paul might be just inside. Through the gap in the doorway he saw the glow of a floor indicator from an elevator some distance away. It was flashing the descend symbol.

He stepped inside. Steve surveyed all around, trying to take a steadying breath. His thudding heart briefly unnerved him. The cavernous building was in semi darkness. Some light emanated from the occasional sky light in the roof and lesser glimmers came from green glowing exit signs along the main building wall. The quiet reassured him and he quickly gained confidence. He assumed Paul had gone in the elevator and, with an air of recklessness, decided to pursue. He was already constructing some explanation for his actions... 'You had just left when I realised I wanted to ask you...WHAT?... and so I followed you...' He couldn't think of the 'what' he had to ask about. Maybe it would spring to mind under pressure. He could possibly try to interest them in some new disease resistant strains. He'd go with that unless a better excuse turned up.

Even with sneakers Steve's footsteps echoed alarmingly, and he jumped involuntarily when a sparrow flew across his path. The lowest symbol on the elevator indicated the basement of the main building. He paused before going to press the button. This action would reveal his presence to anyone near the lift doors on any level.

A wave of nausea passed over Steve. What was he doing? Was he being rational? How would this appear to a valued customer? How would other customers respond if they heard about his bizarre behaviour? He became aware of a chill sweat soaking his shirt and quickly back peddled to the side door. He could get out and there would be no harm done.

While glancing over his shoulder in his hasty retreat he crashed into something with a loud bang! Steve had run into an empty drum just near the doorway. It spun noisily on an invisible eccentric axis, turning for ages. Like a slow motion replay everything seemed magnified before he could move himself into action and steady it. Then he froze and listened. Relief; there was only the regained quiet and the distant muffled traffic sound from the highway.

Steve eased himself out the door and quickly around to the front of the building. Stopping, he groaned inwardly. He gazed at the windows for any sign of movement. If anyone had been in any of the offices adjacent to the roadway, they would certainly have noticed him skulking up and down the street. What was he thinking? His mind catalogued the status of his misadventure. 'If Paul was the only one in the building, and if he went down to the basement and nowhere else, and if he didn't hear the racket I made. Then everything is okay.' Steve went around the corner, got in the car and quickly drove off.

He muttered to himself; "That's a few 'ifs'," and then shook his head slowly. A broad grin appeared on his face as he enjoyed how amazingly alive he felt.

"Steve, I don't think subterfuge is your game," was his audible critique.

He drove back, deep in thought, but with that lingering smile. 'So what if my customers are a little secretive. So what if they work from large, empty factories. So what if they're a little peculiar... some might say the same about me after today. At least they pay their accounts.'

After a short time he pulled into the plant nursery. Sally was on lunch break. Jimmy was eating his lunch behind the counter in the shaded veranda and customer walk-through area. There were two people standing at the counter with trolleys containing plants. Jimmy quickly put his salad roll down. He grinned when he saw Steve slowly shake his head as he walked past.

Inside the office, Steve put down the specifications sheet on the desk. Taking out his wallet he examined the cheque he had been given. It was a plain bank cheque. With no company name or account, there were still no obvious clues about the background of his mysterious client. He carefully transferred the cheque to the cash box and then sat at the computer.

Firstly, he searched for 'Horizon Earth Sciences' and was a little mystified when nothing quite matched his search. After several dead ends he grumbled, talking to himself about trying later, and then checked his email. True to his word Paul had already sent a message with an attachment.

'Steve,

Here are the details for the plant tender (attached). Hope everything goes

smoothly.

PS Some factories have security cameras

Paul

His fist thudded against his forehead 'Good grief, what a dope he must think I am. Cameras!'

He continued to castigate himself while he transferred the attachments into his work files on the computer. "If somebody gave you a brain it would be lonely. You dope, dope, dope." He grumbled again as he used the heel of his hand to impress the message through his forehead. His disquiet continued as Steve printed out two copies of the order. One he pinned on the notice board and the other he stapled to the cheque after writing on the back of it, 'Horizon Earth Sciences?'

Jodie came in looking a little hot and flustered as she brushed some wayward dark strands of hair away from her face with a gloved hand. She became a little more aggravated when she noticed Steve's grin. "What have you been up to?" he asked.

"Let me see," she began deliberately. "First I put on the sprinklers in the greenhouses and then watered the display plants. I tidied the office... didn't you notice the difference?" she added feigning offence. "And I've spent the last half hour collecting trays and nutrient gel from what you call a storage shed, but I can think of some other names for it."

"Jodie!" Steve pretended to be shocked.

Jodie continued with a hand on her hip trying to maintain her irritation, but unable resist a smirk. "Like tip, or dump or disaster area. Anyway, I don't know where all these supplies are supposed to be, but I could only dig up about a third of what we need."

Now Steve was a little shame-faced. "Sorry, I forgot all about the 'Nugro' order I did last month. That used up most of the gel. I'll ring for supplies right away."

Steve rang, ordering in numerous tubes and nutrient medium, while Jodie slumped in a chair, watching him complete his phone call.

"I'll do the paperwork for the order and fax it if you like," Jodie offered as she made her way to the computer.

"Thanks, would you like a drink?" asked Steve

"Yes please," she returned gratefully. He took two cans out of the old fridge and placed one next to Jodie at the computer already immersed in her task, as he grabbed the list off the notice board.

"I may as well start on this." And made his way to the preparation shed. He set about preparing the plant culture dishes with the trays and gel available.

Jodie came out and helped with selecting the required plants from the greenhouse. She used a copy of the list and then labelled trays ready for the preparation of the plants. As they worked she questioned the origin of the order. What had happened at the café? Steve noted her interest in Paul and the meeting they'd had. He described him as 'different from the usual customer' and then found he had to elaborate with physical description and some details of what had transpired.

After mentioning Paul's comment about his 'Southern Baptist' origins Jodie looked him in the eye, paused as if weighing up something significant and quickly changed tack. "Steve, I don't mean to be on your case all the time, but are you coming to church this Sunday?"

"Yeah, probably..."

"You've said that the last several weeks, but never quite make it." Her comment was more a statement of fact than a reproof.

"Has it been that long? I have had a fair bit of work, and ...well, maybe I have been a bit slack," he confessed.

"David is doing an interesting series on 'Making your Faith Real', so how about I pick you up at 9:30."

She was determined he thought.

"It's okay, I can drive myself."

"If I pick you up I know you'll be there," she laughed.

So it was arranged, she would pick him up Sunday morning.

It had been a long day and they were still preparing dishes when Jimmy came in and said that he was staying on to do the Friday evening shift. He explained that Anne, one of the regular casuals, was sick. Seeing that Jodie and Steve were still busily finishing off, he told them he was ordering pizza for everyone and went off to meet Ben and Jillian the two casuals on that night.

They had an animated time over their meal of pizza and soft drink. Jodie telling tales of slave labour, Jimmy providing imaginative excuses for why he hadn't started cleaning the storage room, and Steve owning up to his comical exploits of the day by introducing his story with, "Have you ever wished you didn't act on one of those 'spur of the moment' decisions. They all had a hearty laugh at his expense, but he felt somehow a little closer for having shared his embarrassment. Steve left the two of them cleaning up as he had an early start the next day. Being Saturday, it was their busiest day, and he was usually there with the casual staff as Jimmy and Jodie rarely worked Saturdays.

The journey home was quiet. He drove in a distracted daze along the final kilometre up the increasingly sloping tree lined street to the old family home. His wandering mind would have caused a considerable annoyance had there been any car travelling in the same direction behind him, as he drove much slower than the recommended speed. He turned into the leafy driveway and stopped before the large wooden garage doors.

Once outside the car he stared at the tall gabled roof. Stairs led to a large decking area across the whole front of the house. The garage was underneath one end of the decking which provided the main access to the large front door. As well as the spacious main floor there were rooms in the considerable roof-space behind the gables. He couldn't talk himself into selling it, but it was too big and empty for one person. His attachment to the place stemmed from his childhood, because it was home and it was familiar and friendly, but in his lower moods it could be a lonely place with a forlorn atmosphere and, in a strange contradiction, too many fond memories.

Once inside, he grabbed a fleeting look at the news on TV and then went upstairs to relax in a hot shower. With the grime of the day removed Steve made himself a coffee, sat down and read some professional periodicals. He then went to bed. His thoughts twisted through unconnected spirals. Where was his work leading him? What were his ultimate goals? How important was money or a successful business to him? He tossed and turned and his questions changed direction. Why did he harbour the 'what ifs' about Angela? Couldn't he admit that his 'grand plan' was misconceived? Was it pride? Was he ever going to have a meaningful relationship with a girl? His mind train switched again as he rolled on to his stomach. Where did he fit in the great scheme of things? Why did others seem so interested in his church attendance? Why did it seem such a chore to him? Was he really going this Sunday?

His last coherent construction had something to do with avoiding eating spicy pizzas if you want a good night's sleep.

*****

Saturday morning and Steve was at work early. He went over the dockets of the night's trading, put out the signs, opened the gates and was coming back to set the sprinkler timers when Sally arrived. She was a delightful, largish girl who was always smiling, always helping and highly competent. He opened the shop area for her when Anne arrived. Anne was slim and more serious than Sally, though usually pleasant. She capably set about watering the display plants before moving some flowering varieties near the entrance. It was a very busy morning and dealing with customers and answering queries took all of their time. Steve didn't lock up until five that afternoon, although he advertised closing time as 3pm. He knew Mondays and Tuesdays were usually quiet so he wasn't fussed.

That night he was on his home computer when another email arrived from Paul. A churning feeling stirred in the pit of Steve's stomach as he read these words:

Steve,

Something terrible is happening. I don't know who to trust. I have emailed stateside but the people I know I can trust would be powerless to do anything. I don't even know how secure my emails are. You're the only local who may be able to help.

Firstly, it may be apparent to you by now that I work at a highly secret research establishment. We have numerous scientific projects aimed at developing self-contained biological environments using plants and micro-organisms. The stated aims of our group are entirely for the public good.

Today, sheerly by accident, I learned of a project running in our microbiology department that has no benefits for humanity. In short, they have produced a virus. I have attached the information I happened upon. We will have to collaborate to expose this thing before it's too late. I'll try and investigate who is responsible as carefully as I can, and what our options are. If you could use your contacts to find a way to counteract the virus it might give us an edge. This scheme comes from high up so we both need to take care. I already have some suspicions....Will contact you again soon....Careful who you trust.

Paul

Steve read the lab reports and technical sheets sent by Paul and it was sinister news. The attachment outlined the development of a highly contagious and deadly short-term virus. Apparently the virus was being worked on to synthesise some pharmaceutical. However, the first genetic manipulation had resulted in the death of lab rats kept in the sealed unit for the very purpose of testing for exposure to biological hazards. Tests ceased briefly before being taken up by a special team. They reported that a neurotoxin had been produced as a by-product. Subsequent pages then detailed a series of manipulations that altered the viability of the virus. The appendix had specific descriptions of its genetic makeup, viral strain and its sensitivity to temperature specifically designed to break down upon the death of the victim. After a matter of twenty four hours the virus organisms would be dead along with the human casualty, assuming the victim had cooled to room temperature.

Steve wondered if he could ring someone at the university where he did some of his post grad work. One of the microbiology professors maybe could help. He needed some support, but he also needed more information, some concrete evidence. He tried a return mail to Paul's email saying much the same, but it was undeliverable.

Chapter 4 - Reality

It had not been a restful sleep. His mind had traversed a maze of possibilities, of courses of action to respond to this strange threat. Was it real? Who in authority was involved? What was the nature of the research in the first place? All these unknowns invaded his thinking as he tossed and turned, before he eventually succumbed to disturbed bouts of sleep. And then finally, after a harrowing night, he awoke on Sunday morning tired, with no clear plan. When the radio alarm began Steve was halfway to getting out his 'comfy' house clothes. It was then he recalled the arrangement to attend church and promptly changed tack. He was barely ready when a car horn sounded. In the driveway was Jodie in her not new, but well kept, sporty looking blue Volkswagen, and Jimmy was sitting next to her. 'Jodie had obviously been working overtime this week in the proselytising department,' thought Steve as Jimmy vacated the front seat and held the backrest forward to enable him to fold himself into the back seat. He was a little put out that he wasn't allocated a front seat, but then begrudgingly admired the fact that Jodie had succeeded in inviting Jimmy along.

She seemed to exercise her faith as a natural part of her life. He, on the other hand, had packaged it as one part of his life. When he was younger it was something to do on weekends, people to hang out with. On occasions he'd tried the devotional route, but it was empty ritual, and his struggles through 'holy writ' were only so he could say he had. Now, however, he felt safely ensconced in the 'Christian environment'.

They were all fairly casually dressed since that's the sort of relaxed church it was. The laid back atmosphere had been set by David, the Pastor. He often emphasised the need to be the person you are, at church as well as work, so there was a variety of outfits and characters in the congregation.

Jodie seemed quite pleased with herself in an unpretentious sort of way and he was about to comment that she might need a bus soon when Jimmy spoke.

"So, Jodie tells me that you've been going to this church for years."

"Yes, though probably not as regularly as I could lately. I thought you knew," Steve replied.

"Well, it sort of makes sense now, what with not opening Sundays and stuff." He then added, "I wasn't going to come, but Jodes said you were coming so I thought, what the heck, I might learn something."

Jimmy's remarks made Steve a little uncomfortable. He had known him for a little while now and yet Jimmy didn't know about something that, supposedly, should be very important to Steve. Also, whether he liked it or not his life affected the lives of others, and he realised that could be for good or ill. So, for the first time in a while he wondered about purpose and direction for his life. "...It's good to be reminded about what's important." was how Paul put it, and he squirmed a little at his troubling introspection.

Jodie glanced in the mirror and caught a glimpse of Steve in his unusually subdued mood.

The service was discomforting as well. The text in Romans about 'living sacrifices' and 'proving the will of God' was reiterated a number of times, contrasting the meaninglessness of secular achievements with the purposeful life guided by the 'Divine Will'. Steve reflected on his self-absorption with his studies, with his misguided interest in Angela and more recently with the business and his plant-culture research. Jimmy sat next to him and was totally absorbed in what David was saying. For a while Steve was tuned in and mentally assented to the message. At some point when the message seemed to be speaking directly to him he pulled his thoughts away. The last words he half heard were "...be transformed by the renewing of your mind..." but his mind was going somewhere else. Steve was now preoccupied, rehashing a flow chart of ideas. 'Someone had developed a highly contagious virus. The notes Paul had sent said the virus (or the toxin it produced) was considered extremely dangerous, probably leading to almost instant death. There was also the information that the virus expired with the loss of body heat due to the decease of the victim.'

The conclusion that Steve was reaching was ominous. It was not going to be used for just a terrorist attack but as a weapon where locations and territory can be claimed and occupied at the demise of the victims and the virus. Maybe it was to take over military establishments, ships or communication facilities. If it were true, the possibilities were horrible. But it may be nothing. Paul might be mistaken. He hoped there was some benign story behind it all.

Steve's contemplations were abruptly broken as everyone stood to sing. The service was soon ended and there was a general murmur and movement. Gradually it progressed to lively conversation and discussion, with a bit of banter among some of the younger members.

He met a number of old acquaintances after the service and Caz and John were there too. Caz had a strange smirk as she greeted them and after some small talk she and Jodie walked off and had a bit of a giggle. Steve imagined their interaction may have included a congratulatory comment or two. Jodie went over and greeted her family and there were hugs all around and some teasing from her sister Jamie about something. He spoke to Jeff and felt that the more he got to know him the more likely it was that they could become good friends. He introduced Jimmy and the three talked about plants and Jeff thanked him for the hole-digger. The pastor came over as Jodie joined them again. He chatted cordially for a while and left inviting them over for tea later in the week. Steve awkwardly expressed his uncertainty saying he would get back to him. Jodie gave him a quizzical look as though she was trying to read his thoughts.

On the way back to Steve's place they decided to pull into a fast food outlet and have lunch. They bought their meals, which for Steve was his usual burger and fries, while Jodie and Jimmy were a little more imaginative, and healthy. Sitting out in the sun it seemed to Steve that all was well with the world, maybe Paul's information really was just a big misunderstanding. Maybe it was a piece of speculative research, an exercise in dealing with a threat scenario.

"You seem a bit distant today," Jodie observed when Jimmy was picking up a second course. "Is everything all right?"

For some reason he couldn't just deny his unease to Jodie so he side stepped the question by being ambiguous. "I'm just sorting through a few issues."

"Anything I can help you with?" she looked at him over her juice. He became aware of the blueness of her eyes staring at him.

"No, no thanks. I need to do some thinking and maybe things will fall into place."

"Okay," she said softly, seeming a little deflated. After an awkward wait Steve tried to rescue the situation.

"So tell me, are you available to come to work a bit more now, studies finished and all, and what with this new order."

"I guess so. Why don't you ring if you don't need me, since it's so busy?"

"That's a good idea. And we can start on the cell cultures tomorrow."

"Uh uh," she nodded, "Although you could take tomorrow off. It's usually pretty quiet Mondays and you did work on the weekend. Besides, I can handle the cultures. I'm a qualified scientist now," she added with a hint of smugness.

*****

That was yesterday. Jodie's grinning face faded from his memory. Now things were different. He rubbed his face to clear his foggy delirium. Now he was confronted with the terrible twist of events that had him thrown to the forefront of a crisis. How could he ascertain the facts for himself? Would he have to take Paul at his word? If it was untrue what reason could Paul have to fabricate such a horrendous tale? He took a sip of his cold coffee and grimaced. It was very dark now and he flicked on the desk lamp. He grabbed a notepad and determined to read the whole email again before taking down the instructions.

Chapter 5 - Incursion

Digital letter images swam before his eyes as he blinked and tried to refresh his vision. The email revealed a catastrophe in the making. He précised the email in his mind as he reread it; Paul had explained that the growing unrest amongst some staff in 'the know' at the research centre had been discovered, and, catastrophically, 'someone' had released the virus in the facility. Already most of the staff members were dead or dying.

The angst in his writing as he described his situation as 'hopeless' and the minute by minute account of collapsing co-workers and shots heard, had a genuineness about them that gave him a morbid apprehension of what lay ahead.

Steve thought hard ...

'Paul was trying to isolate himself and was writing instructions and trying to prepare information for Steve.

It appeared the 'ringleaders' wished to keep their development a secret and so felt it best to dispose of all those involved and engage those more committed to the cause.

Paul tried to explain that what he had believed was going to be a technological and economic boon to the world, had transformed into a despotic plan to attack world population centres and depopulate so called enemies. This would occur while the perpetrators were safe in a large lunar base originally designed to provide solutions for crowded communities and alleviate world hunger.

He reread an attached document (which was a letter to a colleague of Pauls) with disbelief:

"I know it may seem far-fetched but there is a Lunar Base which has the facilities to house a medium size community. It was designed to trial sustainable extra-terrestrial living. If this works, Mars will be the next step! Part of the plan is to set up huge greenhouses to help maintain a biosphere. Hundreds of sealed hexagonal prisms have already been set up as part of the trial modular greenhouse domes. It's been a secret for a number of reasons. I believe it was because of the highly sensitive new technologies being used, the desire not to consult internationally on what is basically the colonisation of the Moon, and the possible embarrassment of failure. I'm basically involved with the bio-atmospheric regeneration and, to some degree, with water reticulation.

The propulsion systems of the transports are amazing. Fusion based ion drives have become a reality and make this incredible venture possible."

After some salutations reminding his friend of the need for confidentiality the letter concluded.

Paul had also attached a personal profile of the general he believed was behind the betrayal—someone who had turned against good men and side-tracked the implementation of this secret, beneficial scheme for his own purposes. After a brief glance, Steve set it aside for later.

He was deep in thought. Paul might already be dead if what he wrote had actually happened. He tried to picture the boyish face and the optimistic excitement that he had sensed at their meeting. Paul was the sort of person who could have been a friend, but was now just a fleeting acquaintance that he might never see alive again. Steve was thinking about Paul's family and those who would miss him. How soon would they find out? Who would tell them and how would they explain it? Steve shook himself and took a deep breath before he addressed the email again.

After more details were communicated, Paul finished with almost detachment regarding his fate and some warnings:

'They have all the protective suits. I hear shooting. I don't have long. Wait a few days before coming and don't trust the government...' The message tailed off enigmatically, with terse phrases. 'I don't feel too good - computer password 'lunatic'... blueprint of complex and some notes... files that may be useful ... open using file password in God's word.' Was he afraid someone was monitoring his communications?

The final phrase was very brief and yet rich in meaning. "I'm in His hands."

Steve wrote down the cryptic password clue and the details regarding entry to the complex.

'... take the service elevator to the basement. Use the office elevator Press the '2' button three times, Press the '1' button twice and then Press the '2' button twice...' Steve was overcome with a feeling of dread.

It was at this stage that Steve knew he had to face the harsh reality of deciding what to do. He could go to the authorities with a half-baked story about a report of a virus and some emails he had received and bring copies of the emails, or he could check this story out. He was beleaguered with questions: Did this place really exist? What did Paul expect of him? What were the plans of those responsible for this calamity? He had to go himself. He knew it. Steve was scared witless, but he knew that he would have to find out what was going on and then the next step would be clearer.

It took some time before he was absolutely resigned to what had to be done. Alternatives, however far-fetched, got some consideration. But, in the end, he had to find out. Before telling anyone, he had to substantiate what was now just a horror story. He got on the phone. "Eric? Hi this is Steve James.... Er well thanks. Listen would it be possible for me to borrow one of the lab's isolation suits?.......... Ha, no we're not breeding Triffids. Oh, just to minimise any transfer of contaminants.... Oh very high customer standards... Yes we're quite involved with cell cultures now... Oh excellent. But I'll need to pick it up early, say 8:30... oh that's great. Thanks a lot. I'll be around in the morning to pick one up. Okay, see you then." He was pleased with the slight misdirection implied by his comments without saying anything about his real purposes.

He rang Jimmy and said he had some other business to do the next day and asked him to handle things. It was quite late when he finally closed up and headed off home. The night passed slowly with Steve sleeping fitfully, his anxieties insinuating into his dreams. People he knew just collapsing before him. He saw Paul's face as he remembered it from their meeting, "I don't have long." Was all he said in the email, but the image of Paul in the coffee shop repeated itself a number of times. "I don't have long."..."I don't have long."

On Tuesday he awoke in a cold sweat and lay in bed trying to remember something of his dreams. His mind drifted to Paul's clue. If it literally meant a password from the Bible then he could probably compile a list of likely words. The idea seemed too 'hit and miss' to attempt. However, if Paul's clue was cryptic, one word jumped out at him. He sat up and, in the half light of dawn, with some difficulty found a pen and notepaper on the bedside table. As an afterthought he switched the lamp on. On the paper he wrote 'God's word'. When he did cryptic puzzles Steve recalled that the word 'in' often meant the answer was written inside the clue. So the choices consisted of: 'God', 'Go', 'word', sword' and 'or' though the first and last seemed too short and 'or' had little logic or reason to commend it. In a second column he tried to list anagrams of 'God's Word'. This took a little longer and, though he had no reason to believe that Paul meant to look for anagrams, he wanted to cover the possibility.

To Steve the selection was obvious. 'Sword' was in 'God's word', and it was a term for God's word. This was a prime reason for putting it on top of the list. Methodically, he then wrote in the other words that he thought, in some way, fit the clue. Once the anagrams were listed he had another eight words counting plurals. He knew he didn't want to be guessing passwords in a pressure situation, so if none of his listed words worked he'd forget about accessing the files.

Although it was still quite early, Steve showered, dressed and breakfasted and then sat down and reviewed the information at his disposal. The phone rang. It was a reporter trying to do a story about local industry.

"No, no I'm sorry I don't have time to talk about plant propagation."

"Could I drop around the garden centre and get some details?" responded a girlish American voice."

"Well, it's not convenient at the moment, maybe sometime later." He hung up.

He wasn't usually that rude but his preoccupation with what was ahead meant he wasn't feeling particularly courteous. Why was a reporter ringing that early? The phone rang again.

"Hello." He spoke more sharply than he intended.

"Hey brother, are you okay?"

"John, sorry, I'm trying to get going and it's not happening."

Steve spent ten minutes giving his brother a brief rundown on what he was about to do.

"It's got to be some sort of hoax," John suggested half hopefully. "Even so, I don't think it's a good idea, going on your own," ...was John's conclusion, though he was unable to dissuade him from carrying out his plan.

He ended the conversation with, "Be careful Steve, we'll pray for you." He hung up thoughtfully. Was he the victim of some lame joke? Who would go to such elaborate lengths and for what reason? Well he would soon find out.

Finally, with no more interruptions, he was free to complete his preparations. It was about eight am when he grabbed some overalls to look more workmanlike and set off for the university lab. He parked around the back in the faculty car park and found the side entrance open. Professor Eric Liepstein was there. He was waiting at the entrance holding the door open and ushered Steve in. The professor led him along a corridor and into his office. He handed over a bag with the isolation suit. "Steven, so good to see you again." he enthused thrusting out his hand. He had been his thesis supervisor. His bushy eyebrows and curly black hair were as awesome as ever, and his genial greeting spoke of the mutual respect between the two. A respect wrought through hours of painstaking lab work and record keeping.

After some mandatory pleasantries about health and family, Eric's face became more serious.

"What's going on Steven? This has nothing to do with plant cultures does it?" Steve looked long and hard at his favourite professor and then made a decision.

"I can tell you more after today. Let's just say I'm checking out a rumour about a deadly virus strain and I don't want to take any risks."

"You say a rumour?"

"I don't have any hard facts. I don't want to panic people and I don't want to make some crackpot report to police and lose all credibility."

Eric was nodding his head, "Sounds like it could be dangerous. Be careful. If there's anything I can do let me know." He sounded quietly serious as he added, "Remember, viral immunology is my thing."

"I'll let you know," Steve nodded, noting his concern. He took the suit and headed for the door.

"Make sure you sanitise it before returning it won't you?" he added with a peculiar smile as he watched his former pupil depart. The humour on Steve's face acknowledged the shared experience of Eric's famous decontamination lecture. He remembered the hapless assistants who were selected each year to wander into his delineated sterile zone and promptly had a bucket of water dumped on them. One year it had been his lot to help demonstrate the paramount importance of bio exclusion in propagation labs. He had been drenched. He left with this mutual understanding and then raised an extended hand which was part wave, part sign of gratitude.

With heightened anticipation Steve drove his Toyota to the industrial park where he had followed Paul. At the street before his turn off he decided to walk to the Horizon Earth Science's car park. Inside his car he scrambled into the overalls. Dressed as, what he hoped would pass as a maintenance man; he made his way to the factory. He tried the side entrance and found that it was locked. Immobile for a second, he rolled his eyes up and berated himself "Did you expect them to leave the door open?"

He quickly went back, retrieved a pinch bar from his 'car tool box with everything', and tried to casually saunter across the front of the building and back around the corner to the door. With his bundle under one arm and pinch bar in the other hand in broad daylight, surely he had to be a workman. No one would suspect such stupidity as a break in at this time of day—he hoped.

After a furtive look around to ensure that he was unobserved, he put all his effort into one wrench on the lever and jemmied the door open. The door crackled and splintered accusingly, and far easier than he expected. He almost tumbled backward when it gave way. Quickly he brushed the debris inside and, carrying the rolled up suit, closed the door behind him, hoping its damaged appearance would remain unnoticed should someone go past.

Leaving the pinch bar inside the door, he spent a moment examining the deserted building. After finally locating the security camera, he then skirted the storage racks, keeping out of the camera's view. Steve jogged quietly to the elevator, slowing to a walk about two thirds of the way there as he suddenly recognised the need to act deliberately and do nothing in haste. Upon reaching the door he cast a guilty look back from where he'd come and then pushed the basement button. Even though he was expecting it, Steve jumped nervously. He was surprised by the clatter of the elevator doors as they opened. Stepping falteringly into what appeared to be a freight elevator, Steve became conscious of a slight ozone smell. The battered surroundings of the conveyance showed that at some time it had experienced considerable use.

When the doors shut with a clunk and the lift shuddered into its descent, an irrational fear gripped him that he would be stuck in the lift. Drips of perspiration trickled from his armpits. He stood unmoving, staring at the level indicator. Wondering if anyone else had witnessed his intrusion, he examined his surrounds. Were there more cameras? Were those responsible for this threat waiting for him? He breathed a quiet prayer for some divine protection and thought 'Sorry God, I only seem to talk to you when I'm in trouble.'

The lift enclosure shuddered to a halt and the doors again clattered disturbingly. He looked around the basement area. It seemed to be mainly an underground car park serving the office area, although it was deserted at the moment. It was walled with grey concrete block bricks on three sides. Dreary, cold and unremarkable, was his impression as he scanned the area. Access to the car park went beyond the locked chain linked gate via a sloping driveway and then turning left before proceeding onto the service road.

Opposite where Steve stood was another elevator that looked far more appropriate for transferring human cargo. It would provide access from the car park to the offices above. And next to that was a set of stairs going up. His eyes focussed on the lift as he moved more purposefully to it, reaching inside his overalls for his notebook. His other hand pushed the button. He could probably recite the instructions written on the paper but wanted the certainty of referring directly to this strange entry process.

He waited as the doors opened with a quiet hiss, in stark contrast to the noisy contraption he had just used. Steve read the words again as the doors smoothly reclaimed the enclosure: '... take the service elevator to the basement. Use the office elevator. Press the '2' button three times, Press the '1' button twice and then Press the '2' button twice...' And he then followed the directions.

Inside was a very modern finish of stainless steel and wood panelling with light emanating from glass strips across the top and down the side walls. The elevator remained stationary and silent. Steve was just about to glance at the instructions again when, with a stomach churning lurch, the container plummeted down from the basement level. His small load fell to the floor as he staggered at the rapid motion. Availing himself of a handrail, using both hands, Steve steadied and braced himself, preparing for a comparable deceleration. Instead, the vehicle slowed almost imperceptibly to a stop. An incongruous chime sounded, and the doors opened.

He was in a tennis court sized cavern. It had a flat walkway with an egg-shaped space above that had smooth grey walls. Strips of artificial lighting flush with the curved ceiling lit the space and two very big, shiny, metallic tubes ran the length on either side of the room. The tubes entered and exited at each end of the ovoid. Steve was still standing at the open doors of the lift at one end between the two tubes. A humming noise was the only other thing that he noticed. Devoid of any furniture, Steve began to speculate as to the purpose of the structure. It could be a mini underground tube station except that, paradoxically, there were tubes where you would expect to see tunnels.

Steve paled and thumped his forehead with his fist. His attention fixed on the rolled up suit in the elevator. "What are you doing Steve? Think, think, think!" he repeated as he thudded the heel of his hand on his head. It occurred to him that this remonstration of his was becoming a habit and might have adverse effects on his cranial physiology. Then he quickly wrestled the isolation suit on. 'Better late than never,' he thought and then opened the air valve on the cylinder and sealed the head piece. Wondering how long the air would last, he scanned the tubes and quickly located a green circular panel. He pressed it.

There was a hushed whoosh and slight throb, before a section of the tube pivoted up like a large curved door revealing a smooth capsule nestled tightly in the tube. Steve pulled at a recessed handhold to slide open an access pane and climbed into one of the ten well-padded dark blue seats. The pane closed automatically and the station-like enclosure disappeared from view as the tube sealed itself.

Inside the softly lit, large capsule he pressed another green button. With little delay the backrest enveloped around him in reaction to the acceleration and he was propelled forward with great speed. The motion was almost noiseless. Steve surmised that the cylinder was suspended by some sort of magnetic levitation or repulsion, and possibly impelled by polarising electromagnets. He later determined, while gaining technical data on the base, that this was an accurate guess, although the propulsive force was strongly augmented by compressed air behind and evacuated air preceding the sleek projectile. All context of speed was lost in the metallic pill hurtling through the tube. Except for the faint swishing sound and occasional slight centrifugal pressure as the course altered, there was little sensation of motion at all.

After about twenty minutes of travelling at high speed the vehicle slowed evenly to a halt. Upon exiting, the air pressures equalised. Steve sensed a hush of air waft from the open tube as if it was sighing from the effort and, glancing about, he examined an almost identical conveyance point to the one he had left.

He passed through sliding doors feeling clumsy in the suit. His coordination and movements still hadn't adapted to its confines.

Immediately, Steve was confronted with dead bodies. His stomach almost rebelled at the contorted forms. Wooziness, mild churning and slight cramps all threatened to result in a gastric convulsion. 'Don't be sick in this suit' he thought. He held his eyes closed and breathed slowly. Eventually some sort of equilibrium returned and he determined not to dwell on the death all about.

Despite his resolution, as Steve opened his eyes he couldn't avoid the tragic scene. Women and men, young and older; many in lab coats and a few in military uniform, all were struck down by this plague. Then Steve noticed that some lay in pools of dark red blood. Bullet wounds were visible, especially on some of the military who, it seemed, may have sought to present some resistance to those besetting the facility.

Once he had torn his attention away from the slaughter in front of him, Steve took in the proportions of the research centre. This entry was a small chamber with three corridors leading off it. Behind him was the access door to the 'tube station'. The walls and ceilings were similar to the 'station' with lighting strips, but each hallway had a distinct pastel hue. The floor had large, light coloured rubberised like tiles that yielded comfortably to his footfall. Knowing he had to attend to the route and be mindful of his whereabouts, Steve took the left corridor and proceeded with some haste, feeling unsure about the capacity of his air supply. He left off counting bodies after twenty, seeing others scattered about doorways farther along.

The first rooms were laboratories. Standard chemical laboratories to begin with and then larger engineering shops, and what looked like propulsion research facilities. He wanted to spend time examining each part carefully but knew this was just a quick reconnoitre. He couldn't afford to indulge his curiosity until a general exploration was complete.

Beyond the engineering rooms were huge storerooms with solar cells. There were also what appeared to be space suits and a variety of other equipment too extensive for Steve to examine thoroughly. His cursory glance took in some of the more prominent items: communication dishes, electrically powered buggies reminiscent of the Lunar Rover of Apollo Mission history, prefabricated spheres and tubes that had air tight connection devices and a myriad of containers and pieces of equipment, many of which he could only hazard a guess at a use.

He came to the plant laboratory that had lengthy rows of containers with some different varieties of greenery, grow lamps and analysis instrumentation. At the end of the corridor, connected to the plant lab was another store that contained enough sterilized soil medium, containers, lights and irrigation tubing for several sizeable green houses. 'Is this where his plant cultures were destined?' he wondered.

Steve spent a little longer in this area than he had intended and then jogged back with an awkward gait along the way he had come. There were some side passages, but his consciousness of the need to locate Paul's computer and retrieve the information it contained sent him returning to the central hub. Inside the sealed suit he was getting very warm. He wished that he'd dispensed with the overalls before, while he had the chance. Now he had to endure the sweaty confines of too many layers of clothing.

Travelling from that original point down the middle way, he was again side-stepping numerous victims of the rapidly acting virus. As he passed, what he was sure was the main accommodation section; he noticed a greater concentration of victims. He fought the thought that these people had personalities, friends, families and lives just a short while ago. But it continued to insinuate into his mind as he moved past the prone bodies.

Steve located a well organised dining hall that clearly indicated provision for a considerable number of personnel. Opposite, on the right of the middle corridor was a recreation area with gymnasium, swimming pool, indoor courts and lounges, all exceptionally outfitted. He quickly ducked into the dining hall and surveyed victims slumped at tables. At the back of the dining area was a modern kitchen facility. Kitchen workers were strewn about in sad confirmation of the swift onset of the disease's deadly effects.

Back across the passageway he checked out the pool and gym. Again the pervasive presence of corpses nauseated him. Even though the mask of the suit was a sort of barrier to the brutality around him, he almost gagged inside his suit. A shower was running on a crumpled victim in the change rooms. A deceased couple reclined in each other's arms on one of the couches. Swathes of fabric were wrapped over the mouths and noses of many of the dead in a vain effort to prevent infection. What sort of micro-organism could kill so suddenly, so totally! Well, he'd read the data but the evidence was still hard to come to terms with. If anything, it was more shocking knowing this was a deliberate act.
Chapter 6 – Malcolm

Double wooden doors with dark circular windows opened up to a small theatre at the end of the passageway. This contained a number of casualties caught unawares, trapped midway in contorted convulsions. A hesitant look at one victim's face mirrored the intense agony experienced at the point of death. His stomach churned. Why? What? The questions could hardly form; his mind was in turmoil.

After a quick survey, Steve retraced his steps. A dull thud in the kitchen caused Steve to check his movement. Straining to hear through the restrictive suit he edged to the doorway. Inside he heard a scuffling and muffled sounds. Heart thumping, he cracked the door open, slowly pushing it back to get a better view. Inside he saw a slight, uniformed soldier in fatigues and cap who turned, instantly alerted to Steve's presence. Grabbing a large pot, the soldier launched an attack on Steve. As the pot arced dangerously toward his head, Steve dived low, partly as self-preservation but mostly because it was the only direction he could strike to thwart his opponent. His body crunched into the lower torso of his assailant. The pot glanced harmlessly off his back as the impact of his shoulder resulted in high pitched exhalation from the soldier's lungs. His lunge drove them, welded together, toward the ovens. Enmeshed, the two bodies collided on the floor with their combined weight totally winding the hapless antagonist.

Sitting atop, Steve pinned the arms of the soldier down. He gazed through the face plate of the suit and realised the soldier was barely more than a boy. His cap had dislodged to reveal close cropped blond hair. The boy's body beneath Steve was limp from the blow he received when his head hit the floor. He was unusually cold to the touch and his uniform was damp. Steve wondered how he had survived the murderous virus. Or perhaps he had been involved in its dissemination. It was possible that it was now safe to breathe the air but Steve still hesitated at removing the suit.

The rasping, gasping, struggling form began to squirm as he slowly came to. The soldier was gaining consciousness and fearfully started flailing as he recognised his predicament. Steve restrained him as much as he could and yelled.

"Stop! I just want to talk. I'm not going to hurt you." His voice reverberated inside the suit. The youth settled down and Steve spoke again.

"Who are you? What's your name?"

At first he looked at Steve suspiciously, but when Steve repeated the questions, he seemed to calm down as if he understood for the first time.

"Corporal Malcolm Stewart, sir," he replied groggily.

"Look Malcolm, I want to help. I just want to talk." Steve got off him and he struggled up. He looked apprehensively at him with piercing green eyes and had a quizzical expression on his boyish face. He stood shakily trying to assess his options. His eyes were darting suspiciously to and fro from Steve to the doorways, around the kitchen and back to Steve.

"You're with them aren't you? You're wearing protective gear." Malcolm viewed him warily. It occurred to Steve then that maybe Malcolm was probably an innocent survivor and the fact that he was still alive again suggested that the risk of infection had passed. Nevertheless he was still loath to expose himself to the possibility just yet.

"I'm not with anyone. I'm here to help. My name's Steve." He again spoke loudly.

"Do I look like I mean you any harm?"

Malcolm nodded in reply.

"Okay, silly question."

He gasped a little thinking himself still short of breath from the tussle they had, he tried to breathe deeply. "How did you escape?" he rasped finding his breathing even more laboured. Sensing his distress Malcolm lurched shakily toward the door. Steve immediately tackled him again, taking him waist high and riding him into the floor. There was a pained grunt as they both thudded onto the hard tiles. His battered victim moaned as he positioned himself on the young man's chest.

"I don't want to hurt you," he croaked, "just talk..." he squeaked. Still sitting astride the hapless serviceman Steve shook his head panting at the thick stuffy air in the suit. It was then he realised that his air supply had run out. Quickly he removed the headpiece and gulped the air. He gave a sheepish grin to Malcolm.

"...Ran out of air," he said pointing to the suit before raising himself up and stepping out of the airtight clothing.

He had no choice now but to hope it was okay to expose himself to the suspect air. Malcolm relaxed visibly when he determined that Steve wasn't military.

"How did you escape?" he repeated in a more subdued voice, still wheezing to regain some respiratory rhythm.

"Why do you want to know?" he asked still wary.

Steve lowered his voice, "Because..." he faltered, "Because everyone else is dead. You're the only survivor."

Malcolm began uncertainly. His examination of Steve seemed to dispel any doubts. "I... I was outside the Laboratory when Tom, one of the technicians rushed out and told me to seal myself away somewhere because someone was releasing the virus. I didn't know what to do so I thought of the cool-room. I decided to stay inside as long as possible. I wrapped myself in some cook's clothing but I was still so cold." Malcolm shivered involuntarily as he related this last detail.

"After a few hours I took a look and saw Harry." He pointed to the dead cook near the cool-room door. "So I went back in. I kept doing that for as long as I could take it."

His eyes were drawn to the prostrate forms of the kitchen staff and one body collapsed over a freezer in the corner. He looked up at Steve his green eyes filling with dismay.

"Are... are they all... are they all dead?"

Steve nodded, "As far as I can tell you're the only survivor," he repeated, his voice quavered as he finally put into words the enormity of the massacre.

"No... no, it can't be," Malcolm pleaded plaintively. He crumbled onto his knees and shook uncontrollably, his whole body heaving inconsolably as the shock of it set in.

Steve's eye's moistened with tears as he started to identify with the horror that Malcolm was experiencing. His friends and acquaintances lay dead. How would he feel if family members or Angela or Jeff, or Jimmy or Jodie were struck down? He tore his mind away from such devastating thoughts, acutely aware that he took his friends for granted.

The realisation and desolation had immobilised Malcolm, but Steve knew they mustn't waste any time.

"Are you with me Malcolm?" he tried to get his attention. The corporal nodded numbly. Steve was glad to have an ally but they needed to keep moving. He leant over and pulled him up by the shoulders and gave him a short firm shake.

"Malcolm we have to get moving. We have to get on top of this." Steve tried, barely successfully, to be terse. Malcolm responded to his firmness with a slight shaking and shivering spasm. He shuddered with sobs as he buried his face in his arm to dry his eyes and compose himself. Steve knew, if he looked at it objectively, that he didn't have the time for being sympathetic. It was totally clear, yet he couldn't restrain himself from pitying him. He also knew that Malcolm had been traumatised by the isolation and cold of the cool room, and the shock of the heinous crime committed against his colleagues and fellow soldiers. Steve thought the atrocity could scar the young man for life and some measure of emotional distress now may lessen the damage done to him. So he allowed him a little time to collect himself. He waited for a few precious minutes while Malcolm battled to gain his composure.

With a small clearing of his throat Malcolm straightened himself up, leaving a small wet patch on his shirt. He glanced around, distracted, before picking up his cap and putting it on in an effort to assert some self-control. "I'm sorry. I'm supposed to be trained to handle crises."

"I don't think anybody could cope with this," Steve took a quick look around, "but we have to move. I don't know how much time we have." He gathered and rolled up the polymer suit, grasped Malcolm's shoulder to get him moving and then led him to the open door. Steve loped swiftly back the way he had come with the distraught marine in tow. Every now and then Malcolm turned his gaze, irresistibly drawn, as they passed some of the dead. Sometimes he groaned when he recognised someone.

Steve was now aware of the taint of death in the air. Perhaps it was his imagination as it was not yet forty eight hours since the fatal, invisible miasma had overtaken them.

"I've been down these two," said Steve indicating the two corridors, "Where does this one lead?" he continued as they started off down the remaining pathway.

"Well, offices and administration first then plant—energy and services—and then the harbour."

"The harbour?" Steve repeated doubtfully, wondering whether he should be taken literally or if it was a figure of speech or jargon for something else.

"You'll see," he replied a little more confidently as he hardened his resolve to deal with the situation.

As they came to the first of the doorways, Steve halted and turned to Malcolm. "Do you know where Paul's office is?"

He seemed unsure with his reply, "There was a scientist or engineer along here. Dr Hardin, I think his name was Paul Hardin."

"Okay, let's try him. I only know his first name," Steve explained, and as they climbed stairs to the next level the clunk of each footstep heralded their conspicuous ascent.

"He sent me an email while the virus was being released," he continued, referring to Paul's warning and recalling how it had brought him to this point. "That's why I came. I had to find out for myself."

Malcolm nodded as he started to piece together what had happened and understand how Steve could be there at all.

