Interstellar Ruse

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Interstellar Ruse Page 12

by Gregoire, Cil;


  “Alaia Island, too?” Her frail-looking body almost jumped up out the seat.

  “Yes. I petitioned the Council for a charter to start a colony on Lynnara.”

  Setas gave him a questioning look and motioned for him to continue.

  “As you can imagine, my proposal was met with a lot of opposition, but in the end I was offered a challenge. I had three rotations to sell my project to the people. If I could find twenty colonists to go with me by the deadline, I would be granted my charter.”

  “Ah…,” she could see where this was going. “I take it you were unable to find twenty colonists,” she rasped, “are you wouldn’t be here.”

  Rojaire hung his head in abject failure. “Five, six at the most, and my time is almost up.”

  “I see. Tell me about your last mission.”

  Rojaire told her all, including the secret valley hidden in the Crescent Mountains where Theon, Tassyn, Edty, and two members of the lost expedition, Ollen and Caleeza were currently living. The passage of time was lost to them as they talked, drank, and nibbled on exotic delicacies grown in Setas’ gardens. Then Rojaire reached into a pocket of his tunic and pulled out four paper seed packets with colorful depictions of their potential on the fronts and printed instructions on the backs.

  “These are seeds from Earth: tomatoes, peppers, watermelon, and corn,” Rojaire said handing them to her. “I had a chance to enjoy all these foods on Earth. I don’t know if they can adapt to our long days and long nights.” Maggie had been planning her Alaska garden shortly before he, Quaylyn, and Kaylya left Earth, and he had asked her to help him acquire seeds of some heat-loving vegetables.

  Setas was greatly pleased. She held the seed packets like treasures. For a while they both sat quietly enjoying the beauty that surrounded them. A refreshing breeze beat off the heat.

  “Seek heart, not soul,” Setas said after a time. “I will help you cross the High Council and the Golden Sea to Lynnara. Let me know when you are ready and how many are going with you when the time comes.

  Rojaire could hardly express his gratitude it was so great. His next concern was for Setas. “You should consider coming with us, Captain. The High Council will not be pleased when they discover you have betrayed them.”

  “Let me worry about that, but I will take your words into consideration. Get your group ready before it’s too late.” Setas paused. “Be careful, Rojaire. Do not underestimate the power of the High Council.”

  “I would say the same to you. Seek heart, not soul, my lady.” And with that Rojaire was gone.

  CHAPTER 9

  Earth

  Retired Officer Gerald LeBlanc, retired for less than a year, worked tirelessly at establishing a new routine he could live by. He rose at seven, put on the coffee and walked out onto his backyard patio, rain or shine, a small sheltering roof over the door left no room for excuses, to greet the morning before having his first cup. Today he breathed in the promise of another hot Louisiana day.

  Then the phone rang.

  The unexpected phone call jarred his senses. Gerald had no children to check up on him. The few friends he had contact with had a regular agreed upon schedule for calling and knew their time slots. No one should be calling at this time of day. The phone rang again demanding his attention. With irritation Gerald stepped back in the house, before the coffee even finished brewing, to answer the phone.

  “Morning, Gerald!” he heard in his ear before he could say “hello.”

  “Boss…?” Gerald responded in surprise.

  “I called to tell you we found the laser-cutting machine.”

  It had been months since Gerald heard the Boss’s voice and he had to think a moment before figuring out what he was talking about. Slowly the whole episode of disappearing people and a vanished laser-cutting machine among other things came back to the forefront of his mind.

  “You found it…where?

  “Yeah, well, that’s part of the mystery.

  “Are you sure it’s the same one?” The surveillance recording of a laser-cutting machine vanishing from the science research center in Baton Rouge played through his head. Gerald recalled his encounter with the bogus Dr. Jeff Robertson, Director of Paranormal Phenomena at the bogus Paranormal Phenomena Research Center in New York City, his Assistant Director Ms. Lucy Sutton who could move objects with her mind; and Brak Alar, the man they were looking for who could vanish in a breath.

