Contents
Cover
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1, Lecture Hall
Chapter 2, Ducks, Turtles and Lattes
Chapter 3, Wine, Dinner and Dessert
Chapter 4, Stalker
Chapter 5, Defender
Chapter 6, Head Games
Chapter 7, Working Things Out
Chapter 8, Urania
Chapter 9, The Educator
Chapter 10, Gak Kume
Chapter 11, Over the Falls
Chapter 12, Lexi Stevens, MD
Chapter 13, Aeolus Investigations
Chapter 14, Romancing the Rose
Chapter 15, Judge, Jury, Punisher
Chapter 16, Partnership Woes
Chapter 17, Competiton
Chapter 18, Highlander
Chapter 19, Honor Challenge
Chapter 20, Finding Geena
Chapter 21, An Interesting Day
Chapter 22, The Rose of Light
Chapter 23, Running on Empty
Chapter 24, Gassing Up
Chapter 25, Diagnosis
Chapter 26, Worlds of the Accord
Chapter 27, Dirty Helium
Chapter 28, Refinery 2.0
Chapter 29, Royal Flush
Author’s Long-Winded Note
Avenger, Chapter One
STOWAWAY
Aeolus Investigations (Episode 1)
A Lexi Stevens Adventure
by
Robert E Colfax
Copyright © 2019 Robert C Kirk
All rights reserved.
The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or stored in a retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the copyright owner is an infringement of the copyright law.
* You may notice a discrepancy between the copyright holder’s name and the author’s name on the cover of the book. They’re both me. Robert E Colfax is a pen name created for my web URL. RobertCKirk.com was not available. RobertEColfax.com is. Simple as that.
Cover art by Dave Kirk
Proof readers Dee Bullock, Dave Kirk — The First Team
Thank you both
Chapter 1
Lecture Hall
From the front of the lecture hall Dr. James Jameson, PhD droned on about his requirements for our term paper. The man didn’t give quizzes; he didn’t have midterms, finals or class presentations. That would have meant he would have had to work for his salary. Of course, there was no oral presentation. That would mean he would have to listen to us. Besides, he clearly preferred to hear himself talk. Our whole grade for the entire semester was based on his arbitrary opinion of this one stupid paper, assuming he even read them. In wouldn’t surprise me if he turned them over to his TA to grade. In other words, you needed to be a kiss-ass to pass his course.
“You have your textbooks; you have your lecture notes and your lab notes. Use these. The purpose of this exercise is to evaluate your ability to summarize concepts and observations from multiple, occasionally conflicting, points of view. Nothing more than that. Many of you are doctoral candidates. Emphasis on the word candidates. As such, you have nothing worthwhile to say yet. Most of you never will.” Jameson was a short, portly man, always dressed in ill fitting clothes overdue for a session with the dry cleaner. I didn’t know his age. I didn’t really care. Like practically always, he blathered on in an equally insulting vein for several more minutes.
What a pompous ass, I thought. Not the first time I’ve had that thought either. Thinking back, I thought that a lot sitting through this man’s lectures. What the hell. Why not? I wouldn’t be graduating anyway. I had run out of time. Mom and I, aka Samue Investigations, are in the pretty far down the road of going broke chasing after a pipe dream. We started this investigation two years ago, full of excitement and high hopes. The payday following success was just short of unbelievable. So we gambled and we lost. Again. It happens. Sadly, this was the third job in a row we managed to fumble. No doubt our reputation would suffer.
My name is Ron Samue. Ron isn’t short for Ronald. It’s my full first name. My last name is Samue, and no, it’s not Hebrew. Nor is it Irish, although I’m told I kind of look Irish. Then again, I’ve been told I look Portuguese.
I’m a big guy, six-seven. Two hundred-and-seventy-pounds of muscle. Both the football squad and the basketball team tried to lure me into their paradigm when I was briefly enrolled in an undergrad program in Indiana last semester. Sure, if I went pro, the money would be way better than what an astrophysicist could hope to make, but then, I already had a job and didn’t need money I wouldn’t be around to spend.
