by Jim Laughter
Delmar sat down at the table and loaded his plate with sausage and eggs, a benefit of living in a rooming house. His habit of offering thanks before eating had continued, although he couldn’t quite remember where he had acquired the habit. He even visited the local community minister to see if he might have a clue to his memory loss.
Although his beliefs differed some from that of the local minister, they were generally the same. As for a name of the deity Delmar gave thanks to, he could only come up with the Unseen One, which baffled even the local minister.
After finishing his prayer, Delmar dug into his food.
“Where are you off to this morning?” one of the other residents asked. They had gone target shooting several times during their time off.
“Probably just down to the airpark,” Delmar answered. “I’m hoping to get the main spar finished on my flyer.”
“That skyflyer of yours is really becoming an obsession.”
“I hate borrowing a flyer when I want to go up.”
“Did you have a falling out with Abby?” another man quipped.
“No sir,” Delmar answered defensively. “It’s better to have your own flyer.”
People in the community had noticed the amount of time Delmar and the local eccentric woman spent together. After only a few lessons and minimal hours, Delmar had soloed and was awarded his pilot’s license by the local group of aviation enthusiasts.
Several of the older women suspected that Abby and Delmar were falling for each other. In as much as he didn’t quite fit the normal mold of the other young men in the community, the match seemed fitting.
The wall clock struck eight-thirty.
“Excuse me folks,” Delmar said as he pushed away from the table. He wiped his mouth on his napkin, grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and rushed out the door.
With long strides, Delmar hurried down the street toward the repair shop. Although he didn’t have to start work until nine, he always liked to show up early so he could find out what was going on before his shift began. His boss, Walter, appreciated Delmar’s attitude. It was nice to have such a worker in the shop.
Delmar entered the office and hung up his jacket. After changing into his coveralls, he lifted his mug down from the shelf and helped himself to the eternal pot of coffee on the old woodstove.
The weather had turned bitterly cold and there was a hint of snow in the air. Besides the usual discomfort, this caused Delmar some concern on another front.
Only after he pried a little did he find out about Abby’s domestic situation. After her parent’s death, the small house they had shared was seized by greedy relatives. They cared little for Abby and her brother, and even less for the skyflyer, so the two ended up sharing the hanger as a home.
Delmar tried to convince the young woman that she needed better accommodations with winter just around the corner. In spite of his best efforts, Abby still resisted the idea. She would rather save the money she earned from her job and apply it to her flying.
“So, what’s on the schedule today?” Delmar asked his boss.
“Just the overhaul of Merl Commap’s truck. The parts came in last night after you left.”
“I can get that done before lunch,” Delmar said. “I already prepared the engine block.”
“Do I detect that you might be asking for the afternoon off?” Walter asked with a smile.
“Yes you do. I’m still trying to convince Abby that she needs to get a room up at Mrs. Milton’s boarding house.”
“Trying to draw her in a little closer? Good luck,” Walter said as he refilled his cup. “That young woman has always been a little funny in the head. She’s even more hard-headed than her brother.”
“I think I can handle it,” Delmar said.
He drained his first cup of coffee and poured himself a fresh refill.
“Where are those parts?”
∞∞∞
Melissa sat alone poking at the controls on her computer. Her lessons for the day had ended nearly an hour ago but she still couldn’t call it quits. Although she’d enjoyed meeting Leatha, her new mentor, she found it to be less than rewarding.
She was relieved to receive word that Ert would resume her tutoring. She’d hit it off with him, and together they’d expanded their range of subjects.
Melissa continued to poke aimlessly at her keyboard, trying to figure out what was bugging her. She found herself opening and closing a series of miscellaneous files and scanning them for no apparent reason. She noted the file on Delmar Eagleman and opened it to reread it.
Again, she found herself engrossed by the tragic story of the young trooper. She ran quickly through the highlights of his too short life, ending with the image of him standing beside his ship. The computer signaled that there was an additional frame attached to the record so she activated it.
The picture of the piece of hull plate appeared on her screen. She stared at it for long moments as memories of what Ert had told her about the trooper’s death ran through her mind. The thoughts stopped and she stared at the image still on her screen.
If the ship was torched, how come there aren’t any burn marks around the edges?
She accessed images of other remains from the disaster, carefully examining the pieces of hull plating from both the mothership and the smaller vessels destroyed at the same time. In every case, she noted that all showed signs of extreme heat and burns on their edges and surfaces.