  “Beyond a doubt; serial numbers match. We found the laser-cutting machine and a lot more …including a murder scene.”

  “Murder….”

  “You’ll want to see this. I’ll be by to pick you up in twenty minutes. We can talk on the way there.”

  The Boss hung up before Gerald could protest he hadn’t had breakfast yet. But Gerald had to admit he was intrigued by the news. Am I about to find out where the laser-cutting machine made its reappearance? But what about Brak Alar; where did he disappear to?

  Despite the inconvenience, Gerald managed to be ready when the Boss pulled up in his driveway. During lulls in the chatter on the police radio, the Boss filled him in.

  “Seth Blanchard, age sixteen, was shot in the head by seventeen year old Justin Landry. The only witness to the shooting is the victim’s twin sister, Alice Blanchard. She was picked up late last night collapsed along the side of the road and is currently in the hospital recovering from trauma. She tells a bazaar story. According to Alice Blanchard, Justin Landry pulled out a gun when a freezing cold darkness covered the sky and descended upon then while they were having a cookout. Allegedly, Justin Landry started shooting wildly at the dark, hitting her brother and then turning the gun on her, forcing her to run for her life. Justin Landry is already in protected custody. He claims Seth’s death was an accident.”

  Teens playing with guns, Gerald thought to himself, shaking his head sadly. He didn’t personally know the kids involved, but he felt sorry for the families. They drove pass the high school, and then the Boss surprised him by turning off the road onto the headland of a sugarcane field.

  “The titanium laser-cutting machine was found in a sugarcane field?” Gerald asked incredulously. He could see several vehicles including a swamp buggy parked up ahead.

  “No, the incident occurred deep in the woods at the site of an old Cajun house nearly swallowed up by the woods,” the Boss said. “I’m telling you, this house must be a hundred and fifty years old …at least.”

  “Does either of the families involved own the property?” Gerald asked, his interest piqued.

  “No, according to the girl, the boys discovered the place after running off skipping afternoon classes at school. Once found, it became a week-end hideout for the three teens.”

  They were slowing approaching the gathering of people and vehicles up ahead. A homicide always created a lot of interest.

  “The owner of the property, including these cane fields, is ninety-two years old and in assistant living. His name is Charles Broussard. It was his grandfather who built the house. Charles Broussard’s son, Mark Broussard, now looks after his assets and leases out the farmland. He says he hasn’t been to the site of the original family home in years.”

  When they pulled up, there were more people buzzing around than Gerald originally thought. Several officers guarded the perimeter against curious onlookers gathered with news reporters who could only speculate. Two officers were waiting for them by the swamp buggy. “We’re ready to go, Boss,” one of them announced and dropped a two-stepper down for easier access into the oversized vehicle.

  Gerald had never ridden in a swamp buggy before and became engaged in the experience, but as they progressed deeper into the woods, the idea that the vanishing laser-cutting machine had been found in here seemed increasingly absurd. The woods were dense and in some places trees and brush had been cleared for easier access. Finally they arrived at the house, which looked every bit as old as the Boss had claimed. Gerald couldn’t help but reflect on what it must have been like living in the
swamplands of South Louisiana back then. The area was cordoned off with police tape and he was not surprised to find as many people milling around here, mostly forensic gathering, as there had been back on the headland. Near the cold remains of a campfire, a stark outline of the victim marked the exact spot where the body once rested. A sprawling, towering, majestic live oak benignly overlooked the crime scene.

  “The laser-cutting machine is in here,” the Boss said guiding Gerald toward the backdoor. Before entering, Gerald stopped momentarily to gaze at the crumbling masonry of an old cistern by the back of the house that once collected rain for fresh water. It was probably a snake den now he thought as he followed the Boss into the dilapidated back room of the house.

  The incongruent presence of the laser-cutting machine would have been laughable were it not for the aura of tragic death that surrounded the place. There was barely space to walk around the massive chunk of steel; the worn plank floor sagged under the weight.

  “So how do you think it got here?” the Boss asked Gerald.