I always knew this day would come, although I hoped when the day came I would be leaving with the prize. No prize. Just disappointment. Still, it was time to go. If we didn’t give up on the investigation soon we’d never be able to leave. Both Mom and I hated to give up, but enough is enough. “Star quarterback” missing would have raised a much larger ruckus than “over-sized nerd” missing.
Physics 620, a course intended to present a broad knowledge of the various constituents of the interstellar medium and their physical interactions, should have been an easy class. Not that I’m a slacker by any means, but I already know a great deal more about the topic than the fliekin teaching it. Fitting in while undercover tended to be time-consuming. I had to take enough credits to justify being enrolled at the university. I had to hold down a part-time job in a coffee shop to pay the bills. And I had to investigate. I suppose that goes without saying.
At twenty-seven, I’m a few years older than most of my classmates. Comparatively my worldview is, well, more expanded than theirs, leaving me feeling kind of like the big brother here. I was already irritated by the excessive heat in the room and the flickering fluorescent over my head. So I stood. “Dr. Jameson?” I called out. My voice carries when I want it to. Good lung capacity went with the muscles.
Angry at being interrupted, Jameson nevertheless acknowledged my existence with a curt, “Mr. Shamu?” I was almost surprised that he did. He never got my last name right. I mean, yes I’m a large man, but I’m not an orca.
“I have issues with your last statement, sir. To be honest, I have issues with most of your statements. Half the crap you lecture on is conjecture on your part with no proof or basis in fact. Much of it is wrong. Your math is simplistic.” His pudgy face was turning red. I didn’t want to cause the man to have a stroke. But I had more to say and was determined to get it said. “You use your position to bully your students. Many of those in this lecture hall are more intelligent than you. They have the potential of actually contributing something to the advancement of man’s knowledge, assuming you don’t grind their enthusiasm out of them. You’re a disgrace, Jameson.”
Well, at least that did serve to make me feel a little better. Got me kicked out of class, of course. It would have been damn surprising if he just thanked me for voicing my opinion and otherwise ignored the interruption. From the podium, Jameson, arm outstretched with his index finger pointing at me, practically yelled, “Shamu, get out of my lecture hall.”
“A pleasure, sir,” I responded. I was still projecting my voice. Maybe I should have taken an acting course instead of this crap. “I’ve had all of your drivel I can take without puking.”
The room was very quiet as I gathered my meager belongings into my backpack and calmly walked out. I wouldn’t be coming back. Not to this class. Not to this university. Not to this world.
Chapter 2
Ducks, Turtles and Lattes
She found me sitting on a bench by the lake. I was enjoying the relative silence, the earthy smells, the ducks, and the occasional turt
le. These were among the simple pleasures I would soon miss. The pigeons, yeah, not so much, although I admit, I have been as guilty as the next guy of feeding them from time to time.
It was still early spring in the Pacific Northwest. The weather could have justifiably been unpleasantly cold and dreary. Today, though, I sat in bright sunshine with my jacket draped over the back of the park bench. Even the breeze that wafted off of the lake was fresh-smelling and gentle. I realized I wouldn’t be happy about leaving. I was smart enough to understand that I didn’t really know why I felt that way.
I chuckled when I saw her; I really had no clue that I was quite so predictable. I doubted I mentioned my enjoyment of this spot to her more than once, and that was nine weeks or more ago. I knew there was a good chance she might be one of the reasons I held doubts about leaving. There were others, most of which carried more weight.
The first time I met Lexi was a few months back at the coffee shop where I worked part-time as a barista. She came by a couple of days a week, ordering the venti size of our boldest blend, taking it black. A woman after my own heart. Or at least my own tastes in coffee. Once in a while, she bought a scone to go with her coffee. She seemed to prefer the raspberry almond buttermilk scones. She avoided our triple chocolate variety, saying that if she wanted something that tasted like a brownie she’d order a brownie. Made sense to me. I always felt slightly distracted while she was in the shop and wistful once she left. She tended to flirt with me in a low-key sort of way. I may have been guilty of flirting just a bit too.