The offices were semi-glassed in cubicles. The second office on that level had the words: 'Paul Hardin—Environmental Science' neatly printed on a nameplate. A bullet had shattered a hole in one of the windows surrounding his office Inside a body was slumped on the desk. The air conditioning vent had been jammed with seat cushions and attempts had been made to seal the door with duct tape. The man had a bullet hole through his forehead. Congealed blood was pooled on the desk.

"Poor guy," Malcolm uttered lamely, "Is he the one that warned you?"

"Yes, it's Paul. He's the one." Steve had an empty feeling in his stomach and a vacant stare as he recognised the quiet Texan. It wasn't that long ago that they had quickly established a connection. Paul and he had easily built a rapport and now he was gone.

'I'm in His hands.' Paul's words echoed in his head. He tried to recall some of the things they spoke about and, strangely, the most vivid recollection was that aside remark: 'The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love.'

His contemplation was interrupted, "Are you alright?" Malcolm, becoming more the corporal, inquired. He placed a hand on Steve's back and he was jolted back to reality.

The computer was still on but locked, waiting for a user password. 'l...u...n...a...t...i...c' he entered the password and after some searching he found the files. When the file for the layout of the complex requested a password, he typed in the letters: 's...w...o...r...d' and immediately the file opened.

"Cryptographer extraordinaire," murmured Steve.

"What?" asked Malcolm.

"Oh, nothing..." He thrust his data pin into the specialised port and copied it. Steve did the same with any file that looked remotely useful. Once satisfied that he had what he needed he couldn't resist examining them further.

"Steve we need to go. I don't think we're safe here," this time Malcolm urged, moving to the door and surveying the corridor. He was getting jumpy.

"It seems pretty quiet, just give me a minute." He located the specifications and details of the whole complex. There unfolding in computer graphics was each of the various layers and sections and many new ones, power centre, engineering, 'Lunar Transport Bay' and 'Harbour'. He checked the emails and found no record of those to him. Steve assumed that they had been erased.

"Come on Steve, if someone comes we're stuck up here."

He removed his memory device knowing that he could read the files later when there was more time. He was becoming disturbed by Malcolm's restlessness. The increasing weight of the risk of being in there, the associated worries—the anxiety of not knowing if they were alone, of what to do next—was stressing to the young man.

"Come on, come on..." Malcolm's frequent predictions of impending doom with every minute Steve spent there, finally had the desired effect.

They explored further and found two other victims who had survived the initial threat only to be eliminated by some cold blooded expert, or experts, who had been sent to clear out the centre. Turning at the Power Plant, Steve agreed with his companion's concern and constant urgings.

"You're right, we should go. I wish I had time to really explore this place."

"Let's just go. We've got no idea when they're coming back."

Steve conceded the point. A lot of time had elapsed. They headed out. Pausing at the offices, Steve handed his suit to Malcolm and went back upstairs. He struggled to put Paul's lifeless body on his shoulder thinking that virology tests may still be possible on the dead virus extant in the body. The thought of giving Paul a decent burial also seemed a good thing. Straining with the effort, he carried the body down the metal staircase.

As they headed toward the capsule there was a loud hissing sound caused by the rushing of air. Someone was arriving. A wave of fear swept over Steve as the mayhem of the past day confronted him again. Had those responsible come back? He couldn't decide where to go and so stood motionless.

"Quick! This way..." Malcolm dragged the burdened rescuer back down the corridor. Steve was soon gasping for air and unsuccessfully looked for some concealment. Desperately, he toiled with the weight of Paul's body on his shoulder. Aching legs became painful with cramps. His gasps were now desperate gulps which he tried unsuccessfully to mute. Proceeding farther than they had come before, they passed through some swinging double doors into a huge rocky cavern. Through the entry Steve could smell the unmistakable tang of sea water. He was now groggy with the strain. Staggering, his muscles agonising and his legs unstable from the effort, he urged himself on.

Frantically they searched for a hiding place. Malcolm led him as fast as he could along the wharf. Pulling him behind some pallets with stacks of drums and boxes, they crouched, and there they hid. Steve was panting harshly as he dumped Paul's body on the wooden decking. His body, still overdressed in the overalls, was sweat soaked. His heart was thumping, legs quivering, jelly like and numb from the exertion and the tension of the moment.

Just when Steve had begun to gain control of his breathing and thought that, maybe, the coast was clear, the doors swung open. Through a narrow gap between the pallets they watched two menacing figures enter. Behind the transparent facemask of the taller of the two a cold, steely glare swept the area. The second interloper held a revolver. He was big and bulky, his size evident, even exaggerated, in the protective clothing. They wore isolation suits similar to Steve's. Their approach gave Steve reason to believe that they may have been detected. His heart thumped. Malcolm stared anxiously around the confined space and picked up a slat from a broken pallet. Steve looked furiously for a way out. The water, they would have to risk a plunge and swim and hope somehow to avoid those bullets. He gritted his teeth. Maybe a full frontal charge, taking them by surprise if they get close enough. Steve trembled with tension. The creaking of the wharf timbers warned of the nearness of the sinister pair. A long, quiet pause magnified the gentle lapping of the waves against the wharf and for the first time Steve noticed the chatter of a stream splashing into the enclosed cove. Heart palpitating, the extreme pressure of the silent 'waiting for something to give' was almost intolerable. Malcolm was crouched low, ready to pounce. Steve breathed a prayer for deliverance.

Anxious seconds passed as they remained motionless and out of sight. Steve's heart beat like a drum in his ears. Just on the other side of the storage stack a muffled conversation began.

"I thought I heard something but it looks quiet. Do you want me to check out the far end?" said the gunman. There was a pause. Steve eased nearer the decking wishing he could squeeze between the planking. The other nodded in answer to the gunman's query. The two trying to evade detection readied themselves, tense as the footsteps neared the pile on the wharf where they hid. Steve couldn't look, but he imagined the steely gaze fix on their hiding place. There was a low pitched grinding sound near the end of the wharf.

"It's just the sub," said a harsh voice, very close, "Tide must be moving it. Probably what I heard."

"Yeah, there's no-one here. We need to check the computers to see if we can find out who else may have been contacted."

Steve peered through the pallets thinking they were leaving, but they were still there! The taller one, and apparent leader, went on.

"We have to stem this breach and make a clean start. This place won't be safe for another few days." They almost seemed to stare directly at them.

"Shall we see if the sub is still in order?" asked the henchman.

"No, everything looks fine. We'll have time to clear out this mess when we come back." The more senior of the two halted temporarily, and then turning he slapped the other lightly on the shoulder and exulted, "Milt, it's going to happen!" They withdrew back toward the office area. Steve was conscious of his chill, sweat soaked clothing and wobbly knees, and he was still trying to steady his breathing.

After recovering some of his poise and courage Steve spoke.

"Are you okay?"

Malcolm replied, "I don't mind admitting I was scared. What about you?"

"I was praying pretty hard just then."

"Well it worked," commented Malcolm, then realising that maybe there was something to what he had said, paused.

Steve breathed a word of thanks, and speculated why he didn't make petitions more often given his upbringing.

"You know, I'm not religious, but I think it did work," Malcolm observed thoughtfully. He smiled for the first time and his appearance revealed a youthful vigour.

"You don't have to be religious to pray..." Steve responded but tailed off suddenly feeling unqualified to provide counsel. "We won't risk going back that way yet," he said clumsily lifting Paul's body back over his shoulder. "Let's check out the dock."

Steve and Malcolm made their way along the docking area away from the offices. The roof of the huge chamber was a dark volcanic rock. Storage buildings lined the rock wall; bright blue/white light flooded the buildings and the dock area, fading to grey and black at the furthest extent of the void. Near the end of the wharf they found the transport sitting in the inky water. It was a large, sleek finned submersible vessel, bristling with arrays of high tech equipment.

Walking along a short metallic walkway they boarded the craft. It was unlike any submarine Steve had seen. It was shaped like a snub nosed fighter aircraft, much larger of course, with stunted wings. The shape allowed for a rapid intake of water through twin fluted gills on either side of the glass fronted cockpit into engines that used a water-jet propulsion system. Making their way along a metal grid on the top they passed two water tight access doors and came to a much bigger rounded, oblong pressure door set at about forty five degrees. This was obviously the main entry point. Malcolm turned the locking mechanism and opened it with (what seemed to Steve) unexpected ease. "It's power assisted," Malcolm responded, noticing his surprised expression. Steve followed him down a set of stairs, staggering under the load, his legs feeling rubbery from the continuous effort demanded from his muscles. He cast off the body as gently as he could into one of four leather chairs facing the front viewing panels.

Breathless, he peeled off his overalls, flopped down in another seat and exhaled noisily. "Tell me about this sub Mal, what's it for?" He looked around struck by the newness and sophistication of the instrumentation.

Lowering himself into another chair Malcolm replied in a measured tone, "Well it's one of the transports that supply the bases and transport people to the shuttle launch site."

"So there's more than one base?"

The young sailor looked hesitant for a moment before smiling uncomfortably, "I wouldn't have breathed a word of this a few days ago. It was all top secret. But, then, it was military and I thought it was all about helping the world. That's all changed now thanks to General Roberts." He almost hissed the name.

"The tall thin guy we just saw?" Steve looked inquisitively.

He shook his head, "Nah. That was Colonel Ernie, ah ... Ernest Klein. He's second in command to General Guy Roberts. The General's in charge of the whole lunar program... was..." he looked a little bewildered, "Looks like he's hijacked the whole program for his own purposes now."

"Do you think he's responsible for all this?"

"He'd have to be. He was in charge. He was the driving force for the whole program. Nobody could do this without him knowing."

"If he's still alive..." Steve raised his eyes questioningly. "I mean we don't know for sure."

"You think they got to him?"

Steve shrugged, "Who knows who's responsible. It doesn't matter. We'll have to contact the authorities," Steve said with growing conviction.

Malcolm looked at him dubiously, "But who? Who's going to believe us? Who can we trust? It was a very secret program and it looks like Roberts ... or whoever, has eliminated all those not under his control."

"Regardless of that, I think the local authorities would be interested in any mass murders, secret base or not." Steve started rummaging through some spring lock draws and, amazingly, located a series of manuals on CDs clearly labelled 'Program training', along with informational CDs on the Lunar program, environmental control, water reticulation, artificial Atmosphere systems and Organic systems. He put in as many as he could carry in a small backpack but held the last two aloft.

"Look at these. They'll believe us when they see these. How lucky are we?"

"Yeah, they show some of those as part of the orientation program when they bring each unit in."

Steve walked around the craft contemplating his next move. Malcolm remained in the front and sat in the helmsman's seat handling some of the steering mechanisms. Unlike any images of submarines that Steve had seen, this vessel had a number of flat computer screens along each side of the lengthy control room. Each screen was coupled with a swivel chair fixed to the floor. There were charts, communications gear, navigation equipment and a series of gauges and controls in a compartment labelled 'Manual Operation'. There was a ladder down to the next level which he bypassed and stepped through an open airlock door into a hallway that was flanked by some officers' cabins. The largest of these was probably the captain's. It was well fitted with a tiny office, a bedroom and a small bathroom. Next, after stepping through another pressure hatch he came across a common room for the crew, and then the mess and scullery. Each of these had hatches that provided movement between levels.

The last vertical pressure hatch was secured. Steve undid it and it opened to a large cargo bay. At the far end there were entry ways leading to another two-level stern section. This storage area accounted for the considerable size of the submarine transport. Going down a vertical ladder he saw an engine room at the rear, but Steve faced away from that, entering the lower level through a hatch and headed back. He went past a power plant with numerous radiation warning symbols, past a room with scuba gear and a pressure compartment used for underwater access, and then into the crew quarters and amenities. Three quarter way along, he climbed back into the control room.

Malcolm heard his steps and excitedly exclaimed, "We could escape in this sub. Then we wouldn't have to worry about whether they're still here or not." Steve looked at Malcolm trying to work out how serious he was. His own cavalier approach earlier on had almost back-fired a couple of times, and now his thinking was sobered by the threat of discovery. He determined to try and take more measured steps from now on, even though it went against his natural random inclinations. Steve stared vacantly, deep in thought. Escape was essential. And even if Malcolm and he got away, they could still possibly trace him through Paul's computer and then his life would still be in danger. He shivered. They were in danger now and he was wandering around sightseeing! The evidence of the death and carnage in the complex should convince him that these were very serious people, dangerous, malevolent people—people who didn't baulk at mass murder.

Malcolm was watching him. "Are you all right?" he asked, not for the first time.

Steve refocused. "Do you really think you could pilot this thing? Because if you can I don't think you'll get any arguments from me. I want to get out of here." In answer Malcolm turned on the computer and was immediately confronted with a series of options. He checked 'current location' and the screen displayed a map with a digital marker which the legend described as 'computed position'. Steve saw that they were near a fairly well known coastal region. The GPS display recorded 'NO SIGNAL' and the 'digital log' recorded graphically, and with data tables, numerous previous journeys out to sea!

He selected 'Automatic Pilot Departure—cavern base' from a number of alternatives which also included journeys to various bases including the launch site. Upon pressing the option an alarm sounded. Then a female voice sounded:

"There are three pressure hatches open. Inform all personnel of dive procedure. Ensure that all personnel are below deck. When all personnel are accounted for press enter and the pressure hatches will be shut automatically. You cannot proceed until external pressure hatches are closed."

Steve and Malcolm glanced at one another and Steve raised his eyebrows with a half-smile in appreciation of the artificial intelligence.

With an exaggerated flourish Malcolm pressed 'enter'. After a brief interval and the distant sound of pneumatics, a message appeared, 'Hatches are closed, Press ENTER to proceed with Automatic Pilot Departure program.' "Here we go!" he exalted, momentarily diverted from the evil of all that had gone before by the sheer adventure of what was happening. The vessel vibrated a little, and then slid silently through the water. A very slight thrum of compressors indicated to Steve that air was being displaced by water in different compartments reducing the buoyancy, so that soon he was experiencing his first submarine journey in a remarkably computerised craft.

Chapter 7 – Exit

Looking out through the thick glass panels of the control room, Steve saw the dark water wash over the submarine with minimal turbulence. Instantaneously, lights lit up at the bow of the craft, illuminating a hazy storm of tiny creatures and sediment particles. Glistening obsidian outcrops were like giant flecks in the charcoal blackness of the tunnel walls. They both sat transfixed as the ship glided through the murky depths. After barely minutes of easing through the larger enclosed chasm, the quiet thrumming of motors reverberated with increasing volume off the narrowing walls. Steve felt acutely vulnerable in relying on the computerised navigation in the confined space of the tunnel.

"Have you been in this sub before?" Steve asked, breaking the stillness between them.

"Yeah, that's the way most of us got onto the base. In fact, I don't know what the other entry looks like."

"So where are you from?"

"Upstate New York," his reply was unembellished.

They spent a few moments finding out family details about each other when the light from outside the hull gradually improved. Steve also learned, once they had emerged, that Malcolm recently applied for special service in the marines and gained promotion to corporal along with the transfer to what was referred to as a highly secret research project. He found out that the base served as a research centre for an expanding Lunar base of which he'd seen a number of photos. Steve was about to quiz him on details of the Lunar facility when the female voice sounded from the speaker in the helm console.

"Please insert destination coordinates."

"Very helpful isn't it?" Steve looked around, "Where would I find the charts?" he continued.

"Try that," said Malcolm pointing to the neighbouring screen.

On the indicated monitor, Steve located computerised charts. The current GPS reading was now showing on the top of the screen. He whistled softly as he realised how far he had travelled from the factory entrance. Placing a cursor on a location familiar to him Steve called out the latitude and longitude. Malcolm typed in the designated reference as a man who was used to following orders, before considering his new situation and asking the obvious.

"Where are we heading?"

"Port Westbourne. We should get some reaction when people see this," Steve gestured with his arm and smiled, "It should cause quite a stir."

A higher pitched, muffled whine was evidence of the increased revolutions of the turbines providing the driving force. They felt the acceleration in their seats and watched the dark, blue-green water rush by. Sea creatures became little more than a blur. At one point a pod of dolphins cavorted skilfully across the bow, gaining some impetus from the underwater bow wave. The exhilaration of their escape, combined with the delight of witnessing schools of silver fish darting in choreographed synchronisation, seemed to banish the reality of their situation. The glimmering fish flashing as one, white, and silver and then grey, the ease of their escape and the power of the vessel, all added to the lightness of their mood.

Steve, looking ahead to what might be, turned with a serious face to Malcolm and shared his thoughts, "You're going to be an important witness to what has happened. I hope you're ready for the ruckus this will cause."

"Yeah, you're right. I bet General Roberts would be happy to get rid of me."

"Do you think he'd try?" Steve asked concerned.

"This general has been running a covert operation, no, more than that, he's been running a secret agenda in a fully operational base on foreign soil. He'd attempt anything."

"Do you think he's got agents working security?"

"I bet he's got a few people checking out for any possible leaks."

Steve reflected quietly for a few minutes. They would have to be careful.

"We might have to hide you out somewhere Mal, and only let those we can trust know, and only then at the last possible moment."

"You're scaring me Steve," he said with a wry grin.

Steve appreciated the bravado but continued, "...Just thought you should be prepared for what might be coming."

As an afterthought he added, "You don't think your government is behind all this?"

Malcolm who was now sounding much older than his age replied. "It's possible. There are so many groups who have been accused of having secret programs, but I doubt it. As far as I know most of the secret research facilities are on US soil."

"Until now."

"Well, they have had secretive communications bases around the world, so I suppose this was the next step. But it was not designed for this... I'm sure."

"So you're saying someone's hijacked the program."

They were quiet in their own thoughts for some time as they sped toward the programmed destination.

Later, at one of the computers, Steve read some of the files he'd retrieved from Paul's computer. Every file was accessible thanks to the password which he was given by Paul. He was astounded by the description of a moon base. There were plans and photos of multiple domes and connecting tubes. There were docking bays, research modules, and hexagonal greenhouse pods forming the initial structure of a large interconnected network. There were transport sections, a communication centre and numerous blocks related to establishing a self-sufficient community. Overhead photos showed banks of solar cell arrays, spherical water and air reservoirs, several spheres tagged 'Oxygen' and 'Hydrogen' and a community dome that had sectors labelled as residences, offices, stores, recreation, and even an area labelled 'arboretum'.

Malcolm stood looking over his shoulder making appreciative comments, as much of this information was new to him as well. They were even more intrigued by diagrams and technical data relating to the Lunar Shuttle labelled 'Transport 1'.

The propulsion system, which at first was a bit of a mystery to Steve, seemed to have a nuclear power source. It generated a plasma drive by converting hydrogen gas released from storage tanks holding the liquid form, to an accelerated ion stream. This was all done in a strongly confining magnetic field. Initially a combination of focused lasers and sympathetically tuned radio waves acted on the stream to produce highly energetic charged particles. The particles were then vented along a tightly controlled magnetically induced corridor that reduced in size to the exhaust thrusters. According to the specs the nuclear fuel rods would last for several journeys, while each base manufactured its own store of super cooled liquid Hydrogen.

Malcolm finally tired of following all the technical records and headed toward the stern. He spoke over his shoulder as he receded through the hatch, "I'm checking out the mess for something to eat. Do you want anything?"

"Not just yet. I'll grab some later." Steve continued to scrutinise the information.

A short time later Malcolm returned with an outsized sandwich and a can of drink. Glancing at the screen again, "It's all a bit unbelievable isn't it?" mumbled Malcolm, resuming his seat at the helm. "I mean does this place really exist?"

Steve was scanning some text files. "It looks like it, doesn't it?" He turned to look directly at Malcolm, "I sure would like to see it in person."

"Yeah, me too."

"That bread okay? I mean how old is it?"

"It's fine. I took it out of the freezer and zapped it in the microwave."

When he eventually finishing his sandwich, Malcolm put his feet up on the adjacent chair and pulled his cap over his eyes and muttered, "Wake me when we get there."

Steve read some of Paul's comments in a digital diary:

It appears his program of creating a secret base for research and development of a sustainable lunar community and viable transport system was a charade for setting up an escape settlement on the moon. Perhaps he plans to stay there till it is safe and then maybe he has ambitions to take command of what, if anything is left on Earth. But, it's weird, I've met the General once and I wouldn't have picked him as anything but humanitarian.

He smiled at a later paragraph at Paul's misinformation. How by changing reports about the virus, saying that it may linger several days instead of till the corpse had grown cold, might have created some time for their incursion.

A little less than ninety kilometres down the coast to the west the craft unexpectedly slowed to a halt. It seemed to be 'parked underwater'. The monotonous female voice intruded into the sudden, disturbing calm.

'You cannot go beyond this point without overriding security restrictions. Please enter the authorisation password to proceed.'

Malcolm checked the navigation options on the screen. Annotations on the screen informed him that it was deemed 'unsafe to surface in restricted areas without security authorisation.

'Do we try some passwords?" Malcolm said, fingers poised to display his code breaking talents.

"No..." Steve murmured, "This contraption is too smart. I'm beginning to think we're not home free yet. It may be reporting our position right now. What do you think will happen if we start feeding in incorrect passwords?"

"It might crash."

"Worse than that... It may be programmed to take some form of action. Lock up, head back, signal an alarm... who knows?"

"So what do we do?" Malcolm was looking for a lead from Steve.

"What do we do...?' he stared blankly. His face becoming more resolute as an idea germinated. "The underwater transfer airlock... we could put on some wet suits and swim out. Do you know anything about scuba diving?"

"I've done a little bit. How deep are we?" There was a sound of caution in Malcolm's voice.

Steve read some of the gauges. "Sixty feet, about twenty metres."...he converted for his own benefit. "I have no idea. Can we do that?"

"Sixty feet is manageable. We should get to it straight away if you're right about the command centre being alerted."

"Well. I'm just guessing, but I think it's likely, especially after the security controls that are engaged already."

As they moved Malcolm motioned with his head, "What about him?"

"Not much we can do, we'll have to leave him." Steve breathed a prayer of thanks for what Paul had done. They grabbed disks, the data pin and the isolation suit before Steve led Malcolm down the vertical ladder of the access hatch. There was evident tension and anxious haste as their clomping footsteps tracked their progress. The metallic thumping only stopped when they arrived at the airlock in the lower level. Quickly undressing and donning scuba gear, Malcolm gave Steve a quick tutorial on some basic safety procedures and some necessary information to enable him to survive the ascent.

Clothes and disks etcetera were packed in a water tight bag found amongst the diving stores. Nervous with trepidation Steve stepped into the air lock.

"You're sure we can do this?"

Malcolm nodded. "Just remember to breathe normally, relax and we'll swim up together."

Steve took a few more steps and was closely followed by Malcolm who carefully secured the entry. After pressing a large knob a screen lit up declaring 'Operating Diving Bell'. This was followed by the statement: 'Matching Sea Pressure".

"What's happening?" Steve asked as events took a different direction to what he expected.

"Watch." was Malcolm's economic reply as he motioned for them to stand near the entry.

Steve had been expecting what he had visualised would happen, something like what he'd seen in the movies; water filling the airlock and then opening a hatch and swimming out. That's not what happened. Air was being pumped into the airlock. When the air had finished pumping into the sealed container he felt a decidedly uncomfortable pain around his ears. This eased as they slowly gained some sort of pressure equilibrium. All of a sudden there was a low pitched whir and part of the floor slid back open to the ocean around them. The surprise of this prevented him from drawing the logical connection between this apparatus and the designated name 'Diving Bell', something he would have done quickly in his more lucid moments.

"You go first and I'll follow with the bag. Don't forget to breathe slowly and deeply. Take your time going up. I'll be right behind you." Malcolm was speaking with authority about things he knew and the recovery of his confidence was evident in his movements.

Steve nodded and with a look of determination adjusted his face mask. He climbed down a small ladder into water lit up by small recessed lamps on either side of the portal. The water was cold. He was up to his waist when he decided it might be better to fall back into the water. Just as he was about to step off the ladder there was a sudden loud beeping alarm. The sliding plate started to close swiftly. At the same time Steve let go, splashing into the depths and trying to avoid the heavy plate. He felt a heavy thump on his head almost knocking him senseless. Groggy and confused he was now submerged and shut out of the submarine by the startling closure of the panel. Searing pain stabbed his skull. Ephemeral, translucent spots darted across his vision. His displaced face mask was leaking water onto his face and he spluttered as he drew the first of the salt water into his mouth. Still disoriented, in mounting panic, he was propelling himself madly with flipper clad feet. Through the intense, blanketing darkness he sensed the vessel rushing past. The water boiled with turbulence. Refixing his mask while expelling as much water as he could, he realised that the blackness was caused by the fact he was squeezing his eyes shut!

He forced his eyes slowly open, still feeling the pain, which was now a steady stab in his head. When his vision cleared he saw no sign of the craft, just the grey-green vault of the waters above. He felt entirely alone in the expanse of the ocean for just a second. And then, some premonition caused him to pivot about. He spun, trying to ignore his aching head. Heading directly at him at more than thirty knots was the dark form of the submarine. He swam with every ounce of strength to the left of the approaching ship. It changed course lining him up. Closer and closer it charged. The glow of the helm was apparent, slightly to his right, as Steve concluded that impact was inescapable. Kicking wildly, he barely avoided the main hull and attempted to brace himself for collision with the sleek starboard fin. Quickly, Steve positioned himself horizontally, inverted so the tanks were a buffer for his body. He was hardly in position when the fin crashed into him. It was a glancing blow on the left arm. His head was ringing from the metallic clang of the tanks taking the bulk of the force.

The whole encounter, though seeming to take an eternity in his mind, was over in seconds. He tumbled through a blizzard of air bubbles from the punctured tank and a trailing haze of turbulence from the receding vessel. Stunned but still conscious, he tried to gain his bearings. One thought registered—bubbles floated up! Gulping air from his rapidly depleting tanks, Steve strove for the surface. His arm stung as the salt water aggravated an open wound. On and on he stroked upward, no longer able to draw air from his tanks. His lungs demanded air. His chest ached and strained and his lungs felt as if they would burst, until finally, breaking the surface, he sucked in the life sustaining atmosphere. Bobbing up and down in the uneven swell, he gasped the cold air greedily. Wheezing, bruised and cut, but still alive, he revelled in the emotional high and relief from the narrow scrape. The adrenalin still flushing through him, he blessed the hand that preserved him.

In time the illusion of safety left him. A quick scan around revealed some of the hills silhouetted against the setting sun and the faint features along the distant shore line. He grimaced as his body attempted to move him in the direction of the coast about a kilometre away. Using numbing fingers, it was a painful chore to discard the useless bulky tanks. Eventually he was free of them. The cold choppy waves occasionally obscured his vision as he tried to determine a point of reference. If he could see a light, or the white structure it was on, it would indicate the location of a lengthy pier he knew was in the area. Through the waves to his left he spotted it. Then, seeing the dark red of the blood seeping from his arm Steve struck out with panicky haste for the light tower at the end of the pier. 'Sharks' that was the word that was uppermost in his mind. Ignoring the pain that wracked his body, he kicked and stroked with as much effort as he could muster. Very soon he tired from his frenetic thrashing. The light tower was still a long way off. The fatigue forced him to reason that he was probably better off swimming slowly, rather than attracting attention. Sharks attack flailing creatures didn't they? Or did they smell blood first? Pragmatically, he settled into a steady breaststroke. He couldn't shake the anxiety but he resigned himself to the fact that if there were sharks nearby, there was little he could do.

Chapter 8 - Friends

Stroke after stroke, with the cold seeping through the slash in the suit, with aching numbness wracking his body, Steve struggled on. As he wearied his stroke changed to the side; then a short time on his back before reverting to a more laboured breaststroke. It took about three quarters of an hour before he was noticed by a few fishermen. A couple more minutes of struggling enabled him to reach the mussel encrusted ladder at the end of the wooden jetty. The evening sky was a dark, dull pink with the sun having recently set behind the distant hills. Steve clambered wearily up the steps in his wet suit, still feeling the damage to his head and arm and bruising on his back. Dragging himself to the top, his legs shook for the third time that day, although this time it was exaggerated by the added effects of physical and emotional exhaustion, combined with the battering his body had taken.

The expressions on the faces of the few fishermen there registered the fact that this was an unusual occurrence.

"You look like you've been run over mate," said one grizzly angler turning on his small canvas seat, his line still dangling slack in the water.

"I was," Steve allowed through clenched teeth as he fought off a bout of dizziness.

"What was it, a boat or a jet ski?" asked another senior citizen.

"Something like that," he croaked with some effort, but in a non-committal sort of way.

His head was still swimming as he staggered across the boards, "Do you need a hand?" a father with a young boy asked.

"I'd appreciate it if someone lent me a mobile phone."

"Yeah, sure, no problem...." The man offered, rummaging around in a small kit bag. He handed it to Steve.

"Thanks." Steve edged a little away as he tapped in the numbers, curious eyes following him.

He called Jimmy and asked him to come and pick him up, deflecting his numerous questions with, "I can't explain at the moment." After describing his location and asking him to bring some clothes and something to eat, he disconnected and handed back the phone. While he was there one of the fishermen grabbed a first aid kit and bandaged his arm. At the same time he gave Steve some tablets for the thumping headache he'd complained about. After thanking them all for their help, Steve slowly wandered toward the shoreline end of the pier, his good arm cradling his flippers. Little else remained undamaged of the borrowed diving gear.

Sitting on a bluestone wall near the car park, he shivered. Steve confronted the situation. His story to the authorities now lacked corroborative evidence. There was no sub, no star witness and the disks with all the data he had gained from Paul's computer were still with Malcolm, wherever he was now! In his mind he pleaded for Malcolm's safety, and then he realised that even without evidence he must still talk to the police; if only for Malcolm's sake. Surely those in authority would have the resources to deal with this far better than he could. But would they take him seriously?

About an hour later Jimmy arrived. He had a bemused expression on his face. On meeting Steve's gaze as he opened the passenger door, he immediately sought answers.

"I thought you had some business today. I didn't realise you were going diving."

"Believe me it didn't start off that way." Steve contorted his face as he sat in the passenger seat. "So what's to eat?"

"Well about that, couldn't find anything at work and I didn't think you'd want to wait while I picked up a pizza, so sorry, no food. Do you want to stop somewhere and get something?"

Although he had that gnawing feeling in his stomach, the tiredness and aching of his body dictated his answer. "No, take me to the Newstead Industrial Park. I left my car there."

"So what's going on?"

Ignoring the question to begin with and with the wetsuit peeled back down to his waist, Steve rummaged around the back seat through some clothes that Jimmy had thrown in at his request.

Along the way Steve tried to explain what had happened to him. He prefaced his remarks with: "You're going to find this hard to believe." And he then proceeded to go through the strange sequence of events. Every now and then Jimmy asked a question and Steve would try and answer his query. When he had finished they sat quietly as Jimmy drove steadily through the traffic.

"You're right you know," began Jimmy.

"About what?"

"It's hard to believe." Jimmy looked across at Steve whose eyes were almost closed from fatigue. He was nodding in assent wearily. Jimmy backtracked quickly. "Oh, don't get me wrong, I mean, I believe you. It's just that it's... It's so..." he seemed stuck for words.

"Unbelievable," Steve helped him finish.

"Yes, I mean it's incredible. How can they get away with a secret base here? And what about this Malcolm guy—what's happened to him?"

"That's a good question. I guess he's in a lot trouble ... unless..." he then hesitated a second and other possibilities flitted across his mind. The sentence was never finished.

They tailed off their conversation as Jimmy pulled up behind Steve's Toyota.

"What are you going to do now?" asked Jimmy.

"I'm blown away. I'll go home, grab a bite to eat and then sleep. But tomorrow I'll have to visit the police."

"You should get that arm looked at."

Steve glanced at the blood soaked bandage. "I'll give it a bit of a clean dressing and look at it in the morning." He half staggered out of the car before steadying himself.

"Are you okay to drive?" Jimmy looked concerned.

"I'm okay."

"Listen, we've got work covered. So do what you have to do tomorrow, just let us know what's happening."

Stiffly, Steve moved around to the driver's side.

"Would you mind getting the spare key from under the door here? I don't feel up to it."

"Sure," his friend replied as he turned off the ignition. He gave Steve a nudge as he started out the car. "Which reminds me... I should give Jodes a call. She was a bit miffed that I just left her to close up tonight. And she was pretty curious when I said I was picking you up at Port Westbourne."

"Listen, you don't need to go into all the detail. If there are people looking for me then the less others know, the safer they are."

"You sure?" he sounded doubtful. His voice slightly muffled as he reached under the door and found a little box secured by a wing nut. He handed over the key.

"You sure you don't want Jodie in on this?"

"Yes I'm sure. I'll see you later. I may drop in tomorrow. And ..." he placed his hand on Jimmy's shoulder appreciatively and added seriously, "thanks for the ride by the way." Steve then got into his car and shut the door as Jimmy waved acknowledgment and farewell at the same time. He felt closer to Jimmy because of the knowledge they now shared, and he became aware that he valued their growing friendship.

Once Jimmy had left, Steve drove slowly past the factory just to reassure himself that the entry remained as he had left it. Though events through the day had surpassed the worst of his fears, the unchanged appearance of the factory seemed to leer at him with an arrogant normality. As if to challenge the reality of what he knew had occurred. To his shock a light came on in one of the offices. He did a quiet U-turn and drove back toward the highway. It suddenly gelled in his brain that they also used this entry point. The possibility that he could have run into them, or that they were aware of his incursion made him shiver. It was an involuntary shudder, probably exaggerated because he was cold. Steve hurried off home with the heater on, as his chilled body was beginning to stiffen and ache.

He was not long home, collapsed in an armchair and drinking hot chocolate when the doorbell rang. He roused himself painfully. It was Jodie. She was dishevelled looking, still in her work clothes. Her concerned look and fussing over his injury, almost as soon as he let her in, showed that Jimmy had filled her in on at least some of the story.

"Who was just here?" Her opening remark caught him by surprise.

"What do you mean?"

"A car drove off just as I came up the road."

He went to the window to look out.

"They're gone now," Jodie said as if stating the obvious. Steve felt a chill up his spine. Just a coincidence, or were they watching him already? He sat down weakly in his chair as she undid the bandage. "Have you eaten anything?" she interrogated with a slight edge in her voice.

"No," he replied tiredly.

"I'll order pizza. You shower and we'll dress that wound properly. The salt water was probably good for it, but it might need some stitches tomorrow."

He meekly complied, too weary to object to her commandeering attitude. It was nice to be fussed over. Steve enjoyed her careful touch. He stood with some difficulty and started to gingerly move off when Jodie commented, "Jimmy was a bit guarded about what had happened. He finally admitted that you had an accident, so I gave him a piece of my mind about his macho secrecy."

Steve, now almost out of the room, smiled but said nothing.

His hot shower proved a balm to his aches. Standing under the streams of steamy water, head and shoulders sore, arm stinging, legs cramping, he imagined Jimmy wilting under Jodie's questioning. How much had he told her? It bothered him that his friends were being dragged into this dangerous 'situation'.

He eventually staggered out of the bathroom dressed in comfortable track pants. Jodie smeared antiseptic cream on his arm and then wrapped the weeping gash tightly with a fresh bandage. Steve, aware of her gaze, quickly pulled on a loose fitting rugby top. He went to the bedroom to get some moccasins and started salivating the instant he smelled the freshly arrived pizza. In the kitchen the pieces were placed neatly on plates. That was different—it was usually straight from the box for him. Cool drinks were on the table and Jodie was sitting waiting. That was different too. They ate quietly for a few minutes. It was awkward because he couldn't think of anything to say.

She looked at him and a smirk appeared on her face.

"What?" He grinned defensively.

"You sleep in your track suit?"

"No, but my pyjamas are not decent for public display."

Jodie quickly checked the bandage on his arm and then they started on the pizza.

"Is what Jimmy told me true," she glanced up through some stray strands of dark hair, pizza poised near her mouth, "that you found an underground base and everyone was dead?"

He looked at her. 'So that's how much Jimmy told her,' he thought and slowly nodded his head. "I'm afraid so. It's an unbelievable atrocity, but it's true."

"What are we going to do?"

Steve's reply was suddenly tense. "There is no 'we' in this. The less people involved the better."

"Fewer," she interrupted.

"Fewer," he reiterated, trying not to smile at her taking the mickey out of him. It was usually him making the pedantic grammar corrections. "These are dangerous people. They won't hesitate to kill anyone who gets in their way. They may know about me, but I don't want my friends endangered."

"Friends..." Jodie repeated softly, with a slightly quizzical expression. "Don't friends stick together? Don't they help and support each other?" Then with a feigned aggrieved face she continued, "Besides, you asked Jimmy to help." Jodie stared at him but he avoided her gaze. His voice lowered.

"I know. I had no choice, but if anything happened to any of you guys I could never forgive myself. We'll let the authorities deal with it..." Steve thought that was the end of it. "Anyway you've done enough. I really appreciate the pizza and all." He felt a bit tongue-tied.

Jodie stood up. "Anytime... I'll go. You need your sleep." Her behaviour was strangely abrupt to Steve. Had he insulted her? Probably. If he stopped and considered what he had said it would be more apparent. But he didn't.

"Thanks again," he managed to call before she exited the front door. Maybe it was best if she felt out of 'the loop'.

His arm ached and his head throbbed. He needed sleep. Steve reviewed the harrowing incidents of the day as he lay in bed. Many questions posed themselves. 'Why and how did the submarine try and run him down? Was it remote? Could Malcolm have set him up? But a quick rethink about what they had been through made that almost inconceivable. He could have revealed his presence when they were escaping. Instead, he hid with him. What had happened to Malcolm?" He breathed a short prayer for Malcolm's safety and then added others to his petitions. It wasn't long before Steve was deeply asleep.

*****

There was a sharp clatter that penetrated the fog of his slumber. A niggling urgency stirred him into consciousness. 'Someone's inside' he thought. He desperately tried to engage his reluctant body as it ached with stiffness and bruising. He was slowly raising himself on his elbows when he noticed the bedroom door handle slowly turn. His first thoughts were of escape, or maybe a weapon. Gripping a large metallic torch, he deftly snuck behind the door. Poised ready to strike, Steve raised his arm as the door made a slight squeak.

"Are you decent?" said a familiar voice.

"Jodie!" he groaned, "What are you doing here?" he didn't think that came out quite right.

Her smiling face appeared in the slightly open doorway looking around for him. He peered from behind the doorway and met her eyes. He found her close presence warming to him. She ignored his disgruntled rousing. "What do you prefer, toast or cereal, coffee or tea?"

He tried to focus, "Er, cereal and tea, uh... thanks." then added, "I don't think I've got much."

"You don't. I brought some bread, milk and cereal." She turned and closed the door

He staggered back to the wardrobe and dressed as fast as his aching body would allow.

Jodie was all fresh faced wearing jeans and tee shirt, which was quite a contrast after yesterday's grubby work overalls. Her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, she had set up breakfast for both of them and sat opposite him. They ate silently for a few minutes before Jodie began uncertainly.

"I'm sorry Steve if I was a bit moody yesterday. I, er... guess I was concerned about you. How do feel this morning?"

He looked at her, supposing what she said made sense. Still, there was something else he mused. When she tilted her head questioningly he immediately remembered the question and responded huskily.

"Pretty sore, like I've been run over by a boat." He flashed a smile. Then realising he had a mission for the morning he went on. "I should write down some notes about what I want you guys to do at work while I go and see the police."

"What are you going to tell them? They'll think you're crazy."

"You're right, they will. But when they see the factory and the entrance to the base they'll have to believe me."

"I guess you're right. Do you want me to come with you?"

Steve cocked his head slightly and looked at her, thinking of a more moderate reply than what first came to mind—'The 'fewer' people involved publicly the better.'

"No, I'll need you to help at the nursery. It shouldn't be a problem. Besides, there's no reason why they should think we're both crazy."

Jodie got up and started to tidy the dishes while Steve listed some tasks for work.

She hovered around wondering what absorbed him so much, as he considered how he would explain his story to the police. Jodie then bemoaned the state of the house, fussing with cleaning here and tidying there, making comments all the time and then sometimes checking what Steve was up to.

Once he'd given Jodie the list he contemplated his next move. Should he just bowl in to the police station and make his report. Steve couldn't think of anything better. He remembered that he'd planned to take all the disk information and show them the amazing centre, but that was impossible now. All he had was a battered body, a fantastic story and the factory, if he could convince them to investigate it. He printed off copies of the emails that Paul had sent, but he knew that they were hardly the sort of thing that would mobilise the troops. He wasn't sure that speaking to the local authorities was the best course of action. But what else could he do?

Just then the phone rang and he went to answer it, wondering where Jodie had got to.

"Hello, Steven James speaking."

'Stephen, we are aware that you have witnessed a serious accident at one of our installations. The work that we are doing is highly secret. We insist that you maintain this secrecy. Your safety and the safety of those around you depends on you waiting for further instructions. Just go to the garden centre and stay put.'

The caller hung up. That was all. The whole tenor of the call was ominous. The threat sent a shudder through him. He suddenly became alarmed. 'They followed me last night. They know about me, about the plant nursery, what could they have in mind?' He looked at his watch. It was quarter to nine, 'Wednesday morning' he thought, 'Caz is in. He needed to warn her, and Jimmy.

He ran out of the house hearing a distant "What's wrong?" from Jodie and leapt on his motorcycle. After a frustrating few seconds trying to start the engine, it burst into life and he was off in a flurry of squealing tyres and blue smoke. Roaring down the street he raced around to the nursery. Aches and pains screamed at him to stop the juddering of the bike. He gritted his teeth and endured the torturous journey.

Jimmy was in the shed ensuring that the culture containers were ready for transfer to the climate controlled greenhouse. He eased off the bike and hobbled toward the entry.

"Where's Caz?" was his somewhat distraught greeting. Jimmy explained to Steve that Caz was in the office last he saw, about half an hour previously. He grilled Jimmy about whether he had seen anything suspicious or unusual. Jimmy was still trying to work out what he'd meant when Steve ran off. The office was quiet when he rushed in. No one was in sight.

"Caz!" he shouted a little alarmed.

"What are you all in a lather about?" returned Caz in a droll voice as she came out the back office. Relieved, Stephen came up to his sister and gave her a thankful hug, wincing when she put pressure on his still tender arm.

"Caz, why don't you take the rest of the day off?"

"Why? And why are you all bandaged up like that?" she gave him a puzzled look. Steve thought about shrugging off the query, but knew that he would save himself an inquisition if he delivered the truth head on.

"Something's happened and some fairly unfriendly people may pay us a visit. I don't want you involved. You really have to go home." He insisted.

"What's happened? Why would anyone harm us?" a look of concern for him shrouded her face.

"Without going into the whole story, let's just say I stumbled onto a terrible crime and they don't want anyone to know about it."

"Well, you need to go to the police."

"That's what I intend to do, but for now you have to stay away from here. I'll let you know when it's safe to come back."

She sat down in a chair and, mother-like, intoned in a cajoling voice, "Tell me all about it."

"I can't," he returned abruptly taking her by the shoulders and lifting her and easing her toward the door. "I'll try and fill you in later. First I need to speak to the police."

Caz had scarcely driven off, having been unceremoniously bundled into her car by Steve, when Jodie arrived in her car.

"What was all that about Steve? Who was on the phone?" she almost demanded to know.

"I can't tell you yet. I have to go to the police. The best thing you could do is go home and I'll call you when it's safe to come back." Steven cringed at the bluntness of his comments.

Jodie paled, opened her mouth as if about to say something and found herself facing the shuddering door that Steve had slammed. She had been hurt by his sharpness, and although she was aware of the desperation in his voice, she ambled off after him, shattered to be dismissed so brusquely.

Steve had gone to find Jimmy and convince him to go home, saying he would close up for the day. He found him near the back of the shed.

"No way," was Jimmy's defiant reply. "I can look after myself. Besides what would they do? We're on the main road."

Steve was still not happy with Jimmy staying. Jimmy tried a different approach.

"Look, if anyone nasty turns up looking for you I'll just act dumb. I'll say I don't know anything. After all it's you they'll want," Jimmy finished this last sentence with a grin sneaking across his face.

What could Steve say? He felt like saying that he didn't have to 'act dumb', he was dumb, but he appreciated Jimmy's expression of friendship in sticking with him.

"So, you go to the police and come back as soon as you can and I'll work here and keep a hefty tomato stake or two close at hand."