  It certainly was a good question. Gerald couldn’t even speculate; there was no logical explanation that he could come up with. He tried to connect in his mind the video he had seen of the laser cutter disappearing from the science lab workshop and its reappearance here.

  “I guess it got here the same way it left the science research center,” Gerald said after some thought. Of course, the Boss didn’t know anything about Brak Alar, the man the fake paranormal research team had been looking for, and Gerald suspected there was a connection, but it would further defy logic to try and explain how they were connected.

  Gerald and the Boss worked their way around the laser-cutting machine and into the central rooms of the house where even more people milled around. A middle-aged man with a slight paunch and a full head of wavy dark-brown hair approached them immediately.

  “Mr. Mark Broussard,” the Boss said, introducing him to Gerald. “His family owns the property. Mark, this is retired Officer Gerald LeBlanc. He worked the case of the missing merchandise found here.”

  “Glad to meet you,” Mark Broussard said shaking Gerald’s hand. “I’m really sorry about what happened here.” Gerald felt his sorrow was sincere. “I know the families,” he added sadly. “I can’t imagine how all his stuff was brought in …or why? Anyway, when you fellows are done with the investigation, I have a crew ready to dismantle the house. There is quite a bit of valuable old wood in here; it will help pay for Dad’s long term care.”

  Gerald thought it was a shame to tear down such a monument to the past, but he understood the financial burden long term care placed on families.

  Despite his promise to help Vince and Maggie with planting the garden, Jack wasted no time settling into Vince’s old bachelor pad in the little end-of-the-road town and offering Elaine his assistance at the gift shop. He knew it didn’t matter about the gardening. Gardening requires a lot of stooping and bending and Jack didn’t have a lot of stooping and bending left in him. He gently swept the plank floors of the crowded little shop, leaning on his broom for a moment to glance up at Elaine closing the till. His heart longed to ease the stark sadness that perpetually sculpted her thin face. It’s hard to let a grown child loose to pursue their own life; but ultimately, doing so eventually offers its own rewards. It is harder still to let an adult child leave for another world innumerous light-years away. Jack put the broom away in its closet. I need to show her that life isn’t over…not yet.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Angela called out as she headed for the door to depart. Angela, now an indispensable full time employee, was the life of the shop; her cheerful industry covering for Elaine’s despondency.

  “Thanks, Angela. See you tomorrow,” Jack said for Elaine, silently lost in her own thoughts.

  Before walking out, Angela’s eyes met Jack’s in mutual unspoken concern for Elaine. Is she going to be all right? Jack gave her a reassuring nod and locked the door behind her.

  “What do you say I cook dinner for us tonight and we can pass some time playing cards? I make a mean pot of chili and I’m terrible at cards, a win/win situation for you.”

  While his suggestion didn’t raise a smile, she didn’t readily refuse.

  “I could do the cooking at your place, your kitchen is better equipped than mine, and you could put your feet up while you watch me work. I happen to have a fairly decent bottle of wine to share, too.”

  Was that a glimmer of a smile? No, false alarm.

  “If you want,” was all she said dispiritedly and prepared to leave the shop.

  An hour later Jack arrived at Elaine’s apartment door above the gift shop with a bag of groceries and a bottle of wine, gasping for breath after the long climb up the stairs. “Perhaps my place would have been a better idea after all,” he wheezed when Elaine opened the door. “I forgot about the stairs.”

  “Are you doing all right? You’re as white as a ghost,” Elaine snapped with a bit of her old bluster to cover genuine concern. “Come in and sit down before you pass out,” she ordered, her nurturing instinct taking charge.

  Soon Jack had quite recovered and they were browning meat and chopping vegetables. Elaine quickly mixed up a batch of cornbread and put it in the oven. Then with filled wine glasses in hand they headed to the living room to give the chili time to simmer and the cornbread time to bake.

  In passing, a painting by the door caught Jack’s attention. He had been too winded to notice it before.

  “A Rahlys original I see,” Jack said pausing in front of the painting to examine it more closely. “It’s the crystal, the Oracle of Light; what a beautiful rendition of it.”