Every once in a while we ran into each other at the gym. She was strong for a woman. I know because we spotted for each other a couple of times when we used the free weights. She’s a nice kid. I sighed. I probably shouldn’t think of her as a kid. At twenty-four, she’s only three years younger than me. In retrospect, I’m sure it was foolish of me to not have asked her out by now, but I had other considerations. Seems like there always were. Now, of course, it was too late. When I left here, I wouldn’t be coming back. I mean, I could fit in a dinner date, but assuming she accepted, it wouldn’t be fair to either of us. Might be fun though.
This afternoon, though, she arrived like a goddess bearing two venti lattes in a cardboard tray. The actual contents of the two steaming cups was an assumption on my part, of course, but the times I had an afternoon coffee with her, that was what we both ordered. And yes, OK, maybe it’s irrational to picture a goddess bringing me a latte, but I doubted they were both for her. Besides, she looked like a goddess. Her long red hair hung just below her shoulder blades in what I understood to be a classic French braid. She corrected me about the color one time. It was lighter than auburn but darker than the stereotypical red, a shade referred to as deep red. I didn’t care what it was called; it looked good. Her deep blue eyes sparkled. The ghosts of faded freckles scattered across her nose were extra prominent in the bright, afternoon sunshine. She lowered herself onto the bench next to me, close enough for her thigh to touch mine, handing me one of the coffees.
I said, “Thank you,” and took a sip of the very hot latte. I hadn’t been paying attention to exactly how long I had been sitting here, but a quick glance at my watch told me it couldn’t have been for more than twenty minutes. Jameson would have dismissed class early after giving his assignment, especially after my outburst. She must have gone directly to the campus coffee shop after class and then come straight here.
Based on the temperature of the coffee, along with the probable wait at the coffee shop at this time of day, there wasn’t enough time for her to have done anything else. I’m trained to notice things like that. Yes. Really. She didn’t spend any time looking for me. I apparently am exceedingly predicable. While that is intrinsically good to know, I don’t think it is applicable in this situation. No worries. Other than detouring by the campus coffee shop, she would have had to come straight here.
She took a sip of her latte before shrugging out of her pack. “That was really stupid, Ron. You’ll never pass Jameson’s class now, even if you turn in a perfect paper, or at least one he likes. I mean, I don’t disagree with anything you said. He’s a disgusting human being. Why did you do it?”
Lexi Stevens was one of the students I had in mind during my earlier outburst. She’s far more intelligent than James Jameson, PhD. Hell, I’m almost certain she’s more intelligent than I am. “I agree, he comes across as disgusting, but he’s not really a stupid man,” I replied. “If it gets him to think… Well, maybe it will do some good for his future victims.”
She smiled, presumably at my terminology. Lord, she was beautiful. I wished I could stay and, I don’t know, really get to know her. That would be nice. I hadn’t allowed myself a social life for the two years I was here, because, dammit, I wouldn’t be able to see it through. While I felt an undeniable attraction to this woman, I’m not the love ’em and leave ’em type. And I would have to be leaving. There was no getting around that.
I haven’t stayed in one place for very long for years. Even when I was attending as an undergrad, I was in and out of different schools, usually after only one semester, always with faked transcripts. That was easy to do here. Thinking about it now, I haven’t ever stayed in one place for long. My partner and I were pretty much experts at faking documentation. My driver’s license wasn’t even legit. “Will you still be able to graduate?” she asked. “Interstellar Matter is practically a requirement for your field. That’s generally the only reason anyone takes it.”
“Probably not,” I admitted. I shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I’m dropping out before graduation. I’m going away.”