Steve shook his head slowly in dismay, and then trying to impress the seriousness of the situation one more time to Jimmy he said, "Jimmy, if anyone even slightly suspicious turns up, ring the police. Please!" His injuries chose that moment to greet him with a dizzy spell, and he sat down awkwardly on a drum till some measure of equilibrium returned. He hadn't noticed Jodie listening at the front of the shed, but he saw her walk off and heard her car leave.

"You're in no condition to go by yourself. Wait a minute and I'll drive you down," Jimmy declared.

"No, I'll be fine. I'm just tired," insisted Steve, though he did give himself time to recover and shake the woozy feeling in his head.

Chapter 9 – Story time

As soon as he could Steve rode his motorbike home, got into his car and went to the local police station. There was a constable at the front desk. He looked up as Steve entered and then resumed working through some menial task. Steve approached, not confident at all about how to tell his story.

"Can I help you?" the policeman asked before he had actually looked up.

"Well, it's hard to know where to begin," began Steve, "You see it's a pretty weird and amazing story." He was just about to launch into his sequenced account when the constable interrupted him.

"Start with your name and address," he said perfunctorily, grabbing a formatted note pad and then looking at Steve with pen poised. Steve gave him his personal details responding to the policeman's pedestrian patter.

"Now what seems to be the problem?" said the constable in his practised manner. Then fixing his eyes on Steve he added, "You been in a fight or somethin'?"

"No, no... but my injuries are part of the story."

"Hit 'n run?" The constable made another stab as if playing a guessing game. Steve shook his head and wished the man would just listen. Maybe he would say 'Give me a clue' and then Steve would know he was going crazy. Instead, the policeman seemed to remember his training and suggested, "Why don't you start at the beginning?" A number of retorts came to Steve's mind but none were particularly helpful.

Steve began, "A couple of weeks ago I contacted someone regarding the supply of plants—you see I run a plant nursery, Sunset Nursery. Anyway the deal seemed unusually secret..." Steve went on with his story with his listener looking slightly bored. The constable had stopped writing fairly early into the story. He cut out the detail and went straight to the emails, handing them over to the rather perplexed PC. After reading and then rereading the last email he looked up at Steve as if trying to ascertain his mental stability.

"Why don't you come to the interview room," he suggested. "I think the sergeant would like to hear this."

Steve was led to a small room and left to sit on a wooden chair. It felt surprisingly like a set from a B-grade movie. There were three wooden chairs and a table, and very little else in the room. Not long after he had settled and started to wonder about his own response to such a story if he'd been told it, the constable walked in with his sergeant.

He held out a hand. "I'm Sergeant McGuiness, and you've met Constable Davis."

Steve shook his hand. "Steven James," he returned.

"Okay, so what can we do for you Steven?" offered McGuiness in an unconvincing upbeat fashion. Then taking in Steve's bruised condition said with a little compassion, "You look as though you've been through the mill."

Steve went over quickly the ground he had already covered, and Davis again took notes, but in a more officious way this time. Steve concluded they were checking the consistency of his story and trying to determine his mental status.

It was when he started on the details relating to the journey into the base, the description of the countless dead bodies and the escape in the submarine that the expressions of the two policemen started to appear incredulous. Steve detected sceptical side glances and an eye roll from the constable when he thought he was out of his peripheral vision.

"Look," Steve said as he came to the end of the pertinent events, "I'd be sceptical too if I were you. It is unbelievable, but it happened."

"What do want us to do about it?" asked the sergeant thinking this was the point where the story may stand or fall.

"Just come with me and check out the factory entrance. If you see what I say is true then, I don't know, maybe the Federal Police, or even the army."

Sergeant McGuiness held both hands up and forward in a suppression movement and responded, "Okay now, let's not jump the gun. We'll do this step by step. Just wait here and we'll get back to you in a few minutes." They left the room quickly. The door which had almost slammed shut, rebounded a little under the influence of a pressure cylinder. Through the slowly closing door, Steve heard the fading comments: "I told you he was a nutter."

"Shhh... he'll hear you," retorted McGuiness.

While Steve waited impatiently in the featureless room, the sergeant made a call to a superior at the regional policing centre. The superior recommended he hold Steve for psychological testing, something McGuiness found uncalled for at this stage, but he didn't let on. He also had checks made on Steve's background, researched with some colleagues about the possibility of top secret bases in the vicinity, had a support squad car called up from off the streets and, all the time, glanced at the closed circuit monitor for any aberrant behaviour from Steve.

Steve, who wondered whether he'd have a headache for the rest of his life, was just beginning to think they had given up on him, when they walked in.

"Okay, we're heading down to the industrial park. When we get there let us handle any investigating. Okay?" he repeated. Almost immediately after McGuiness had reached the first of two squad cars, the police radio was putting out a call. Steve only caught the tail end of the conversation with the sergeant replying.

"Okay, we're heading over that way so we'll check it out. We'll give a call if we need more help. Okay." He finished off. Steve had already nicknamed the sergeant 'Okay McGuiness' for his constant use of that affirmative.

Having his veracity doubted was not something Steve enjoyed and he was trying to hurry them on to the location in question. But they travelled at normal speed, which to him was far too slowly. Steve felt things were going awry when he saw a pall of smoke thicken as they approached the site. Turning into the last block they saw that the street was congested with fire trucks. The police cars were ushered through and they clambered out to see the remains of what must have been a rather violent explosion and what was still a fierce fire.

McGuiness gave instructions for the other pair to control traffic near the intersection while they had a closer look. The blaze took almost an hour to subdue. The firemen were mopping up some stubborn embers and a secondary fire that was still burning an adjacent factory when Sergeant McGuiness turned to Steve.

"So this was the factory, right?"

Steve nodded.

"Not much left... everything's collapsed."

"I think he might have had something to do with this," said Davis quietly. "It's too much of a coincidence."

McGuiness told the constable to question Steve further as he wandered off. He had a thoughtful look on his face. Steve's claims seemed very lame now, with the destruction of his most potent evidence, and he visibly wilted under the questioning of the constable regarding what possible prior knowledge Steve may have had of this 'conflagration'. He actually used the word 'conflagration'. He could have said 'fire', but having determined from enquiries that Steven was something of a scientist decided to try and impress his interviewee.

They returned to the police station and Davis went over his story with him in detail. He had an amused smirk on his face as he asked Steve to sign his statement. Sergeant McGuiness popped in to say a captain from regional headquarters was coming over to review his statement and the emails.

After some 'be available, don't go anywhere' type of advice, Steven fled for his work.

'He could sit around and wait for those threatening him to do something or he could make preparations,' he thought as he pulled into the nursery.

Although it was late and everyone had gone home he had to inform John. John and he had always shared their problems. What would he say? He mulled over how their conversation might go. As he walked into the office he saw the computer dismantled. No hard drive. They were destroying all the evidence! He tried to garner his thoughts to evaluate what he had left. Now there was just his home computer and his email provider.

He dialled the phone and listened as it rang. It was John. "What's going on Stephen?" he said desperately. "Caz rang me and said she was 'sent home'. I've been trying to get onto you ever since. Are you hurt? If you've got some troubles you need to go to the police."

"I just tried that. It sort of backfired," he said, realising he'd made a pun, but it was to an unsuspecting audience and was totally wasted. He continued by filling John in on the recent events and responding to his interspersed queries. At least that indicated he was going with Steve on his story. He concluded with, "John this is really serious stuff and you're one of the few I can rely on to support me in doing something about this. In fact I may have put a few noses out of joint by leaving them out of the loop."

"I think I know what you mean," replied John thinking of Caz. "If you're right about this virus, they have to be stopped. I'll contact some people I know and find out what we can do, but I would bet that they would want a specimen of that virus."

Steve suggested they fill in Eric about what was happening and bemoaned the fact of the high probability that his submarine exit had literally cleansed him of any residual contaminants. Steve explained that Jimmy and Jodie were keen to get involved, but that he resisted their offers because he worried about the dangers. Before he had finished John told him to keep him informed. In the background Steve heard Fiona's worried voice asking what was wrong. John said he had to go.

After that he rang the police to let them know about the computer. They took his details but couldn't say how soon anyone could come, making some muttered comment about how undermanned they were. Five minutes later he got a call from Sergeant McGuiness.

"Steve, just thought I'd ring and let you know you're getting a visit from some federal security guy. Seems he's taking your comments seriously."

"When?"

"In a few minutes I'd say. Seems our enquiries have ruffled some feathers. He was just going to turn up and surprise you, so I thought I'd warn you, okay."

"Thanks Sergeant."

"Okay." McGuiness ended, and he hung up.

Feeling weary and sore, Steve thought that things were finally looking up.

Not long after a rap at the door signalled the arrival of his expected visitor.

Steve let him in. The man had dark, close cropped hair, was medium height and weight and his face looked unshaven. Steve could have bet that he had a perpetual after five shadow. He wore a white shirt, red striped blue tie and dark grey suit and came in with a serious expression.

"Steven James?"

"Yes."

"Let me introduce myself. My name's Kevin Gratten, I work for a government security division." He flashed an identity card in his wallet which looked officious, with a photo, a number of capital letters that stood for some government organisation, and an Australian coat of arms. Before Steve could examine it properly the agent replaced it in his jacket.

"I'm here because of the reports you have made to the police," he continued, "and, firstly, I have to apologise for their lack of action and the doubts they had about you."

"So you believe me?" Steve was stunned. He hadn't expected such a turn around so quickly.

"Well, not so fast. I need to explain some things to you that must not go beyond this room."

"Why? ...Surely, the more people that know the better..."

"Mr James, when you hear what I have to say you will understand."

Steve nodded in response and the grey Mr Gratten began his explanation.

"A delegation from a secret US base came to our office today. The base is operating with our cooperation. They know about your visit and wish to prevent any undue panic." He held up a hand as Steve was about to interrupt. "Please Mr James let me finish. They informed me that a small group of renegade scientists had developed a dangerous biological weapon. However, they were discovered, but in the military's effort to subdue them the toxic agent was released. As a result many people died. They have assured us, however, that the threat has passed. Because of this the government will be re-examining the role of this base. They hope to continue humanitarian work on a highly technical, and at present secret program."

Steve's response was animated, "That all sounds possible but you weren't there. The dead bodies, people shot and the place deserted."

"Yes, they said it would have looked disturbing, especially with the information they discovered you had received. But that is what has happened Mr James. There was some resistance I'm told and, of course, to sterilise the base they evacuated and sealed off the entry which you yourself used."

Steve's head was spinning. It sounded feasible, but there were serious anomalies. Things he couldn't speak of. Things which, if he did mention them, might find their way back to a callous, murderous enemy. He particularly thought of Malcolm. He couldn't tell Gratten. They had his confidence... maybe even his support.

"What happens now?" Steve asked. Maybe he could convince them, through Gratten, that he accepted the explanation.

"Well, first of all you must not breathe a word of this to anyone. The threat is over. The program, which is extremely valuable, will continue at some future time, when safeguards are in place. If you told anyone else you need to explain that there is no problem anymore... that you have received an official explanation."

"So was it you that informed them about my report to the police?"

"No... not at all, they already knew. They contacted me. It's obvious they have considerable resources."

There was no reference to Malcolm, no comment about the two military officers who appeared anything but guiltless of the mayhem that had occurred. Steve felt that whoever had informed them knew only the police report.

"So can I count on you to keep this strictly to yourself?" Gratten asked as he stood, and by standing indicating that he had said his piece and was ready to leave.

"I don't think anyone would believe me anyway," was Steve's non- committal reply as he also rose and shook the departing agent's hand.

When he was alone Steve wondered about what had happened to Malcolm. After an inward groan of despair for one who had been a friend all too briefly, he dragged himself out of his stupor. He grabbed a pen and scrap of paper and he wrote a short list of people who could be responsible for relating his story to the other side? Added to his list of friends and family (which he discounted anyway) were a number of police, the government security agent - Kevin Gratten, and maybe someone at the university. Perhaps Professor Leipstein who he remembered said 'viral immunology is my thing'. He discounted that almost immediately as he remembered how the professor had mentored him through university. Last of all was a question mark. It may well be someone who was unknown to him, someone just watching.

He shrugged his shoulders and the action brought tears to his eyes as his left arm ached in protest. He stood holding his arm, and realised that he had to do something about the computer. That might cause more problems. He brainstormed various strategies to minimise disruption at work.

The last thing he did before locking up was ring Jimmy and organise the acquisition of a new computer. Probably because of Caz's good management rather than anything else, they would have some data key drives containing all the business files.

Steve slipped off home absolutely wrung out after what had been another long and incredible day. Witnessing the shocking loss of life just one day ago was starting to soak into his psyche. People with families, friends and relationships just snuffed out by some insidious germ. The grotesque forms of bodies twisted by pain as death overtook them, played on his mind. At home he sat at the kitchen table with his head in his hands. The immensity of the scheme, the complex and the sophistication of the technology was overwhelming. Even though he was hungry, he settled for a large drink of milk and then dragged himself off to bed.

Once he found a comfortable position, sleep came rapidly as the events of the day took their toll. His mind wondered into the strange world of the subconscious.

'Driving along a highway, the car was big but indistinct and the countryside was rushing past. There were passengers going along with him, anonymous, indistinguishable. The double lane highway passed by faster. The surface began to undulate, the car becoming airborne as it careened ever faster, almost out of control on a suddenly rough, lumpy roadway.

The highway evaporated and Steve was conscious of racing along a narrow street, with shops and people. Now he was speeding through a congested market. He was trying to look back to see where he missed the highway; how had he turned off?

Everything had stopped. He had crashed. Into what, he didn't know. There were crowds.

"You've wrecked the car and it's not yours," a voice was saying.

"I think I'm lost." Steve heard himself reply lamely. He was worried about his passengers, but he couldn't visualise anyone.

I'm lost, I've wrecked the car and it's not mine. Those were his thoughts as he woke up uncomfortably.

He remembered the dream.

He got up and poured himself another glass of milk. That of course stirred up his appetite and he served up a bowl of cereal to fend off his hunger. He must thank Jodie for getting him the cereal and milk.

Still battered and tender from his ordeal he crawled back into bed. His sleep continued to be restless with other dreams reflecting the anguish he had experienced, but none remained with him other than the car rushing down the highway. And those gnawing thoughts stayed with him; 'I'm lost, I've wrecked the car and it's not mine.'

Chapter 10 – Loss 2

The morning seemed bleak in more ways than one. The weather was gloomy, his arm was tender and his body ached from bruising and too much exertion. To add to his misery, he felt lethargic from lack of sleep and stiffness that grasped at his limbs. To make matters worse, apart from the milk, bread and cereal Jodie had bought, the fridge provided little in the way of sustenance. Steve muttered to himself, "You're living like a hermit." He dressed in his last clean jeans and tee shirt. He made himself a mental note, unaware that he was talking to himself.

"Right, I need to do some washing, and I need to buy some groceries. Meanwhile the world is attacked by a deadly virus. Just so long as I have some clean clothes and I'm eating well it's 'okay'. 'Okay!' Thankyou Mr McGuiness."

He stopped and shook his head quipping, "I'm losing it. Says to himself... got to stop talking to myself... Now there's a paradox."

He then set off to get some fast food for breakfast, wondering along the way if having this twisted mind was a sign of madness, or whether it actually prevented him from going mad.

On one or two occasions on the way to breakfast, and then later, on the way to work he had an eerie feeling and glanced around, sure someone was observing his movements. When he arrived at work he parked his car out the front of the Nursery. Pete, a friend of Jimmy's was helping with setting up for the weekend and Steve informed them that he might be going away for a while and wasn't sure when he'd be back. In the office he noticed a new computer already installed and the associated boxes still strewn about.

After cleaning up inside, he went out to help the others.

"Hey, you got the computer already? How did you do that?" Steve quizzed Jimmy.

"When you're good, you're good," Jimmy crowed, but was interrupted by Pete clearing his throat with exaggerated grunts.

"Okay, so the fact that Pete's brother manages a computer store and Pete here helps install them may have helped a bit. But I made the phone calls."

When Jimmy and he were alone Steve just told him that everything involved with getting the police to investigate the secret base had fallen through.

"Can you believe it? They blew up the factory!"

"It's like one of those disasters you see on TV. You find it hard to believe, but you know it happened," Jimmy observed.

"...Except, it's happening to us."

Jimmy asked him what his plans were and he began to outline his ideas, changing the subject whenever Pete came back for another load. Repeatedly, Steve turned down Jimmy's offers to join him, explaining how important it was for things to appear normal, especially if they were watching.

At about noon Pete was happy to get some pizzas so Jimmy and Steve could continue to work, and it also suited them since it would enable them to freely discuss what was going on.

As Pete was about to head off on his scooter Steve called out to him, "Pete, take my car. I don't want you trying to balance pizzas while you're riding that thing." He threw his car keys to Pete.

"Thanks, I won't be long." He walked off to the front."

"If I can get a sample of the virus..." Steve was saying to Jimmy when suddenly there was a huge explosion outside the building. Shelves shook, windows shattered and debris was flying everywhere. Smothering dust clouded the area as they rushed outside to see the burning wreck of Steve's old Toyota. Dirty black smoke billowed up into the air and flames roared out the window as if screaming in rage as rubber and synthetic fabrics were incinerated. Steve sped to the shed and seized a fire extinguisher from the wall. Running back, he encountered a wall of heat from the inferno as he tried to get closer. Steve directed the powdery stream of retardant through the open window and started to douse the searing flames while Jimmy rang the fire brigade. Again and again he retreated from the scorching heat of the blaze. Attempting to get at the door, Steve was hurled back by the thumping concussion of another explosion. Singed and crumpled by the blast, he slowly regained his senses, and felt Jimmy dragging him clear of danger. Layers of crushed bark had softened the impact and prevented him from adding to his tally of bruises, nevertheless his chest ached from the pressure wave. With sirens blaring, the emergency services arrived soon after, but the crew had not much to do except finally quench the smouldering tangle of metal.

Helplessly, they stood there. There was nothing they could do. Little remained of the Toyota and Pete had been killed instantly. Steve, Jimmy and the two girls, Sally and Anne were huddled together, devastated, vacantly staring at the final dousing of the wreckage.

Not too long after that, Sergeant McGuiness came with Davis.

McGuiness came up first to question Steve. He looked quizzical and a little harassed. He asked Steve about any possible enemies..., likely suspects?

Steve shook, "You tell me. You know the story. I told you I'd been threatened." He was defensive and angry and almost in a detached state of shock.

"What about the driver? How do you know him?"

Steve explained who he was and that he was taking the car to pick up lunch. The sergeant was in a quandary about what to do. How could he establish what the truth of the matter might be? He couldn't accept such a story on face value, but a hint of an idea occurred to him. He got Constable Davis to take Steve's statement. The constable was very aware that this was the crazy complainant with the weird international terrorism story.

"This is becoming a bit of a habit, isn't it?" was his opening disparaging question. Steve struggled to respond with equanimity to Constable Davis' taunting approach. His questioning was tainted with sarcasm at Steve's replies and he didn't try to conceal his disbelief.

Meanwhile Sergeant McGuiness spoke to Jimmy for some time. Then, before leaving, he came back to Steve.

"Young Schwartz," he said indicating with his thumb in Jimmy's direction, "says that you told his friend to take your car. Is that true?"

"Yes," he murmured, already conscious of where this was heading. "I couldn't expect him to carry pizzas here on his scooter." He froze mid thought, feeling a constriction around his chest. Almost robotically his voice continued without expression, "I suppose it was my decision that sent Pete to his death." His voice was strained and low as he completed the statement. He dwelt on the accusations his mind was making. Shouldn't he have seen an attack coming? The ache of his emotional state made it hard to think.

The sergeant looked at him analytically, and then visibly softened as Steve appeared vague and preoccupied, transfixed upon some unfocused point in space. He was fast revising his initial convoluted theories about Steve somehow setting up the groundwork for the present crime. Was he so clever as to commit a crime that was patently evident in the smouldering wreckage by distracting investigations with his bizarre conspiracy theory? The way things were just happening, without obvious motive, seemingly catching Steve totally unaware was very convincing to McGuiness, but he wasn't going to believe anything that Steve was telling him until he had some hard facts. To try and put Steve off his guard he decided to take on a sympathetic approach.

"Don't dwell on it son. There was no way that you could know what would happen."

"No..." replied Steve, and then as an afterthought he added, "Thank you Sergeant." He was still in a sort of delirium.

"So it was your car. It could have been you, you know."

"That's what I am thinking. It should have been me... He died instead of me." Steve was still distracted. The concept wasn't new to him, but its reality was stark and almost oppressive on him.

"You should get that arm looked at."

Steve looked at the bandage on his arm. It was seeping blood from all his effort with the extinguisher and the secondary detonation.

"Yeah, I should. Thanks again Sergeant."

"And Steve, if anything else crops up let us know straight away."

"Sure," Steve said softly, distractedly, and then turned and went into the office where Jimmy was already waiting. He was slumped in one of the office chairs, head bowed. He looked up at Steve. There were tears in Jimmy's red rimmed eyes. Steve felt his stomach knot. Totally bereft of anything to say, he pulled a chair alongside Jimmy and put his arm on his shoulder. Jimmy sobbed quietly. Steve knew that Jimmy and Pete had been mates since almost before school age. They had done so much together. Now it was suddenly ended—he was gone, just like that.

After sitting like that for several minutes Jimmy looked up at Steve, "Why Steve? How can something like this happen?"

'How it could happen' was obvious to Steve, but what could he say? He paused, "It's my fault. They were after me... it should have been me." He came back to that morbid thought.

"Don't say that," Jimmy was terse, "It's nobody's fault, except those creeps who did this." He swore softly under his breath. "What should we do?"

"I'm not sure we should do anything. I think we're out of our league."

Jimmy retorted furiously. "They killed my best friend and, from what you say, hundreds of others. They can't get away with this. We have to do something." His face was tense and aggressive. His glare showed he was waiting for some response from Steve.

"I can see you're angry..." He stopped. 'What a dope, what a dope.' His thoughts echoed as he considered what an inane remark that was, "... you have every right to be." said Steve coolly, "but anything we do in the heat of the moment is likely to fail."

Patting Jimmy on the back, he tried to sound a little more upbeat, "I'll make us a cup of coffee and we'll make plans." He stood up and extricated some cups out of the cluttered sink, giving them a brief rinse.

"So you're going to do something."

"We'll make plans," he repeated. "These people have tried to kill me because they think I'm the only link to their base. If they find out they have failed they'll try again. I don't think they'll quit. And —" He almost said 'collateral damage'— "hurting other people, is not a high concern on their list."

The two girls took drinks into the customer walk-through area while waiting for police permission to go home. Steve and Jimmy went into the office. Talking over their coffees the two discussed a variety of actions. Jimmy's risky suggestions were largely motivated by his anger and his emotional state, but also, in part, because that was the way Jimmy was. The huddle over the table and the lowered voices presented a classical portrait of two schemers. Initially they were interrupted by the crime squad informing them they were taping the area for forensic police. Soon after that Jodie burst in. She was flustered and showed visible relief upon seeing Steve and Jimmy.

"I know you told me to stay away, but when I heard about the explosion on the radio I had to come." She slowed down; "they said police reported one fatality..." she came to a halt, unable to put the words in a sentence."

"Pete," said Steve hoarsely. He went on with a tremble in his voice, "Pete... he was in my car."

Distress spread across her face, "Oh Jimmy, I'm so sorry." She went over, pulled up a chair and sat next to him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he put his head on her neck, any lingering pretence of bravado crumbling at her concern, and the tears began to flow from both of them.

The crime squad questioned everyone again with little new information being gained. The police then said that the plant nursery workers were free to go. Amidst the trauma and emotion of the moment John and Caz walked in. They had called earlier and found out from Jimmy what had happened. There were hugs and more hugs; and after some time of grieving and commiserating together, Steve, Jimmy and John sat down and continued the former pair's discussion. Caz made more coffees all round and handed out sandwiches that she had brought, and the two girls talked quietly while the three men were hunched in mutual conspiracy.

Finally, John made suggestions about evacuating the premises and meeting at his and Fiona's home for dinner. Jimmy offered the use of his car to Steve while Jodie offered to drive him in the blue Volkswagen. Steve gladly accepted the first and refused the second saying that he had a number of errands to run and 'the less they saw of him the better'. This comment was met with some consternation until he explained that Jimmy's car faded into the background easily compared with Jodie's bright blue VW.

He tried to insist that it was best if they kept their distance. They all rejected his comments out of hand. John put into words what they were all thinking.

"I think we understand where you are coming from Steve, but we're all in this together, whether you like it or not."

Parting commenced with hugs and assurances that they would meet at John's home later that night. Steve walked to the gate and watched them all leave, skirting the cordoned area where investigators were picking over the rubble. Jimmy left with Jodie who was dropping him off at his place.

"Look after yourself mate," John said as he drove away with a wave of his arm.

There were a number of news crews that had arrived earlier. They had been recording reports and now some shouted questions to the departing friends and to Steve, who stood there dismayed.

He remained at a distance gesturing and waving them away, but some persistent reporters were making their way with cameras and microphones seeking an interview. Steve retreated to the office and locked the door, busying himself with tidying up and ignoring the commotion outside the door. After half an hour or so, they withdrew to the scene of the explosion to record some last minute segments for the evening news. Steve saw this as an opportunity to sneak out the side door and get into Jimmy's small Ford.

As he was quietly locking the side door he was startled by a soft "Hello." He spun around and came face to face with a young, slender and very attractive girl. She was blonde and wore a blousy light coloured top and dark skirt. While Steve was still momentarily flummoxed by her nearness, her scent and the unexpected meeting, she spoke in an anxious tone.

"You're hurt. Shouldn't you get that looked at?"

"Yeah, I will," Steve replied glancing at the red soaked bandage and feeling uncomfortable about his sweaty and dirty appearance. The girl composed herself.

"My name's Kelly Wilkerson. I'm a reporter for the local paper, and I'm gathering information about this shocking incident. I'm wondering if you have any comments about the explosion outside your business today?"

"Er, no, no comment." His first thought was that she didn't sound like a reporter, but then again, she could be just starting out.

"Please sir, do you know the victim? Why do you think this happened?"

The American accent in her voice suddenly sounded familiar. "You rang me earlier in the week for a story didn't you?"

"Yes. Look this is my first big break. I've just come from the States for this job. Can you tell me what you know?"

"Listen, I'm sorry, I have no comment. Now I must go." Steve was firming his resolve.

An idea seemed to visibly form in her mind, "If I call out, all those news crews will stampede down here and you'll be here for ages. Just a few questions, please?" she gave him her best winning smile and Steve was ensnared by it and by her light blue eyes.

"Just a couple of questions then," he sighed.

"Who was the victim?"

"A casual worker."

"Name?"

"Ask the police, they'll know when details are to be released."

"Why do you think the car was blown up?"

"I can't say."

"You can't or you won't say?"

"Does it make a difference?"

"Is it true that the vehicle blown up was your car?" Kelly looked steadfastly at Steve.

"No comment."

"Does that mean that you may have been the target of today's blast?" she pressed.

"No comment, and I think that might be enough Kelly, if you don't mind." He went to move past her to the car but she gripped his right arm firmly and spoke sympathetically.

"Steve, I don't want to add to your hurt... you understand. I have a job to do."

"Yeah, I understand," he feebly tried to be gruff, surprised that she used his name and surprised by what seemed to be genuine concern. She let go his arm and he felt ambivalent about the release. There was something tantalising about being manhandled by this attractive girl.

"I'm sorry for your loss," she said softly. "Perhaps we could talk again, off the record. Do you know that coffee shop up the road...'Inn for Coffee'? I'll be there at 11 in the morning if you want to talk." And she swayed away.

Steve, strangely stirred, responded, "I doubt if I can make it. Don't wait too long...I have a lot to do." His pathetic protestations were lost to her distant form.

On his way home he dropped into the supermarket and bought groceries. Was that a stranger lurking at some shelves watching him? He walked around the aisles a few times but wasn't sure. When he came down the same aisle for the third time there was definitely a pair of eyes following his movements. He met the gaze of the man watching him, staring at him in an attempt to cower him. His reaction made Steve feel a bit ridiculous.

"Can I help you?"

"Er no."

"Sure? You seem to be looking for something."

"No, no I thought I saw someone." Steve then took his shopping through the checkout sensing curious glances and feeling very self-conscious. Out on the road he again felt pursued. He searched his mirrors. How long had that blue car been following? He circled the neighbourhood in a variety of directions before convincing himself he was not followed.

"I'm getting paranoid," he breathed and then checked the mirror once more before finally heading directly home. He thought it necessary to lock the car in the garage behind the heavy wooden doors.
Chapter 11 - Memories

It was about five pm so, after putting through a load of washing, he quickly put away the groceries. Throwing into the dryer some clothes he needed to wear, Steve then put on another load; all the while his mind was reliving the events of the past few days. Phrases kept spinning about in his mind. His thoughts were all murky with conflicting ideas and emotions. The words, "I don't have long," echoed about in his head. It could be true of him too, he thought. What did Paul say; "I'm in His hands." Was it resignation or faith—'faith'—what did he say? "The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love." He had to read for himself where that came from. No doubt he would be able to find some concordance that would give him the reference.

He showered, still caught up with tumultuous feelings. 'It should have been me' he quivered involuntarily, why was he spared? Is there a plan? What's my role? What's my responsibility? Dressing his wound and then himself, Steve tentatively put on the clothes straight out of the drier, flinching when hot metallic buttons touched his skin. He wandered into the study and immediately realised that they had been here too. The shutter windows had been jemmied open and his computer was gone! He shuddered at the disquiet he felt from having his home invaded. Then he spent several minutes looking around the rest of the house to assure himself that whoever it was had gone, and nothing else was taken or damaged.

He thought about giving the police a call but couldn't face the possibility of answering derisive questions from Constable Davis. He gave John a call filling him in on the theft and then saying he'd be a little late since he hadn't yet left. Again he took a circuitous route, doubling back several times before being convinced that he was not followed.

At John and Fiona's the mood was subdued. Jimmy arrived in his dad's car, soon after Steve. He related how he had visited Pete's family. They were utterly devastated and had nothing to say to the police, or vice versa. Nothing could be said that could bring any explanation or consolation to their disarray.

They all sat down at the meal and John gave thanks and then committed them all into the Lord's care. When Steve opened his eyes he observed the keen gaze from Jodie's bright blue eyes as if weighing him up. Conscious of their mutual stares they both averted their eyes and began eating. Small talk was the main feature of the meal apart from the delicious fare of roast and hot chocolate pudding, which wasn't suitably appreciated because of the mood of those present.

After the meal, over a coffee, Steve confided with John and Jimmy that he would start preparations for his 'trip' the next day. Their talk became more general when the girls returned. Was the threat real? What sort of things could they do to avoid the danger it posed?

It was agreed that now that the police knew, there was some chance the plot would unravel. However Steve was not so convinced, having witnessed little action resulting from his recent visits.

Caz and her husband Kevin left first as a neighbour was minding their children. The rest lingered for a while before saying their goodbyes.

Outside in the dark, standing near their parked cars, Steve, Jimmy and Jodie chatted quietly.

"I'll follow you home Jimmy and then you can drop me off. I'll use my bike to get around."

"No problems Steve," Jimmy exhaled verbally. "I think I'll go to work tomorrow. There's still a lot of stuff to do and even if the police keep us closed, the plants need to be maintained."

"I'm coming too," affirmed Jodie, and her directness was meant to deflect any likelihood that she would be contradicted. Nevertheless Steve made an attempt.

"I appreciate it guys, but I couldn't live with myself if something happened to either of you. I can do what needs to be done."

"We're in this together Steve, especially now. Just accept that we're helping." Jimmy's face revealed the pain he was still experiencing.

"A cord of three strands is not quickly broken," mused Jodie.

Steve looked at her and was conscious that she was quoting, and he also felt that the meaning was more than was immediately apparent. He was about to pursue the contention through, when he was distracted by the full moon beaming down on them.

"Look at that."

"Mmm..." Jodie sounded her endorsement, though her appreciation turned out to be more aesthetic than his.

Steve went on, "The dark seas, and bright Copernicus Crater, it's hard to believe there are people up there right now... on some secret base." He stopped himself from elaborating about the pernicious plan of a renegade army. "Anyway, we should go."

Before he could move toward his car, Jodie gave him a quick hug. "Look after yourself, I'm praying for you," she said softly and then turned and fled to her car.

"Thanks..." he mumbled.

"What was that about?" Jimmy turned to Steve. He peered at Steve, then he lowered his head as he was about to get in his car, and slowly shook his head, a small smile materialized fleetingly. "Come on, let's go," came his indistinct voice prior to the door thudding closed. They all set off, one after the other. Steve was eventually deposited at his home without any incident, though Jimmy did comment on his obsessive scanning of traffic.

At home as he lay in bed he again suffered the racing mind syndrome. The same thought's recurred—'it should have been me'. 'Why wasn't it me?' he brooded. It had been a shocking day that had produced quirky memories; Kelly, a delightful looking girl suggesting 'be there at 11 if you want to talk', and Jodie hugging him and saying 'look after yourself, I'm praying for you'.

That night his dreams unsettled his sleep again. He woke up once, sweat soaked, when he couldn't understand a lesson in virology. He listened but none of the words made sense. A second time he woke after telling a number of faceless people they couldn't borrow his car. It was then that he wondered how they had rigged his car in broad daylight, while it was parked just outside Sunset Nursery. Other dreams upset him but again escaped his conscious memory when he woke.

In the morning sitting having his breakfast, strangely, his thoughts went to Kelly Wilkerson, something she had said wasn't quite right. She knew something, said something... then he recalled the 'appointment' at the café. Should he go? What help could a reporter give? Perhaps he was just interested in her.

He mumbled, "Should I go? She is certainly beautiful in her own shapely, blonde, blue-eyed, pretty faced kind of way." He grinned at his own gratuitous statement of the obvious. Would he meet her? He hadn't decided yet. He knew he wouldn't just because she was attractive. There was that 'something' that he had missed—a mystery—maybe a connection.

His head was still painful to touch but beginning to heal. His arm, apart from being a little scabby and bruised yellow and blue, was a little more flexible. He knew that his interrupted sleep was the main reason his head felt numb and heavy, as if encased in a layer of clay. Steve wondered about his mental stability. What effect, apart from lack of sleep, was the emotional trauma of the last few days having on him? Paranoia, or was it guilt that was developing into some sort of psychosis? Was he losing touch with reality?

Steve's arrival at work that Friday would have been quite normal, superficially, if it hadn't been for the police tape and charred remains of his car. He was there early and did some paperwork before giving Eric Leipstein a call. After an apology for the loss of the suit, and answering his anxious queries about the explosion, he filled him in about their plan to sample the virus.

"Steven are you sure that the virus won't be contagious?"

"Prof, it seems to be temperature dependent. There was no effect on me at room temperature, so I can only assume it has been designed to survive in a very narrow temperature band."

"That's very interesting Steven. We have been doing some research work here on changing temperature parameters, mainly at the higher end, but that work ended last year when funding ran out."

Steve was intrigued, "What possible purpose would that research have Eric?"

"Treatment; you know, find a vulnerability and attack it. We were just considering low temperature therapy when we stopped."

The professor asked how police investigations were progressing and Steve explained that it was unlikely they would consult with him at present, since he was the main suspect in a number of investigations. He concluded his conversation with a request to borrow a notebook computer, which his mentor happily acceded to. He hung up thinking there was something else he was missing. Puzzle pieces were being dropped at his feet and he didn't really know what to do with them.

Jimmy turned up and Steve quizzed him on whether he should be at work. It was clear he had had virtually no sleep at all, but he insisted that he needed to do something. Otherwise he would just mope around at home and get all maudlin. They were still arguing when Jodie arrived. Her demeanour was serious and restrained and she spoke infrequently that morning. They soon all busied themselves cleaning up broken glass and doing regular maintenance work. The three didn't connect much until quarter to eleven, when they were in the office area and Steve suddenly announced that he had something he had to do. He grabbed his helmet and took his bike from the back, riding slowly out of the driveway, past a police removal truck lifting the wreckage, and on to the highway.

Parking the bike in sight of the café was his first consideration. Then Steve headed into the quaint coffee shop. Kelly was dressed in tailored jeans and dark blousy shirt, and again looked very attractive to Steve. He sat down and they ordered, after which he expected a barrage of questions. Instead Kelly made small talk asking about his family, friends, interests, and even about his work. Almost coyly she asked, "So, do you have a girlfriend?" This caught him by surprise and Steve stammered some before clearing his throat.

"No, er, not really ...well no."

"Oh..." said Kelly with a winsome smile, drawing her seat nearer to him, "so you're available." she winked humorously. And Steve experienced a pleasurable flush of embarrassment, not used to encountering an attractive girl who was quite obvious in flirting with him... or was she joking? He was just insecure enough to not be sure if someone genuinely liked him.

It occurred to him then to ask how she knew his name when she spoke to him the previous day. Kelly explained that she heard someone call his name as they left, and although that sounded reasonable to Steve, there was another niggling event, some bit of information, that refused to crystallize.

These doubts faded into the background as he listened to Kelly's soft, musical voice. She had just arrived from the US several days ago to pick up a reporting cadetship at a major newspaper. Her position allowed her to work freelance, taking up part time work with a regional newspaper network while selling stories and articles (if they were good enough) to the major paper. She asked him how Pete's family was taking the tragedy, and how they were coping at work. Steve was reticent to say much and truthfully responded that he didn't know much of Pete's family, but he believed there was a funeral service on Tuesday.

"How are you coping Steve?" was the quiet, concerned question Kelly asked leaning forward and placing her hand on his. A lump came to his throat as he found her care softened his resolve to tough out this emotional roller coaster. Things which he had pushed to the back of his mind started flooding back.

"Okay, I guess," he managed to murmur before clearing his throat. "I have some good friends and family that support me." He looked into her soft blue eyes. She leaned even closer and spoke in a hushed voice, "I know we don't know each other that well, but I'd like you to consider me one of your friends."

Steve's emotions were racing. If not for his self-doubts, for his propensity to misread the situation, and if not for his history with girls; he would have leaned across and gently kissed Kelly on the lips. Instead, he thought about all those things, and commentated in his mind what he thought was happening... "I think she wants you to kiss her, or maybe she's just a friendly, kind person... too late now... you'd feel silly if you were wrong."

The moment passed and Kelly looked up at Steve. "Maybe I could take you for a picnic or something on Sunday and get your mind off this awful mess."

Steve began to slowly comprehend now how vulnerable the last week had made him. How he needed to pour out his inner anxieties. Had he really considered kissing someone he hardly knew? Was it the way she looked straight into his eyes that seemed to increase the intimacy? He certainly didn't know Kelly well enough yet to bare his soul, but he did find her easier to talk with than most girls—with the exception of Jodie. He couldn't determine why his mind went to her now. He decided it was a reminder about what he already knew; that his friends were important to him.

"Thanks for the invitation, but I have church on Sunday." He thought it strange that it was now important that he attend. That there was an expectation that he be there was probably part of his reason, but also issues of life and death, of meaning, that he come to terms with the voice within him that kept challenging him to reflect on his life.

Kelly looked at him, her head tilted, "Funny, I didn't think a scientist would be into that stuff. I don't have much time for religion myself."

He replied quietly, looking steadily at her, "I don't think scientists are any different to anyone else. They believe things based on evidence and experience, and I suppose...reasoning."

"What about people who believe because they just want to believe something?" she asked trying to dispute his line of thought light-heartedly.

"Well that's probably true to some extent too. But I think, to many scientists most of the things in the universe are confirmation of what they believe. Christians are similar. Christians have an explanation of what life is, but it's a spiritual explanation. Scientists have a notion of the electrochemical phenomena that are associated with life, but they don't know what life is in purely physical terms. While Christians have a spiritual explanation of origins, atheists have a variety of theories. Because of the nature of time they will only ever, 'in time', be theories."

Her eyes widened and she had a broad smile on her face. "Wow, you have some strong ideas about that don't you."

"Sorry, I did come across a bit strong, I guess, but it's what I think about a bit."

"No, no, I don't mind. It's interesting to hear different ideas."

She may have regretted that comment because to Steve it was an encouragement to go on.

He continued explaining some personal theories about the 'meaning of life' with some speculative creationist ideas thrown in. The explanation continued over another cappuccino.

He was tempted to give a dissertation about DNA and how that he believed all the information was already present in the human blueprint. But he stopped and looked at her.

"I'm boring you. Sorry."

She was hesitant as if she was considering her words, "You seem fairly genuine in what you're saying. Could you also explain why these things have been happening to you?"

So Kelly was still after a story he mused, "What things?"

"The car explosion, the factory fire and your computers..."

"You seem to know a lot already," he blurted, and then realised he had confirmed her statement with his response. "How did you come by that information?" he asked more moderately, but still agitated.

"Let's just say I have my contacts."

Steve suddenly felt suspicious. Was it a coincidence that she had appeared just when everything went wrong? How was she connected? If she was involved surely she would know the answers rather than have to ask so many questions—like a reporter. He would have to do some snooping himself.

"I can't tell you much now, but maybe we can get together another time."

Kelly seemed to brighten, "Well maybe I can come to church with you. It would be a fairly new experience for me."

Steve paused.... To say no, especially to someone outside the faith would be tantamount to saying he had no care for their soul. However, to turn up to church with a very attractive blonde girl who was a non-believer, would also have ramifications—but he felt so unsure. It was possible she may actually benefit from it. Perhaps he could ask Jodie to chaperone, or whatever.

"So, where do you want me to pick you up?"

"Um, here I'll give you my address..." she quickly wrote on a notepad and handed it to him. "Just sound the horn when you get there. What time?"

"Nine thirty would be good."

Following a few more minutes of small talk they both exited together. Steve closed the door behind them and turned just in time to see Jodie turn her head and disappear into the delicatessen. Steve saw off Kelly and had arrived at his bike, helmet in hands, when Jodie came out.

"It's good to see you're not overwrought with...everything," she searched for words, sniping, "...still have time to socialise with a pretty girl." Turning away, she bit her lip almost immediately sorry for what she had said. Jodie turned back quickly and called,

"I'm sorry..." but her words were lost in the roar of Steve's motorcycle engine. He rapidly departed with a puff of blue smoke behind him. Her hand went to her mouth while the other clutched onto the bag with the lunches.

Steve rode back to work in turmoil. He was bewildered by Jodie's outburst, but he couldn't blame her. Pete had just been killed yesterday, two days before he had come back with a story of hundreds dead, and there he was, out with Kelly. He knew he had a reason to meet with her. There was a connection—he was sure. No, he wasn't sure. He was suspicious—that was even too strong—he had an inkling that there was more to Kelly. He knew it didn't look good. The problem was that everything he experienced of Kelly was pleasing and distracting. Steve resolved that he should grow up and realise that his ego was just being stroked. Was it cynical to think that a girl couldn't just like him; she had to have an ulterior motive? He was giving himself a headache. Whatever his thoughts, he couldn't share them with Jodie no matter how much he wanted to, since her reactions were confusing him and she was obviously angry with him. He wouldn't be able to get her help for Sunday. Steve was feeling mired in emotions he wasn't used to.

*****

At the nursery Steve told Jimmy that he was setting plans in motion and headed off to his brother's place. He passed Jodie on his way out and ignored her wave as he rode off. Jodie was morose for the remainder of the afternoon and didn't communicate with Jimmy at all. Toward the end of the afternoon Jimmy approached her,

"Are you feeling all right?"

"I'm fine," she replied feebly.

"You seem a bit down. Is there anything I can do?"

Jodie looked up grateful for Jimmy's thoughtfulness and gave him a weak smile. "I'm just suffering from a case of foot in mouth."

Jimmy tried a different tack. "Say, you goin' to pick me up for church again this Sunday?"

She gave him a sidelong look with a little grin. "Sure, same time," she checked his reaction.

"Great, I'll call Steve and see if he wants a lift." He smiled at Jodie and thought to himself, 'You're a dope Steve'.

Meanwhile Steve and John were on their motorcycles riding considerable distances and actually enjoying the outdoors, the company and doing something constructive against an unseen enemy—a secret enemy that threatened and killed and conspired, seemingly at will. They bought equipment, surveyed routes and visited different ones who might assist with a fairly convoluted plan. Their talk, at one of their stops, turned to Malcolm, and Steve expressed his fears and uncertainties for the young corporal. John suggested they pray for his wellbeing and for the venture ahead, and so they did, aware that nothing but divine protection could see them, and Malcolm, through.