  “It was a gift to Ilene from a former suiter.”

  “Oh, who was that? I don’t recall Ilene ever having a boyfriend in the couple of years I’ve known her.”

  “He’s dead now; mauled by a bear.” Elaine took a seat on the sofa, put her feet up on a strategically placed pillow on the coffee table, and took a sip of wine. “The crystal may have been responsible.”

  “What…?” Jack came to join her. “What do you mean?”

  So Elaine told Jack the story as she knew it, leaving out Theon as much as she could. “It is believed by some that the Oracle somehow purposely led Aaron astray and into the marauding claws of a grizzly because he had evil intent against Rahlys and the crystal.”

  “That’s horrible!”

  “He wasn’t a very nice guy,” Elaine assured him, taking another sip of wine.

  Jack could hardly believe what he had heard. When he got up to stir the chili, he stopped momentarily and stared in horror at the portrait of the crystal. Did the crystal have a malignant streak? Was the Oracle judge, jury, and executioner? Despite his skepticism, he felt a cold chill trickle down his spine. As he stared, he thought he saw the crystal float out the picture and even stepped back in panic. Then the timer on the stove clanged loudly drawing his attention. When he looked back, the image of the crystal was firmly embedded in the painting. It must have been his imagination playing tricks on him.

  It was almost midnight in the northern Susitna Valley, but still light outside; such was life in the land of long late spring days and marginal nights. “Are you coming to bed?” Maggie asked rising from the sofa, the quilted afghan that had been keeping her feet warm falling to the floor. “You have been at it for hours.” Picking the quilt up off the floor and throwing it back on the sofa, she yawned deeply, strolled to Vince and looked over his shoulder at the computer screen that remained a blur without her reading glasses.

  “How’s it coming?” she asked massaging her husband’s shoulders when he failed to respond.

  “Fine; that feels good.” Vince flexed his back and shoulders enhancing the benefit from her massaging hands. His absorption in his writing had reached a peak that wouldn’t subside now until the manuscript was completed.

  “You know we have a busy day tomorrow planting the garden,” Maggie said kissing him behind the ear. Rahlys will be her
e early.”

  Rahlys’ participation had been a great help in the overall project and had worked wonders improving her mental state. Over the past few weeks they had teamed up every day preparing the soil, making the rows, and planting peas, potatoes, carrots, lettuce, kale, beets, and turnip seeds. In addition, Maggie had dozens of garden starts, started indoors and hardened off ready to go into the ground: broccoli, cauliflower, cabbage, green onions, kale, zucchini, and yellow squash. To Rahlys’ delight Maggie had also started an array of flowers, some already blooming.

  Vince had also constructed a small greenhouse of milled lumber and clear plastic for tomatoes, peppers, and cucumbers. The greenhouse conveniently sheltered the garden starts overnight while waiting to be planted.

  Tomorrow was June 1st, the so called “first guaranteed frost-free day” for gardeners. There have been years when this rule of thumb didn’t pan out. But spring had come on strong this year with little fear of a late killing frost.

  “You go ahead and get some rest. I’ll be there shortly,” Vince assured her.

  “Okay,” she said giving him a kiss. “Try not to stay up too late.”

  But when Maggie woke the next morning, she still had the bed to herself. The brilliance of a sunny day seeped through a sliver of a gap between the curtains. From the sounds of chatter and the rattling of dishes, the rest of the family was already up. The smell of bacon, eggs, and blueberry pancakes, Vince’s specialty, wafted in from the family room.

  I definitely won the lottery when it comes to husbands, Maggie smiled as she tied on a robe.

  “Look, Mommy, Daddy made me a heart pancake!” Crystal pointed out excitedly when Maggie walked into the room.

  “Mine is an airplane,” Rock informed her.

  “Good morning, sweetheart,” Vince said giving her a kiss and placing a plate with another airplane pancake in front of Leaf. “And what shape pancake would you like this morning?”

  “Round will be just fine, thank you. Did you get any sleep last night?”

 

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