“No, Ron, you can’t,” she protested, sounding almost angry. “You’re the only freakin’ challenge I have here.” And then she managed to blow my mind by leaning over, placing her free hand on the side of my face, and kissing me. Believe me, it was not an, “I’m going to miss you, buddy,” type of kiss. Something started to move of its own volition in my pants. The hardest thing I have ever done was to make it stop, to pull back from her, take a deep breath and blink at her stupidly. Well, maybe that last wasn’t all that difficult. Blinking stupidly, I mean. At least I held on to the latte. Probably a good thing it had a lid, though.
She sat back, seeming to intently examine my face. After a moment she smiled. “You’re not fooling me, Mr. Samue. Where are you going? Why the rush? What can’t wait until after graduation? If you leave now, you’re going to have to take the semester over if you change your mind about dropping out.”
What could I say? I didn’t want to lie to her. I couldn’t really tell her the truth either. “I’ve got a job. It’s secret. I’m not really allowed to talk about it. I guess it’s OK to say that it’s out of the country.” Was that to grandiose? Should I have just said out of state? Or should I have just told her the full truth, that it’s on another planet? Eh, probably not.
She was even beautiful when she frowned. “We’ll let that go for now,” she decided. “Will you still be here Saturday?”
“Yes. I’m not leaving until Sunday evening. I have a few things to clear up before then. Stopping mail, closing bank accounts, that kind of thing. Why?”
“Come to my place. I’ll email you the address to your student account. Show up around six o’clock. I’ll cook dinner. You can bring a bottle of red wine. Something you like.” With that, she got up and left me there. I watched her until she was out of sight before going back to sipping the latte, enjoying the relative silence, the smells, the ducks, and the occasional turtle. For the first time I could remember, I found myself feeling flustered and confused. And, damn it, horny.
Chapter 3
Wine, Dinner and Dessert
Like most social drinkers, I enjoy a good wine, but am by no means a connoisseur. I don’t care for sweet wines, not even the so-called dessert wines. I remember I was intrigued by the concept of ice wines until I tasted one. I usually order a bold cabernet when I eat out. If I decide on a white, a nice crisp chardonnay fits the bill. Yes, I
’m sure there are dozens of other varieties I would enjoy equally well, but why bother experimenting?
Tonight’s dinner felt more important to me than it probably should have been, so I went seeking expert advice. At one of the upscale local wine shops, I spoke with the owner and more or less explained my dilemma. I wanted the nicest bottle of wine I could buy, but not one so expensive that the woman I was having dinner with would think me demented. The man laughed out loud at that. But honestly, you’d be surprised what some of these seven-hundred-fifty milliliter bottles of fermented grape juice sell for. I guess I don’t know that. Maybe you wouldn’t.
We settled on a 1998 Cabernet that ran $280 a bottle. Probably approaching the demented level. Who am I kidding? I was clearly in demented territory. I bought two anyway. The owner was a nice guy; he gave me the case discount and knocked twenty percent off the total. I wish he hadn’t, although I obviously couldn’t tell him thanks, but no thanks. Not unless I wanted to stand out like a sore thumb. No one turns down a hundred-twelve dollar discount. At least I don’t think anybody does. However, the bottom-line is that after tomorrow night I wouldn’t have much use for Uncle Sam’s currency.
As I was about to leave, I changed my mind and bought two high quality Riedel cabernet glasses. Did you know they make them in a different shape for practically each variety of wine? I didn’t either. Apparently, there is a science behind it. Cabernet glasses have a deep bowl and a wide mouth to allow air to get to the wine thereby allowing one to fully appreciate the nuances of aroma and taste. Chardonnay glasses, to the contrary, are smaller and more egg-shaped, intended to be held by the stem so as not to warm the chilled wine from the heat of your hand, although you can find stemless varieties. Defeats the purpose. Not that I particularly needed to know any of this, but like I said, he was a nice guy and wanted to talk. Maybe he was lonely. Believe me, I could relate.
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