It was late in the day when Steve arrived home. He rang work and explained he wouldn't be in that night or on Saturday either. Sally took the call and explained the place was open for business now that the police had gone and repairs had been completed. Jimmy walked in and overheard some of the conversation.

"Is that Steve?"

Sally nodded.

"Can I talk to him?" he asked and walked over. Sally handed him the phone. "Hey Steve I've opened the place, is that okay..."

"Yeah, sure..."

After that Jimmy talked too quietly to be heard by the others. He asked him how things went and then talked about plans for Sunday. Jodie came in just as he hung up. "Steve won't be in tomorrow, and he won't need a lift for Sunday."

"I guess he has other things on his mind," she said in a muted voice.

"Yeah..." he agreed, but they both had different thoughts about what occupied Steve.

Chapter 12 – Revelations

Rubbing his temple thoughtfully, Steve put the phone down. He helped himself to a milk drink, sat down in his armchair and turned on the TV. After a couple of minutes he had convinced himself that there was nothing on. Steve wandered into the old sitting room. It was a more formal lounge with big armchairs and a floor to ceiling bookcase on one wall while opposite a heavily curtained window took up most of the space. The room was a little musty from lack of use. He peeled back the curtains to see the last rays of a pink sunset catch the mountains across the valley. 'These should be open more often,' he thought. Steve rambled aimlessly around the room, looking at the paintings, scanning the titles in the library and looking at old family photos. He was on edge and couldn't settle his disquiet. After realising that he didn't know what he was looking for, he turned from the bookcase and soaked in the mood of the room full of memories.

He slumped into his father's favourite recliner, sighing deeply, and conscious of an intense restlessness. On the table beside him was the old family Bible. It was a large, black, leather bound tome, well-thumbed but still in excellent condition. Inside the front cover were the words: 'To my darling Ari, let this Word be a lamp for your feet and a light for your way. All my love, Juzzy.' He remembered that his father, Ari James, had been an extremely educated man. He once shared with Steve how his political talents were highly regarded and, when he was a young man, he was keenly sought after as a speechwriter. Once he realised his need for God, Ari had become aware of the duplicity he had been involved with, ingratiating himself to powerful people in the political world. Steve remembered the smile on his lips as he related his love for 'Juzzy', Steve's mother, and how together they grew in their faith. She taught grade six while he started his plant nursery business. Ari leafed through the first few pages and then examined a prayer list with each family member's name. There was a page where he listed new people at the church to help him remember names and then the index.

His father always recommended a good read for the three 'Cs'. The three 'Cs'? What were they again? The middle one was 'Consolation' ... what were the other two? Oh well, he thought, consolation sounded quite beneficial to Steve, so he flicked through the pages. He steered away from the Old Testament, remembering the struggles he had in his youth when he set himself the task of reading through the whole Bible. His father had marked many passages in his study sessions; some were quite familiar while others seemed obscure. The notes in the margin were miniscule, sometimes puzzling, sometimes with a pithy maxim, and often there were alliterative mnemonics. Just turning the pages gave Steve a warm sense of his father's presence. He was reminded of those short explanations about a sermon that often involved leading questions or graphic analogies, and never became arduous homilies.

He came to a text about the resurrection. He knew that because above the chapter (1 Corinthians 15) was written in his father's copperplate script 'Resurrection'. The text was brightly marked with a number of colours and in the margins were short headings: The Cause, The Conflict, The Consequences, The Confirmation, The Consummation, 'My father certainly liked his Cs,' Steve muttered as he smiled to himself.

He read the whole chapter, turning on the reading lamp about half way through. The passage reminded him about the importance of the resurrection. The words "Death has been swallowed up in victory," were underlined. Steve trembled inwardly as he saw the words; 'he died instead of me' written in the margin. Steve himself had used those very words recently. Then he read the last verse about standing firm and labouring for a purpose and he saw next to it 'Commitment'. The third C! Steve felt a strong sense that there was some unearthly interaction going on here. Just the way his thoughts were guided—the way events coalesced to focus his attention on purpose and direction, and the very unease that brought him to this room. Would the first C also confront him? He wanted to know it the way his mind wanted to unravel any conundrum, but he was afraid of demands made upon him. He was afraid of commitment.

He breathed a thank you to the knowledge of a presence within, asked for strength and reread the chapter. Verse 19 had a cryptic note: 'see v31'. Looking down the page another annotation next to those verses referred him to note pages at the back of the Bible. On the particular page indicated was a heading in capitals '3 C's CONVICTION'—The first C!

Underneath were a number of comments: 'Jn 16:8-11 Sin, Righteousness, Judgment'.

Rom 3:23

1 Cor 15:31&32 what we should do

1 Cor 15:20-25 consolation

1 Cor 15:19 I'm not committed enough for this...! See Phil 3:8

What is more, I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them rubbish, that I may gain Christ Phil 3:8

-How can I do this?

These cryptic notes gave Steve pause for thought.

Further down were the words 'CONVICTION confession CONSOLATION'

Steve made himself a coffee and reviewed his father's note page. Conviction! If his father, whom he had always considered an upright and God-fearing man, could see himself as being too comfortable in his faith in not putting enough at risk, then where did he fit? Steve reflected. He would have to be considered something of a fraud. He hardly even qualified as a 'hypocrite'; at least they claimed to stand for something, he just went along.

Well, he had his 'C words' and he saw how the response of confession fitted in. He eventually found those words that Paul had mentioned, quoting Paul the apostle. "The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love." He read on.

"You were running a good race. Who cut in on you and kept you from obeying the truth?" Had he ever run a good race? Not like Jodie, or even his brother John. And he couldn't blame anyone but himself, could he?

It was time to act and so Steve spent the next ten minutes with his head bowed. In his mind he agreed with his God about his minimalist commitment, his preoccupation with himself and his business, all previously justified by necessity, now seemingly empty of meaning; these past pursuits paled in significance to a life dedicated to a purposeful God.

His personal crisis seemed to be allayed, but the upheaval of his life brought on by the viral threat was still in the back of his thoughts. Returning to the kitchen and with a renewed appetite, Steve went about preparing baked potato grilled with cheese, coleslaw and grilled fish. It had been a while since he'd cooked for himself and as he cleaned up he remembered that it gave him too much thinking time. Dishes time in his childhood was a social time, now, still with the same 'primitive' sink, it reminded him that he was alone.

Although his sleep was deep and more restful than any he had had for a long time, there was upon waking a situation presenting itself. He lay in bed indulging this growing perception. It wasn't clear cut or defined in his mind, but it was evident that his thoughts were turning to two particular women.

The consternation that was caused by these two attractive women in his life gave him conflicting emotions. There was Jodie, who he had only just seemed to have noticed even though it was as if she had always been there. He felt he had to explain, but he wasn't certain how, or even what to explain. And now Kelly; she was someone who was self-confident and very proactive in her advances to him. His original motivation was to ascertain why there seemed to be anomalies in her sudden appearance and involvement. Even though he had met her only twice, things had progressed. He was in some trepidation at the speed at which their relationship was developing. He was unused to the attention and he was flattered by it; and wary at the same time.

After breakfast Kelly called Steve on the phone. She wanted to meet up again. Her comment was, 'Maybe they could do something to help him take his mind off Pete's death', so she suggested she pick him up and they go for a drive. Steve thanked her, but excused himself to Kelly, saying that he needed some time out. She sounded taken aback, even a smidge petulant when he didn't elaborate about his plans, and she couldn't alter his decision with her compelling charm.

Steve visited Pastor David that morning and spent a long time talking. They talked about interests, sports and Steve's work. Over coffee they speculated about the direction of genetic manipulation of plants and then Steve got around to the point of his visit and discussed his faith journey. They talked of his father. How he seemed assured in his beliefs and Steve said that that was what was missing in his life. He felt such a fake, so inadequate. And David determined, in response to his comments about Pete, that maybe he felt so guilty because it was he that was still alive; that an explosion meant to eradicate him, took Pete's life instead.

David assured Steve that he was right where God wanted him to be: convicted, humble and searching for answers. They spent time praying together and the pastor promised him that God would always be with him in his endeavours, irrespective of what he felt, as long as his desire was to please God.

Leaving Pastor Dave at the door, Steve was putting on his helmet when a familiar blue Volkswagen pulled in the driveway. Jodie stepped out and gave a muted 'hi' before greeting David and passing from his sight. He stood for a minute trying to assess the tumble of emotions going through him. He wanted to bridge the growing gap between them, but again he didn't know what to say. What he did know was that he disliked the fact that she was upset, perhaps even angry at him.

Steve went to work and borrowed Jimmy's Ford to collect some equipment that he and John had organised. It took him all afternoon to gather the things on his list and pay Professor Eric a visit. He returned Jimmy's car and found John had left a car for him. Jimmy was still there closing up.

"Your girlfriend dropped by this afternoon."

"What?" Steve was at a loss to grasp what Jimmy had said as if he was speaking another language.

"Kelly, Kelly Wilkerson, she said her name was."

"What makes you think she's my girlfriend?"

"I guess I just assumed," he grinned, "A beautiful girl turns up and asks for you. She says you are taking her to church tomorrow."

"So, what did she want?"

"...said she was just dropping in to say hello, and then she asked what she should wear to church tomorrow. I told her it was a very casual place."

Steve mulled over what was said, wondering, when Jimmy probed.

"Well is she?"

Steve was cued in now. "I only met her on Thursday. That's two days ago, and she was asking questions for a news story for the local paper." He refrained from agreeing with Jimmy about how attractive Kelly was, though there was no argument from his point of view. There were issues with Kelly though—questions about her that failed to gel within his mind. Somehow she was linked to this thing and it may be possible for Steve to use this knowledge of her involvement if she didn't suspect anything. Then again, if he was wrong he may be ruining a genuine friendship, or even more.
Chapter 13 Church

"I can't believe I'm going to church in jeans," was Kelly's first comment. Steve held open the mesh door for her as she exited her small unit. It was promising to be a warm day and Kelly looked fresh and relaxed in blue jeans, light blue open neck, long sleeve shirt with a snug mauve tee shirt over top.

"Hi.... It's me," Steve said good-humouredly, pretending to be put out by her greeting.

"Oh sorry, hi Steve," she replied and gave him a peck on the cheek, smiling airily as she passed to get into the car.

He walked behind her smelling her beguiling, subtle perfume. He opened the car door flustered by her allure. She turned spontaneously and hugged him, "Thanks for doing this," she said quietly, her softness lingering against him.

When he got in she continued on her previous tack, "About the jeans, it's just that I used to go to church when I was a kid and it was very formal and stuffy."

"Well it's supposed to be more about what's going on inside you, besides you look fine." Registering her slight down cast expression he already knew he'd made a poor start. "I mean you look fine for church, and you really look great," which, he felt, they both knew she did.

Kelly smiled, "Passable save... and you look okay too," she added with a smirk.

Uncomfortable at her gaze, Steve started the car and headed off, furiously trying to think of what to say next. She was quite beautiful with shortish blond hair framing her attractive, lightly tanned face.

"So, what was church like as a child?" he asked, glad he'd stumbled onto a topic.

"Boring, very formal, lots of rituals and I must admit I didn't get much out of it."

"So, why do you want to come to church?" Steve uttered, wincing at his own ineptitude.

"Hey! Aren't you supposed to be encouraging me?" Kelly gave him a soft punch in the arm and he grinned, relaxing a little.

"Sorry. You're right, and hopefully you'll find our church different to that. I mean, if anything it should be interesting and relevant, but I should leave it for you to judge. Ultimately it's meant to be about God. I guess we just get in the way sometimes... as I've recently discovered." Steve's voice trailed off as his thoughts were retracing his last few days.

"I think it's the 'God thing' that I'm having trouble dealing with. I don't know if I can believe it," she said candidly and then looking up realised that she didn't have an audience. Kelly watched him for a while as he was absorbed in his thoughts.

Finally Steve came back to the present. "Sorry, what did you say?"

Kelly repeated her comment expecting him to latch onto her opening with proselytizing zeal. Instead he merely answered, "That's the whole thing, isn't it?" and left it at that.

Later, as they neared the church, he glanced across at Kelly and was struck again by her beauty, even though she had a preoccupied expression on her face. "You should meet some of my friends from work, they're a great bunch," he began.

"Oh good, so I'll find out all about you," she teased, her look brightening. Then she added, "Actually, I sort of met some already. I dropped by yesterday." Steve appreciated her honesty, but thinking ahead he was already imagining reactions from the others. Unexpectedly, he was concerned about Jodie, remembering her cool response to him previously.

Inside the church, Steve was aware of the interested glances in his direction. 'Turning up at church with a lovely lady always sets some tongues wagging,' he thought.

Kelly and he sat near the back. A slow scan around the congregation located his brother and Fiona, Caz and her husband Kevin, Angela was with Jeff, she turned and gave him a knowing wink just as he felt Kelly's hand on his knee. He turned startled.

"Who's the girl over there checking us out?" asked Kelly motioning toward the front. Steve followed her gaze and saw Jodie next to her parents Rob and Felicity while Jimmy was beside her grinning back at him. Jodie had just turned away.

"She's very pretty....A girlfriend?" she whispered inquisitively.

"She works at Sunrise Nursery with me," he replied noncommittally as she studied his face.

They didn't speak any more as the service had begun. The guest speaker's topic was 'Who is Jesus?' While Steve listened haphazardly, distracted by his thoughts about his next step of securing a sample of the virus, Kelly quietly weighed the words of the preacher.

At the conclusion of the service Caz and Angela introduced themselves to Kelly, and Steve excused himself to speak in confidence with his brother John. What passed between them plotted their proposed course for the next few days.

Soon after, he and John finished their discussion and by steadily moving to the doorway Kelly and he managed to avoid encountering many greetings. As they walked to the car they became aware that it was turning into a hot day. Stifling heat rushed at them as they opened the car doors. Once inside and driving, Steve had a sidelong glance at the girl whose presence contorted his mind with doubt. Kelly was deep in thought for the first part of the journey, so they drove in relative silence.

When she finally broke their reverie her comments had a forced lightness. She asked whether they could meet the next day, and he had to explain that he was going away for a time. Her inquisitiveness was quelled by Steve's insistence that it was a personal matter, 'just something he had to deal with', he had said.

Her disappointment affected him and he wanted to assuage the growing coolness between them by confiding with her and being totally transparent. But he couldn't. The nagging uncertainty about her constrained him.

At her flat Kelly got out of the car, "I'll tell you what, why don't you come inside and I'll make us some coffee."

"Sure," Steve replied and looked past Kelly at the fairly compact unit. A surprising wave of warm air met them outside the car. They entered a large living area with sofa, armchairs and a daybed. Adjoining it was an open plan kitchen and dining area next to a small laundry. On the opposite side of the living room was a bedroom and a bathroom. Kelly excused herself and changed into something cooler. While she was out he picked up a newspaper and flicked through it. Coming back inside the living area, Kelly flopped down onto the daybed. She was wearing light blue jeans with a white halter top. He appreciated her short, sandy-blond hair brushed back. She had blue eyes, but unlike Jodie hers were a soft, pale shade. She had a generous mouth with an enticing smile.

Kelly looked very appealing gazing up at him.

"You know Steve you could come and sit here and tell me more about yourself. We could get to know each other a bit better."

There was a painful silence before Steve cleared his throat, "Ah, I don't think that's a wise thing to do." He struggled to be clear. "I'm sorry Kelly, I should go," he apologised uncomfortably. He was about to leave when Kelly, a little shamefaced for trying to use her charms and take advantage of him, murmured an apology and insisted that he stay for his drink.

As she sipped her coffee at a small table she suddenly took a different line of questioning and blurted directly, "So what's going on Stephen?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're involved with a fire, someone tries to kill you in an explosion, you're rushing around and no-one knows where you are. Why can't you tell me?"

He felt like saying 'I hardly know you', but resisted. "Kelly..." Steve paused, "These are dangerous people and I don't want to put you at risk when I'm not sure myself what can be done. I'm sure there will be a story in it for you when it's all over."

"Is that what you think? That I'm just after a story? I thought you knew how I felt. I want to help." She stiffened slightly and her lips trembled a little. Steve didn't know what to do. He was always awkward with women, and emotional women particularly disturbed him. He took Kelly's small hand in his.

"Kelly, I can't endanger other people. I know you want to help, but for now it's best that I try and work this out."

"I know people in America. If you tell me what's needed they may be able to help."

"I'll remember that," said Steve thoughtfully. He wanted to know why she was so interested in him and in what he was doing. So he asked Kelly about her family and then he asked a little about her life in America and her work as a reporter. Some of the answers didn't ring true. Why couldn't she name the particular newspapers she worked with, even though she said she freelanced? Vague answers about her father working for the government hardly bolstered his confidence in her.

Kelly's comments were very general. Her hazy recollection of a few minor articles in regional newspapers stirred some disquiet in him. She had opened him up with her breezy forthright manner and her allure. He felt more vulnerable now and he had said more than he had intended, so he thanked her for the coffee and rose to leave. Kelly apologised again for her familiarity. "I'm sorry Steve, I guess I looked into those blue eyes of yours and I couldn't help myself. Look, here's my number," she continued, scribbling on a small card. "Give me a call when you feel like telling me what's really happening." She sounded a little bitter. Kelly gave her number to Steve and was there touching his hand as she gazed at him. She seemed indecisive, as if there was something else she felt but didn't say.

"Thanks." Steve took the piece of paper and then walked to the door. Kelly followed and let him out, continuing to appear uncertain.

As he drove away he thought how she was showing more than considerable attention to him. And how, originally, that was what made him suspicious of her. But now he was confused and conflicting thoughts harried his mind. He was not used to such a blatant pursuit for his affections. Did he like her more than he should? Was it all innocent infatuation, or had it progressed now to somehow begin to satisfy the vacuum of 'love' in his life? He was taken by her beauty and he knew her interest in him flattered his ego, but if his hazy hesitation about her were correct, she could lead him into even more danger. Previously, he was going to use her or this suspicion somehow to advantage, but now he was unsure. She could be genuine. Maybe he wanted her to be genuine.

He turned on the radio and adjusted the air-conditioning before considering what to do next. Maybe he could drop in on John and Fiona for lunch. He paused and thought better of it. He would get his own lunch and stay away from his family if at all possible.

Steve didn't notice the dark four-wheel drive tailing him at a distance.

Chapter 14 - Jodie

Going into the bakery to get some lunch, Steve almost walked into Jodie coming out. He felt the need to build some bridges and talk to an old friend, so he decided quickly to ask her if she wanted to eat lunch with him. His opening was uncertain.

"Hi, er do you want to have some lunch with me?" She looked up at him still hovering in the doorway holding a package of her own lunch.

"Okay..." Jodie responded cautiously, "although I thought you'd be having lunch with Kelly," she confronted Steve with a strained smile and tried not to sound jealous, but failed miserably.

He soon had his pastry and they came out and sat down at a table underneath the large shady plane tree. A light breeze eased the discomfort of what would have been almost oppressive heat. Jodie's dark hair, tied up in a ponytail, as usual, was teased by the wind and she brushed a wisp from her face as she looked up at him.

Steve opened. "So how come you're not eating lunch at home?"

"We were invited to the Wran's but I opted out. Jamie was keen because of Jake, but I was just going to stay at home and read a bit." She was going to add that she wasn't up to socialising just yet with all the trauma during the week, but managed to refrain, recognising that she had already made disparaging comments about Steve's friendship. She knew it would be just a backhanded way of criticising him again. Taking another bite in an attempt to mask the torrent in her mind, Jodie thought to herself that she had to get over it.

Still munching on the mouthful of her vegetable quiche she managed to ask, "What are you guys planning?" Jodie wanted to know what was going on and that was reasonable, but Steve was fearful—in his mind, the less anyone knew the better it was for all concerned. As Steve was deliberating on some tactful reply she continued, "Why are you being so secretive? Don't you trust me?" she looked questioningly, but also slightly accusing.

Steve retorted, "It's not about trust, it's about risk." Startled by his own forcefulness he lowered his voice. "I don't want to involve people I care for, anyone else for that matter." He stopped, feeling himself get into deeper water.

"Don't you think I can make those sorts of decisions? I'm a grown woman and I want to be involved with the people I care for. That's what caring means." Jodie dropped her eyes as she realised the implications of her remark. There was a momentary lull and Steve felt a sudden inexplicable desire to hug her, before quickly rallying his defences with a glib riposte, "Touché." What was it with him and women? His past couple of weeks had made him seek out more emotional contact, even to the extent of these stirrings—stirrings to be physically demonstrative of his feelings? Was it an awareness of what he was missing and finally coming to realise some of the things that were important in life?

Steve tried to explain to her that, from recent events, she knew now that the situation had developed and that it was very serious and dangerous.

She countered that 'fore-warned was fore-armed'.

And he relented. Admitting what he thought he could admit—something of what he and John had talked about.

"Okay, you win. I'm going to try and get a sample of the virus from the base. If Eric has that, he might be able to nullify any threat." However, Jodie looked unconvinced that he had been totally frank about the whole story, and Steve became aware that she knew him better than he thought. Should he say anything about the threats, his suspicions about Kelly or how he actually planned to counter attack? To extract himself from her scrutiny he changed the subject.

"I'll get some coffee."

He went into the coffee shop and brought out some hot coffees. Indicators of Jodie's underlying hostilities emerged as she wryly commented, "You must be getting used to taking girls out for coffee." She immediately dropped her head and murmured an apology, feeling very petty, while Steve tried to ignore the dig. Not much was clarified by their subsequent bartering for information and soon they left, Jodie in a poorer mood than before.

Steve was just ahead as they crossed the car park and Jodie tried one last parry. "How much does Jimmy know? I mean..." but her argument was lost in a scream of tyres. Almost in slow motion Steve turned to see a dark RV bearing down on them. Despairing at the sluggishness of his reactions, his body lurched toward Jodie who saw the wide eyed fright in his eyes. She began to recoil from his lunge unaware of the careering vehicle behind her. He grasped hold of Jodie as she screamed in panic. Clutching onto her he twisted her off the roadway and forced himself underneath her to break her fall. What seemed interminably long was in fact almost instantaneous as he just dragged her down and pulled them both headlong onto the grassy verge. She thudded into him as they landed. The roaring engine passed by and the RV's tyres were grinding on the kerb edge within centimetres of them. The unmistakeable smell of diesel fuel lingered as the sound diminished. Split seconds from disaster, they had been nearly run over by the vehicle which seemed to have appeared from nowhere. Hearts racing, shaking and searching for a steadying breath, they watched the car receding into the distance.

There was an electric, spine tingling thrill between them as they slowly recovered their composure. Jodie had collapsed down on top of him and she smiled at him for the first time in a while. "I suppose you win the argument. This is serious isn't it?" she said. "I guess I didn't really believe you." As they reluctantly drew apart, her perfume reminded him of her closeness and the touch of her body brought a flood of mixed emotions. He wanted to hug her, to protect her, to express some affection and Jodie sensed his uncertainty as their eyes locked. There was a moment when all the shared memories of childhood vanished, and now, as if he'd experienced some sort of revelation, he appreciated that she was a very attractive woman. How had he not noticed her glossy dark hair; her dancing blue eyes? Where had his mind been as she was growing into such a beautiful woman? Not specifically her appearance, though there was no denying her comeliness, but rather the caring, loving, bright personality that she was.

A cry from a waitress running out the coffee shop shattered the moment. "Are you all right? He did that on purpose," she claimed. "It looked like he accelerated at you."

"He must have missed the brakes," suggested Steve.

She scrunched her face doubtfully.

"We're okay," Steve proffered. And because there was nothing more to do, and seeing they were unhurt, the waitress returned to the shop muttering something about crazy drivers.

Steve regained his self-control and, with some effort, isolated his emotions. They untangled themselves with some moans from Steve and shared nervous giggles to relieve the tension. Almost gruffly he said his goodbyes. "I had better go. I have a fair bit to do."

"Okay," she replied diffidently, "... and sorry for being so...so" she searched for a word, "...nit-picking? ..." She then noticed the seeping stain on his shirt. "Steve you're bleeding again."

He glanced at it. "I've just opened the wound a bit. It actually doesn't feel too bad. I'll fix it at home. Anyway, I'll see you later." He sounded a bit awkward.

He got into his brother's car and hastily drove off. Jodie stood next to her blue Volkswagen looking in the direction of his departure. There was an uncertainty in her expression as she recalled the intimacy of the last few minutes.

*****

Monday at the office and Steve had completed most of his preparations for his foray the following day. He rang Eric and ensured his readiness, while John said he had the equipment and would see him at the funeral that afternoon. He checked his email on the new computer. It was empty. Somebody had wiped everything. He had nothing now to refer to. He rang his internet provider but could get no explanation from them regarding his mail account.

His two friends worked on menial, more routine tasks that morning but closed in on him at morning coffee. Apparently Jodie was still determined to go and was fishing for information. Jimmy made his claims as well, and with fending off both Jodie and Jimmy, Steve was becoming exasperated. The conflict about who should go raised the temperature of the relationships and Steve was running out of arguments.

A phone call interrupted a simmering lull in the quarrel. It was Sergeant McGuiness.

"Steve, you're not safe. Somebody here higher up is now involved." His voice was lowered, tense and restrained. "You need to all disappear, got that, okay?"

"Why? What's happened?"

"Okay... All I know is that all the reports and evidence we've been collecting have been taken out of our hands. You're being watched. You've been labelled a security risk so I can't get any information. You got that, okay?" He waited for a response.

"Yeah..., but I thought I'd satisfied them," Steve managed dumbfounded.

"It's not just him. They may be reacting to pressure from someone else. Just get out of there, got that?"

"Yeah..."

"Okay, I've gotta go. I've got things organised at this end. Let me know if you change your plans, okay." Click, the phone disconnected.

"Okay, okay..." Steve murmured numbly, still picking up McGuiness' speech idiosyncrasy.

The phone rang again and this time Jodie took the call. Steve was frantically thinking about the best way for all of them to 'disappear'. Jodie's face took on an edgy grimace before she held the phone out to Steve.

"It's for you, Stephen," Jodie murmured and she moved away becoming strangely quiet and introspective.

He took the phone from her outstretched hand aware of her quizzical look.

"Hello."

"Stephen, it's Kelly. Could we meet? There are things we have to talk about."

Steve walked out of earshot and continued.

"Er, no I don't think that's possible now. What's the problem?" he asked trying to avoid Jodie's eyes.

"Well, I need to see you. You need to tell me what you're going to do." She sounded strangely desperate. Was it concern for him, or something else? "We could just drive or go get a coffee or something." She waited then queried, "Stephen?" when he was slow in responding.

"Oh, um listen, why don't we talk after the funeral? I have about half an hour before I have another appointment." She wanted to keep talking but Steve convinced her that their conversation was at an end.

He hung up and looked across the office. "Are you alright?" Steve asked noticing Jodie's despondency.

"Uh huh, she murmured looking up at him. "I guess, I've just got to sort some things out."

"Anything I can help with?"

Jodie stifled an ironic laugh, "No, I'm good at telling others what to do, but when it comes to relying on God in my life, well I like to try and take charge." Jodie avoided any mention of the yearning in her heart for him, and of the tumult of emotions overwhelming her each time Kelly entered the scene and drew Steve's attentions.

"You guys need to stay away from here," blurted Steve as he recalled Sergeant McGuiness' warning. "It's not safe. That was Sergeant McGuiness, just before, with a warning. We'll close the place down and then we need to find someplace secure away from here."

"You want us to hide?" It was Jimmy sounding affronted, "...after what they did to Pete?"

"I'm serious. Straight after the funeral this afternoon we need to disperse and stay hidden for a while." Steve moved purposely off and proceeded to close and lock all the buildings. He left them in no doubt he meant it.

*****

The funeral service was a revelation in more ways than one. Jodie was incredibly attractive in a simple black dress and black choker. Steve had become so used to Jodie in jeans, tee shirt and sneakers, and her hair tied up, or in a ponytail. Now he became much more aware of her appeal. She smiled solemnly at him and he looked at her appreciatively not for the first time. He could never think of her as a little sister again, but as a grown woman. A small dimple dented one cheek, a light blush of colour splashed over her cheeks as she became aware of his stare, and her lovely face was framed by her long straight black hair. He also became slightly uncomfortable as he looked into her clear blue eyes.

Kelly arrived a little later and sidled up to Steve. Jodie immediately withdrew slightly drawing in her lips pensively, her expression becoming a little melancholy. The service was sombre and formal and Steve was relieved when it was over. Pete's parents and family were distraught and found little consolation in what was said. They all drove slowly to the graveside and witnessed the brief burial service. While standing a short distance behind family and immediate friends, Kelly leaned across speaking softly and tried to make an appointment to meet at the office the next morning, but Steve said that wasn't possible. She then started speaking to Jimmy and Steve took the opportunity to slip away.

In the car park of the cemetery Jodie came across and spoke, "Steve, we need to get together and support each other in this thing."

"Jodie, we've been through this. I've got it in hand." He tried to sound confident then added... "Anyway, I need to go."

"What? ... Another little meeting with Kelly..." she saw his eyes widen and suddenly she regretted another gaffe. But Steve became heated, "You leave Kelly out of this ... and stay away from her." He knew what he meant to say; that he wasn't sure if she was trustworthy—that she might be dangerous—but he was sure it didn't come out right. His raised voice and sudden aggravation startled her.

Jodie escaped with tears welling up in her eyes. The sight of Jodie's moist eyes as she fled tore at Steve's emotions. He wanted to pursue her and apologise and make his feelings known, but he had to get information to the Professor and he was also concerned about getting too close to Jodie, and then putting her life at risk too. He felt he had to avoid having strong feelings and awry emotions when all his efforts should be dealing with the problem at hand. He was trying to defuse a deadly peril facing the world—for all he knew—and it was important to move one step at a time; otherwise the unreality, the monstrosity, of it all would swamp him.

After ringing Eric, Steve made some other crucial phone calls and spent some time communicating the plans he and John had made over the past few days. He hoped he wasn't sending people on a wild goose chase, but the importance of making a clean getaway ruled his thinking. It was better if some were inconvenienced in his effort to try and cater for every eventuality, than for him to be apprehended. He allowed himself a small grin as he considered the lengths to which he was going, just to avoid pursuit in his drive down the coast.

Kelly came across, her face lighting up, "You said you had half an hour."

"Maybe a bit less," he said looking at his watch.

"Tell me what's going on. What are you involved with? Why is so much happening around you?" Steve couldn't deny it. It was a matter of public record that he'd made a number of police reports and been interviewed over several incidents.

"Let's just say that I'm a victim, but I'm not the only one."

"So tell me. I'll report it."

"I'll give you the story when it's over."

"I can't help thinking you've got something to hide." Her look was inquisitorial. Steve thought that he could say the same about her.

"Look, I've got to go. As I said, there are things I have to do."

"What if I follow you?"

Steve stared hard at Kelly, "Don't!" he implored. She backed away a little at his intensity.

Steve turned and headed to the borrowed car when he thought he heard Kelly murmur as she walked off, "I have things to do too."

Chapter 15 - Revisitation

Back at his place Steve changed. After having a bite to eat, he made a phone call and then packed a bundle onto his motorbike, before slowly setting off. Down his street he crawled. Vigilant to any possible tail, he turned left and rode steadily along, scanning his mirrors and the side streets as he went. Again he turned left and accelerated up the hill parallel to his street. Over the crest he turned about and rapidly retraced his route passing a sleek black European car hurtling up the hill. The surprised look of the occupants confirmed to Steve his persistent fear that he was being watched. Squealing tyres as the car braked and slid through one hundred and eighty degrees increased his heart rate.

Now he knew that the chase was on. In his head a mental indicator shifted from 'Threatening' to 'Dangerous'. His meticulously planned actions now had to be hastily executed. He turned right back at the connecting road, recklessly pulling across approaching traffic and forcing cars going in his direction to slow abruptly. Pushing the revs rapidly before gear changes, he raced along, conscious of the pursuer from a glimpse in his mirrors.

His bike fishtailed precariously as an elderly driver pulled uncertainly away from a small roadside shop. Accelerating past, Steve noted that the black car was drawing nearer. Focusing on the road ahead and weaving crazily through the traffic, he was barely aware of the car horns blaring and the blur of the streetscape. Another car had now joined the chase but neither was gaining much ground.

He screamed through green lights changing to amber, and watched the receding intersection to see if he'd eluded the relentless stalkers. The first car swung to avoid stationary cars and sliced through the stop light undeterred, just missing a van which then was broadsided by the second chasing car. The second car spun and smashed into the traffic light.

With little traffic now separating them, the dark vehicle charged nearer showing amazing speed. Distracted with what was behind, Steve almost collected a couple sauntering across a pedestrian crossing. Their soundless shock transformed to horror when the chasing car bore down on them and roared by as they stood transfixed by fear.

A further rear view glance revealed an arm protruding out the passenger window clasping a sinister looking firearm. Steve zigzagged and then increased his pace as much as he dared. Through the throaty snarl of the 500cc Honda he had little hope of hearing the deadly phut, phut as the silenced weapon discharged two lethal bullets. Around a sweeping curve he decelerated and veered left down a side street, then left again down a dead end street, he sped along toward a timber barrier that marked the end of the roadway. As the black threat screeched into the cul de sac another volley of shots sprayed around him. A police car pulled out from behind a hedge and gave chase. Its siren howled behind him as Steve slowed enough to swing past the log barricade, down a bike path, through a narrow gate, across a reserve and onto another road linked to the highway.

Steve didn't hear the crash and splintering wood. He didn't hear the gunfire as Sergeant McGuiness and a constable subdued the assailants and arrested them; but not before one was wounded and a second squad car appeared preventing any possible escape. He exulted as the adrenalin washed through him and he realised that he had gotten away.

Now he relaxed a little, although he kept a wary eye about as he manoeuvred through traffic on the highway. Still not entirely assured of his escape route being undetected, Steve worked a circuitous track across suburbs between the main road arteries, doubling back a couple of times to calm his paranoia.

A half hour later, Steve was speeding down a coastal highway on his motor cycle. The mild wind felt a lot cooler as it streamed past his face and tugged at strands of his sandy hair poking out from under the helmet. At Port Westbourne he phoned John and confirmed that things had gone to plan. Omitting any reference to gunfire or the desperate chase, he emphasised the successful entrapment by the police.

The next stage of the journey was along a much quieter stretch of road. He thought about Jodie, about Kelly and about what he might be heading into. The rolling hills and occasional ocean vistas roused his mood.

Resting at a roadside stop, drinking from a juice bottle and carefully studying a map, Steve began to appreciate the delightful surrounds. Pink and red cirrus streamers graced the late evening sky. Drawing in the fresh, salt tanged air, he examined the rocky coastline, watching the blue green swell foam into white breakers and, seconds later, hearing the associated whump as the sound of the collapsing watery wall resonated up the cliff face. He knew he must be close. It was just a case of matching the features with the numeric location.

In his mind's eye he summoned up the coordinates for the area of the subterranean base. Raucous squawks of wheeling gulls drew his attention as wind rustled the map. He pondered the inexplicable sequence of events that had conspired to entangle him in this struggle; the events had hoisted him out of his lethargy and his mundane routine and, perversely, placed him at this scenic vantage point where everything seemed right with the world. It was not the clarity of the coastal panorama that he was in awe of, but the way his inner voice was now demanding answers, demanding direction and meaning. And there seemed to be another voice, quieter, stronger, drawing him on.

"Lord, what should I do? Help me." His quiet appeal faded in the breeze, but his mood became more resolute—he remembered 'I'm in his hands'.

Identifying a large hill to the north as the nearest land to the GPS location first indicated on the submarine, Steve surveyed the area for an access route. The hill appeared to be one of many ancient remnants of volcanism. Atop the rounded knoll were a few buildings and three cars parked behind chain link fencing. A few communications towers and what looked like an out of commission lighthouse were perched on the crest. The structures suggested another entry point to Steve and he was suddenly wary that the base was probably manned.

Its cliffs towered over a rough rock platform that was strewn with dark igneous boulders and patterned with tessellating blocks now exposed above the churning waves which were a distance out. Farther back were several other rounded peaks and rolling farmland surrounded them. He saw the worn tracks of car tyres winding off the main road down to the rock platform. To the south of the headland some screening coastal scrub grew along the shore of the bay. It would provide good cover for him, and from there he would search for an entry point. The dark blue colouration of the ocean beyond the rocks, signifying its considerable depth, was further evidence to Steve that he was at the right place.

Mounting his Honda, Steve travelled the short distance to the down-slope facing the large hill, then wound his way down the little used track and parked his machine under the low hanging branches of a coast banksia. Soon he had donned the scuba gear from his bundle and tentatively made his way to the shore in the fading light. What little he knew of diving from his two previous experiences was swirling through his head. Firstly, he knew that you don't dive alone.

He was.

You gather information about dive locations, currents and possible hazards.

He hadn't.

You don't dive as it's getting dark—especially if you're a novice.

He was.

What about informing others of his whereabouts? ... John knew. That's one out of four. What he was about to do in stepping over the ledge was foolhardy, but he knew his dive may turn out to be the least of his worries.

Putting on his flippers, adjusting his face mask and testing his air supply were the last things Steve did before stepping clumsily off the rock shelf into the sea. His entry into the surging swell made an ungainly splash and he was instantly buffeted against the craggy face of the cliff. Then, almost immediately, as the wave receded he was drawn away in the undertow of the retreating water. The short reprieve gave Steve time to go deeper, away from the swirling currents near the surface.

The gloomy water darkened as he descended the sheer drop off at the end of the rock platform. Flicking on a powerful, waterproof torch, Steve followed the beam of light down the slick black columns of volcanic rock. Swimming slowly down under the overhang it soon became almost inky black around him. The pressure, the darkness and the seeping cold shook his initial optimism, and a wave of panic shivered through him. Where was the access? He swam briefly to the left and came eventually to a gradually rising sea floor. Back to the right the seabed dropped away again and he considered whether he should descend even more. After two minutes he estimated that he had passed his dive point and was now searching to the right.

Tiny creatures and plankton formed a blizzard of particles in the torch light as Steve edged still farther along the submersed cliff. All along the impenetrable wall there was alternately dull, jagged rock, smooth rock and, sometimes, glistening, black obsidian.

Unexpectedly the beam suddenly extended deep into a cavernous gulf. This was what he had been looking for. Steve struck out purposefully into the huge tunnel. Shining the light about him he caught sight of the glimmer of air pockets on the rugged roof of the tunnel collecting from the stream of bubbles venting from his breathing apparatus. The dark enclosed tube seemed to press in on him. Scenarios of being trapped here, running out of air, gave a new urgency to his efforts. His heightened anxiety made him consume more air than he needed to. It also made the traverse of the tunnel seem to take for ever. Steve became aware of his growing frenzy, paused, and tried to steady his efforts. He regulated his breathing and began stroking with a more efficient rhythm.

The darkness receded gradually. Shimmering bluish white disks of light visible above him, was the first evidence that he had penetrated into the base. Rising as close to the cave wall as possible to minimise tell-tale bubbles, he apprehensively surfaced in the shadows of the far end of the cavern. The lapping water, a small rivulet splashing nearby and a distant humming sound greeted Steve as he raised his mask and strained to sense if he'd been detected.

Looking around he saw that there were now two sleek submarines moored at the dock. Drawing nearer he noticed lettering on the side of the first. It was labelled 'Skua'. It hadn't occurred to Steve that this big operation could run more than one such craft, but in retrospect it didn't surprise him.

After a minute of silently gliding through the murky water the name 'Cormorant' became distinguishable on the second craft. He wondered again what had happened to Malcolm. It seemed an age since they had fled the horrific massacre and yet it was less than a week. Scaling the timber supports of the pier, Steve rested a few minutes under the walkway and stored his tank, flippers, mask and torch. The aches and bruises from his injuries were barely noticeable now. He clasped a small water proof bag in which he hoped he might collect some virus samples. Maybe they stored it in ampoules or sealed dishes he thought. He knew this part of his plan was a bit thin.

Inspecting the area with cautious glances over the top, he waited several minutes before convincing himself it was clear.

"Looks safe," he muttered to himself. Steve grinned at his own absurdity.

'So here I am sneaking into the one place where I am sure people want me dead and I'm checking to see if it is safe!' He shook his head. 'I've got to stop talking to myself.' Once up top he quickly skittered across to the piles of pallets. From there he waited and watched. There were no bodies. They had been cleared. He assumed that it was because it was becoming later in the evening that only a very few soldiers were about. Nevertheless, strolling around in a wet suit wouldn't do.

Several minutes later Steve emerged from the Cormorant wearing a uniform. After scrambling under the dock he made his way back to his gear and left the wet suit in a bundle. From there he clambered back to near the Cormorant to emerge unseen. Then he casually walked toward the exit of the harbour trying to role play being a 'native'. In the distance he saw two or three military personnel at the stores entry to the harbour, fairly relaxed, and unaware of him, the intruder.

Each heartbeat, each step along the walkway to the main corridor took him further into the complex; it closed off any thought of a hasty retreat. Ignoring a casual glance from a worker in overalls, he left the large natural cavity. Instead of travelling to the nexus of the three main corridors Steve chanced the strong likelihood that smaller side corridors were interconnecting. Taking the first door on the right, he walked warily along the narrow hall past rooms with humming generators and the pervasive smell of diesel fuel, past a laundry and through a doorway. There was a basketball court on the right and a gym on the left.

Before he could take evasive action someone emerged from the Gym. Steve tried to walk purposefully past but was addressed by a man in a track suit.

"Ah, nothin' like a good workout," he grinned.

"You're right there," Steve replied curtly.

"Is that an Australian accent?" he asked beginning to size up Steve.

"Er, yes, I spent my youth in Australia."

"What part? I've spent some time in Melbourne. It was—"

"Look sorry..." Steve cut him off. He was settling into a conversation that Steve couldn't risk. "I'm in a bit of a hurry. Maybe we'll catch up later." And he quickly strode down the corridor leaving the serviceman rubbing his chin, nonplussed.

In a short time he had gone through another door and was in the middle passage. He sauntered as casually as he could up to the where the smell of food tantalised his nostrils.

There was more movement here as a few men were coming out of the dining area. In a moment of fright Steve turned about and, leaving the swimming pool behind, he passed the gym and lounges and sought refuge in the small theatre. All the way there he imagined curious eyes watching him, but he had to continue or look even more suspicious.

Inside the darkened room he shook briefly, trying to regain some level of calm. Rerunning his plan through his mind—find the labs, find the virus phials, store them safely, escape undetected to have them analysed—simple really, he thought dryly. Now he had to regroup. He took a deep breath determined to present a confident persona. Steve left, walking as though he was gainfully employed, which he was, thinking that that was the only method of blending in. Striding purposefully back along the broad hallway he passed the recreation areas and the lounges with a passage to the kitchen. That passage probably went to the last main corridor but too far from the lab for his liking. He remembered that the labs had been closer to the main junction and started looking vainly for another side passage to the right.

Alongside was the dining area and just beyond that he saw a door that looked promising. Looking around Steve quickly viewed the main dining area through the window. At first he thought that most diners had already left but then it dawned on him that the base now had only a skeleton crew. Maybe Colonel Klein couldn't afford to involve any more people than he absolutely needed. Instantly Steve's interest was caught by the short, blond hair of a girl sitting opposite a middle aged man.

"What!" he gasped, catching his breath at his recognition of Kelly. She was eating in the dining area with a senior military officer. He froze and stared. Hearing footsteps at the end of the way made him conscious of his exposure and he tried to casually turn and then retrace his steps, taking the passage on his left.

Steve then quickly side stepped into the lounge entrance on the right. He waited in the alcove and watched the far end of the dining area as the two talked, not as adversaries, but in a businesslike manner. Emotions blurred his decision making. He had some feelings for Kelly and now he felt betrayed. Trying to hold back the bitterness he felt for her for exploiting his affections, he reminded himself that she didn't really learn anything from him. He had the consolation that his reservations about her were being vindicated; he hadn't shared any secrets, any plans and, thankfully, their relationship hadn't progressed beyond a friendship with possibilities. Yet she must have kept a close surveillance. She had used her charm to start to gain his friendship and, to some degree, his trust. It looked like she had been a plant. He knew he had to find out what was going on.

Soon the officer left, calling a soldier to the door, and Kelly remained by herself inside. Steve waited for over an hour and noted the sentry occasionally checked inside. Maybe he had misread the situation. Were they keeping her prisoner? After the second hour he checked the hallway and wandered out to the dining hall. Kelly sat close to the front corner. With his face averted in the other direction, he walked past and took the door to the right past the dining area. The glassed area also extended to the side passage so Steve could view from the darkened passage.

Soon after, the Colonel arrived and started talking with Kelly. Steve snuck close to the glassed in eating area. Keeping low, he was close enough that he heard some of the conversation.

It was Kelly he heard first. "Where is he?"

"Let's not worry about that now. What have you found out?"

"Not very much ..." She turned away and Steve could only catch snatches of what she said from the garbled sounds. But he did make out ... "He's very secretive. He knows more ..." Steve strained to hear her dropping voice... "but he seems harm ..."

Steve felt sure now that Kelly was working for them and was now informing her boss.

He moved to put his ear against the glass when he heard a muffled sound and a slight scuffing of feet. An alarm bell sounded in his brain but his reactions were too slow. Almost in slow motion, it seemed, as he turned, a dark shape came down on him. He tried to duck aside but felt a sharp pain on the back of his head, a flash of exploding colours, and then everything went dark.

Chapter 16 - Captured

Spasms of searing pain wracked his skull as he came to. His head swam as he opened his eyes. Ignoring the vice-like compression ache in his head, Steve focused about him. He was sitting in a small featureless room. When he tried to move he felt the bite of metal sinking into his wrists and he realised his hands were handcuffed behind the chair. The door swung open and the colonel's steely faced accomplice stepped in.

"So Mr James, it is my job to find out what you are doing here. Would you like to tell me?" he droned in a dry, monotone voice.

Steve stared, trying to gather his thoughts. What would he say? What would it matter? Before words even came to mind the lieutenant lunged at him and his fist thumped into Steve's stomach. It struck like a pile driver, forcing the air out of his lungs and shaking his body with severe pain. Steve, utterly winded, wheezed for breath. With rattling gasps he had scarcely filled his lungs when the menacing cold voice repeated, "What are you doing here? What were you planning to do?"

Steve's mind raced. He tensed his stomach muscles as much as he could, "Looking around..." he began and then sensing a movement above him, swivelled his head just enough to avoid the full impact of a hand held leather cudgel. The glancing blow stung sharply on the side of his head and a red welt was already forming as he struggled to raise his head. Steve wanted to talk, wanted to say anything but his mind wavered on the brink of consciousness. Like waking from a deep sleep, his vision slowly cleared and the hurt stormed his senses.

He looked again at his tormentor, expecting another vicious bashing,

'Lord...' he thought, 'make it end.'

Lieutenant Shelley watched him recover and slapped the cudgel into the other gloved hand for effect. He began his intimidating routine again.

"I think I've established that I'm serious Mr James. Save yourself any more discomfort," he said robotically, "Tell me, what you're doing here?" he looked almost bored, disinterested in the answer."

"Trying to stop you..." Steve grimaced, fear welling, and he cringed within for the next violent strike.

Shelley sneered at him, for the first time altering his expression. "I know that. What I want to know is how?"

Steve's mind minced. He couldn't think clearly. What was the question? How? He didn't know how. He just knew he had to stop it. Was it going to end here? His eyes were closed. Maybe he could go to sleep? A rough hand grasped his chin and shook him to coherence.

"How?" the lieutenant snarled.

"I don't know."

Steve should have seen it coming, an arcing whack across the back of the head, close to his first injury. Blackness overtook him. It was a welcome release...

*****

He felt soft hands and a cool moist cloth bathing his face. Amidst the thumping ache in his head, the nausea and the dancing images, he heard a soft concerned voice.

"Are you okay?"

Where had he heard that voice before? Where was he? He tried to open his eyes but groaned at the effort to activate his muscles. His eyes teared with the pain as he forced them open. The hazy, blurred shapes cleared gradually with each wet blink. The face that appeared out of the shadows appeared sympathetic, caring.

It was Kelly. And he remembered. He remembered where he was. He remembered what she had done. He struggled to push her away but his body wasn't cooperating yet.

"Take it easy. You got a nasty crack to the head," she cooed. Her hand stroked his face, cooling the bruise near the left ear, and he was suddenly incensed that she could be so duplicitous. Looking around he determined that he was in some sort of cell.

"What are you doing here?" Steve barely managed to croak.

"I could ask the same of you, but you need to rest and give yourself time to recover." Then, as if to try to bolster his opinion of her, she informed him, "I got them to remove the cuffs. Why don't you lie back and rest a bit?"

Steve ignored her suggestion and tried to raise himself up, weakly collapsing at the effort. "You're working for them aren't you?"

"What if I am? What's wrong with that?" she looked steadily at him unfazed. He was stunned for a moment before hissing in a husky voice, "They kill people. They're murderers."

"How can you say that? This whole project is designed to advance the cause of mankind. It's the first step to alleviate a crowded planet."

"I saw the bodies. They've even tried to kill me."

Kelly looked at him and seemed to recognise where he was coming from.

"Well I heard they had a terrorist incident, but that's been crushed, down here. The Colonel told me there may still be some of the terrorist group on the surface causing trouble." She gazed at him and didn't add that the Colonel had told her he was implicated.

"Do you believe that?" Steve, wavering, had now successfully elevated himself and was supported by his elbows. "The people running this place are evil. They killed the people who tried to stop them. Look what they have done to me, how can you believe them?"

She hesitated, then almost smiled, "They think you might be in with the terrorists."

"What!" Steve looked incredulous, "You know enough of me by now to know that's rubbish. I run a plant centre. That's how I got involved in this place. But now your Colonel and General Guy Roberts are running their own criminal agenda."

"Don't say that. General Roberts would never do anything against the law he..."

Just then footsteps approached loudly. The door whined harshly and the Colonel stepped into the cell. The shadowy muscled form of Shelley was near the door.

"How quaint, I hope you're not consorting with the enemy Miss Roberts. I'm sure he'll tell you anything to distract suspicion from himself."

Steve wondered how much he had heard. He was just trying to make sense of the Colonel's reference to Kelly... 'Miss Roberts', when she spoke.

"You may have misjudged him Colonel Klein. His involvement seems purely incidental to the requirements of the program."

The Colonel shook his head, "He broke into a US base, and not for the first time. What we have here is a repeat offender." He had a snide, self-satisfied expression on his face.

"So Colonel, what did you do with all the bodies?" Steve felt anger quaver his voice.

"It was an unfortunate situation Mr James. We had to dispose of all the bodies and sanitise the place before we could use it again; most unpleasant."

"What about the survivors?" Steve fired aggressively suddenly tormented about Malcolm's plight. Instead of ignoring the comment Klein's demeanour became surprised, then fiery and hostile. "What survivors?" he pressed. Then easing off he continued, "Tell me what you know. They may be of some assistance... help us get to the bottom of this."

Steve felt strangely pleased at the hope he had for Malcolm. Klein's response had suddenly created a glimmer of hope in his mind.

"I just thought there would be survivors," returned Steve flippantly. But the Colonel was not to be deflected easily and strode angrily to his bedside grasping Steve's collars and lifting him threateningly as he constricted the collar of his shirt around his neck.

"Tell me what you know."

Steve gasped, still weak, unable to defend himself or resist the assault.

"Colonel!" cried Kelly trying to intervene by grabbing his arms. "He's still weak and injured. My father would never allow this."

Steve started blacking out and Kelly struggled more vigorously, attempting to tear Klein's grip away from his throat.

"Where is my father, Colonel? You promised to tell me," she demanded.

"Safe, I already told you," was his blunt reply as he shoved Steve's near limp body back on the bed.

"I can't believe he would be away from here willingly. I insist you take me to him."

Colonel Klein looked piercingly at her and laughed harshly. "Ha, you insist?" He suddenly flung a backhander across her face sending her sprawling. And then he backed out of the cell and slammed the door. "I think you will continue to serve our purposes Miss Roberts," he growled, emphasising the 'our'. "Meanwhile you can stay with your new friend while we will tidy up some loose ends at the surface."

Blood dripped from Kelly's lip as she recovered from the blow. Gaining a sitting position on the single bunk bed, her face suddenly looked distraught as realisation overwhelmed her that she had been used.

"You need them you know!" she shouted as he left. "If you understood the program properly you would understand that without the help of Steve and his friends the base won't survive." The Colonel stopped. He turned and approached the cell door malevolently.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, since the incident you have no one to look after the bio systems. That's what Steve and Jodie and Jimmy do for a living. You need them."

Steve, becoming more clear-headed, couldn't believe his ears. Not only were they captive, Kelly was now embroiling his best friends."

"No!" he moaned, "They don't know anything." But Klein ignored him.

"Why thank you," he said derisively. "I see what you mean. Maybe we'll give you some company." He turned and called to his lieutenant as he went toward the soldier waiting at the end of the corridor. "Shelley, we still have some work to do." They disappeared around the corner.

Steve seethed, battling to raise himself up on his elbows. "What do you think you're doing, Miss Wilkerson?" he growled sarcastically. "You betray me, you report on my movements to a criminal like Klein, and now you implicate Jodie and Jimmy." The ferocity of his voice and the scowl on his face tore at Kelly's composure. Her eyes glistened with tears as she struggled to say something.

"I'm so sorry. I've been so stupid. If you're right about the Colonel, my father might be dead. There's no way he had anything to do with any killings."

Steve found it hard not to respond to her distress. Her grief gave him a tightness in the throat, but he still challenged her. "I think I understand why you may have believed the Colonel for your father's sake, but why did you implicate Jodie and Jimmy? Wasn't it bad enough that Pete was killed?"

A teardrop ran down Kelly's cheek. "I had to. When I heard him say 'tie up some loose ends', I realised what he was going to do. It's a term the agency uses. I knew he was going to kill them."

"What are you talking about?" he raised his sagging aching body a little further.

"You don't understand do you?" she was gaining control of her emotions and wiped her eyes. "Just sit and listen and I'll explain.

I'm agency..."

Steve looked a little uncomprehending as she put her face near his, "I'm CIA." She continued insistently. "You've obviously gathered that my father is General Roberts?" Steve nodded in assent, feeling irritated by her condescending tone, "Well a few weeks ago my father missed his regular connection with me so I tried to contact him. I made enquiries through my contacts in the CIA and next thing I know I get an email from Colonel Klein. He tells me that they have had a problem with the program and my father was unavailable at present."

Kelly got up, wobbled unsteadily and then groped down low for a handhold and sat on the bed next to him. She suddenly felt very weary.

"How did you take that?" asked Steve.

"Well, it wasn't unusual for Dad to be unavailable. What was unusual was that he didn't tell me. He usually warned me beforehand. But the Colonel said that they needed me to do some intelligence work for them and he had put a request in. Because of the highly secret nature of the base, my boss was given the impression by Klein that it was just some trivial leg work. The Colonel then told me that it was ideal that I come since I had some knowledge of the program, through my father. He said that it was important secret work which I had some training for, and I could catch up with my dad when we'd finished. He told me they had a serious breach of security."

"So this was your first assignment?" Steve was imagining her excitement, something which may have dulled her judgement.

"Yes, my first real assignment, and I know what you're thinking." She sounded a little contrite. She bowed her head low. "I should have checked it out, I should have got some back up and I should have been a bit suspicious. I see that now, but then I jumped at the chance."

Steve knew he should be a little more understanding, but struggled. "Hindsight's a wonderful thing... but not much use in changing what's happened." He took a corner of the sheet and dabbed the blood off her swelling lip.

"Thanks." Kelly raised misty eyes in appreciation and growing affection for the sandy haired scientist.

Steve sat up swinging his legs alongside hers. Groggy and a little uncomfortable he continued to avoid her intent look. "I think I would have done some things differently too, considering where we are now." He then turned and studied her with growing clarity and interest in her role. "So what did he want you to do?"

"I thought you knew. Basically he wanted me to find out what you knew about the base ... see if you were involved in the plot and even gain your trust."

"So you reported on my movements?" then a little harsher, "You spied on me."

"Yes." She looked a little shamefaced.

Then it suddenly crystallised in Steve's mind. With a glare he unloaded the niggling detail about Kelly that had been bothering him.

"So that's how you knew my home number?" Kelly nodded. "And you told them I went to the police?"

"Yes, I told them everything."

"Everything? How did that make you feel?" His volatile reaction made him recoil. He winced and felt the lump on the back of his head as a headache began to gain momentum.

"Well, I felt okay until I got to know you, and then I felt awful." She placed her arms around his neck and tried to smile. "I guess I worked out you were really a decent guy." He warmed at her proximity, but eased her hands off him when a chilling thought invaded his mind. He desperately wanted to lower his aching head.

"You didn't hear my name," he said half to himself as pieces of the puzzle seemed to shuffle into place.

"You must hate me," she dropped her eyes.

He looked thoughtful, "No, I don't. I guess you didn't know." Steve didn't know what else to say.

The hush of the air conditioning was all that could be heard as they both brooded silently.

She pulled back and leaned back against the wall as the reality of their situation hit her and she voiced her angst.

"What are we going to do?" Getting up she walked unsteadily to the cell door and rattled it, establishing that it was locked.

"I don't know. Pray?" Steve looked up at Kelly. She turned and ascertained by his expression that he wasn't being flippant. They didn't say much for quite a while, Kelly fretting over what could have happened to her father and Steve refreshing his acquaintance with his Heavenly Father.

Her concerns eventually got to her.

"Does it work?" She looked doubtfully at him.

"Does what work?"

"Prayer."

He wondered whether she knew of his private petitions, and he wondered how he should answer. He certainly was no authority. Then he remembered his discussion on the subject with Malcolm.

"Let me ask you a question. When you asked your parents for something, when you were little, did they always give it to you?"

Kelly tilted her head pensively. "No, they mainly did what was good for me."

"I believe, probably more every day," Steve added deliberately, "that God is able to do anything, but only does what is ultimately right."

"Ultimately right, what does that mean?" she asked sceptically.

"I guess it's like a perfect parent. My problem is that what I think is right doesn't always match up with what God does, or allows to be done. I mean ... He's not my servant... I should be His."

"So... no guarantees."

Steve stared unresponsively at the floor for a brief moment before replying. "Strangely, there is—when I used to ask my Dad about things I didn't get from God he would quote; 'Will not the Judge of all the earth do right?' I think it comes back to trust."

Kelly and Steve had plenty of time to talk. It was because nothing seemed to be happening. They felt helpless, trapped, like birds in a cage; so they talked. They talked about their aspirations. How General Roberts' vision of setting up a lunar community was not that different from Steve's early dreams for producing food for the masses. They talked about faith and their different experiences of church. Kelly said she felt 'warmth' at his church. Steve shared his recent focus on his own faith and how he'd heard of someone's favourite verse—he didn't elaborate—: '... the only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love.'

Their conversation went to the lunar base and what the plants were meant to do for the artificial biosphere. Steve went through his involvement and how Paul's messages had triggered a revolt. Then he explained how he had witnessed the aftermath of the way the dissenters were violently quashed.

It was a bombshell to Kelly when Steve related information he received from Paul. He explained that Paul believed they were producing the virus to attack civilian populations, predominantly people groups antagonistic to the United States. Maybe it was their way of ending long term conflicts.

Then they speculated as to what they could do. Without putting it into words, they both seemed aware that any plan they had may have fatal consequences. And so their ideas were bizarre and wild, but none seemed workable; especially since they were locked up. Two things seemed obvious; they needed to escape, and they needed more information before they could destroy the virus.

At the sound of footsteps both pretended to be snoozing, Steve was sitting in a corner and Kelly lay on the metal framed bed. Two soldiers and a big, grizzled looking sergeant were standing at the barred entry.

"Get up, you're movin'," he growled.

"Where to?" Steve asked as he wobbled unsteadily and Kelly walked a little stiffly to the opened cell door.

"You'll see," he replied gruffly. "It seems you're going to have company." His face contorted by a forced smile. "Now follow him." He indicated toward the private holding his MP5 sub machine gun, almost ceremonially, in front of him. "Get movin'," he ordered, and they set off with the other private and the belligerent sergeant close behind.

They were marched to the enlisted men's quarters and put in separate rooms.

The sergeant referred to them as 'secure quarters', explaining that they were more appropriate for keeping 'guests'. Inside were four bunks and a small bathroom. A brief examination revealed that there was no other exit and the door he had come in was locked.

He'd just decided that it would be best to get some sleep on one of the bunks when there was a thud on the wall.

"Steve, are you there?" was the muted cry from beyond the wall.

He pressed close to the wall and called back, "Yeah, I'm here."

"I was afraid they might take you away once we were separated. Are you all right?" continued Kelly's distant, detached voice.

"Yeah, I'm fine." His head throbbed and a wave of fatigue and queasiness washed over him as he pushed himself to finish what he was saying. "You may have convinced them they need me," then to himself, "I can't see why else I'm still alive." A wave of nausea overwhelmed him and lurching quickly, he staggered into the bathroom just in time to empty his stomach.

"Hello... Steve... you all right... Do you want to talk?" her concern was apparent.

Steve couldn't think how to express his exhaustion. His aching body numbed his mind. His eyes glazed as he stared at the wall. It had been over eight hours since he'd surfaced in the subterranean base. He needed to tell Kelly that he had to have a sleep.

"Steve?" was her plaintive query when he hadn't answered.

"Yeah, sorry..." he called back. "I think we should try and get some sleep. We don't know what's ahead... And we'll need to be alert if we have to fight our way out of this."

"Okay." was her hushed reply.

For some time Steve couldn't make his beaten, weary body comfortable. Once asleep his mind again travelled the bizarre road of the subconscious. Several times he woke up shivering, sweat soaked, not remembering dreams that frightened him.

He was running late for the train. It was pulling into the station and he still had to run down the hill, across the bridge and onto the platform. Someone was waiting for him. He looked... she was getting on the train... it was Jodie! Somehow Steve wrenched his mind to twist the dream...

He was on the platform... the platform was deeper. It was going underground... the platform was moving. Suddenly the part of the platform that he was on shifted sideways and back, like part of a major earthquake, but it was eerily silent. Jodie was on the other part and stepped on the train... he ran... he jumped the growing gap... but the train was leaving without him. He ran alongside the train and forced his way into the carriage. Inside people were sitting, crowded together. Jodie was nowhere to be seen...

Chapter 17-Reunion

A scrabbling noise shook Steve out of his restless sleep. He remembered the dream. Sitting up he watched the door open and a dishevelled man tumbled face forward across the floor. The door slammed shut. Steve made his way unsteadily across to the prone form. Turning him over, he caught his breath.

"Jimmy!" the cry crackled hoarsely from his dry throat.

Jimmy was a mess. His nose was bloodied, his right eye was closed and his shirt was half torn off. A moan emanated from his friend.

"Jimmy, are you all right?"

Jimmy moaned again and tried to open his eyes.

Steve went and retrieved some tissue paper from the bathroom. He wet it and attempted to clean up Jimmy's face. The dried blood came off with some difficulty and he flinched when Steve wiped his swollen eye.

"...that you Steve?" Jimmy managed. He was becoming more clear-headed. He slowly focused his good eye on Steve and gripped his arm with both hands. Relieved by his steady revival, Steve joked, "You're going to have a huge shiner buddy. What happened?"

Putting an arm under his head he began his recount, while still lying on his back. "They rang me at about 11pm..." he uttered throatily.

"Just stop there," Steve insisted, "Let's get you onto a bunk and make you a bit more comfortable." After some effort he half dragged, half walked Jimmy onto the other lower bunk and then got him a glass of water. Steve then listened quietly while Jimmy related the drama of the last several hours.

Jimmy had received a phone call from the plant centre. They said it was the police and there had been another break in.

"It sounded genuine," explained Jimmy, "They said they couldn't get on to you. They wanted me to come and check the damage."

Jimmy went on unfolding the story, how he had turned up and saw a plain car outside. He walked in to find Jodie tied to a chair and gagged. He described how he just 'lost it' and swung at the nearest guy. He thought he probably broke the guy's nose before others were all over him beating him. The man he'd hit retaliated by punching him in the nose, but it was a bash to the side of the head that subdued him, knocking him unconscious.

"It was thinking of what they did to Pete, and seeing Jode's like that, that did it. I just went berserk," Jimmy elaborated. After ranting about 'next time' briefly, he returned to his account.

When he came to he was tied. They threatened to beat Jodie if he didn't show them all the trays of cultures already prepared. A truck came in; they loaded it and shoved the two of them in the back with a couple of commando types. Jimmy finished his story: "Well it took us a while to get here. They questioned us separately about 'your plans', and then they threw us into a cell for a few hours. The guy I hit roughed me up bringing me over here."

Steve sat on his bunk quietly for a few moments while Jimmy complained derisively about brave people with guns.

"Is Jodie all right?"

"Yeah, apparently they rang her and told her the same story as they told me. Last thing I remember was that she was walking in front of me to here."

"She might be with Kelly, next door."

"Have they got Kelly?" Jimmy looked startled at the unexpected news. "Why would they grab her, a reporter? It doesn't make sense... "He sat up a little like a punch drunk fighter getting off the canvas. "...unless she found out about them doing her own investigations."

Steve chose to hold off on an explanation until after he had rested.

*****

At the time that Jimmy was thrust into the first secure quarters, Jodie was being ushered into the room confining Kelly. Kelly was awake and the two women looked at each other for an awkward moment, then Jodie walked over and hugged Kelly.

"Are you okay?" she asked noticing her injured lip as they stepped back a little.

"Yes thanks... and you?" Kelly returned, feeling a bit tense still about what to say next.

"I'm trying not to be afraid... what are they going to do?" Before allowing Kelly even a chance to respond Jodie continued... "How did you get here?" and then concern shrouded her face... "Have you seen Steve at all?"

Kelly couldn't help but smile. "Hey, one at a time will you? I'll tell you what I know and then you can tell me what happened to you." The two girls set themselves down on a bunk to unravel their personal mysteries.

"Firstly," Kelly began, "I owe you an apology. I haven't been very honest with you guys; partly because of the nature of my job, and partly because I didn't know who to trust. And, I know that sounds like I'm just making excuses, but I'll explain."

Kelly took considerable time to go over the story she had shared with Steve. They both sat on the bunk and Jodie listened with some consternation about the unknown plight of her father, the General. Her sympathy for Kelly increased greatly when she understood something of her motivations and misconceptions about what had occurred to derail the real program, and Steve's possible involvement. Jodie became concerned when she heard of the brutal treatment that Steve had endured. She felt empty inside and Kelly noticed her expression.

"You've got real feelings for Steve don't you?" Kelly said.

"What do you mean?" Jodie replied softly, turning towards her but still responding defensively.

"Love?" she looked at Jodie. "Forgive me if I'm wrong, but I felt a bit of hostility when you were around, and it sort of makes sense."

Jodie was struggling to come to terms with this direct discussion. A little sheepish she apologised. "I guess I ..." she got tangled up with her words and started again. "I'm sorry. I had no right. Steve thinks of me just as a friend..." Her head tilted enquiringly as she went on, "You love him, don't you?" Now it was Kelly's turn to struggle with words.

"Well... I find him attractive... and I think I could love him, but..." she smiled uncomfortably, "You deserve first shot."

Jodie stared dully, not sure what that meant. She didn't operate on the same system as Kelly and her response was a somewhat bland... "Thanks."

Kelly looked at Jodie for a minute and a slightly crooked smile crept onto her face. Jodie got up and stretched her legs and walked to the door.

"You don't get it do you?"

"What do you mean?" Jodie turned and looked quizzical.

"You're waiting for Steve to notice you... but he's too thick, either that or he just finds it too much to risk rejection. Whatever the reason, you're not helping by just being a good friend. Show him you really care." Kelly was warming to the topic.

"I really do care, but maybe he prefers me as just a friend." She paused looking a little rattled, "I don't know, maybe I'm afraid of rejection too." Jodie looked up, her eyes were moist and Kelly got up to put her arms around her. But Jodie deflected her and continued with a wavering voice, "I'm all right. Anyway, that's the least of our problems. What are we going to do? How are we going to get out of this?" They stopped abruptly when they heard a key turning in the door.

A young sailor opened the door carrying a tray with plates of hot food. Another serviceman stood behind him holding an automatic weapon.

"You'd better eat up," he stated, not unkindly, and then continued, "It may be the last meal you have for a while." He half winked as he stepped past them and placed the tray on the bed. Jodie watched his face and searched his green eyes for any further sign of acknowledgment, but he impassively withdrew, closing the door firmly behind him.

*****

Next door Steve and Jimmy had both run out of things to say and had flopped in aching exhaustion on the bunks, when they were similarly interrupted by the young sailor with the food trays. Jimmy was completely out to it, but Steve stirred and stared into those familiar green eyes in disbelief.

"Eat up," said Malcolm as he placed the tray on the floor. "You'll need your energy because you've got work to do." The gunman behind him shuffled impatiently as Steve and Malcolm locked eyes and both knew a mutual campaign had begun.

As the door shut, a myriad of questions flooded Steve's mind. What had happened after his chaotic departure from the Cormorant? How had Malcolm managed to escape capture on the submarine? What was he up to now?

Steve had no answers, but he had hope. Malcolm had to be on their side after what he'd been through. Somehow they had to talk.

It was a short while later that Jimmy stirred, groaning involuntarily. The battering he had received was evident in the puffiness of his bluish splotched face and the accentuated caution with which he gained a slightly hunched sitting position. He was barely awake when Steve almost hissed in his face, "We have a friend."

"What?" Jimmy's good eye opened wider but the comment still didn't register.

"I just saw Malcolm."

"Who?"

Of course it was unfair of Steve to expect Jimmy to be alert and receptive to this news, but that didn't prevent his annoyance.

"Will you wake up?" He finally gained Jimmy's full attention as he gradually woke and was reminded of his predicament.

"You know Malcolm, the guy I escaped on the sub with?"

His friend nodded briefly as he studied Steve with interest.

"Well, he's here. And that means we have a chance. We might be able to do more than just try and survive."

"You mean stop them?" returned Jimmy tersely, half asking half stating.

This time Steve nodded. They were both quiet for a minute thinking before Jimmy continued, "So what now?"

"It's really up to Malcolm, but I think we should eat. He said we'd need our strength, so I think we should follow his advice... eat and rest and try and be as ready as possible."

While eating the lukewarm meal, they both mused about what they might have to be ready to do. It was an important lift to their morale. Someone was working with them. They had hope. Strangely to Steve, the situation seemed to allude to his recent understanding of his life. 'Someone was working with him, and he had hope.' He breathed a word of thanks for his refreshed eternal perspective. There was a greater calm in him than he thought possible in this threatening situation.

After eating they chose to rest quietly rather than speculate on the possibilities brought about by Malcolm's presence. Drifting fitfully into unconsciousness they were both startled by the racket of Malcolm and another bursting into their quarters. Malcolm's voice was harsher and Steve briefly imagined he may have had a misconception about Malcolm's involvement in the whole event.

"You two listen up," hollered the unfamiliar tone of an agitated former associate. "You're going to work for us loading the plants and other stores, but we'll only use two of you at a time. If you try anything silly the other two will suffer. Got that?"

They nodded meekly in reply, confused by the angry demeanour of someone they had considered briefly to be their ally.

"Okay, follow me." Slowly they got their aching limbs moving and followed Malcolm to the docks. The soldier with the automatic rifle menaced them from the rear whenever the pace slackened, roughly using the weapon in a forceful thrust to hasten their progress.

A little the worse for wear, Jimmy stumbled groggily a number of times. Steve tried to support him and get them moving before they were beaten any more. On their arrival Steve saw the two submersibles. One was the Cormorant the other was the identical sister ship. Malcolm addressed them in a steadier voice this time. "We're particularly concerned that the plants are stored properly, so that they will survive the journey. That's your first responsibility. Then we'll load the other equipment. Follow me."

They moved from the wharf through a large double door pressure hatch of the Skua. Steve was intrigued that he hadn't noticed the side cargo access before. The outer panel peeled back outward while the inner opened inward. Glancing at the other craft Steve marvelled how flush and neatly the hatches melded with the hull, making them difficult to detect. Trays of plants arrived from the plant labs and green houses. The plants arrived on layered pallets, piled on flat trailers which were in turn towed by a small electric vehicle. Steve and Jimmy loaded the cell cultures first in climate controlled containers, and then loaded the slightly larger single and double leaf growths. Their guard soon lost interest and wandered off.

"Keep working and I'll explain," said Malcolm out of the side of his mouth. He was looking in an altogether different direction from the two labourers and pointing at some stack of pallets in the distance.

"I'm sorry for all the yelling but the hierarchy didn't appreciate my friendly approach, so I had to put on a show for them. They'll be watching so don't let your guard down. Think and act... I'm a prisoner being harassed and I have no hope."

Steve couldn't believe the animal cunning that Malcolm had gained by necessity over such a few days. But he bent over a little more and dragged his feet a little more wearily.

As they took things onto the craft there were moments when Malcolm could fill them in on his exploits of the past few days. He interspersed this conversation with loud commands and authoritative directions whenever other bodies came into earshot, to lend authenticity to his new found toughness.

Malcolm explained that after a lengthy panic period when he was left on the sub by himself he became sure that he would be captured and dealt with. The submarine was travelling rapidly to some destination and he felt totally at their mercy. Then he suddenly felt a calm come over him and realised that they didn't know he was on board. If he returned everything he'd gotten for himself he might be able to hide and somehow escape. Meticulously, Malcolm made it look like Steve was the only passenger. A passenger who had barely escaped the airlock, and who they may have thought they'd killed judging by the high-speed remotely controlled manoeuvres. He then found another sailor's uniform and looked around for a place to hide.

Once he found a place, he waited there till the vessel showed some evidence of slowing and then crawled into the torpedo tubes.

Steve and Jimmy quizzed him. Well, of course he knew the torpedo tubes were risky but they were his best option.

He had rewired the hatch sensors to read closed even though they were slightly ajar. It wasn't long before he glimpsed two officers. They only gave his area a cursory inspection, being far more interested in removing Paul's body and the clutter left by the mysterious intruder.

The new crew that boarded two hours later seemed unaware of the commotion occurring beforehand. Their relaxed mood gave Malcolm opportunity to sneak atop deck through a forward hatch, re-enter through the main entry, and greet the captain with an apology for his lateness. The apology was so convoluted and long-winded that the captain dismissed Malcolm with a query about his orders. Malcolm explained that Colonel Klein had 'requested his presence' and had had no time to draw up orders as there was some sort of emergency. His story had some parallels with information the Captain had received, and indicated to him that Malcolm had been privy to more information than the rest of the crew. Fortunately this, and his audacity, was enough to convince the Captain of his bona fides.

When they had to move outside the ship the story stopped. Steve and Jimmy were under casual scrutiny and Malcolm occasionally yelled at them to keep moving. But inside, as they struggled with the large trays, Malcolm was free to continue his interrupted account.

He surmised that Captain Craddock and the new crew were unaware of the true nature of Colonel Klein's plan. When Craddock explained Malcolm's presence to Lieutenant Shelley as the result of special orders from Klein, Shelley accepted it as something the Colonel would do. To put someone on board to keep an eye on things made sense. Malcolm explained how Shelley and the other few remaining conspirators gradually relied on him and accepted him as one of them. Should Klein appear, Malcolm tried to make himself scarce, but those occasions were rare as Klein seemed to have much to do.

Clattering footsteps on the submarine deck abruptly suspended Malcolm's narrative. A hulking, menacing Lieutenant Shelley filled the hatchway above the storage area of the Cormorant.

"Stewart, Come here!" he bawled. Then turning and barking sharply at the minion trailing behind he said, "Private, take those two under guard to the mess. They can have something to eat." Shelley then swivelled back to face them, "Stewart, I need you to help me," he added enigmatically.

The surly soldier that had escorted Steve and Jimmy previously, accompanied them on the march to the mess impelling their tired bodies with his customary angry shove. They were sweating profusely and relished the opportunity to rest and have a refreshing drink.

"What do you think Shelley wants with Malcolm?" Jimmy asked as he scoffed a muffin and took another gulp of soft drink.

"...Don't know. Maybe something that only someone he trusts can do. Makes me think it can only be something bad." Steve looked preoccupied.

"Do you think Malcolm's in danger?" Jimmy spoke full-mouthed. He was still giving the plate of muffins his full attention. Steve looked across at the bruised face of his friend. It seemed a redundant thing to say, but he knew what Jimmy meant. He mused on the way he examined every comment literally. At least the thought wasn't accompanied by a sarcastic retort. He came back to the question.

"If they discover he's not with them, he's dead." Steve said quietly and then continued, "I wonder where the others are. Malcolm said that he was counted among the few remaining that are in the know. Where did the others go?"

"You don't think they were killed?"

"I don't think they can pull this scheme off without a significant support group."

"So, what are you saying?"

"I don't know, maybe they're at another base."

It wasn't long before they were ushered back to the dock and Malcolm was there to direct the loading of the more mature plants. This was a much more physically demanding task and soon another soldier was sent to get help.

As soon as they were alone with Malcolm and had hefted a tray into a rack securely, Steve began, "Where are the oth..."

"Wait!" Malcolm had butt in, both hands raised insistently as if ready to fend him off.

His eyes were open, excited, "I've got something that might give us a chance of stopping them."

"What?" Jimmy blurted and Steve drew nearer as Malcolm reached into his pocket. Slowly he withdrew a phial. The three of them stood silently, transfixed by the object in front of them. Jimmy broke the silence.

"The virus..." he said quietly but in an elated tone.

"One of the virus cultures..." replied Malcolm with similar volume and delight.

Steve stared at it. He was more subdued and a knot twisted in his stomach as he imagined how their little band might use it. They would certainly die. He wondered if there were some way that some of them could escape. He was particularly thinking of Jodie and Kelly. How could they survive? He contemplated his own position. Maybe this was why he was here. He considered the possibility of doing the deed himself, after the others had an opportunity to escape. His thoughts became audible.

"Give it to me," he stretched out his hand. "There's no reason why we should all die."

The other two stopped short, realising what Steve was saying.

"If you take it, I'm with you." It was Jimmy. He put his hand on Steve's shoulder and looked seriously at Malcolm. Malcolm in turn calmly put the phial back into his pocket and a small smile played upon his lips.

"Looks like we're all going to be heroes..." he tapped his pocket, "But it will be much safer with me. You guys might be searched."

That was a possibility they all agreed on, and after a brief talk they also decided only to act when the girls were safe; if that was at all feasible.

As the three went out to get another tray they were met by Jodie and Kelly struggling with a load of plants. Yells and threats from supervising soldiers prevented either pair from communicating other than nodded acknowledgements and mouthed greetings. Any plan they attempted would affect all of them and Steve felt a heavy weight of concern that Jodie and Kelly, two women for whom he was just discovering a confusion of affections, could not be spared the likely outcome of their resistance. Steve's list of questions for Malcolm had grown, but he had no chance to satisfy his curiosity. His head ached almost consistently now and his jaw was also painful.

All four were worked hard for the next four hours loading both craft. At the completion of the loading the soldiers led them, exhausted, back to their rooms.

Chapter 18- Discovery

Having completed their ablutions, Steve and Jimmy ate the potato chips and other snack food provided, drank water, and then collapsed on the bunks. The raiding of the snack bar showed provision of good food was obviously not a priority, with the imminent withdrawal from the base probably diverting all hands to loading the subs.

Desperate for sleep, both men were almost immediately spiralling toward unconscious bliss when Steve was disturbed by a knocking on the wall.

"Steve?" It was Kelly's diminutive voice. He tried to stir but was hindered by his aching muscles and the feeling of absolute fatigue.

"Steve!" Her appeal was more anxious and the knocking more vigorous.

"What is it Kelly?"

"Malcolm dropped in to see how we were and then said that we're all leaving soon."

"You sure?"

"That's what he said, and it sort of confirmed what happened earlier."

"What do you mean?" Steve was battling to focus.

"Well I asked Jodie if she was okay because some guy was hassling her and this guy let slip that we're all going on a ride. But she didn't seem to think any more of it. Do you think they're going to take us, you know where?" she held off saying what was obviously on both their minds.

"If you'd asked me yesterday I couldn't see why they would. I mean, it's possible if they really have no one who can look after the bio-environment. Is Jodie there?"

"Yeah, she's out to it though... really wrung out."

"Jimmy's out to it too. Listen, there's no point in worrying them now about where we might be going. They'll find out soon enough and there's not much we can do about it."

"Okay, I'll let Jodie sleep. Steve, are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm just tired. Get some sleep Kelly."

She said something a little later in return but he was oblivious to it as he slid into a deep sleep.

Steve woke shivering, clammy and his head pounding. His body was still suffering the effects of concussion. Suddenly he was alert. Some sound had roused him. Had he dreamt it? The door swung slowly open. Malcolm was at the door locking it behind him. He looked furtively around and located Steve gazing up at him before coming quickly across.

"They're looking for me. I have to escape," Malcolm breathed hastily.

"What happened?"

"I was trying to listen in to a conversation between Shelley and Klein when I heard Shelley compliment Klein on his selection of me to add to their numbers. Of course Klein didn't know what he was talking about and he immediately ordered them to find me."

The noise of stomping feet and the ruckus of the search rapidly escalated in the hallway.

"Quick! Get into the bed and lie against the wall." Steve ordered. Malcolm yielded to necessity muttering.

"I hardly know you Steve..." Steve just had time to roll on him halfway and feign sleep when the search party charged in. He was compelled to act as if he was just disturbed from his sleep. Groaning and blinking blearily, he stirred slowly as three soldiers stood in the centre of the room scanning the sparsely furnished quarters.

"He's not here." was the gruff remark from the abusive sergeant, "Let's keep going." They stormed out and broke into the adjacent room with the same crashing disregard for the occupants. Harsh shouts and scrambling next door indicated the pursuers were providing more grief for the two females than Steve, Jimmy and Malcolm suffered. Dragged from their fitful dozing Jodie and Kelly endured some abrasive interrogation as to their knowledge of Malcolm. The soldiers' cruel sport fell short of molesting the two young women, but they enjoyed intimidating them briefly before heading off to continue their search.

"What was that all about?" Jimmy wheezed, clearing his throat. Malcolm groaned uncomfortably as it became apparent that it was safe for the moment.

"You can get off me now," he grunted. Jimmy took a quick double take and tried to peer past Steve.

"A little thank you wouldn't go astray," Steve grinned, and then he audibly complained at the pain caused by his smiling muscles. He clambered out of the bunk and Malcolm sat on the edge. Jimmy appeared flummoxed as Malcolm materialised from beneath the blanket.

"Listen, I don't have much time. Do you want this?" He pulled out the phial and held it out for Steve. Steve stared at him for a second when an idea formulated in his mind.

"No, you keep it. In fact, I know what you have to do. I left my scuba gear underneath the end of the wharf. You take the virus and swim out the tunnel. I left my bike under some scrub in the bay to the south of the rock platform. The key's under the seat. There's also a map book in the side satchel. Go to the nursery and wait for morning." He gave the address and then had him repeat it. "Then go to Arcadia University and ask for Professor Eric Leipstein in the Biochemistry Department. He'll be able to work on the sample and maybe find some way to combat it."

"You don't ask much." He pocketed the glass container deliberately. "What will you do?"

"We'll try and stop them from our end. We'll do everything we can." He knew that any chance they had of surviving hinged on whether they cooperated with Klein or not. Ultimately, he knew, he could not cooperate.

"Okay, I better go. Listen, those other phials... they're stored in the bridge of the Cormorant. Try and keep a watch for when they move them to the space transport." Malcolm walked to the door and unlocked it. "Do you want me to leave this unlocked?"

"No, you had better lock it," said Steve.

"You guys look after yourselves." offered Malcolm stepping through the doorway.

"Yeah, you too," Jimmy responded, "Good luck." He clutched his damaged face as it throbbed painfully.

Malcolm snuck off, securing the door as he went. Jimmy, recovering slightly, looked at his friend's glassy indifference to Malcolm's departure. Steve was immobilised by a shocking thought.

"You okay Steve?" Jimmy had risen, unstably, and walked across to shake his friend gently.

"He had the phial in his pocket," Steve intoned flatly.

"What?"

"He had the phial in his pocket," he repeated, "and I just about crushed him when he was hiding." The effects of the virus were still stark and vivid in his mind and Steve trembled briefly as he considered what could have happened.

"Oh..." Jimmy paused at the realisation of what Steve had envisioned. Then he continued, "Why did you tell him to lock the door?"

"If we want to have any chance we need to at least seem compliant. Colonel Klein may need us, but he'd kill us without hesitation if he caught us trying to escape, or threatening his scheme."

*****

In another section of the base, where most of the offices were situated, Colonel Klein was berating Lieutenant Shelley and a couple junior ranking soldiers.

"We lose those goons you hired and now we've been compromised by this sailor. Have you any idea where he is yet?"

"No," was Shelley's depressed reply. "The base is so big and we have so few men now."

"So, you're giving up?" Klein snarled.

"No, but we have had to ensure he doesn't sabotage any vital facilities. So I have men watching the subs, the exits and the main plants. It doesn't leave us with much manpower."

Klein paced, still fuming but aware that he had to act rather than seek retribution from the halfwits that had allowed this to happen.

"All right... get everyone on board now. We leave immediately before this pest can do any damage. When we leave we'll release some more of the virus. We've seen how effectively that eradicates pests." His face reflected his amusement at his use of metaphor.

"Well, go on." He gestured impatiently with his hand in a shooing motion toward the door.

"Yes Colonel," said Shelley crisply and departed immediately, followed by the other two, and feeling lucky to have escaped so lightly.

Klein straightened himself up. He walked back to the desk and stared stonily into the small mirror hanging on the bookshelf. Brushing back his hair and putting on his cap he spoke softly, "Don't worry Ernest, you'll run your own little world soon."

*****

Soldiers rushed into the temporary prisons and dragged the unsuspecting inmates unceremoniously out of their beds and along the hallways. Jimmy's instinct to resist gained him a cuff to the side of the head and he stumbled onto his knees. That was followed by a kick in the side. Steve heard a cry of distress from Jodie as she witnessed the attack on Jimmy and paused to look back. He barely had opportunity to glimpse the clump of bodies behind when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Keep movin'," growled one of the soldiers, pushing at him. Steve quickly bent down and hauled Jimmy to his feet before any more kicks could be landed.

The four of them were herded roughly, in two groups, out along the dock area. Staggering from the mistreatment and heavy workload, Steve and Jimmy tried to rest for a brief moment; Jimmy feeling his ribs while Steve cast a glance around to see if Malcolm was about at all. Their respite was brief however, and soldiers then forced them up the ramp into the second of the two submarines. As they boarded they saw the lettering on its side. It was the one named 'Skua'. 'Strange name for a submarine... Maybe it can fly,' mused Steve.

They were led across the metal grate covered deck and through the large angular hatch. Going down a short set of stairs, all four were then ushered via another hatch down a ladder to the lower deck. Escorting soldiers then shoved them hastily into one of the crew quarters' cabins and turned the key. They stood, silent, taking in the four berths and limited amenities and looked at each other.

"What are we going to do?"

It was Jodie.

"Sleep," said Jimmy with a grimace. Jodie went across to Jimmy as he clumsily clambered onto a bunk, clearly in pain. Kelly joined her and they helped him under a blanket.

"He may have a broken rib," Kelly glanced up through her tousled hair. Steve thought she still managed to look attractive even though she was dishevelled from the maltreatment she had received.

"We'll see what he's like after a bit of rest." Steve climbed up onto his bed and continued, "Besides, Jimmy is right. Sleep is about all we can do now. We need to be rested and ready for any opportunity."

"Do you think we can stop them?" Kelly spoke with an anxious tinge to her voice.

Steve replied, "We'll do what we can and trust it will be enough..." He was deliberately vague with his answer, knowing that anything they did would probably be the last thing they did. Steve was also aware that Kelly was agonising over the fate of her father. Was he still alive, and if so, where were they keeping him?

Steve looked at Jodie. Her head was drooping against her chest. She seemed wrung out. "You okay Jodie?" he felt somehow responsible for dragging her into this. She gazed up at him through her dark hair, she had been praying, but she didn't want to sound religious.

"I'm fine," she murmured and climbed onto the other top bunk. That was all she said before curling up and closing her eyes. Steve experienced an ache within. He again had that urge of wanting to give Jodie a hug and tell her everything would be all right, but a wave of despondency washed over him as he realised that for them it may never be all right again.

Chapter 19- Departure

Soon after Malcolm had left Jimmy and Steve, he almost ran into a small squad of searchers. He had been going down the main central passageway when he saw them enter from a corridor past the cafeteria on the left. Immediately going left himself he cut through to the kitchen. The near encounter left him shaken and very uneasy. He waited and tried to plan his moves. Many minutes followed before he mustered the nerve to go on and reach the corridor that was vacated by the hunters. To elude them further he turned left and travelled in the opposite direction to the first main walkway. From there Malcolm proceeded to the huge storage area and, taking a fleeting look to ensure that he was unobserved, stepped through the entry. He felt almost safe for the moment, being quite sure his hurried departure had not been detected.

Malcolm paused here and considered his options. The docks would be heavily guarded so it would be dangerous to just forge ahead without any forethought. Steve had told him his wetsuit was under the far end of the dock so his present route was the best in terms of reducing the distance that he was exposed to view. Should he wait until their chase waned or take the chance that attentions were diverted from the harbour and go now?

After edging cautiously to the plant nursery, he wandered warily along rows where full pallets of plants had only recently rested, but now, except for a remnant of sickly looking specimens and the occasional unused tray, the pallets were empty. A door slammed somewhere behind him and he skittered under a bench. A series of retreating yells soon followed and then all was silent. Eventually he reached the exit that provided direct access to the harbour. Through the doorway he saw two sailors removing the boarding ramp from the 'Skua', climbing on board, going inside and closing the hatch behind them.

It was clear that the submarine was leaving. Malcolm moved to his left and crept out toward the water's edge hugging the dark rock wall. By the time he got to the stream that came down the rock-face the motor of the first craft was humming. The Cormorant was also making preparations to leave. A few men were awaiting the Colonel who was just coming out of the main doors toward the sub.

Crawling low against the cavern wall, Malcolm carefully edged down the wet rocks near the water fall, determined not to slip and give away his position. He tentatively entered the cold water. The first shock of it almost took his breath away. He swam the short distance to the wooden structure and hoisted himself up onto the slick framework. Shivering violently now, it took a minute or two to locate Steve's scuba gear. Discarding most of his wet clothes he struggled to get the gear on. Placing the phial carefully inside the rubberised material close to his skin in an effort to keep the culture alive, Malcolm adjusted its position. He paused. Was it worth the risk? Maybe a dead culture would be just as useful? He zipped up his back strap. Everyone would be endangered by bringing back a live sample. The alternative of letting the virus die in the cold, he thought, might result in him completing his escape, but bringing something that was less useful, or at worst, useless.

There was a small explosion from inside the base somewhere while he was halfway into strapping on his tanks. Malcolm considered taking a peek to see what was going on. But he thought better of it as the Skua started submerging not far from his position.

With flippers and mask on, he was just about to take in the mouth piece when he heard a terrifying scream. The other sub was moving now so he risked scaling the far end of the dock to see what was happening. On the dock was the horrifying sight of two servicemen twisting and writhing with muscular spasms, each collapsing with excruciating paroxysms, punctuated by a ghastly gurgling death rattle. Malcolm almost vomited. Regardless, he put in his mouthpiece. Almost instantaneously it dawned on him what had happened. He climbed back down and, grasping the torch from the next beam, he fled for the safety of the water. Fear welled up in him as he realised the lump next to his chest contained the deadly ingredient that had resulted in the atrocious death of many people, including the shocking end of the two he'd witnessed.

He swam numbly. Had he been far enough away? Will the coldness of the water protect him?

*****

On board the Cormorant, Klein watched the shocking demise of the two soldiers who had failed to convince him of their commitment to the cause.

"I don't think there will be any survivors, do you?"

It was a rhetorical question and no-one attempted to answer. There was an eerie disbelief among the sailors of what had just happened.

"Shelley, you must get to the bottom of these accidents once and for all. For now we will abandon this base."

Shelley wondered whether this feeble attempt to cover up what was a deliberate act served any purpose. But the mood of those on board seemed to suggest that there was a willingness to believe something had gone dreadfully wrong, rather than consider the alternative.

That Klein had timed the release of the virus in the air conditioning plant so that two sailors sent on an errand could demonstrate to him again the lethal nature of his biological weapon and at the same time removed a threat, was no surprise to Shelley. He'd heard the Colonel espouse his cause of culling the human population to produce an ideal world. One in which a smaller, controlled environment will support a populace with a much higher standard of living. The lure of power and wealth at the head of this movement was too great to resist. So Shelley didn't baulk at the ethical obstacles that might be raised if he thought about it.

*****

Malcolm swam down one of the vertical piers as he felt the disturbance of the second submerging submarine. He had clipped the torch to his belt to give himself more freedom to stroke. Cold water began to seep in through small crevasses in his hastily rigged, slightly over large wet suit. Trying to follow its wake, he eventually found the dark tunnel. Once near the opening he was sucked into the large aperture by the receding tide. The roiling, twisting current was at peek flow and Malcolm was tossed and tumbled. His tanks clanged against the rock, his body was battered, scraping and bumping jagged outcrops along the wall. Desperately Malcolm was stroking away from the sides and all the time fending with his hands to protect his fragile cargo.

By the time he had been carried clear of the torrent and made his way south and shoreward, Malcolm noticed the blood in the torchlight. Ribbons of red streaked his hands. They had been lacerated by the sharp projections of rock in the sub-marine channel. Burning, stinging sensations pulsed in his fingers and palms, and his upper arms ached as he swam steadily to shallower water. Staggering up the sandy beach in the waning moonlight, Malcolm fingered the tear on his shoulder. He spent some time getting his bearings. There was a rough pathway wending its way down the facing hill toward some banksia scrub. It was there, just beyond the beach, that he found the motor cycle. Changing into Steve's larger clothing was slow and painful and he wondered if he should have just remained in the wet suit.

Thereafter Malcolm had little trouble negotiating his way to the city with his precious sample. It took more time to find his way to the nursery and let himself in. He was glad to get out of sight because, even though it was three am, he felt conspicuous riding in the baggy clothing. After sleeping restlessly on the cot in the back office he was awoken by a knock on the door. It was Sergeant McGuiness who had just happened to be passing the nursery when he saw the bike near the door where Malcolm had pulled in. The sergeant had put more credence on Steve's story, especially after the capture of those pursuing him. Malcolm's account was enough to confirm the danger and he quickly alerted a number of trusted friends to the situation. Channels were used to bypass the chain of command and inform some reliable government members and agencies.

Apart from a special escort to the university little else was evident in terms of an official response. This was partly because of disbelief and partly due to the desire to avoid the story getting out and panicking the community. It wasn't long before Professor Leipstein was given access to a highly secure laboratory to carry out work on the virus with a number of government scientists.

Malcolm was whisked away by US consular officials who had firm instructions. 'Get that sailor back to the US immediately for debriefing. Any leak of this story could be a PR nightmare!'

Chapter 20- The Launch

Cutting through the open seas at an impressive rate, both submarines kept a tight formation and the journey proceeded quite uneventfully. The four in custodial care did little but eat and sleep and make use of the amenities generally, after first taking turns to have a much needed shower.

Steve and Jimmy particularly welcomed the respite, giving their injured bodies an opportunity to mend. Conversations drifted from their situation to considering the fate of Malcolm. Jimmy, in an interlude between his exaggerated moans and groans, asked about the General's initial plan. Steve remembered that Kelly was fretting about her father and tried to douse the topic.

"I wonder if Sally and Anne are coping with things."

Kelly seemed to compose herself, ignoring Steve's comment about what was happening at his work.

"Dad had great hopes for setting up a lunar community. It was going to be a trial mini city which was to be a forerunner to a larger, viable, science settlement. It was meant to be self-sustaining, eventually harvesting frozen water in polar craters and using plants for air treatment."

"You mean our cultures?" interposed Jimmy.

"I guess so, I know that he wanted vegetable cultures to grow and to be used for food, but I think the plan was to eventually develop a tree arboretum in the centre of a large dome. And they were planning on setting up mining operations and develop research labs." She enthused in a way that showed her pride in her father.

"What sort of power supply?" Jimmy was becoming even more interested.

"That was Dad's," Kelly stopped herself, her voice breaking slightly, "is Dad's area of interest... producing a sustainable energy system. They have a huge solar array planned. Panels for a small system are already set up."

"What about the two weeks of night?" Jimmy chimed in.

Steve answered him. "I read about that when I was reading data files with Malcolm. The idea was to use fuel cells, electrolysing the gases out from water with excess energy from the two weeks of day and using the fuel cells during the night. He has a small nuclear power plant there at the moment as backup."

Steve sat and thought about the base and their predicament when the conversation faded. A nagging question formed in his mind. Why were they still alive? They lost a lot of specialists in their dreadful toxic purge. Again he reasoned, maybe they really did need their horticultural expertise, but what about Kelly? Why did they keep her alive? What use was she to them? He grew restive as possibilities began to accumulate in his mind. The fact that she had worked for them meant she would be a poor choice as a mole in their little group, though he conceded to himself that that didn't rule it out. Although her apparent anger at Klein seemed genuine.

The realisation that she was the General's daughter carried with it a sinister fore-boding. Perhaps the main reason she had been recruited in the first place was to exert leverage on the General.

'Serve our purposes', that's what Klein had said. He shuddered at an image of how they might make an uncooperative General Roberts bow to their demands. Then, as he reviewed Kelly's interesting intrusion into his life, an unsolved query solidified in his mind.

It wasn't long after that Steve had an opportunity to satisfy his curiosity. They had been taken to the ship's storage hold to tend the plants. Supervision was minimal because the hold was easily isolated from the rest of the craft. One sailor, who had some sympathies for the four incarcerated passengers, appeared to enjoy working with them in watering and placing fertiliser granules on some of the more mature plants. Steve took Kelly aside by slipping his arm around her waist and drawing her behind some pallets; unaware that Jodie had observed this move. Jodie watched them disappear behind the pile. The experience left her with a tightness in her throat.

Steve's serious expression quenched any hope in Kelly that he was about to convey his affection, but all the same his touch, any contact was a comfort—a comfort for which she yearned.

"What is it?"

"I have a question that's been rattling in the back of my brain."

"Well go on, I'll answer it if I can."

"When you were 'interviewing' me about the explosion you said it was my car, it was meant for me... how did you know it was my car?" Steve, ironically, realised that he knew the answer already.

Kelly responded a little sheepishly, "I'd been following you, remember, and watching you for a while," then added as if to mitigate the admission, "That was my assignment."

Steve continued without thinking, "So you relayed to them my movements and information about me including what car I drove."

"Yes..." and then her face dropped, "Oh Steve, I'm so sorry. I... I didn't know," she sobbed, "They killed Peter because of me, and they meant it to be you."

Steve bit his lip as Kelly broke down and became inconsolable. He didn't intend to place blame but his blundering questioning had virtually labelled and convicted Kelly as an accomplice to Pete's murder. Steve took Kelly in his arms and hugged her as she wept on his shoulder. He felt like an idiot, and even more so when he noticed Jodie come into view and then turn away when she saw his upward glance.

"Listen Kelly, you weren't to know. You were just as much a victim as we were."

"I was stupid," she said in a strangled utterance brushing a tear away, and then looking up at him she went on, "but thanks for the thought." She wept a little whimper and then gave him a light peck on the cheek as more tears streaked her face. The two returned to their task re-joining Jodie, Jimmy and the sailor working methodically from one end of the plants to the other.

Jodie became quite distant after that, saying little and becoming very meditative. If the truth be known she was trying to reconcile all that she had witnessed with the sovereign will of God. How could her kidnapping and that of her friends work 'for the good'? How could evil people like the colonel succeed? She knew that she was reiterating a despairing complaint of the faithful across the ages. Amongst all this she endured personal discontent. Her heart ached for Steve but he was heading in another direction. She felt she didn't have the strength to let go and rely on His Divine will.

Rebuffing queries from Steve with quite curt claims that everything was fine, Jodie spent more and more time chatting with Jimmy and asking about his injuries.

Having become almost inured by the normality of their horticultural chores, shipboard customs and the awkwardness of their close confinement, the trip unexpectedly came to an end two evenings later.

They were bundled out of their beds and taken ashore to an island base. A long, heavy wooden pier accommodated the two sleek submarines. Standing on the oily boards the four took in their anchorage. Sweet tropical scents carried by the balmy night breeze were a pleasant variation from the bland processed and recycled air inside the submarine. Alongside them was a bay, narrow and recessed and set against a steep hill on the far side, which culminated in a near vertical rock face at the end of the bay. On the right a fresh water stream emptied into the bay almost opposite where they were, mostly obscured by a swathe of heavy rain forest that displayed the full palette of greens.

Looking to the left, on the side of the bay they were on, there were large hangars and a tarmac of an old runway extending onto a flat promontory. The promontory reached for the breakers frothing against a belt of reefs. Just past the hangars their gaze was drawn to what looked like an overgrown, swept back version of an old NASA Shuttle. It lay reclining against a substantial gantry. The gantry was designed, it seemed, to lift it into a launch position.

Given almost no time to acclimatise to their new surroundings, the four were set to work loading the impressively large space ship. Bold black print on its side declared its name; 'Transit 1'. Steve recalled the specifications he had read and even though the craft was concisely equivalent to the numerical descriptions in the plans, he was still in awe of its physical presence. Carefully taking in the smooth aerodynamic contours and the imposing, unique looking fluted rocket cowlings, he was astounded by its sheer size.

"It's huge isn't it?" Jimmy said to Steve noticing his fixed stare.

Small vehicles towed trailers loaded with gear and supplies from the pier to where they were near the launch pad. Frenetic activity and the whines and humming of the tow cart motors and fork lift engines surrounded them.

They had been carrying trays into the spaceship for some time when Steve and Jimmy paused for a rest. Standing back they once again took in the majestic form of Transit 1.

"I can't get over it. I mean, how do you hide an operation like this? And they have been sending this to the moon to set up a base there. How can they do that without everyone knowing?"

A scrape behind them caused them to turn, a little startled. It was the formidable form of Lieutenant Shelley. He had heard what they had said.

"Yes, it's amazing what you can do when you say you are setting up a complete air-space defence system... need lots of rockets and lots of test firing." He shook himself out of his reverie, "You need to hurry and finish the loading. We're leaving soon."

Jimmy and Steve stood stunned.

"Do you think he meant what he said?" Jimmy whispered loudly as the two carted trays up an incline into storage bays where Jodie and Kelly were placing them into well-designed sealed tubs that fitted snugly into space saving compartments.

"That we're leaving?" Steve offered.

"You think that they're taking us into space?" He couldn't conceal his excitement.

"I think that's the plan. It would be more of a thrill if we weren't prisoners and this whole thing wasn't part of a plan to commit some unprecedented atrocity."

"Will they do it?"

"Do what?" Kelly lifted her head from a lower rack and had just picked up on the tail of the conversation as they approached. Steve had a heightened awareness of his surroundings. 'What would it be like launching into space?' Anticipation revealed itself. There was the symptomatic 'butterflies' nervousness—a queasiness in his stomach.

"Will they do what?" Kelly repeated louder this time.

"Release the virus," Jimmy answered, handing his end of the tray gently to Kelly. Steve moved close to the next vacant rack. Jodie bent to take it but Steve smiled, "I got it Jodes."

Jodie leaned back, the hint of a tired smile appeared on her smudged face. Long vagrant wisps meandered across her forehead, her dark hair unusually unkempt.

"Thanks Steve." Her eyes lit up for a second then a look of concern crept onto her face when Steve and Kelly positioned the tray.

"Only a couple more to go then we might be going on the flight of a lifetime," Steve said as an aside to Kelly, then seeing Jodie's horrified expression, directed a quiet query at her.

"...You all right?"

Jodie nodded and then turned away and gave the last tray a distracted rattle as a wave of panic hit her. Steve knew something was wrong. He'd never seen Jodie so edgy, so depressed. He stood behind her and touched her on the shoulder.

"...You sure?" he felt her stiffen.

Jodie was struggling. She clenched her jaw and managed to utter, "I'm fine."

Like cold water on his face, the words hit Steve and shook him. 'Was she angry at him?'

Jodie endured the final few minutes of work avoiding eye contact with Steve. With the last load on board Steve noted the large sliding panels that the crew used to enclose the tightly stacked plant racks, and how the other storage compartments were sealed off with doors and hatches. He appreciated the thoroughness of the important task—assuming that they were securing goods to minimise movement.

Once this was complete Steve, with the others, was meekly led, into the craft, up front past various sleeping and eating facilities to a small airline like cabin capable of taking thirty passengers. Only part of the three rows of ten seats were occupied, but the four 'guests' were ushered to the back row and then manacled by hand cuffs to the seats. Regardless of that tethering, they were still required to fasten their safety harnesses. A task made more difficult by their restricted movement.

It wasn't long before the spacecraft started to hum and it was clear launch systems were being initialised. Jodie was terrified. Unknown to the others, she was fearful of flying on a normal jet airliner. It was an irrational fear, she knew. She had tried to argue herself out of it logically. Statistics showed that driving a car was more dangerous than flying. Nevertheless she had flown only a couple of times because of the phobia. Both times she had been a mess at the end, having struggled to contain her dread.

This... this was much worse... inconceivably more terrifying. She wished the ground would swallow her up. Having her childish fears on display was more than embarrassing. It was demeaning. Would she curl up into a foetal position like her first flight, or would they have to drug her with sedatives like her second, as much for the benefit of the other passengers as for her? It had certainly calmed her down. She had been almost tranquillized out her mind and most of the trip was a hazy memory. Steve, sitting next to her observed her white knuckle grip on the arms of her chair. Her eyes were closed and her lips trembled.

He spoke quietly in her ear, "Are you scared?"

It didn't register, or she was ignoring him. With thirty centimetres of chain between the cuffs there was reasonable scope for movement. He put his hand on her rigidly clutching fingers. Her hands were clammy. Jodie opened her eyes wide in fright at his touch. Again he was struck by their intense blueness.

"Are you scared of flying?" he tried again. She nodded chewing on her lip nervously.

He tried to imagine the horrors that she contemplated, but knew he couldn't understand her private torment. It was no point saying things would be fine. He had no way of knowing how safe they would be. Even on a regular passenger flight his rationalisations about safety would be wasted on someone who harboured illogical fears.

"I think we're all a bit scared. Here, hold my hand." He forced his fingers under her hand and enmeshed his fingers with hers. She warmed to his touch.

"You don't understand," she quaked softly, "I go crazy, I go hysterical... Last time they almost threw me off the plane."

"But you survived... and I'll go through it with you, and we'll survive this together." He patted the top of her hand with his other hand and breathed a prayer that it would be all right.

"You guys okay?" Kelly asked from the other side of Steve and winked at Jodie when their gazes met. Jodie felt suddenly self-conscious. Did Kelly think I was having 'my shot' at Steve she wondered?

"We're going!" exulted Jimmy, superficially oblivious to the reality of their circumstances.

The craft vibrated as it slowly tilted to a few degrees off the vertical. Their weight was now almost entirely supported by the backrests of the seats. Chimes sounded. A voice announced the intended blast off. Steve envisioned the focusing lasers stimulating highly energetic beams of plasma as the ship shuddered and roared into a jarring acceleration. Two liquid oxygen-kerosene rocket boosters were attached, one to each side, to provide the majority of the intra atmospheric thrust. An intense glow glimmered through the thick glass portals as they hurtled skyward, rapidly attaining supersonic speed. Steve felt the thrill of adrenaline charging through his system. His form was snugly supported by the padded chair. Glancing at Jodie, he saw a white face contorted by a silent scream. He gripped her hand harder until the searing ache drew her attention. Grimacing at the painful, vice like grip she turned her angst filled face toward him; tears welled up in her eyes.

"You're hurting me," she tried to say, but nothing came out. A spark of anger ignited into a glare. Jodie's glistening eyes locked onto his blue eyed gaze and saw a quiet, deep compassion in his tanned face. Tiny wrinkles materialised at the corners of his eyes and he offered an awkward grin. Her anger subsided. He wished she could experience the exhilaration he evidently felt. She sensed him experience a rush from the avalanche of sound and sensations. The launch sent a riot of spine-tingling emotions through him. She wished she could know the excitement expressed on his face.

Instead, overwhelmed by the incredible noise and vibrations, the tugging acceleration weight on her body and the firm grip of Steve's hand in hers, Jodie felt she was having an out of body experience.

"I'm still alive Lord, I'm still alive," she thought, and repeated it in her head like some protective mantra.

Ever so slowly the thunder of the rockets diminished. Through the nearest portal they could see the thin, arcing, bright blue verge of the atmosphere that was now tinged with the darkening blackness of space. There was a momentary jolt as the boosters shut down. They detached and the Transit 1 jerked forward again.

Still gathering speed from the immense pressure of the ion drive, the sleek vessel was now tearing its way through the ionosphere.

A lone yacht with four relaxed sojourners sailing quietly in the balmy, gentle South Pacific breeze were mesmerized by the solid beam of intense, white incandescence. Tracking it from a small island on the horizon they followed the tiny silver craft with fascination. Only now, when it was almost out of sight, did they hear the booming of the powerful force thrusting the strange projectile.

*****

On board the hurtling spacecraft most of the passengers felt elation, hearts were thumping with the thrill and there was an occasional youthful, exhilarated whoop. On-going thundering vibrations continued to surround them as they blasted into orbit. Dark blue transformed to pitch black with a rim of refracted, ion-propulsion glow just illuminating the edge of the glass portal. Out of an observation port closer to the front, faint pin points of light grew in prominence.

Tearing away from the effects of the remaining shards of gravity, Transit 1's changing velocity matched Earth's mass related attraction, and was suddenly shockingly silent. Taken by surprise, the military passengers and their captives were similarly muted. They were slow to break the stillness. In contrast to the launch phase, orbiting without the push of rocket engines was weirdly hushed. Voices began to break the spell and enthuse with others the shared excitement of the launch.

It took a while for Jodie to realise that Steve was still holding her hand and she flushed slightly, attractively. Was it his touch or her embarrassment at the way she had just lost it that made her blush? Steve conjectured as he watched her. She breathed more easily and took in the features of the craft. She was gaining a growing perception of her surroundings for the first time since boarding. Anticipation of disaster had subsided.

Weightlessness brought on a different sort of queasiness for Jodie and she was not alone; it affected everyone.

Notice was given by a computerised voice that seatbelts were no longer needed. Had the four captives not been attached by manacles to the arms of their chairs they would have released their restraining belts and done what some other passengers were now beginning to do—float. Others, who had experienced the sensation before, seemed content to either stay in their seats or begin to carry out various assigned tasks.

Chapter 21- Space

About fifteen minutes after settling into orbit a corporal came over.

"The name's O'Grady..." he said smiling at the girls. "The Lieutenant said I can release you if you promise to behave yourselves. I doubt there's much you can do now that we're in space," he smiled again obviously taken by Jodie and Kelly, and feeling guilty about shackling them in their seats.

"Thank you soldier..." Kelly reciprocated with a practised saccharine smile, aware of the advantages of fostering sympathies. Realising also, from her training, that nurturing trust was a key to luring your adversary into complacency. "We appreciate it." Her attractive smile brought a coy bluster from the serviceman as he leaned across and unlocked each catch.

When finally free of the chafing cuffs, all four rose and tested their weightless condition with a variety of manoeuvres. Drifting to one side of the cabin, Steve examined the night of space through one of the thick glass panes. The lights had been dimmed to enhance the spectacle. Foggy smears and glittering light pinpricks patterned the charcoal background. Space was a mixture of dark and light; in parts like a cloudy haze bespattered with iridescent jewels. In other parts the swirl of bright stars towards the centre of the Milky Way provided such a conglomeration of colours and light that he exhaled with wonderment.

"Wow..." he breathed.

"It is beautiful isn't it?" Kelly effused, sidling up next to him and peering out the same window.

"The designer knew what He was doing," Steve asserted and reminisced about an old song his Dad use to listen to: 'In the Stars His Handiwork I See..." he couldn't think of the rest.

"Mm, it makes you think... everything is so pristine, so perfect, and then we come along..." Kelly was losing herself in her thoughts; she was fearful of her life, but even more fearful of death. She trembled about the possibility that there was a God and she had never acceded to the idea consciously. What could it be like to know of a purpose beyond your own self?

"To you, God did all this?" she made the question sound like a proposition.

Kelly felt drawn to Steve, maybe because of his faith, his purpose... and certainly because she found him attractive. She looked up at him and noticed that he was already studying her.

"I was going to say it's not such a big step to trust in Him, but in some ways it's the biggest step anyone can take."

"I'm still thinking about it."

Steve thought about saying it was also easy to do but the hardest thing at the same time, but he resisted. The last thing Kelly needed was to be confused by his inspirational riddles. He knew in himself that to provide the will... the desire to turn to God was sufficient to be empowered to take that step. He likened it to switching on a light. Everything was set up—the power was there—all you had to do was make that contact.

Warming to his deep blue eyes Kelly wanted to snuggle closer, but suddenly thought of Jodie and her conversation. Jodie had seemed so disturbed with Steve during the flight.

"Is everything okay between you and Jodie?"

"Jodie?" he looked questioningly at Kelly.

"Yes, she seemed angry or upset with you before."

Steve looked across and saw Jimmy and Jodie looking out the other side.

"She seems okay now." Steve felt reluctant to share information about Jodie's panic attack.

"Let's go and join them." Kelly gave a slight nudge to the wall and glided to the other side. A similar push sent Steve in generally the same direction and they contacted at almost the same time in a clumsy collision right next to Jodie.

"Sorry, sorry," Steve apologised defensively as he bundled into both girls. Jodie's eyes were suddenly dewy again and Steve felt that ache return.

Seriously, with a direct gaze into her eyes he asked, "How are you feeling now?"

"Much better, thanks," was her passive reply as if she were reporting to a doctor's clinical query.

"Aversion therapy works well, does it?" he continued, trying to lighten the moment. The comment meant different things to Steve and Jodie than it did to Kelly, who thought he referred to some personal conflict they were having. In fact that interpretation also occurred to Steve after he had said it, and he wasn't sure whether he should clarify his comment.

"Just look at that!" Jimmy exclaimed. Their heads all turned to gorge on the sights of the glowing arc of a new day on Earth rapidly approaching. Gasps and oohs and ahs emanated from a number of others when the rays of pink light emerged through the atmosphere and quickly became a diamond of sparkling white light, and then the growing disk of the raging nuclear inferno which was our Sun. Automatically the windows tinted to reduce the glare as special constituents in the glass filtered out other harmful radiations.

Below them the vast continent of Africa passed. Dun and earthy arid regions and grasslands ever so gradually morphed as they watched, engrossed. The plains of the south central continent were left behind and soon they were crossing portions of equatorial jungle. They progressed north east and then the incredible lakes of the upper rift valley and the highlands passed beneath. The verdant coastal regions and some population centres drew their attention before the intense liquid blue of the Indian Ocean invaded their sight. Snowy white clouds in clusters and streams and one discernible spiral, meted out their pathway as the orbiting ship effortlessly sped along at about twenty eight thousand kilometres an hour.

Enthralled by the spectacle, they toured over the sub-continent, the Himalaya and on across Northern China. By the time the orbit had carried them back south into the Pacific (by virtue of the Earth's tilted axis) the rushing penumbra of the approaching night enveloped them. They had gawked away forty five minutes without being aware of the passing time. The darkness of the Earth's shadow almost instantly immersed them. Steve and Jimmy floated off to the front of the compartment.

"What should we do?" Jimmy was looking back at Kelly and Jodie but his question was directed at Steve.

"Somehow we have to locate where the virus is stored."

"Then what?"

Steve looked sombre, "At some stage we'll have to destroy it all. But ..." his face tautened.

"...But what?"

"It'd be nice if we didn't kill everyone," he said darkly. He had no death wish but in his mind's eye he saw himself smashing phials, or, maybe as a last resort, trying to crash the Transit 1. Jimmy was also deep in thought. 'How?' That was the word spinning around his head. 'How, how, how?' The puzzlement of his thoughts reflected in the furrow of his brows and the squint of his eyes.

"What's wrong?" Steve reacted to Jimmy's expression.

"How is this Colonel going to spread a virus from space?"

"I have no idea." Steve's shaking head and extended bottom lip making his words superfluous.

"I mean he can't just drop them, they'd burn up wouldn't they? And you said they have to keep them warm. How are they going to do that?" Jimmy was beginning to raise his voice and become animated. Eyes turned inquisitively to them.

"Shhh," Steve gesticulated for Jimmy to keep it down. "You have a point though," he said under his breath.

"What?"

"We need to look for a climate controlled container... something that keeps the virus viable."

Shelley came through the forward hatch and immediately took charge. "Secure our guests in their seats." He pointed to the back seats as he 'flew' through. "You two come with me." He motioned to two soldiers near the hatch at the rear, and they waited as the mechanism was disengaged before tugging themselves along some handholds behind him. 'Somewhere back there...' thought Steve, 'there was a temperature controlled container holding the deadly cargo.'

With fading spirits the four were reattached to their restraints and sat talking softly about their unbelievable situation, speculating on what might await them. Every now and then Steve would glance enviously at those still at the viewing ports being delighted by fresh vistas of the incredible blue green planet below.

It was after the third orbit that all aboard were summoned to their seats. Shelley had returned from his errand and groped his way to the flight deck.

"We will be firing thrusters for lunar trajectory in two minutes." said a staccato, monotone voice over the intercom.

Again the pervasive humming infiltrated the whole of the complex workings of Transit 1. Steve looked at Jodie. Her head was bowed. He touched her hand and when she looked up at him he mouthed, "You all right?" Jodie gave a nervous grin and then shut her eyes and tensed herself for the noise and shaking that she expected would come. But this time there was only a weak whining vibration like an old elevator, and a steady, but moderate pressure pushing them back into their seats. The 'burn' went on for some time and if they could see it they would have been surprised by the narrowness and intense brightness of the tight beam of energised particles being vented.

Steve concluded that the traverse to the moon would be much shorter than the early Apollo missions because of the duration of the firing and the efficiency of the plasma drive. He again marvelled when he considered the million degree temperature of the magnetically contained stream of charged particles and the incredible ejection velocity attained.

As he glanced at the glimmer of refracted light in the rim of one viewing port the glow ceased and so did the quiet whine. Unexpectedly Steve sensed a minor impulse from the side and then realised the ship was reorienting the direction it faced using small gas thrusters. His initial assumption was that the craft would about-face in preparation for its deceleration burn, but this was not the case. It stopped its rotation perpendicular to its course and was facing away from the sun. This was a boon to the sightseers who could monitor their progress by watching the decreasing size of the abundant Earth globe, or the increasing prominence of a stark, but highly spattered Moon globe.

Six hours had passed since they had left Earth orbit and Steve had just returned from his first experience of a space vacuum toilet. It had sufficient instructions for novices such as him, but he still found the experience unnerving. Having been released from their fetters for enough time to have checked out all the views and endured all the small talk the close scrutiny of their guard would allow, Kelly asked if they had somewhere to sleep.

The same O'Grady who had released them the first time overheard and offered to show them around. Unfortunately for him he was called to the flight deck so he delegated the task to a soldier who had been hovering on the periphery.

"This soldier will help you out." The young man nodded in response.

"Why thank you er...?" Kelly again used her charming smile to effect.

"Private Vaughn Ma'am..." he smiled back.

The private provided a short tour for the four of them.

"Where do those floor hatches lead?" asked Steve as they passed a third one.

"Most of the vital systems are located down there: the power units, atmospherics, and fuel and oxygen storage. It's a no-go zone."

They were shown the dining facilities and the sleeping areas. The cots were more like shelves from bottom to top. An opaque pull down blind provide some privacy for the occupant and also prevented an active sleeper from floating away. Alternatively, some Velcro straps would also perform the function of restraint.

In the dining area they drank passible hot coffee through a straw and ate a doughnut each. While they ate Vaughn was summoned to Colonel Klein who was passing through with Shelley. They talked briefly before the young soldier returned to them.

"I told the Colonel that you wanted a sleep. He said you could have four hours and then he wanted you to check the plants. He said you'll know what to do."

"Yeah," said Jimmy, "we'll need to check the moisture content of the mature plants and mist them in the tubs if necessary. Those tubs had a little plug in the top didn't they?"

Steve nodded but only half listened. A plan was taking shape in his mind.

In his sleeping rack Steve tried to organise his scheme into discrete steps. A simulated emergency, a secret observation post, a diversion to prevent his detection... it all made sense in his half sleep.

As far as dreams went the one he drifted into was arguably just as confusing as some of his previous nocturnal adventures.

He was at the airport with his wife. He couldn't picture her face. They were ready to go on their journey. There was a call for them to report to the departure lounge. Then there was another call for them to report to a different departure lounge. With no real desire to rush they made their way to one desk and explained that they were booked to two different destinations. Strangely this didn't surprise anyone and the man at the desk was most helpful. He took out a map book and explained that if they took a certain flight it would take them to '........' the name sounded real enough, but when Steve awoke he knew it was some generic place with its only existence being in some synapse of his brain that equated with a well-known destination. Even stranger was the idea that this destination bore no relation to the other two.

Now he was swimming. It was like he was swimming underwater and breathing the water. He tried to kick and felt a thump against the wall.

It was enough to wake him.

"You okay?" It was Jodie in the space above him.

"Yeah, I'm just dreaming again."

"I know what you mean." Jodie had dreamt as well. She couldn't remember it, which annoyed her a little, but she felt calm, even buoyed. Why? What had changed? It dawned on her. She would never be afraid of flying again. She wanted to share her news. Raising the blind and beaming, she peered down on Steve who only had the straps attached. But he had his eyes closed so she lay back and grinned to herself, "Thanks Lord anyway," she breathed.

Steve went over the dream in his head. It fascinated him. Who was this phantom wife? Would it have helped him if Kelly's or Jodie's face had appeared in his dream? What did it mean? Or were dreams just meaningless products of confused conscious thoughts trying to be 'resolved' by the sub conscious?
Chapter 22- A Plan?

O'Grady came past and told them it was time to see to the plants. Following behind, they coasted for seconds at a time between nudges off the sides, all the way down to the storage bays. A quick examination showed that all the cell cultures were fine and then O'Grady, who particularly seemed to enjoy their company, left with Jodie and Kelly. Steve and Jimmy were left with the task of lightly spraying water into the sealed containers by removing a plug at the top of each.

Steve put his hand on Jimmy's shoulder, "You keep working. I'll see if I can find the virus cache." He headed down the back. There were so many large cylinders, boxes and containers that he didn't know where to begin. Undoing the latches of what looked like a temperature controlled chest with a small motor. He discovered frozen food inside it. It must be some sort of back up, he deduced, closing it and moving to the next compartment.

After some time locating more food, a large supply of medicines and some bottled water, Steve went back to Jimmy and found him inserting the spray nozzle from a squeeze bottle of water into another plant container. "I think this requires something a bit more drastic," Steve began.

"What are you going to do?" Jimmy expressed some alarm.

Steve ignored the question initially, quizzing him instead, "Are you almost finished?"

"This is the last one... Steve, don't do anything silly."

"We have to find those phials." He scanned the large storage area to ensure they were alone. "Look you go back and I'll find somewhere to hide and watch when they come and check the virus storage."

"What makes you think they'll come and check?"

"Don't worry, they will. You go back to your sleeping quarters and leave a few floor hatches unsealed. That should give me a bit of time."

Jimmy headed back a little unsure of what Steve had in mind. Steve floated toward the airlock. Hiding in there would limit his vision. Escape would also be a problem. Slowly working his way around, he investigated each little corner, stack of containers and recess trying to identify a position where he could conceal himself. A garbage chute at the far end looked promising, but he saw no way of escape once inside. Steve's initial confidence was fading as he pushed himself back to the hatchway leading to the front of the space craft. His course was slightly off target and it took him right into some spacesuits stored next to the airlock. As he disentangled himself, the possibilities suddenly occurred to him. Because of weightlessness, clambering into the back suit, third in line, would not be too difficult a task. Especially since they were tethered with Velcro straps to keep them secured. He examined the rear suit, loosening the helmet and undoing the double sets of highly precise sealing rings around the waist.

Looking about the immediate vicinity a plan began to gel. An increased heart rate made his head ache, reminding him of his still tender head injuries. Steve became edgy at the prospect of starting his first explicitly hostile action against his foes. Using an empty bin like container from the horticulture supply locker he put some dry fertiliser into it. Then opening an exact copy of the sliding locker three stations along, he rummaged through some cleaning chemicals until he found what he wanted. He mixed the chemicals carefully. Pausing to gather his courage, Steve measured out in advance his next movements.

After breathing a short prayer he added a small amount of water to begin the reaction. Quickly he placed it beneath a smoke detector and thrust himself across the expanse to the space suits. Already fumes were beginning to rise from his chemical concoction. Steve hurriedly slid up into the torso portion of the suit and then lowered himself into the open pants section. Finally he put the helmet on his head but left it unattached. Uncontrollable tremors shook his body as he tensed himself for the search party. The incendiary mixture was now spewing forth dense white smoke and the space was rapidly being filled. Even though the stream of fumes didn't rise as hot gases would on Earth, the container in which the reaction took place projected smoke by funnelling it at the detector. Alarms instantly shrilled as the contacts in the smoke detector were breached by tiny smoke particles.

There was consternation amongst all the crew and passengers. Rough hands grasped at Jimmy's collar as he feigned sleep. "Where's your friend James?" demanded the harsh voice of Colonel Klein. Jimmy couldn't pretend any longer and opened his eyes to face an angry, red faced Lieutenant Shelley. "Where ... is ... James?" repeated Klein, more insistently this time. The constriction around Jimmy's neck tightened and he struggled to breathe.

"I don't know," was his squeaked reply.

"Where did you last see him?"

"Plants... we were water..." Jimmy managed to utter before Klein called him off.

"Come on Shelley." Shelley shoved hard and Jimmy thudded against the wall.

Back in his concealed position Steve was biting his lip till it hurt, trying to calm himself down. With a rush, four men swam across the storage pod with extinguishers. The raucous snort of the pressurised canisters combined with concerned shouts and the alarm that was still blaring, all created a calamitous riot of sound. The four overly excited fire fighters aimed the nozzles at the pungent stream of billowing cloud as it ejected from the bin like a mini volcano.

They doused the minor fire with an excess of foam. In no time the smoke abated and the air purification system quickly thinned the acrid-white fog. The reaction had already run its course anyway, irrespective of the foam. Piles of thick, creamy foam blanketed the vessel containing the offending chemicals and blobs of lather spilled copiously; some sticking to walls and some floating like giant cream pies across the storage pod.

"That's enough!" yelled Shelley as he appeared in the entryway. "You people will have to clean this mess, so the more you make the more you clean." The unexpected cry had startled Steve who was only a couple of metres away. There was an eerie quiet as the extinguishers were shut off and the alarm ceased blaring almost simultaneously. Klein materialised behind Shelley and said something in his ear.

"You men can take a break. The Colonel and I want a few minutes and I'll call you back to clear this up." The four soldiers dutifully worked their way to the front carrying the partly expended cylinders and looking questioningly at each other trying to determine if they were in trouble. Klein and Shelley, who were still close to that third spacesuit—that particular inhabited spacesuit—spoke discreetly.

"If James is behind this, he'll live to regret it," Klein said coldly through gritted teeth. Then with an almost too close steely stare at Shelley, and sneering with a sudden appreciation of macabre humour, he added, "then again, perhaps not."

"Do you think he found the viruses?" Concern exuded from the lieutenant's face.

"We'll just have to check, won't we?"

The two secured the hatch muttering suggestions as to Steve's whereabouts. Steve tried to refrain moving or prevent himself from inflating his lungs, but the more he strained to resist expanding his lungs, the more he felt deprived of oxygen. He experienced a nearly irresistible urge to gasp for air. They were too close. He thought his whole body was being beaten by the drum of his heartbeat. They must hear it, or see the third suit shudder in unison with his pounding pulse. The drive to gulp in some air became all consuming. Just as Steve prepared to be exposed by a wheezing inhalation Klein and Shelley moved off. Fortuitously Steve's howling gale of a breath coincided with a wracking cough as Shelley's throat was irritated by residual fumes. Inside the helmet the sound was magnified and Steve was sure he had given himself away.

With extreme effort Steve tried to breathe slowly, deeply, noiselessly. His eyes followed the floating forms of the officers toward the back of the section. They hesitated near the refrigeration units that stored perishable foodstuffs and scanned the area suspiciously. The Colonel motioned Shelley to open the fridge, but instead of opening the door Shelley pulled a panel beneath the door. It opened like a draw and revealed regimented rows of deadly glass vials.

He peered to examine a digital readout. "It's at thirty five degrees."

"Good. Our silent killer is snug and safe, keeping warm beneath the refrigerator. Close it up."

The drawer was returned flush with the panelling. "So, you think no one knows it's here. Why the fire?"

"Sabotage... nuisance value, maybe a diversion."

"You don't think it was an accident?"

"It's possible, but unlikely. These people work with chemicals all the time."

As they left the large storage module Klein instructed Shelley to seal the room and keep supervision tight when the plants needed to be tended.

"... and find James," was the snatch of conversation he extracted from a confusion of sounds as the airtight door was shut and locked. A few seconds later soldiers came in and wiped all the stray wads of foam off the walls, put a lid on the bin and stored it away. They had finished cleaning in less than five minutes.

A guard arrived just as Steve had furiously worked his way out of the confining suit. He froze, hovering behind the rack of three tethered space suits. Discovery was moments away if he didn't find some way to distract the sentry. The soldier manoeuvred his way slowly to the far wall and then moved steadily anticlockwise around the huge storage compartment. It would not be long before he worked his way back along the side on which Steve had concealed himself. Coming from that direction, close to the wall he would be seen for sure.

Frantically Steve looked about him. All at once he knew what he had to do. Taking a bulky mitt off the suit in front he carefully lined up the button which operated the lights. He gave it a firm shove in what he hoped was the exact direction and readied himself. He was staring up at the hatch on the maintenance tunnel when the lights went out. Dragging himself out and clearing away from the suits, Steve nudged himself in what he trusted was the right direction. He planned to make his traverse while the guard's eyes were still unaccustomed to the gloomy illumination of the switches and gauges on the walls. Steve however, was in the same predicament, but he had been looking toward the lights when they went off. With pupils still not sufficiently dilated, he bumped into the wall. Feeling to the left there was nothing but blank wall. He broke out in a cold sweat as he felt himself drifting away from the wall. Stretching and reaching, his fingertips grasped an electrical conduit which was attached and he drew himself close to the wall. A gentle pull sent him to the right.

With relief he gripped the locking wheel of the hatch as it appeared in the dimness. Rapidly unlocking the mechanism it opened soundlessly. He pulled himself through without daring to glance back and then took great care in easing the hatch shut with the tiniest of clicks. A quiet turn and he was off gliding past conduits, cables and storage netting filled with canisters and a variety of equipment.

Steve took the second exit point, a narrow tube that he worked his way down and came out in an opening in the corner of the sleeping quarters. Exiting quickly, Steve made his way to a toilet cubicle and found refuge in a place where he could calm his nerves and use the amenity at the same time. From there he made his way back to the bunks where he dumped himself in and tried to stop his shaking.

"They've been looking for you... been past a couple times now... you all right?" It was Jimmy. He peered up from his bunk and looked inquiringly at Steve. Steve nodded not wishing to expose his fears through his quavering voice.

"So what happened?"

"I started a chemical fire in a metal bin." Realising that wasn't the most important news, Steve stopped short.

Gathering his self-control he answered a little unsteadily. "I saw where they keep the phials." Before he could go on there was movement at the end of the corridor and they both retreated into their beds and simulated snoozing.

Sensing that someone was drawing near Steve struggled to control his breathing. Before he could sneak a peek, rough hands hauled him out detaching the Velcro strapping with a chattering snap. Even with the intended violence of the grasping hands, his movement was moderated by the fact his antagonists had no purchase, or gravity assisted leverage. "Where have you been?" It was Shelley. Steve didn't have to feign disorientation. The pummelling and shaking disrupted any clear thinking he might have had.

"Where have you been?" the demand was aggravated and was followed by a backhand to the face, stinging him into clarity.

"What do you mean? I've been here." Another blow followed knocking him almost senseless.

"You weren't here when we looked. You've been down the systems level haven't you? You left some hatches undone. If we find any damage, any sabotage, you're dead." Shelley gave him a backhander across the mouth for good measure. Steve's head spun. He was trying to emerge from a gooey, opaque fluid. Images flitting past his eyes began to clear away and he remembered. He remembered what he'd just done; he was scrambling for some elusive cogent thought. Blood trickled around his mouth from a split lip. It itched. He just waited for the next blow, resigned to another bashing... and not about to say anything. What could he say?

"What are you doing?" It was Jimmy shouting. "He's been in the bathroom. He was nauseous."

"Then who started the fire?"

"Where?" Jimmy sounded genuinely perplexed.

Shelley sounded less sure of himself, but continued to bluster. "In the storage module, here..." he stopped, realising he wasn't making sense. "You two were the last ones there. There was a fire in a storage bin." He stared icily at Jimmy and then at Steve who refused to come round, realising Jimmy's protestation was shielding him from further battering.

Jimmy's voice suddenly had a guilty edge to it. "Was it a large metal bin?"

"Yes, why?" his question was nasally and snide.

"It's just that the fire could have been my fault." Jimmy was talking quickly now and with a tone that sounded like guilty embarrassment... "I thought the white chemical in the bottom was fertiliser, so I dumped our left overs into it... but now it seems pretty obvious to me it was a cleaning chemical."

Shelley stared at him. The sheer brazen audacity of the story; the bumbling character that Jimmy conveyed, seemed to have convinced him.

He gave Jimmy a withering glare. "You silly fool! You could have killed us all." He grasped Jimmy's shirt with both hands and pulled it tight around the neck, just like in a gangster movie. He shoved Jimmy against the bulkhead.

"I'm sorry..." was Jimmy's muted reply.

"Sorry!" Shelley was aghast. Turning to the infantryman nearby, he mimicked, "He's sorry." Shelley tried to storm off to display his disdain for this obvious simpleton, but in the weightless conditions he was stymied by the slack netting on which he attempted to gain a grip to impel him back to the control room.

"He's sorry," was the parting disbelieving retort as he disappeared out of view.

Steve snickered nervously. His lips were swollen and stung as he grinned. "Ahhh" he grasped protectively at his damaged mouth. He smeared the annoying ticklish dribble of blood on his chin.

"Are you okay?" Jimmy hovered near, concern on his face.

"It only hurts when I laugh," he grimaced, "Boy I'm sure glad you have a fertile imagination." Steve grinned again painfully.

"Don't you mean 'fertiliser' imagination?" he chuckled to his own immense entertainment.

"Oh, stop, this is killing my mouth," moaned Steve, trying to prevent a smile breaking out across his face.

Just then two shapes appeared at the end of the tunnel like corridor. And the two comical conspirators fell silent. There was no need however, as it turned out to be Jodie and Kelly making their way back to the bunks.

"You two have really stirred up a hornets nest," Kelly started as she drew near. "Shelley was ranting and raving to increase security in all the key areas. You guys are going to be under strict surveillance from now on. What did you do?" As Steve looked up to reply Jodie choked off a cry. "Are you okay? What happened?" She grasped a tissue from a dispenser and began dabbing his face with it. Steve had been unaware that his blood smeared face looked like he'd been through a meat grinder.

Jimmy was explaining that Steve had been beaten up because they somehow suspected he was in some way responsible for an 'accidental' fire in the compartment they had been working in. Steve assumed the explanation was for the benefit of any guards that might be eavesdropping. Although he pictured Jimmy winking and hamming up his confession, he didn't care much about what Jimmy was saying. Rather, he luxuriated in Jodie's gentle touch and soft admonishment that they needed him to be less adventurous.

"What are we going to do with you?" She whispered as she stroked his fringe off his forehead. He went to reply, but winced at the movement of his lips.

"Shh..." Jodie commanded affectionately placing a finger on his tender lips. "Don't answer, you're a hopeless case." He opened his eyes to meet hers. Moisture welled up in them, almost as if Jodie suddenly confronted the idea that she may have left it too late to reveal her feelings.

The moment was shattered by a short alarm, followed by a metallic, monotone message; "Orienting for final stage of traverse will commence in one minute. Please secure the ship." There was a quiet flurry of activity before the slight nudge from the side thrusters completed the realignment of the crafts position. "Deceleration will commence in one hour." The computerised voice again signalled a series of checks and the removal of any eating or drinking implements.

All personnel were advised five minutes beforehand to strap into their seats for the rocket firing. Steve, Jimmy, Jodie and Kelly were escorted back to their seats but this time their minders dispensed with the use of handcuffs. One of them, O'Grady, whispered with a quiet stare, "Apparently someone turned off the lights in the storage compartment." Steve returned the stare unflinching. Did he notice a tiny, momentary half smile? Waiting for the retro ignition he had the lingering thought of a possible ally.

At precisely the scheduled moment the whining of the energy beam began. It felt as if they were blasting ever faster back into the distance they had already crossed, but in truth they were just slowing from their substantial velocity so that they could be captured by the moon's comparatively weak gravity.
Chapter 23- The Base

The narrow flare of thrusting plasma continued to push in the opposite direction to the rapidly approaching lunar orb. Kelly and Jimmy were sharing life stories and remarking on how the current situation made them reflect on their own mortality.

"I want to talk to that Pastor David if we ever get out of this," Kelly shared solemnly.

"If it's not too late," observed Jimmy. "I'm thinking I might have a chat with Jodie soon... she seems to know where she's going," whispered Jimmy as he peered across to Jodie who seemed to be resting her eyes.

"Yeah, or Steve... he was telling me a bit about his faith the other day."

"Yeah..." Jimmy was pensive, "He never used to talk about it."

Shuddering gently from the long burn, the crafts negative acceleration created an artificial gravity that caused Steve to squirm a little uncomfortably in his seat. Either that or it was the conversation he overheard while pretending to snooze. He leaned across to Jodie. "You asleep?" he said softly, and then smirked a little painfully at the unnecessary quality of the question. Jodie shook her head, responding with the only possible correct answer to the question.

"I was getting used to weightlessness," he murmured in Jodie's ear.

"Meanwhile your muscles were going to jelly," she replied, flicking her gaze up at him.

"How are you coping with the flight?"

"Oh, okay. I think I'm getting used to it."

Steve was suddenly overwhelmed by the desire to clasp her hand and look into her bright blue eyes and share his heart ache for her. The realisation that his friendship and affection for her over the years had somehow, just recently, developed into an 'evermore love' tore at him. How could he complicate their desperate plight by declaring his feelings? Would it just be soppy sentimentality compared to the violence and life and death struggle embroiling them? Jodie had always, in the past, come across as sober and even tempered... one of the guys, but lately she was unpredictable, moody and even a little testy at times. Whatever it was that was upsetting her, she probably didn't need his emotional confessions to add to her malaise.

"What?" Jodie's blunt query interrupted his distracted stare into her face.

"Er, nothing, just thinking... I guess I got lost in my thoughts."

Her hand tenderly went to his swollen face, "You look a little worse for the wear." Warmth spread though him at her touch. 'What difference would it make if she knew,' Steve reasoned, but an abrupt silence as the propulsion unit shut down, caused him to hesitate divulging his inner yearnings.

"Cute." Jodie removed her hand quickly as Colonel Klein drew near. "I trust your metabolism has settled, Mr James?" there was a sneer in his voice as if he detested this weak civilian. "Don't get too cosy though, we'll be making a landing approach soon, and then we'll get you all to work. We'll have a nice little community in no time." He moved off and everyone unstrapped themselves and floated toward the many viewing ports to catch their first close up views of the moon.

The four of them were no different. They were soon drinking in the stark beauty of the lunar terrain. The creamy greys contrasted with the intense coal blackness of shadows, bright, light, dusty stretches pockmarked with craters, strewn with boulders and streaked with white and darker streaks of ejecta. As the orbit around the Moon continued they entered the night side; at first faintly illuminated by a fat crescent Earth, then crossing into the black void of a world without an atmosphere.

Almost reverently the observers took in the sights. Sighs and occasional gasps of delight broke the sense of wonder. Before they had a chance to share their awe, the digitised voice instructed all to resume their seats for the landing. A brief burst from the rockets dropped the craft out of orbit into a steady, controlled descent. Minor whines and trembles were further evidence that they were being nudged into trim. Seeing the horizon drop from view out a side view port was clear indication to Steve that Transit 1 was moving into a position perpendicular to the Moon's surface. With no warning the whine of the plasma beam was initiated, and the final approach of propulsion inducing weight was accompanied by strengthening strands of gravity tugging at their bodies.

Before it fully registered that they had landed, Transit 1 had settled smoothly on the surface, the engines shut down and the short quiet was overcome by an announcement: 'Please remain seated until Transit 1 is in a prone position'. After a cradle clunked against the ship it slowly and quietly tilted and finally settled into a horizontal position.

There was another brief silence, finally broken by the rustling, rattling and chatter of stretching bodies and those on board collecting themselves in anticipation for an extra-terrestrial jaunt. Movements were exaggerated by the weak gravity of the Moon, and a number of 'excuse-mes' were exchanged before the novice astronauts adapted to their lunar buoyancy.

Instructions were issued that two crew were suiting up. Corporal O'Grady informed them that it may be up to an hour before the transit tube could be attached and tested, and they could disembark safely. Instead of allowing the four detainees to start watching the docking process, the corporal intervened in their movement to the heavy glass windows.

"I'm sorry you've got some work to do," he said flatly and herded Steve, Jimmy, Jodie and Kelly into the cargo-storage area. "You need to ready all the trays for transfer, and then stack the supplies near the side portal. Some electric carriers will use a larger connection annex to haul stores and then your plants, once we're ready."

"Why don't we move the stores first, then we wouldn't have to work around the trays?" It was Kelly seemingly making a valid suggestion.

"Some stores are perishable; out last, stored away first... the plants don't matter." O'Grady was almost expressionless, but it was obvious that he knew what he was doing; even if what he said wasn't immediately apparent to them. Private Vaughn joined them and happily worked with them as they laboured at a testing pace.

Sizeable piles of plants formed small canyons in the module and they were just taking a breather when they heard a short signal and then a message that it was safe to exit. A number of crew were then diverted to assist in the offloading of Transit 1 from the lunar station side. They heard Shelley's voice giving commands. Some were sent to organise the decanting of water and the removal of pressurised gas cylinders. Others were ordered to prepare the greenhouses and solar farms for the deliveries which were soon to follow. A job which had taken hours on Earth, that of loading the craft, was being undone in far less time because the trays were now only a sixth of the weight. When all the plants had been moved inside for later transfer, the refrigerated containers themselves were unlatched and placed near the exit panel—that is, all except one.

Colonel Klein appeared in the connecting passageway with a small cohort of guards and ordered authoritatively, "Miss Roberts come with me." His voice was bullying, the tone carried an inferred threat.

"Time you earned your keep," he leered as Kelly moved past. It was very clear that she had been taken into custody as the soldiers surrounded her and moved off.

"Why are they taking her?" Steve sounded out O'Grady.

"You don't want to know... she'll be okay if she cooperates." His expression revealed the distaste he felt for Klein and his methods.

"Why do you go along with Klein? You know he's a renegade... He's killed people!" Steve appealed.

"You don't know that. He's my superior officer. He's trying to control a dangerous situation by removing germ warfare agents produced by some crazies."

"You don't believe that."

"No?... I should believe you—someone who broke into a secure base; left a body on a stolen sub and then snuck into the base again."

Steve was about to refute the corporal's story sensing a lack of conviction, when the PA sounded a warning, then an announcement followed: 'Storage pod access being tested. Please seal the compartment to prepare for opening.'

Vaughn moved to the hatch and closed it. O'Grady then lifted a handset and spoke. "Storage module ready for opening"

A slight hum of servo motors preceded the large lateral oval hatch popping, as synthetic air tight seals separated. A small crowd of servicemen awaited inside the large expandable loading tube. With the supply of plenty of hands, the spacecraft soon disgorged its cargo and the stores were distributed to a number of locations.

Steve, Jimmy and Jodie were escorted by O'Grady and Vaughn; who now seemed to be permanently assigned to supervise them. O'Grady explained that they were heading to the greenhouses where they were required to set up the plants and cultures in their various stages of growth.

Their journey was mostly through enclosed passages. The temptation to bounce along in the depleted gravity was soon stemmed by the tendency to bump their heads on the ceiling. The three emerged into the first of several huge domes covered with tough, transparent, but heavily tinted plastic panels. Looking through the panels placed in geodesic patterns, they were intimidated by the vault of black space above. Steve adjusted his strange elongated stride to a more natural but bouncy gait. Moving to each subsequent dome they had to pass through pressurised doors, an obvious concession to the possibility that some sector or other may be perforated or lose pressure.

The first two greenhouse domes were ready but empty of plants. The third and fourth domes housed large vegetable plants, such as tomatoes and potatoes, as well as corn and small fruit trees. These looked like they had been established for several months. The fifth and sixth domes had the beginnings of a variety of trees and tropical plants with well-equipped propagation and agricultural labs along the back and sides.

Adjacent to these were water treatment domes and storage facilities. And still further along, though the corporal told them rather than showed them, there were fish ponds which were designed to provide some protein for the inhabitants. All these domes were connected to one side of a large central hemispherical enclosure that had the beginnings of a grassed parkland area and a lake. Small trees dotted the miniature park landscape. They wended their way back along a path, passing connections to the various domes. Eventually they reached the first dome and then entered. Numerous trays had already arrived and they were given the task of organising all these and planting the first rows of mature bean, pea, carrot and lettuce seedlings.

The plants were placed in long enclosed containers filled with growing medium. It wasn't long before they developed a system with Jimmy filling the containers with the 'soil', rebuffing any claims by the other two that he was still too injured to do the work. Steve carried the trays of plants and he and Jodie planted. O'Grady and Vaughn spent their time putting the cultures in storage and clearing away trays. They had worked about three hours when Corporal O'Grady told them to finish up.

Exhausted, sleep deprived and hungry the three were led through the central park dome into the dining areas. Immediately apparent was the cooler, drier, climate controlled air of this section of the base. All along the way they encountered members of the skeleton maintenance crew that had kept the most fundamental aspects of the fledgling lunar facility operating.

While they sat to eat, O'Grady softened his demeanour.

"I'll show you your quarters in a bit. You guys can have a good rest after you have a bite to eat. Order whatever you want." He smiled, "but you'll find there are usually only two choices."

"Thank you corporal," said Jodie, and gave him half a smile.

"Name's Sean and this is Phil," he said indicating Private Vaughn. "We may as well drop the formalities since we'll be ... er looking after you for a while."

After collecting their food at the counter they sat at some windows that overlooked the park area.

"Will you say grace Steve?" Jodie glanced up and her eyes seemed to twinkle. Steve felt unworthy to say a prayer as he recognised his fixation with his own circumstances, his focus on what he would do, and his lack of appreciation of God's presence.

"Sure." He dropped his eyes. "Father, for this food we give you thanks. In Jesus' Name, amen."

Jimmy grinned across at him thinking again of the message he'd heard from Pastor David and aware that Steve was grappling with where he was. Sean stared at them briefly before starting on his hamburger. "You guys Christians?" he managed after completing his first mouthful.

"Uh huh," assented Jodie as she worked on her salad, "You?"

The corporal stared ahead. He shook his head slightly, "My parents are... I guess I never took it very seriously." He stopped, suddenly aware that he'd let his guard down. "Listen I've gotta go. Phil will show you your digs. I'm afraid you'll be locked in till you're needed for a work cycle." He rose and walked away still munching on his hamburger.

"Don't worry about the corporal. He thinks too much sometimes." Phil observed

"What about you?" it was Jodie again.

"Na, I just follow orders."

"No, I mean are you a Christian?"

"Me? Nuh, no way. I don't go in for that stuff. I mean, there might be a God, I don't know, but I don't go in for that church stuff." After stuffing his mouth with more fried rice he mumbled, "And don't try to convince me. I don't like being preached at."

Unable to eat much of a plate of vegetables and fish, Steve drank a large milkshake tentatively through a straw, favouring the less tender side of his mouth while looking distractedly at Jodie. Phil kept masticating, eyes averted and Jodie glanced across at Steve who had just lowered his gaze from studying her and seemed to be totally preoccupied with his thoughts.

"I wouldn't mind hearing a bit," said Jimmy quietly.

"Not here," interjected Vaughn hurriedly, "Over there where I can keep an eye on you, but I don't have to listen." He motioned toward a table further along the window line and then kept on eating.

Jodie and Jimmy moved to the suggested table and began talking. Steve sat awkwardly in his seat, wishing to be included, but knowing Jodie was eminently capable of sensitively explaining her faith and listening to Jimmy. He breathed a prayer and confessed his self-absorption that seemed to preclude his being ready to share his faith, shallow as it was. Then he confessed wryly that the thought itself was egocentric and instead prayed for Jimmy, that his understanding and belief in Jesus might be established.

It was later in the utilitarian sleeping quarters of 'late metallic' décor that Jimmy shared with Steve the important decision he'd made.

"I prayed the prayer," was his opening statement. Steve stood and gave him a hug. Jimmy's wide-eyed surprise caused Steve to explain with a grin.

"It's customary. It sort of makes us brothers." And then Jimmy went into some detail explaining how he felt, 'sort of directionless' in his life. He'd been mulling over what Pastor David had talked about and realised that after examining the claims of Jesus it clearly put Him into a category of His own. As the Pastor said; He was not just a good man, a wise teacher or even a prophet. He was either the greatest deceiver / trickster the world had ever known, or he was the Son of God.

After settling into their bunks they reflected over the amazing events they had experienced. Jimmy had innumerable questions for Steve and Steve was delighted to talk about Christian living and struggles in his own life journey for the first hour, less delighted to discuss ideas about doctrines and theology in the second hour and he fell asleep while Jimmy had progressed to asking about prophecies and predictions.

Chapter 24- The Codes

Sleep was restless and dream filled for Steve. He heard Jimmy snore and snort and he remembered one dream about driving an old car and the steering column started to twist as he lost control of the car. He wasn't concerned that the car was navigating independently of his efforts. When hands shook him awake his first reaction was to curl defensively; the past beatings already scarring his psyche.

"It's okay, it's okay, it's just me." The words sent his mind back to McGuiness –'okay'.

When he eventually convinced himself that it wasn't some absurd twist in his dream, Steve blinked open his eyes.

"Who?" he croaked throatily as his blurry vision gradually cleared.

"It's me, Sean, I've got to talk to you."

"Sean?"

"Corporal O'Grady."

Steve sat up still groggy having had little sleep, and unsure who was waking him.

"What is it?"

"I left you guys and decided to find out what happened to Miss Roberts," began Sean. Steve leaned forward anxious to find out about Kelly. What followed was Sean O'Grady's harrowing account:

After leaving the dining area, Sean made his way past the Infirmary and through the sparsely populated barracks. He found a private that was part of Kelly's escort and learned that she had been taken to the brig. It was a purpose built metal pod that Klein recently had added. It was to serve as a deterrent for any in his community that might have ideas of opposing his authority.

"Klein is down there too," was the warning that made his approach slow and cautious. Using a back entrance which connected to an exit passage to the lunar surface, he arrived and stopped out of sight around a corner from the cells. He was there in time to hear the Colonel lay down an ultimatum.

"You have one minute General Roberts. If you don't give me those access codes your daughter will begin to feel some pain."

"You craven coward Klein! You can't get me to betray my country, so you threaten a helpless girl."

"That's forty five seconds; the point is she's your helpless girl... I'm a pragmatist."

"Don't listen to him Dad!"

"Thirty seconds."

"You wouldn't dare... those codes are designed to safeguard the use of Transit 1's space weapon system." There was a slight pause.

"Fifteen seconds."

"Colonel, you'll get the firing squad. Give it up while you still have the chance."

"You old fool Roberts! Time's up." He grabbed hold of Kelly's hand as she was restrained by Shelley's vice-like grip. Involuntarily Kelly screamed as her finger cracked. The piercing wail was followed by soft moaning and whimpering, "Don't worry Dad." The agony experienced by Kelly and the emotional trauma of Guy Roberts tore at Sean.

"She has more fingers General, quickly where are the codes?"

The General sobbed, "You scum Klein..." before he finished Kelly screamed again.

"No, no," sobbed the General, "Behind the picture hanging in my office."

"No Daddy, don't," Kelly was weeping from the unbearable pain, from the feeling of failure and from the humiliation of her father.

The Corporal strode in hoping to intervene with a germ of an idea. He burst around the corner, "Colonel, I heard screaming."

"Ah, yes corporal. An unfortunate accident... would you take Miss Roberts to the Infirmary. I believe she is in a great deal of pain." The Colonel and his lieutenant locked the cell and placed two infantrymen to stand guard. Jostling past Sean and the stooping and distressed girl as they moved roughly by him in the corridor, the two officers departed hurriedly in another direction. Immediately Sean led Kelly away along a different corridor.

He began comforting and consoling her as she cried softly, tears of hurt and despair trickling down her cheeks. Devastated by the flagrant violence, Sean spent several hours with her as the doctor X-rayed, straightened and then put a cast on her broken fingers.

"That's the ugly story," Sean almost hissed, then finished by heaving a sigh. "I'm sorry this has happened. What can we do?"

Callously Steve responded, "You're asking me? Has all this caused a change of heart?" He knew it was a silly question. Steve wanted to be cautious, but could see no motivation for Sean to conspire with virtual prisoners who have no freedom of movement, and who could just as easily remain incarcerated.

"You could say, I've just been shocked into reality. I have been trained to obey my orders, but when my senior commanding officer has been put in jail, and his daughter tortured, well let's just say morality has to come in somewhere. I can't believe it. Klein's an animal!" he grated.

Steve nodded.

Jimmy stirred. He had been sound asleep while Sean had quietly related his tale. Their voices had steadily risen up to the corporal's last exasperated outburst.

"What's up?"

Steve reviewed the story briefly for Jimmy's benefit and explained the presence of their new ally. Jimmy fumed. He was all for storming the officers' residences and retaliating with force then and there.

"Just settle down Jimmy." Steve was trying to be the voice of reason, but he was as incensed as anyone. "If you just rush in there, more than likely you'll get yourself killed, get us locked up, and they'll be free to do what they please." He stood and paused before trying to sound forceful. "No, we've got to seem compliant, weak, even dispirited and we need to plan. We'll only get one chance to do this right. Come on, let's get ready and then we'll visit Kelly before we have breakfast."

Sean went to freshen up and said he'd return in an hour to 'escort' them. Steve and Jimmy showered and found clean casual clothing in the drawers. It was military in colour and style, but comfortable nonetheless. They didn't have to wait long before O'Brien and Vaughn released them from their room and headed to the Infirmary, collecting Jodie (who had obviously been forewarned by Sean) on the way. Steve had a list of questions for Sean but couldn't compromise him in front of Private Vaughn.

At the Infirmary they were informed that Kelly had been led back to the cells as she was considered a security risk. Jimmy was wild, clenching his fists and Sean had to draw his sidearm in a display of force to calm him down, demonstrating that he would not tolerate any breach of his authority.

Directing the group to the dining area they breakfasted sullenly. Jimmy was seething, Steve was formulating ideas and Jodie was trying to get the full story as Sean had just woken her and told her they were visiting Kelly. She felt in the dark about the strange moodiness pervading the meal.

"You people are a barrel of laughs today," was the brief observation of Phil Vaughn as they carried their dishes to the scullery window and headed off for their work detail.

"What's going on?" mouthed Jodie surreptitiously to Steve as they went downstairs by twos. "Later," was all he could manage to mouth in return, but his face managed to communicate that something was up. Down in the Plant Domes, Corporal O'Grady was contacted by a superior and sent Jimmy along with Vaughn to help a female engineer with extending the Solar Panel Array. This distracted Jimmy a bit as he had to suit up and work outside.

When the three of them were alone and transferring developing leaf cultures to punnets, Steve volleyed off his first question.

"How many people are loyal to Klein?" Jodie turned in shock at the question, and then followed the interchange.

"Hard to say... probably about twenty..."

"So how many others are there?"

"About another two dozen, but I don't think you could count on active resistance from more than a few of those; Doc Rose and his nurse might lend a hand. They were pretty mad at what happened to Miss Roberts."

Jodie intervened, "What happened to Kelly?"

"Oh, sorry Jodes, I should bring you up to speed. Or maybe I should let our new friend Sean tell you."

Jodie looked expectantly at Sean who reiterated his gruesome account of last night. Steve watched Jodie taking in the details, responding with horror at the brutality, but still being strong enough to communicate compassion to Sean who expressed shame and guilt at being associated with such barbarity. Steve's own precarious emotional state moved him as he recognised Jodie's warmth. She looked refreshed. Her dark hair shone. A sad look was in her eyes as she listened to Sean's story. He just wanted to take her in his arms and hold her, to walk with her hand in hand, to brush her lips with his own and declare his deep feelings for her. But he couldn't. There was no normality, no self in his plans now. There was survival and there was the fight against the tyranny and inhumanity of Colonel Klein and his mad plot.

What could they do? That was the theme of their talk through to lunch time. At lunch time they met up with Jimmy and Phil. Jimmy seemed excited about sharing his experiences of being in the near vacuum of the lunar environment, working at extending the considerable proportions of the Solar Array, but there was a preoccupied look about him.

The afternoon consisted of more planting out. Phil was instructed to add some liquid fertiliser to the irrigation system and monitor the watering of each row of plants. The conversation drifted to how a loving God could allow such a state of affairs to develop, how evil could prosper. Steve tried to recall his father's discussions about the Sovereignty of God.

"I think it goes something like this," he explained, "God is in overall control; ultimately everything works out to His ultimate will. But God allows us to exercise a free will which means that He permits people to obey or disobey Him; to choose to follow or rebel. In the short term that means people can choose to not do the Will of God and reap the consequences of disobedience. Those consequences can affect all, guilty and innocent alike."

"That doesn't explain natural disasters and babies dying and poverty and all that," Jimmy contested.

"Well, sometimes it does, but I remember my father saying that he believed creation was like a living entity, and that it was affected by man's rebellion against God. So disease, natural disasters and random accidents are allowed to occur as evidence of a fallen world."

Steve continued, "You know the converse is true. If God always intervened to control events in people's lives that would remove some of their choice, freedom and self-determination."

"I wouldn't object. If God chose to protect me from some of life's harm. I'd be happy."

"Yeah, but if God coddled everyone, we wouldn't recognise our rebellion and need of Him."

Jodie interrupted, "You know, I don't think you can explain why God does something unless He explicitly tells you in His Word. You just have to accept that He will work out His Will, that He allows stuff to happen and that His grace is sufficient for believers to cope with everything that happens."

Steve smiled, "Okay, so I was giving my opinion. Jodie's right Jimmy, a bit of scripture never goes astray, hey?"

"So we rely on God when things get tough?" Jimmy suggested.

"Rely on God all the time," added Jodie.

"You guys sound like my parents," said Sean, and then continuing with, "...which isn't such a bad thing."

After finishing planting out, they walked through the various domes and then went on a visit to the fish ponds where a lone soldier was depositing pellets and a mixture of some ground kitchen leftovers into each pond. While they were there shutters began closing on each of the domes and they moved slowly through the artificially induced twilight.

Seeing their questioning looks Sean explained. "It's part of the station's day-night cycles. It helps with sleep routines and, because the shutters are covered with solar cells, power collection is supplemented when they're closed."

"They use batteries?" Jimmy asked.

"Some, but most is water electrolysed into hydrogen and oxygen. It's then available for hydrogen cell electricity generation or for combustion." Jimmy nodded, having heard something similar from Steve.

"Er, where do they store this fuel?" Steve asked a little nervously.

"Yeah," smiled Sean, "There's a hundred yard tunnel to the gas storage facility. It should be safe."

"We haven't decided how to rescue Kelly," blurted Jimmy louder than he meant to.

"Shhh," Steve and Sean both looked behind them instinctively, before Steve said, "It might be best to work out how we're going to stop Klein first."

"We can't just leave Kelly in a cell."

"We can't alert Klein that he's got any resistance either. If we get caught that will be the end of any surprise attack."

"What are you saying? We should leave her there? What about the General? If we get him out maybe we can rally support to overrun Klein and Shelley."

Steve could see Jimmy was determined and he tried to defuse his fervour. "Look, why don't we sit down and talk about it tonight and see what we can come up with."

Jimmy seemed placated and no more was said about rescue operations.

At dinner the growing uprising gained momentum as Sean introduced the three plant nursery workers to Doc Rob Rose and Penny Wells the infirmary's nurse. He also explained that Phil was aware of the growing unrest and said he was with them, especially after he'd heard from Penny what had happened to Kelly.

Low key discussions were not very fruitful. Most ideas involved the risk of sounding out support of the various crew of the Moon base. Other suggestions related to sabotaging Transit 1 or drugging food or water supplies. The essential finer details were absent, and the likelihood that anything would come of these ideas diminished with each criticism or contrary point of view.

The dissension at the table drew some attention from other patrons and Jodie suggested they calm down a bit. The doctor was paged to the Infirmary so the others took a break and grabbed a coffee or tried to talk casually in smaller groups. The doctor arrived back a little flustered and they all drew near to hear what he had to say.

"They'll be going sometime tonight or in the morning. A couple of the guards came in for some mild sedatives for motion sickness. They use it to allay the nausea that sometimes comes from weightlessness."

"So we have to move tonight," Steve steeled himself to stare around the group and gauge their reactions.

Chapter 25- The General

"Where's Jimmy?" Steve glanced around again at the small group.

"I passed him near the dispensary. I told him what I just told you." Doc Rose said it without knowing the ramifications of what he had just said, because he didn't know Jimmy.

A sudden look of alarm appeared on Steve's face. Decisions invaded his mind and he didn't hesitate in giving directions. "We have to move now! Sean, Phil and I will try and get Kelly and her father. Penny can you take Jodie with you and try and keep an eye on the Transit 1? Phil, can Jodie and Penny take your radio? That way they can let us know what is happening. Can we change the frequency so that no-one knows what we're doing?" Steve was looking at Sean.

"Yeah... Phil set it on 15." They both adjusted the frequency and Phil handed his over to Penny, ensuring she knew how to use it.

"Be careful!" Steve urged as the two girls set off.

The three men also headed off, taking the same route to the detention cells that Sean had taken the previous day. Restraining themselves from a headlong rush which their high adrenalin state and low gravity environment promoted, Steve, Sean and Phil wound their way along the corridors to the back entrance of the passage leading to the brig. Shouts and a scuffle were immediately followed by a shot and a cry of anguish. The three bustled into the narrow corridor, Sean and Phil drew their guns as scuffling and a piercing scream added to the mayhem.

They burst in as Kelly screamed, "No! Don't shoot! Look out Jimmy." Klein was pointing his pistol at Jimmy who was on the floor clutching his leg. Shelley was behind him pulling Kelly along. An ear-splitting explosion erupted from Sean's gun as he fired out from what looked to Klein like a stampede of bodies. The shot slammed into the edge of the doorway's metal frame and a spray of metal fragment lacerated the side of Shelley's face, causing him to gasp in pain. He was pinning Kelly by the arms and dragging her as she was screaming. Before the resonating boom of Sean's shot had waned, another thundering blast sounded in the confined space causing Klein to turn and bolt firing indiscriminately behind him. Two shots thudded harmlessly into the metallic floor but the third ricocheted off the wall and grazed Steve's arm. The slight tug on his shirt gained his attention and he saw a dark stain of blood slowly grow near his left shoulder. It was the same arm that had suffered the gash from the sub.

By the time they got to Jimmy and assured themselves that they were in no immediate danger, the sound of the retreating pair with their hostage was muffled. Steve checked on his friend. Sean and Phil went on ahead as a precaution to defend their position. Jimmy had taken a bullet to his lower leg and he was holding it to restrict the blood flow. His tenacious grip was also in response to the pain.

"Here take this." It was the General. In the ruckus and confusion Steve hadn't noticed the open cell door. He was handing Steve a strip of torn sheet to constrict Jimmy's wound, but quickly changed his mind.

"No I'll do this. Looks like you've been hit too."

He took back the rag and kneeled by Jimmy. General Roberts looked at Jimmy, "That was the stupidest, dumbest and probably bravest thing I've seen anyone do." He shook his head and began wrapping the strip of cloth around Jimmy's calf.

Jimmy's face contorted in pain, "I didn't do too well. They still have Kelly."

Aware now of the burning sensation on his arm, Steve examined the flesh wound.

"You okay?" Jimmy looked up from the floor when a drop of blood fell nearby.

"I'll live." He tried to grin and alleviate any concern. Steve then went into the cell and tore some cloth to bind his own wound and stem the bleeding.

"You have to save my daughter," stressed the General vehemently, and came across to take over from Steve's inept attempts at tying off an amateurish constriction bandage.

"Thanks General," grimaced Steve as the wound burned beneath the constriction.

Don't thank me Steve. From what my daughter tells me, we have a lot to thank you for."

Sean and Phil came back, "They've long gone. What do we do now?" Phil was caught up in the action; his eyes ablaze with the rush of battle.

"You okay?" Sean saw the seeping bloodied bandage.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Phil, you need to get Jimmy to the Doc." Jimmy looked as if he was about to object as he tried to stand, but spasms of pain caused him to wilt and tears filled his eyes. General Roberts caught him as he started to collapse. Near faint from pain, Jimmy hobbled off with Phil trying to support him.

"Sean, find out from Penny what's going on."

Sean called on the radio.

They all stood around and listened.

"Penny, Can you hear me? Over." There was a short pause and Sean repeated his call.

"Penny, Can you hear me? Over."

A soft agitated reply came back, "I can hear you. Keep it down."

Then in a suppressed voice Sean went on, "What's happening Penny? Over."

"They've taken Kelly on board through the cargo entrance and Klein has come out to talk to some of his men."

Steve motioned for the radio and Sean handed it to him.

"Penny is Jodie there, I want to talk to her? Over."

"Sorry Steve, Jodie is trying to sneak closer and find out what they're saying."

"Can you get her back?" Steve was worried for Jodie, but an idea was beginning to gel.

"No, she's too far away. Oh, no...." There was a long pause and then some muted shuffling.

"What is it Penny?" Desperation was creeping into Steve's voice. Exasperating silence followed, but Steve held off calling for a bit and gave an anguished stare at Sean and the General.

"Penny, are you there? What happened?" Steve was dropping off the two way radio conventions now. Very quietly a whispered answer came.

"Jodie's been caught! A soldier came from a different direction and grabbed her... I could just hear the Colonel laugh. He said it's just what they needed, another hostage!"

Steve groaned inwardly. He knew he had to act quickly, but he struggled to combat the inertia of his tormented emotions.

"We have to go. When we get to the supply bays you two go down the cargo tunnel connection. I'll go around to the passenger tunnel. Give me about a minute and then create some sort of diversion—Sean, fire a few shots."

"What are you going to do?" asked the General.

"I'm going to try and stow away on board. One way or another we have to end this."

"You have to stop him. He has the codes."

"What does that mean? Sean told me something about a weapons system."

"It was designed for delivery of nuclear warheads, but it would serve Klein well as a delivery system for his germs."

"You mean low level dispersion?"

"Yes." General Roberts' reply was succinct and tight lipped.

Steve detected regret in his answer before bracing himself to move. "We have to go."

"Good luck."

Steve shook his head. "Do me a favour and pray." Then looking up and tilting his head audaciously asked, "Can I have your cap General?" General Roberts put it on his head without any hesitation. As an afterthought he flicked the transmit button.

"Penny, don't move. We'll be down there in a minute or two."

Steve let the General and Sean take the lead as they quickly travelled the short distance to the connecting passageways. They soon separated and Steve moved more carefully down the unfamiliar passageway to the accordion like, telescopic tube connected to the front half of Transit 1.

He hesitated in the shadows regaining his breath and waiting for some sort of distraction. Two indistinct thumps were followed by distant shouts. He jumped in fright as two men in uniform ran from the side and up the tube.

Steve charged off behind them head down, forcing himself to think like the guards. 'What was that? I have to check it out.' Maybe his role playing, his purposeful stride and visible officer's cap was convincing, as he only attracted a quick backward glance which seemed to motivate those ahead to greater effort at getting there first. The cap came off as he ran up the ramp but he didn't bother about it as he focussed on getting aboard.

Chapter 26- Counter Attack

Once inside the craft the two guards hustled down the centre of the main body. Steve followed through the passenger entry section and then darted, undetected, left into the sleeping quarters. From there he quietly entered the thin access tube that linked to the maintenance tunnel. Sealing himself in at the top, Steve crawled along the cable and wire infested passage to the hatch connected to the large storage compartment.

His heart thumped, beads of sweat lined his forehead and soaked his shirt. He concentrated on steadying his breathing so he could overhear what was going on outside. Vague shouts and calls diminished and for some time things were quiet.

As he strained to hear, pressing his ear against the metal pressure hatch, Steve could hear soft talking. Ever so slowly he unscrewed the locking mechanism. Each grinding friction, each slight squeal stopped his progress. When it seemed his activity went unnoticed, he continued. As the bolts were disengaged he cracked the hatch open slightly. The voices were clearer now.

"Did Steve tell you where the virus is stored?" It was Kelly talking softly but clearly. Apparently there was no-one close by to hear them.

"No, but Jimmy did. It's underneath the refrigerated compartments. It's being kept warm by the compressor." Jodie added.

"We're going to have to get to them and smash them all." Kelly said in a quiet, matter of fact tone. There was silence. Steve imagined Jodie, perhaps nodding, maybe praying. In fact she was doing both those things.

"How do we get out of these handcuffs?"

"We'll need to go to the bathroom. If we cooperate and are submissive, maybe we can surprise them."

"Where have I heard that before?" returned Jodie lightly.

The approach of footsteps silenced the girls and soon the sounds of the main cargo hatch being closed commenced.

"You girls just behave yourselves and you may come out of this alive," Klein's voice sneered. "I've already warned your friends that should they try anything, one of your bodies will be released through the airlock." He continued with a malicious gurgle, "It was so good of you Miss Brandon to provide yourself as a second hostage. It makes it so much easier to kill one of you and still have one left to bargain with if I need to." Steve heard a signal and then an announcement, 'Rear hatch is sealed, preparing to seal forward pressure hatch.' Klein unlocked the handcuffs and ushered Jodie and Kelly into the seats ready for the launch.

Soon the Transit 1 had tilted up into a vertical attitude ready for take-off. Steve tried to entangle himself in the cables because even though he supported only fourteen kilograms weight, he knew that once the thrust kicked in he would have to resist two or three Earth gravities of acceleration force. His arm throbbed, his head ached and he gingerly felt his slowly healing lips. 'It can only get worse,' he muttered to himself.

And it did.

Engines vibrating and whining coincided with a strong downward wrench on Steve's body. Tearing at his body, the acceleration generated gravity pulled his legs clear of the cables. Steve dangled perilously over the gaping tunnel now beneath him. Hanging agonisingly on his injured arm he struggled to obtain a greater purchase, swinging his legs to the side. Clutching the arm hooked around a looped loom of cables with his other hand in an effort to brace his hold, he scrunched his face. Interminably, it seemed, the stream of plasma burst in a confined column from the engines. His shoulder was burning and the hand of his crooked arm was going numb, but stubbornly Steve endured the hurt. He closed his eyes, set his jaw and hung on. Time seemed to stand still. The whine of the thrust, the steady, barely perceptible shuddering and the constant torturous downward drag moved him to the periphery of his awareness. His every effort was to pin his entwined arm to his chest with his good arm.

"God help me," he transmitted with every fibre of his fading consciousness.

Silence—Weightlessness—Steve knew that he should be active, should be doing something—What? One lucid thought invaded his mind. 'Jodie'; she was here. Minutes! That's all he had, to do what he had to do. Floating, he straightened his damaged left arm, trying to revive feeling he thumped it a couple of times. Then ignoring the uselessly hanging limb he propelled himself to the rear hatch. Deftly he spun open the locking wheel, hesitating at the louder than expected clunk. He opened it more judiciously. 'How long before they left lunar orbit? They would need to assure themselves of the correct trajectory. Maybe the computer could do it all immediately. Perhaps their landing had been leisurely for the benefit of the newcomers.'

Steve tried to un-clutter his thoughts as he flew across the cavernous space to the refrigerated compartments. He felt the low panel and withdrew the drawer. All the phials were still there. In sinister rows they stood like a troop of death.

Steve thought back to the slaughter he had stumbled across in the subterranean base. It was a vivid harbinger of the genocide these phials represented. He leant over to grab one before exclaiming a little too loudly in irritation; "Aargh!... Steve, think, think, think!" He dashed to the airlock and clambered into a spacesuit. His left arm was of some use now as blood began to revitalise his muscles, and pins and needles tingled his hand. Once the leggings and all in one boots were properly affixed and tightened, Steve dived into the torso portion. A slight twist and it clamped, airtight, around his waist. Next he attached the clear, poly carbonate domed helmet on a similar clamping ring. Realising how easily it attached, he removed it and placed it on the rack with the gloves. As a precaution he put the other two suits in the air lock, gave a final scan around and then returned to the open drawer.

He picked up a vial delicately and glided to the connecting hatch. Slowly winding it open and cracking the seal, Steve paused to take several deep breaths. Then he plunged head long down the connecting passage, committed to this dangerous course of action. Pulling up short, Steve edged forward to gain a better view.

Furtively, he took a fleeting look about the seating area, locating Jodie and Kelly near the front, but also, thankfully, near the aisle. Twelve men were seated along with Jodie and Kelly. Since they hadn't left their seats it was likely the craft was soon to make a burn to escape the Moon's gravity.

"Nobody move!" Steve's command was more like a scream. Everyone leapt in their seats and turned bewildered.

"Jodie, Kelly come here. If any else moves I'm throwing down this virus." Steve tried to sound as threatening, as callous as he could. Jodie and Kelly released their seatbelts and took off across the passenger cabin in a frenzy of arms and legs. Steve gave both of them an assisting shove that sent then rapidly toward the storage module. Just then Colonel Ernest Klein appeared from the forward control section holding his pistol menacingly. Shelley was just behind him.

'Put it down James, down on the seat carefully." It seemed a silly thing to say in the weightless conditions. "You don't want to die. I could put a bullet through you..." Suddenly Klein's eyes bulged, "Nooo!" he yelled.

Out of the corner of his eye Steve saw a form hurtling at him. He stretched his arm away trying to keep the toxic tube safe. The soldier missed grasping the phial and knocked it tumbling end over end toward the ceiling. All eyes followed it as it spun in, what seemed like, slow motion. It smashed. Tiny globules of deadly fluid began to dissipate in the cabin.

The Colonel and Shelley frantically retreated into the control section, hastily isolating them from the infected area. At the same time Steve fled back to the cargo section of the space craft. He quickly shut off the hatch. Scrambling over to the tool cupboard he found a large spanner. He took this, placing one end on the floor and jamming the other end through and under the locking wheel.

Almost immediately scraping and scrabbling indicated the frantic efforts of the hapless servicemen. They were trapped in the contaminated section trying to break in. Steve quickly vaulted to the maintenance hatch, insulting his own intelligence with a fusillade of self-denigration. Screwing that shut he held it and paused, taking in the incredulous looks of Jodie and Kelly who hovered, helpless spectators to his frenetic behaviour.

"The suits!" he shouted pointing to the transit air lock. The two young women rushed across, aware now and fearful already of possible exposure to the biological agent.

After waiting what seemed like ages but was really only a couple of minutes, Steve floated down toward the airlock. "How are those suits coming?" He descended smoothly to Jodie who was exiting the air tight room. He attached his helmet and then clicked on the gloves, which also were applied using a twist on a ring seal. Here again Steve shook his head and surrendered to second thoughts, taking off the helmet again. He stepped into the chamber and checked the sealed door.

"Planning on the run is not my forte`." he muttered.

"What did you say?" Jodie called, not wanting to miss any instructions.

"Nothing... just don't bother putting on your helmets yet. We'll only use that air supply when we have to."

"What happened back there?" Kelly asked loudly.

"The virus phial got smashed."

"I gathered that! Did you do it?" Kelly interrogated.

"Well, unintentionally, I guess. It got knocked out of my hand."

The diminished struggles at the hatch fell silent. A knot wrapped Steve's chest as he contemplated his responsibility in the death of the guard members. Did he envision this happening? What had he expected? Regardless of what had happened, Steve knew what had to happen now.

All parts of the suit seemed intact except for the helmet. Nevertheless Steve felt compelled to give each connection a twist. Back outside the airlock, he looked past Jodie to Kelly. "How are you going?" In answer she held up her cast clad hand. Steve could see in her eyes a growing confusion and panic. She had managed to get into the suit but Steve had to lock the ring around her waist.

"You have to smash those virus tubes don't you?" angst filled her face.

Steve didn't answer. It didn't need an answer. He stared at her hand knowing there was only one solution.

Kelly's voice quavered; "Don't worry about me. You have to destroy the virus." She grabbed Steve's face and made him look at her. "It's okay."

Steve glided back to the tool cupboard and returned with a hacksaw. Kelly looked disconcerted, nervy, even fearful.

"I have no choice Kelly."

Jodie came over and held her.

Steve himself was apprehensive, especially as at each stroke of the blade little gasps and moans slipped through her clenched teeth.

Finally the broken fingers could be pulled apart and inserted into the glove. Jodie gently helped her pull them on. Kelly tried to ignore the excruciating pain, but when Jodie sealed the ring on the glove she flinched and her eyes filled with tears. Jodie gave her an affectionate hug. Steve collected his helmet and then spoke. "We'll put our helmets on. I'll crush the phials and then place them in the refrigerated cabinet. Then we'll get in the airlock, flush out the air to vacuum and then replenish it from the compressed air cylinders.

Does that make sense?"

Both girls nodded.

Steve continued, "Tell me if I'm doing something stupid."

His self-doubts had increased with the tumult of events that had overrun his original ideas. Jodie and Kelly looked at each other baffled trying to determine what he was getting at.

"It has to be done Steve," affirmed Jodie as she collected her hair in one hand and put it in a quick knot on top of her head with a couple of pins before placing the helmet on her head. Steve engaged the life support system on his suit and a quiet female voice sounded, 'You have ten hours air supply. Your communicator is on. Bio telemetry is not on line - EVA must not occur without telemetry.' Steve showed the others the 'on switch' on the control panel on the front of the suits and then watched them listen to the computerised messages.

When they were ready Steve placed all the virus cultures in a metal bin and held a fire extinguisher above them. He momentarily considered the strange state of congruity; that a bin and an extinguisher, which played a part in the revelation of the virus location, should now be a part of its destruction.

Alarm bells rang in Steve's head. 'What's wrong with this picture?' was the bizarre comment that bounced around his head. 'No gravity'—the phrase created a simulation of what might happen with the first plunge of the canister. No, he didn't want sharp slivers of glass and droplets of virus spreading throughout the storage compartment.

To his chagrin Steve had almost complicated things again. He moved over to the storage panel. After a few seconds he located tough, polymer garbage bags. He placed two inside the bin on top of the phials, wrapping the tops around the rim. He then placed the extinguisher in the bin on top of the bags. Next he put another bag over the bin attaching the bags around the outside of the bin with duct tape.

Now he was ready. He began breaking the phials with moderate stabs using the bag covered extinguisher. It took little time for the glassware to be crushed into what he imagined was an ice like slurry of glass and liquid. The glass may have punctured the lower bags but the top bag was secure. Systematically he crushed back and forth to ensure that no ampoule survived. After placing the bin in one of the large, empty cooling compartments the three of them headed to the air lock.

*****

While this was going on toward the rear, in the forward section of Transit 1 Klein was furious. He looked around, at a loss as to what to do next. James had thrown his meticulous plan into turmoil. Suddenly he spied an emergency spacesuit. All the others were stored off the passenger cabin and a few were out back. He lunged toward the suit and began putting it on.

"What are you doing?" Shelley was aghast.

"He's got to be stopped." Klein was seething. "Maybe I can stop him before he destroys the rest of the virus."

"You can't open that hatch... the virus, there's only one suit."

"I'll be quick. It's unlikely the virus will come in."

Shelley was becoming increasingly agitated. "Unlikely!" He pulled his pistol from his holster. "I can't let you do this Colonel. You're crazy!"

Those were the last words Shelley uttered. Klein, who was facing away from Shelley, still had his pistol in his hand. He turned his head and nodded. Then he looked at Shelley as if to concede his logic. Shelley relaxed thinking that his point was successfully made, only to be shot twice before he knew what had happened. In the weightless conditions the momentum of the shots carried him back into the bulkhead. He struck it with a thud.

The pilot and co-pilot appeared at the cockpit entrance. Their eyes took in the inconceivable sight of the Colonel trying to suit up while Shelley floated past, near death and moaning.

"Get back and continue your countdown to the scheduled burn. As you can see, we've had a mutiny. I have to go back and deal with a situation." Whatever they thought, the gun in the Colonel's hand and his uncompromising command caused the two to retreat unceremoniously into the cockpit. Klein took another few minutes to get into the space suit before he opened the pressure door and closed it behind him.

The passenger cabin was strewn with floating corpses. Klein cast some aside as he made his way down the central passage. Gun at the ready he yanked at the lock, but it barely budged. After two more futile attempts to open the hatch he back tracked and entered the passenger cabin hatch to the service passage. To his annoyance the bulky suit made the traverse slow, with the back pack catching cables and equipment. He felt a ripple of triumph as the hatch disengaged. They would pay for their interference.

When the Colonel eventually emerged from the tunnel, the storage compartment appeared empty. Cautiously he dropped to the hatchway. Seeing the spanner propped up against the wheel he kicked it and sent it cart-wheeling and clashing against the wall before it rebounded off to the side.

Hearing a noise from the air lock, he glided across and noticed the gauge indicated that it was near vacuum. Any attempt he made to open it would be useless. The air pressure would be far too immense to counteract. He would wait until they came out. Meanwhile he went to the drawer which was still open. It was empty. 'Were they even now preparing to expel the contents into space?' he wondered. A flashing red light would inform him that they were opening an outer hatch. He went to a glass port to see if anything had already been thrown out.

A movement to his left caused Klein to pivot awkwardly. Startled, paralysed with impending dread he tried to bring his gun to bear on his lieutenant. Near death, Shelley had mustered the small measure of energy he needed to carry him to the pressure barrier, open it and confront his treacherous companion. One shot, and then two, three, four volleyed from the pistol. One missed, two slammed into the Klein's suit and one smashed through the poly carbonate visor, inflicting a fatal wound. Klein himself had managed to discharge two rounds in the approximate direction of his assailant and the shots deflected wildly across the compartment.

Chapter 27- Rocky return

Inside the vacuum no sound transferred to the three refugees. Had they been touching some surface, they may have felt the vibration of a bullet impacting the metal wall, or Klein's body bumping softly nearby. Steve waited a few minutes before pressurising the airlock again. When the level was at equilibrium they removed their helmets and looked at each other.

"What now Mr Steven James, now that you've saved the world?" Kelly smiled gleefully and kissed him on the cheek. She then hugged Jodie and Steve hugged them both. Jodie smiled at the consolation contact and proffered her own comment.

"Well, Mr Steven James? What now?" And there was a touch of mockery in her parroting Kelly.

"Mmm, well for one thing, I can't believe we're still alive." He halted briefly and his expression grew serious. "But I'm afraid we're going to have to face Mr Ernest Klein (he continued the parody); if only to try and convince him that his plans are finished."

"Do you think he'll give up?" Jodie queried.

Kelly chipped in. "I can picture my father adjudicating, 'I don't think surrender will mitigate his crimes.'" Kelly managed a husky tone for her fanciful quote.

Steve warmed at the relaxed atmosphere, but was still apprehensive about what lay ahead.

"Who knows what he'll do. But we can't stay here forever and wait to see what will happen. He may have a Plan B."

They waited in the airlock for some time speculating on what was occurring up front and wondering why they hadn't left lunar orbit yet.

"Okay, assuming that no one has come into the back here, and taking into account that we're still alive, it should at least be safe to go out there." Kelly was obviously getting tired of waiting around.

Steve shook his head. "Let's not assume anything. You're right. I think we should go out and see what's going on, but it'll be safer to use the suits. He put his helmet back on and Kelly and Jodie did likewise.

"You ready?" he said over the suit radio.

Steve opened the airlock and flinched with fright as he almost immediately collided with Klein's floating body as it loomed up behind him. Both girls tensed as they heard Steve gasp. Instinctively he shoved it away and it spun off to the other side. Turning away from the macabre aerial pirouette of the dead body, Steve saw Shelley's crumpled form floating across from him. It didn't take long to determine that Klein and Shelley had become victims of their own brutality; although it would be some time before they tried to reconstruct the violence that had left both of them dead.

The open hatch suggested that the whole area had become contaminated. Steve now worried whether the suit air supply would last long enough to render the organisms inert. Moving to the control room they passed the lifeless bodies randomly spread in the passenger area. A few were still strapped in. The forward section was open too. Steve suddenly felt his stomach churn with awful anticipation. Ahead the cockpit was quiet. Not for the first time he felt he was in some third rate movie. Inside, the two space pilots were strapped in... but they too were victims of the plague. A red flashing message stated;

'AWAITING CONFIRMATION FOR IGNITION'

His next comment he later tried a number of times to attribute to some hysteria induced insanity. But was more than likely his incurably warped sense of humour. He called back, (forgetting that the helmet transmitter carried his voice) "I think this is where I ask, 'Does anyone know how to fly this thing?'"

Kelly edged her helmeted head around him to see. "Oh no!"

"What's wrong?" asked Jodie from farther back.

"No, I think you're supposed to say, 'I've only had a bit of experience, but on a much smaller spacecraft."

Steve hit a red button labelled 'cancel'.

"What did you do?" Kelly was anxious.

"I cancelled the rocket burn. We don't want to head back to Earth do we?" He turned to face the other two.

"What do we want to do then?" Jodie was seeking clarification as Earth sounded pretty good to her.

'Well, I'm thinking a bad landing on the Moon might be much better than a bad landing on Earth." Steve reflected that the comment sounded a bit supercilious. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to sound condescending. It's just that a sixth Earth's gravity gives us at least some chance of a soft landing.

"Makes sense to me," piped up Kelly. And, to Steve, it seemed as if they were ganging up on Jodie. He turned to catch sight of Jodie, who hadn't responded, disappearing into the passenger cabin.

Steve and Kelly began to remove the pilots from their seats and secure them in seats in the control room. Glancing back he could see Jodie strapping in bodies. Kelly went back to assist while Steve sat in the pilot's seat with some difficulty, due to the large back pack on the suit. He tried to come to terms with what was required to land Transit 1. Below him the cratered, stark beauty of the lunar surface passed by. He was aware of it through the thick windows in front of him, but it was much clearer on the video screen to his left.

He checked the computer screen. Clicking the curser on the 'menu' button caused the screen to provide a series of options. 'Landing programs' stood out like a beacon to him. Could it be that simple? Selecting the 'Landing Programs', Steve followed the digital pathway to 'Moon Base'. Once this was opened he selected 'Automated Landing'. The screen displayed a 'Loading' message. Then a message tag, 'Awaiting LPS data'. Steve sat and waited. Nothing happened. He looked at the menu. Nothing suggested a course of action. Jodie came and sat down next to him.

"How are ya doin'?" She gave him a smile which was barely discernible behind the polycarbonate visor.

"Not sure..." Uncomfortable now, Steve back pedalled to his gaffe. "Look, I'm sorry about that comment before. It sounded a bit..." She cut him off.

"Do you think I'm offended or something? After all these years, you don't know me very well do you?"

Steve looked at her in the half light of the cabin, her face quite indistinct inside the helmet, and shook his head thoughtfully. "No, I don't know you very well at all..." The ambiguity of the statement made Jodie hesitate.

"Look, you said what you were thinking. That's fine by me... it always has been."

Steve considered all the times they sniped playfully at each other. Something had changed.

Steve clicked on the help menu.

"I was wondering when you'd do that...Won't ask for help, but always digging through help menus."

Steve grinned to himself. He typed in LPS. A number of dot points appeared on the help list: 'Using Lunar Positioning System (LPS), Detecting Lunar coordinates, Inputting Lunar coordinates,' and a number of other points less relevant to what he wanted to know.

Following the procedures described, Steve had Jodie turn on the LPS first, reversing the process the pilots had carried out of turning LPS off and engaging navigation for return to Earth orbit. Once on, it took a couple of minutes to link to Lunar Positioning Satellites and then began scrolling coordinates. His next step was to synchronise with the computer.

Suddenly the screen changed. A large label read 'Reading LPS Data', Then; 'CONFIRMATION OF LUNAR LANDING PROCEDURE' flashed. Steve looked at Jodie. "Easy hey!" He moved the curser to 'YES' and pressed 'enter'.

Immediately the system made the computerised announcements that also fed through the spacesuit audio system. A message informed them that the craft was approaching the entry window. The Transit 1 began altering its attitude. Kelly drew near after closing the passenger cabin connecting hatch.

"I hope you don't mind. I closed the hatch because of all the bodies in there."

"That's okay. You'd better get strapped in." The landing sequence had started with a time announcement for the burn from the plasma engine. Steve turned to watch Kelly sit in a nearby seat in the control room section.

Over the next few minutes the computer displayed the progress of the landing procedure and the calculated ETA. Announcements immediately preceded the engine ignition. One minute into the burn the computer sounded an alert. The screen flashed: 'Course deviation detected! Course correction commencing.' The side thrusters fired briefly. After another minute the main rockets ceased, but simultaneously the alert was repeated and followed by a burst from the side thrusters.

Already the descent had begun. Steve monitored the video screen to watch the moonscape rapidly slip by. When the warning was repeated a third time, followed by the requisite ejection of propellant. Steve saw lights starting to flash and cast a worried look around. His expression was wasted inside the helmet so he elaborated verbally.

"That can't be good."

Jodie responded on her radio. "What? That message and the course corrections?"

"That! - and those flashing lights," Just then a warning sounded and the computerised voice proclaimed: 'Pressure loss rear pressure module; Pressure loss central module'. Then the warning flashed again: 'Course deviation detected! Course correction commencing.' Subsequent to the course correction the computer reported serious gas depletion from port side thrusters.

Buzzers and flashing lights added to the pandemonium. 'Pressure suits required in rear pressure module; Pressure suits required in central pressure module.' The computer was in the process of presenting its conclusions – 'Conclude pressure loss due to venting. Pressure hull compromised.' Both Jodie and Kelly started asking what was happening... what, if anything, were they going to do?

The lunar horizon began to show on the right side of the cockpit window. Again the course correction spiel was replayed but the inverted posture of Transit 1 wasn't attained. Instead, an alarm sounded and the digitised voice informed them that port side thrusters were inoperable; fuel was spent. The automated pilot instigated several short plasma burns to slow the craft down for landing.

'Warning! Course deviation uncorrected.' The expressionless announcements were almost continuous now. 'Alert! Attitude unsafe for landing. Abort! Abort!' The computer was now struggling to maintain control of the descent. Short blasts of plasma now repelled Transit 1's rate of fall to the Moon, but also increasingly nudged it askew and away from the base. Slower and slower, but not slow enough they dropped Moonward.

"Brace yourselves!" Steve yelled, too loudly over the intercom as the moonscape filled their view to the right side. One last burst of thrust suddenly gave them hope of a safe landing. Everything slowed. Time seemed to hesitate. Then crunch, it was grating, grinding and lurching. The shuddering impact was bone jarring but minimal compared to an Earth crash landing. Silence followed the initial collision of only one of the three landing pads on the surface. Briefly the Transit 1 teetered, then it fell sideways.

The collapse was languid, like a felled tree still attached at the roots. Inside the crunching, scraping and tearing of metal reverberated as electricity failed and smoke started to spread. By the time Transit 1 stopped rocking in a prone position across a small crater, the three survivors had managed to extricate themselves from their seats. Unused to the sudden darkness Steve had tumbled, disoriented to the left side of the cabin; the side on which the space craft now lay. Jodie had similarly tumbled out of her seat and slid inelegantly against Steve.

While they disentangled, Kelly was climbing into the cabin. The reflected sunlight glowed through the cockpit windows but smoke increasingly obscured their vision.

"Stay there Kelly, we have to climb out that way." Steve called, before realising that the radio didn't require him to raise his voice; then to Jodie, "Jodes, stand on my hands and I'll give you a boost." He cupped his gloved hands under her booted foot and heaved a little too energetically as he tried to give Jodie a leg up. She flew from the bolster and just caught hold of the opening to slow herself, gripping the edge so she could steady before moving herself into the other section.

When Jodie disappeared, Steve stood on the back of the pilot's seat and pushed himself toward the opening. He tumbled through the opening. Then flailing with suited arms, he just managed to catch onto the edge and prevent himself from falling down into the control room. The smoke became denser and he could hardly see the white space suits of the other two. A glow to his left caught his eye. Wiring seemed to be smouldering. With a sudden flash it burst into flame and a pall of black, noxious smoke billowed up.

"We have to get out!" Steve shouted and clambered down. The three managed to crawl through the less murky air at the bottom of the compartment, where the side of the vessel was now their floor. Steve and Kelly cracked helmets together.

"Sorry, I can't see," apologised Kelly. Steve nodded uselessly then responded verbally.

"Don't worry. I can't see anything either."

"I'm glad we don't have to breathe this stuff," commented Jodie who had joined them at the dividing wall to the passenger compartment. "We had better get out quick," she chided.

Steve thought of the acrid fumes of burning plastics as the flames flared anew. 'They were protected' he thought, 'for now.'

A female voice broke into his thoughts:

'You have four hours air supply left.'

Steve was nonplussed. He hadn't used six hours of air had he? How much time had gone? The timer on his suit showed three hours of use. Perhaps his extra exertion had depleted his reserves. Or, he thought gravely, his suit was leaking. Without saying anything he scaled the instrument panel against the wall and disengaged the hatch. The darkness of the lowering smoke enveloped him as he tried to pull back the seal.

"The pressure's too great," he called. "I think it's totally depressurised out there." Steve grunted with the effort. Jodie struggled up to a narrow panel next to him and they pulled with all their might. There was no room for Kelly to join them. So after a few minutes of futile straining Jodie swapped places with Kelly. But their efforts were without effect. The hatch wouldn't budge.

The radiant heat from the spreading fire was now becoming noticeable. Sweating in his suit, Steve applied every ounce of force he could muster. Tearing at the obstinate hatch, both he and 'one handed' Kelly, with feet planted astride against the wall, wrenched as hard as the bulky suits allowed. It still didn't give.

"What are we going to do?" panted Kelly feebly.

Steve could hardly see her, only centimetres away, through the thick smoke. He was at a loss. Surely they would get this far only to be incinerated so close to safety.

He prayed.

It was a simple, heartfelt, plea for deliverance.

There was a burst of light. Bright spluttering burning drops of flame only just missed them as some flammable molten synthetic material added to the nightmare.

"You okay Jodes?" Steve breathed heavily realising that she was completely obscured by the sooty smoke.

"I'm fine, ...just below you..."

Before she could finish a small explosion shook the cabin and a shower of burning debris had them slapping at their suits. All at once a screaming sound and a rush of smoke swirled around them.

Suddenly realising what had happened, Steve called, "The hull's been pierced. We're venting our air." The screeching air tore away the smoke and threw a jet of flame out through the perforated metal. The shuddering Transit 1 rocked precariously on its side, then slowly fell over on its back, upending the hapless captives into a tangle on, what was, the roof of the craft. Encumbered with suits and life support systems, it took a little time to help each other up.

The cabin atmosphere had evacuated. It was clear, but quite dark because of the inverted position. Steve breathed a 'thankyou' as he noticed the hatch no longer clamped by the pressurised room.

"What did you say?" Kelly responded to his murmur.

"Just being thankful for an answer to prayer," Steve explained.

"You and me both," added Jodie.

Pulling back the hatch they stepped through into the gloom of the passenger compartment. Bodies hung eerily from above, laced with seatbelts their arms and legs drooped morbidly.

When eventually they had opened the side access, Steve lowered Kelly and Jodie onto the lunar surface, grimacing as pain shot through his lacerated arm. He waited briefly to let the pain ease before dropping onto the dust covered rock. As he gained his balance an ominous voice sounded in his headset:

'You have three hours air supply left.'

He knew he wouldn't survive long at this rate. ...some malfunction, maybe a slight puncture somewhere in his suit. He had lost an hour's air in less than half an hour! Steve looked around. Jodie said what he was thinking.

"Where do we go?"

"Why don't we climb up there? Maybe we can see which way to go." Steve was indicating a rise to the edge of the small crater. Kelly set off straight away and Jodie and Steve followed her up the incline.

At the top they were confronted by the sight of steep crater walls of a much larger crater surrounding the small crater that Transit 1 came to rest on. The low sun accentuated the utter contrast between shaded and sunlit moon surface. The blackness of space only revealed small dots of stars through tinted visors when they raised their gaze above the horizon. The openness made Steve shiver with a vague sense of agoraphobia.

Looking back at the craft, he faced in the opposite direction to the way it seemed to be pointed, "I think we should head that way," he suggested, and then raised his arm belatedly. He didn't explain his idea that the spacecraft had probably fallen away from the direction it was meant to go because of the tilt caused by the venting. It was speculation anyway. He had no idea of the resultant vectors of force caused by the vented gas.

"Why don't we split up and check out three different directions." Jodie was again being logical. "We still have plenty of air left."

"I have a slight problem there," Steve admitted.

"What?" both girls responded almost simultaneously.

"I'm down to about thirty percent. I think I have a slow air leak somewhere."

"I have seventy five percent." said Kelly, checking her readout.

Jodie chimed in, "I have about the same."

"So, we better get moving if we're going to keep you alive," Kelly offered in a matter of fact voice.

Chapter 28 - Desperation

Steve headed off in his chosen direction and the other two went at approximately one hundred and twenty degrees either side of his course, loping off across the dust covered crater floor, Steve was half way across the five hundred metre span when the voice interrupted his growing exhilaration.

'You have two hours air supply left.'

In little more than ten minutes he had expended or, more likely, lost an hour's worth of air. The transition to the lunar vacuum had increased his loss rate at least three fold.

"I've got about twenty minutes." he blurted... regretting immediately that he had added to Jodie and Kelly's mental burdens. But it was already too late. Jodie was on the radio.

"Steve, just stop and conserve your air. We'll check out the rim."

"She's right Steve, don't move," Kelly insisted.

"I'm almost there," he argued, "Besides, I can't just sit here. I have to get to safety." Steve bounced up the increasing slope as he spoke.

"But we don't know which direction safety is," was Jodie's terse reply. It masked her aching concern that she and Kelly would helplessly watch Steve die.

Steve was first to the summit, having to scrabble over the steep lip. A wave of panic made him feel nauseous. There were no domes. At ten metres high Steve could see the horizon to his left. He estimated he could see about five kilometres or so. To the front and right of him there was another large crater similar to the one on which he stood. The far rim of that crater was only six hundred metres away.

He looked back to see Jodie and Kelly still climbing.

"I can't see anything here, but there could be something behind some craters here."

Puffing and panting, both Jodie and Kelly reported nothing from their vantage points.

"I've got to go this way," Steve stated and then jogged down the far side of the crater. Both girls jogged down across the inside of the crater toward where Steve had disappeared from sight and started following his footprints. Steve had ascended the next rise and was just into the next crater, stuttering his steps to prevent a freefall, when the warning voice sounded:

'You have only one hour air supply left. Please return to a pressurised environment'

"Where are you heading? We're right behind you," Jodie's voice rang in his ears. He explained his course, aware that every minute was counting down his vital supply of oxygen. The reserves seemed to be draining exponentially. Striding with elongated arcing steps, puffs of dust squirted away with each footfall. Steve tried to steady his breathing. But every effort to restrain his intake made him more aware of his body's demand for oxygen. Relenting, he tried to relax and breathe normally.

With effort he mounted the steep rim, climbing the last two metres on hands and knees. A flutter of dust near his leg drew his attention. It seemed a pinhole stream of air was blowing on the fine dust. He pinched the tough material on his knee with his gloved hand, stemming the flow. He swung the leg ponderously over the edge and pulled himself up, all the time clutching the offending perforated material. The relief he felt at locating the seepage evaporated with another digitised audio warning.

'Warning! You have half an hour air supply left. Please return to a pressurised environment. Prepare to turn your reserve supply on.'

Steve looked up. About half way to the horizon rose the domes of the moon base. Next to them, closer to Steve, were large flat sections of blue/black panels—the solar arrays. Steve headed off in a bounding kind of shuffle, trying to maintain his grip on his leg. He was gasping. The effort to make up as much ground as he could, taxed his strength. For minutes the domes and surrounding modules appeared no closer. Amidst the sweat and heat inside the suit, Steve became aware of a sounding alarm accompanied by the command:

'Switch to oxygen reserves... Switch to oxygen reserves...'

The message kept repeating. He was heaving great breaths and his head was spinning. Black space, dazzling sun, light grey dust; all passed his vision as he tipped like a drunk, sideways, clumsily, disoriented. Suffering the initial symptoms of oxygen deprivation, he was slow to react. As the meaning infiltrated his brain, Steve engaged the reserve supply. He sat for a few seconds wondering how he had ended sitting in the dust. Gaining some clarity, he again focussed on getting up and getting to the still distant moon base.

"You okay?" Steve heard Jodie's query as he bounded off in the direction of the base. "Steve, are you okay? We saw you sitting." Jodie cried out.

"Yeah," Steve rasped. His throat was dry. "I'm on reserve air."

"We're about one kilometre behind you. Will you make it?" anxiety caused her voice to quiver."

"I dunno, I don't have long," Steve's mind wandered. Where had he heard that before?

"You can do it Steve. You're only about eight hundred metres from the base. " Kelly's voice sounded in his ears, but it was obliterated by a harsh alarm sounding.

'You have five minutes of oxygen left. You must enter pressurised atmosphere.' The message kept repeating. Steve turned it off. He looked down at his knee. He'd forgotten to keep his hold on the tiny leak and he had no time to try and locate it now.

'I don't have long...' His mind cleared... it was Paul. So much had happened since then. They had succeeded though, hadn't they? Steve's body kept moving but breathing became more difficult.

Steve's thoughts became erratic. 'People had died. Why had he taken the virus phial out? What else could he do? Pete had died. It should have been me. It's going to be me now!' Gasping at the last remnants of air he staggered several steps, then several more. 'Just keep going. The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love. Who said that? He had faith. Did he express it though? He didn't express it like Jodie. He could hear her voice now. He thought he could see her face... maybe not. Everything was dark. Blackness! Was this death?'

*****

Hands, or cloth, or mask? Something covered his mouth. Cool gas drenched his throat, his lungs... it seemed to percolate through his entire body. There was a bright light. Steve blinked. Was he on the other side? Was this heaven?

"You okay?"

Softly spoken, almost a whisper, he knew that voice.

"Jodie?"

"I'm just here."

He turned and, now not looking directly at the light, his eyes adjusted. Jodie was in her spacesuit still. Kelly was next to her and Kelly's father, the general, who was also in a spacesuit.

"What happened?" he managed through his parched throat.

General Roberts explained: "We heard your voices over the radio. The suits and station are all tuned to the same frequency. Anyway we got the rover out to you... you were only a few hundred metres from the airlock... and brought you here."

"We?" Steve grinned.

"It was a team effort," countered the General. "It was all I could do to stop Jim here from hobbling out in a suit to drag you in. Kelly and Miss Brandon were carrying you when I reached you. Anyway, once we got you in the airlock and pressured up, the two of them tore off your suit and resuscitated you. I mean, you were gone. You sure are a lucky man."

'I don't believe in luck,' he thought to himself... "Mmmm..." he nodded, "I think I know what you mean."

Steve looked past General Roberts and Kelly to see Jimmy looking tired and strained, but also smiling with relief. Next to him was Jodie. He needed to talk to her. Her blue eyes danced and she smirked at some private joke. Steve lost sight of her as Jimmy stepped forward and looked at his blood soaked arm.

"How's the arm?"

"How's the leg?"

"Sore."

Before he had a chance to say anymore Doc Rose announced, "How about I clean up that arm and we give Mr James a chance to have a bit of rest. Maybe we can meet tonight and share stories around dinner. What do you think General?"

General Roberts nodded and went to the door.

They went out in single file and Penny and Doctor Rose treated his flesh wound, making it sting as they disinfected it and dressed it. When they were finished, Steve had a thirst quenching drink of water then followed it up with some fruit juice. And then he slept.

Several hours later he was awoken by some muttering.

"I think we should let him sleep."

He opened his eyes. It was Sean and Phil. "Hi guys. Good to see you."

"How are you Steve? We thought we'd just drop in and see how you are," Sean said hesitantly, "And just to say thanks. We heard what you did."

Steve didn't know what to say. He sort of nodded.

Phil backed away excusing them, "Anyway, we should let you rest. We might see you at dinner. The General's organising a big celebration for everyone."

"Wouldn't miss it," Steve replied as the two soldiers ducked out.

Penny came in and Steve asked if he could shower with the bandage on. She put some plastic wrap on it to waterproof it and told him to be careful with it.

Dressing after a short, hot, reinvigorating shower, Steve went to find the Doc to tell him he was 'checking out'. On his way to Rob Rose's office he glanced in the open door of the treatment room and saw him with Kelly. The Doc glanced up.

"Come in Steve. I'm just redoing that cast you butchered," he said with a mock frown. "What can I do for you?"

"Hi Kelly," he began, noticing that she looked particularly refreshed and attractive, but he now had no ambiguity as to where his affections were. He turned to Doc, "Ah, just letting you know I'm going to my quarters to find some clean clothes."

"You know how to use the laundry?"

"No, I've got quite a pile by now so I'll have to learn."

"I'll show you," proposed Kelly. "I want to have a chat with you anyway."

"I'm finished now. You can go in a minute," said the young physician after attaching the covering bandage. Turning to Kelly he explained, "You'll have to wait a few minutes just to give it a chance to harden a bit." And then he put her hand in a sling.

The doc headed off with a comment about seeing them both in the dining area. Steve looked expectantly at Kelly, suspecting but unsure what she wanted to say, and even more unsure how he might reply.

She was sitting on a bed and he was standing ill at ease in front of her.

"Sit on the chair and I'll let you know what's on my mind."

Steve sat.

"I don't mind telling you that a couple of times today, or yesterday and today?" she shook her head as if she was unclear exactly what she meant, "It doesn't matter. Anyway, a couple of times I thought I was going to die. And today, when I thought about that, I didn't know where I'd end up. It seems that you and Jodie do know. I want to know that for myself."

"Wow! That's great," Steve said. He took some think time and then quietly added, "I guess the best thing I can do is say what my dad used to say to me and then I'll explain what you need to do. Dad used to tell me 'It's all about a relationship with Jesus. It's not about being religious.' He said it so often I thought at first that religion was bad. He explained later that religion was how you lived out what you believed, so if you believe the right thing, the truth, the way you lived that out would be good. In fact he said the Bible said religion like that was pure."

"You loved your dad didn't you?" Kelly interrupted.

Steve nodded, "It was hard getting used to not having him around." His voice broke a little.

Steve went on to explain how we all had a self-centred nature that fell short of God's perfect standard. But that God had made provision in the sacrifice of his Son, to enable those who believed to have a spiritual relationship with Him, and become part of His family. He went through the steps as he remembered them from youth. He started talking about the 'Four Spiritual Laws': God loves you and has a plan for your life. Your sin and selfish nature have separated you from a relationship with God, Jesus came and died and rose again ... He is the way to God. Then, receive God's provision of Jesus Christ by confessing your sin and need and inviting Jesus into your life—accept Him by faith.

Steve talked a little about his own faith journey, confessing he hadn't been a very good model for others. They had been sitting there for almost half an hour and then Kelly stood up.

"We have to get moving. I'll show you the laundry and you can tell me what happens next."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, how do I receive Jesus... it sounds so strange, and what happens when I do?"

So they walked, heading off to pick up his clothes on the way. Steve talked about praying simply to God telling Him basically, personally 'You're sorry, you believe what He did and you receive Him.' He tried to explain that some people felt different, some didn't. It wasn't about feelings, but about the fact that God was true to His promise. If you accepted Jesus then God has included you in His family.

Kelly was quiet for a minute or two, looking pensive as they walked, "I'll have to think about it," she concluded when they reached the laundry.

"Let me know what you decide." He wanted to say he would pray for her, but for some reason it sounded wrong coming from him. He resolved that he would pray though.

Then Steve asked where everyone else was. She told him that the jobs to keep the Moon base going had to be done, especially since they now had an indefinite stay and had to ensure sufficient food and supplies were available.

"Oh yeah," said Steve, "someone crashed the family car."

"You're weird," Kelly clucked, grinning up at him.

When they had done the laundry Kelly rushed off, realising she had little time to get ready.

Chapter 29- Commitment

That evening Jodie was already sitting at a row of tables that had been suitably decorated and set. She was chatting socially with Penny and Jenny Abrams, one of the engineers when Steve approached the glassed entry way with Jimmy. She watched as Kelly ran up and started to talk to Steve and Jimmy. Jimmy excused himself, and Kelly and Steve got involved in a friendly, quiet talk. Then all of a sudden they hugged. Jodie closed her eyes and fought the clinging tendrils of jealousy that constricted her.

She lectured herself on true virtue. If she was truly obedient in her faith then she would have to deal graciously with this. It occurred to her that this was how Steve had felt when Angela had declared her love for Jeff and his world had collapsed. She regretted her teasing and cajoling for him to pull himself together. 'A bit of empathy engenders understanding', she reflected, and then wondered if she should take a job writing calendar comments. Steve and Kelly joined them at the table and were in a jovial mood.

It was clear almost everyone was in high spirits. The whole evening was full of heroic stories. Exploits of bravery were commended. Sometimes growing larger than life, sometimes being rebuffed by claims from the embarrassed recipient of the praise, that anyone would do the same, or that it was a combined team effort.

After they had finished a magnificent main course of baked fish and roast vegetables, Steve asked Jimmy what he had planned to do in his raid on the lock up that precipitated the mad events of the previous forty eight hours.

"Well I figured I could get the keys and just release Kelly."

"So what happened?" asked Doc Rose.

"I hadn't planned on Klein and Shelley turning up just after I did."

"What were you going to do if you had succeeded?" laughed Steve.

"I dunno, I thought maybe I could hide her, or something."

"What about me?" protested General Roberts with affected offence.

Everyone burst out with hysterical laughter, especially when Jimmy started to blush.

Even Jodie, who had been subdued for most of the time couldn't refrain from joining in with a chuckle. Things settled down a little as the meal proceeded. The twenty nine inhabitants, including those few who previously might have been considered allies of the colonel, ate dessert retelling stories and socialising. Steve looked across at Jodie.

"Are you okay?"

Jodie nodded a little too enthusiastically, not wanting anyone to be aware of her brooding. "I'm fine, just a bit tired. I didn't get much rest today."

"You know she resuscitated you," interrupted Jimmy, a mischievous gleam in his eye.

Steve looked at her as the realisation dawned on him. What had the General said? 'You were gone.'

"I didn't know, I never thanked you," began Steve and then stammered uncertainly, "I really appreciate..."

"Kelly and I worked together," Jodie cut in.

It was then that Steve heard from Kelly how that Jodie had given him mouth to mouth until he had started breathing on his own, while Kelly had monitored his pulse.

Jodie fidgeted uncomfortably with her empty bowl as Steve stared at her. He was coming to terms with the fact that their lips had met for the first time but he had been unconscious.

General Guy Roberts relieved the moment of quiet apprehension by standing up and tinkling his glass.

"I have a few announcements to make. First let us toast the efforts of Steven James for his quick-witted actions in diverting a disaster." Everyone responded. Then he went on, "I'd like to offer a toast for Jimmy Schwartz, whose impetuous actions probably instigated events in our favour by catching everyone off guard." Again everyone responded. The General then went through each of the members there. Toasting the two girls' resuscitation efforts, Sean and Phil for their strong arm support and the Doc and Penny. He included everyone and stated some particular role each had played even if it had to do with hearing the emergency on the radio and reporting it, or just keeping the station going. This had the effect of uniting the group and warming the atmosphere of conviviality.

Following the last cheers, the general announced, "I have some good news and some bad news. Just three hours ago we managed to contact Operations on Earth. After explaining, with some difficulty, I might add, what has happened up here, we have managed to put together a plan of action. It involves them sending Transit 2 to come and collect us." He went on. "As you can imagine there is a strong desire to keep the threats posed by this whole episode er... fairly quiet." He grinned. "The official version will involve explaining the purpose of setting up the base as a sustainable community eventually to be opened for international scientific research."

There was a round of applause before he continued.

"The bad news is that Transit 2 won't be ready for launch for at least two months, so we will really be testing how sustainable our lunar station is." That caused an undercurrent of murmurs which curtailed with some banter when Guy Roberts quipped, "Just think of it as that lunar holiday that everyone will want to do in a few years' time."

As things wound down to more typical mealtime socialisation, Steve leaned across and spoke softly to Jodie. "Would you have a meal with me tomorrow night?"

The invitation caught Jodie totally unprepared. She looked across at Kelly who was insisting, jokingly to Rob Rose that 'of course she would look after her broken fingers. When had she ever taken any risks?'

Was Kelly the reason they were meeting, Jodie thought. Was it to tell her the news that he and Kelly were in love? That any hope she had held out for Steve and she, had ended.

She nodded, "Sure... what time?"

"About six... I'll pick you up," he grinned; after all her room was next door.

"No need," she smiled with some effort.

"I insist," Steve finished, pleasantly warmed at seeing a smile lighten her face.

*****

The next day went by with a number of them organising supplies into a ration schedule. Jodie spent most of her time working in the plant sections with Jimmy. Steve worked with the General for a short time calculating oxygen use, possible regeneration and the extent chemical absorption of carbon dioxide would prolong their supply. Steve decided that if they used the oxygen gained from electrolysis, instead of using it for power generation, they would be able to last the expected two months. This was possible because of the small nuclear power plant. Later he was given a few minutes to email Caz and John via the mission command communication centre. Then he was timetabled to do some weight exercises to hold off muscle loss. His arm wasn't up to it but he gave his legs a real workout.

They had all seen each other at breakfast and lunch. These encounters were just passing as their breaks only marginally overlapped and Jodie was preoccupied with what she would say to the Brandons at home, when her turn came to email on one of the computers. And if they replied, what would she say to her sister Jamie if she asked about Steve? It had been a topic that Jamie had teased Jodie about for years. It had begun with a careless remark about what the attraction was at the nursery. When Jodie's response was hedged with caution, Jamie twigged and thereafter teased her mercilessly.

"Hi, how's it going?" Steve asked as Jodie passed on the way out and he was coming in to lunch. She gave him a polite smile.

"You wouldn't believe how those plants are coming on."

"Going well?"

"I estimate about a centimetre growth since we saw them last."

"Wow!"

"Yeah, hey, see you tonight. I'm going to do my emails now. Bye"

Steve raised his hand to wave but she had gone already.

Steve saw Kelly later that day and she said that her dad had brought a Bible onto the base. Would Steve show her some parts to read that would help her? Well of course he would. So at about five Steve spent some time in the General's office with Kelly. He showed her the Gospel of John and the book of Ephesians. The General came in and showed a keen interest in his daughter's new found faith, talking about his own traditional church upbringing and saying he was keen to talk some more. He then talked about his plans for planting out the vacant soil boxes.

They also spent some time in the communications room where Steve had a chance to talk to Sergeant McGuiness. He filled him in on all the hype surrounding Malcolm's return and the importance of his information; since the thugs they had caught knew nothing of the secret base or the plot. It was Malcolm's story that had diplomatic channels between the two countries running hot.

Before he realised it Steve was late. He asked Kelly to let Jodie know that he would be late and pass on his apologies.

When Kelly arrived at their room Jodie was almost ready, wearing a clean edition of the standard clothing.

Kelly greeted her with, "Hi, Steve wanted you to know that he'll be a little late."

"Oh?" Jodie looked up inquisitively.

"Yeah, we got to talking in Dad's office and then Dad got involved and we lost track of time."

The message that they had been together and the fact that Kelly had let on she had been talking with Steve and time had got away, made Jodie more miserable than ever. She wasn't sure why she was even humouring Steve in such a formal way.

It was almost eight on their 'Earth like timescale', when Steve picked up Jodie. He was apologetic, and she was quiet and distant. Steve apologised again, fearing he had not gained her forgiveness and he wanted this night to be happy. He made small talk about their amazing situation and the unbelievable experiences they had shared. Jodie's responses were muted.

On arriving at the dining area, Steve walked Jodie over to a table near the outer dome. It had views of the rugged lunar landscape set against the blackness of space. The lateness of their arrival meant that only a few of the small settlement population were there. The kitchen staff seemed delighted to be able to serve them and honour them in some way for their daring deeds. An army chef who was also responsible for supplies and a female astrophysicist who was the rostered waiter, hovered efficiently until they were completely satisfied that the two had everything they needed. They then left them in quiet seclusion with mutual knowing smirks.

They had a light meal of fish and salad and spoke hesitantly of the incredible experiences of the last few days. They glanced at each other several times and each seemed to misread the other's responses. Jodie, thinking he was trying to get the nerve to let her down easily and affirm his love for Kelly, thought she'd try and make it easier for him.

"Look Steve, I plan to go overseas when we get back, so you probably need to think of getting some new staff for the nursery." She averted her eyes to the waitress who was bringing their coffees.

"Thanks," she murmured.

"Thank you. Steve added, then looking at Jodie, "I'd hoped you'd stay." Why did she want to go he thought miserably? A hollow ache was developing in his chest.

"I need to get away ... because of everything... we've been in each other's pockets."

What was she talking about? Steve's mind raced, they had known each other for so long and yet in many ways they didn't know each other at all.

"We're friends, friends are close," was his abstract reply.

"I wish you wouldn't keep saying that."

He considered his stumbling, fumbling history with girls. He needed to confront his fear of rejection. For once he had to go with his heart and stifle his urge to logically map out a process. He looked across at Jodie taking in her loveliness. Taking her hand Steve took the plunge. He dropped to one knee and gathering his courage blurted shakily,

"Will you marry me?"

She looked unsure and surprised at the same time. Her large blue eyes glistened, before she dropped her gaze and spoke tremulously, "What about Kelly?"

"Kelly?" he looked confused.

"I just thought..." she tapered off not sure what to say next. She started off on a different tack, "Steve, you've hardly ever spoken to me about us. We've never been out on a date..."

Steve's spirits spiralled down as he recalled all the opportunities to express his affection that he had missed. His eyes misted. He wanted to apologise, to explain his fears, but he was speechless.

Jodie looked at him in disbelief. Had they both been so ineffectual in communicating their feelings? She stared at his sandy hair and blue eyes gazing up at her, aware that her unrequited affections for as long as she could remember were no longer unanswered. Steve misconstrued the lengthy pause as an awkward rebuttal and dropped his eyes, a clamp of desolation squeezing his chest.

Jodie touched his cheek and then lifted his chin.

"Yes..." Jodie whispered. Steve heard it but it didn't quite register.

"What?" he asked, searching her face. She leaned forward, close, and as her lips drew near to his he heard it again.

"Yes..." Their lips met in a tender, lingering kiss.

They parted briefly and Steve took in Jodie's tear filled, beaming face. They both stood and walked toward the window.

"Jodie I ..." but he was cut off as he tried to put into words an expression of his feelings for her. Jodie's hand had cupped behind Steve's head and drew him down into a crushing kiss.

When eventually the kiss ended Jodie's eyes twinkled, a small dimple appeared on her cheek.

"Steven James, don't think you haven't got a whole lot of courting to do before we're married."

Steve smiled and held out his hand. She took it and smiled back at him looking up at him lovingly.

He looked backed at her and, considering their unusual circumstances, everything seemed so right. He spoke softly, "Let's go to the Observatory Dome. I hope there's a full Earth tonight."

###

Thank you for reading my book. If you enjoyed it, won't you please take a moment to leave me a review at your favourite retailer?

Thanks!

Anthony van

About the author:

What does a retired teacher do? Especially a teacher with a hyperactive imagination and ingrained work habits. Well this one writes. And being a Christian, each novel I have written necessarily is pieced together from a Christian perspective.

I have a broad range of interests which include science and technology, mathematics, travel, sports and the interrelationship of people. Much of what intrigues me about people is that some pursue truth with the determination of a bloodhound while others almost ignore existential ideas and while away their short time spent on earth being distracted by pleasures or possessions or power.