That’s odd, she thought. It’s like the ship didn’t explode or burn. Just this single piece of hull plate like it had been ripped from the ship.
Melissa instructed her computer to save all of the images she’d viewed as a special file, including enlargements of the hull plate images. After she finished, she shut down the machine and headed downstairs to dinner. Tomorrow she would show what she’d found to Ert.
∞∞∞
Delmar cleaned up from the overhaul job, shed his coveralls, and grabbed his jacket. Walter looked up from the carburetor he was rebuilding.
“Off to see your girl, huh?”
The assembly of the overhauled engine had taken longer than Delmar had anticipated, but he stayed at it right through lunch. The finished truck now idled quietly out front of the shop door. Such dedication to a job was hard to ignore, so Walter had no problem letting his key employee off for the afternoon.
“I hope she’s not mad at me,” Delmar said as he combed his hair back with his fingers. “I was supposed to meet her for lunch.”
“Better take her a gift,” Walter suggested. “It always works with Darlene.”
“I’ll try that.”
Delmar opened the door to leave.
“I’ll stop at that little gift shop over by the stage office.”
With a final wave from Walter, Delmar raced out the door.
Afternoon traffic was light as the young man strode down the dusty main street of the town. It only took him a few minutes to reach the gift shop where he found it to be almost deserted, the afternoon stage not due for another hour.
“How can I help you today, Mr. Erdinata?” Mrs. Johnson, the shop owner’s wife, called from her rocking chair where she was reading a book.
“Oh, just looking for something to keep me out of trouble with Abby,” Delmar answered. “I was supposed to have lunch with her, but got tied up at the shop.”
“It had better be good. You’re already over an hour late.”
Delmar browsed the shelves looking at all of the trinkets and baubles laid out for the visitors to the area. There was even a small rack of scenic pictures produced by a local photographer. Another shelf held handicrafts made by the local tribesmen. Delmar even examined these.
“We got in some new native craft carvings since you were here last,” the woman said. She pushed up out of her chair.
“These appear to be images of one of their gods or something.”
She pointed to several strange looking carvings.
Delmar took down one of the c
arvings and examined it closely. It was oblong and sleek with several bumps and protrusions along its length. Six odd-looking feet supported the thing, and it had what appeared to be a pattern of rods sticking out of the rear. He felt a wave of nausea sweep over him as he looked at the carving. Putting it back on the shelf, he closed his eyes until his head stopped spinning.
“Are you all right, Del?”
“Yes ma’am. I’ll be fine in a minute,” Delmar said. “It’s just when I looked at that carving, my head began to swim.”
“You sit down right here while I go fetch Doctor Murphy.” She tried to steer him toward a chair.
“No ma’am, I’ll be all right,” Delmar insisted. He opened his eyes and the room steadied back to its normal stillness.
“See, I’m doing better already. Probably just a little faint from missing lunch.”
“If you say so,” she said.
“Now, I have to find a gift or I’m a dead man,” Delmar quipped, turning back to the problem at hand.
“How about some fresh cut flowers? I got some in this morning and have them in the cooler.”
“That might do the trick,” Delmar agreed. “Abby does seem to like them.”
Mrs. Johnson nodded and headed to the back room, soon to emerge with a small bouquet of colorful blossoms. She wrapped the stems in a layer of moist cotton and secured the whole package in a cone of gold paper.
“There you go, Del,” she said, handing the flowers to Delmar. “That should make her heart go pitter-pat.”
A blush crept across his face. “How much do I owe you?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Mrs. Johnson said with a smile. “They’re on the house.”
“But that’s not fair to you,” Delmar insisted.
“I said don’t worry about it. Now go before Abby really wants to tan your hide.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Johnson,” Delmar said, turning toward the door.
She smiled and watched Delmar stride off toward the restaurant where Abby was probably waiting. When he was out of sight, she returned to her book, humming a romantic tune.
Chapter Fifteen
Well, that’s about everything, thought the watcher as he snapped his travel bag shut and placed it next to the hotel room door. A glance at his pocket watch told him the next train wasn’t due for at least another hour. He had time to stroll one last time through the town.
Ambling down the plank walkway, the watcher marveled at the diverse aspects of this local population center. Observing several wagons and horseless carriages lumber by, he remembered visiting one of the historical theme sites on his home planet. It wasn’t long before he found himself outside the office of the Fern Gulch Gazette. He pushed through the door.
“May I help you?” a young clerk asked from behind the counter.
“Yes,” replied the watcher in the native language. “I would like to buy several past editions to take home.”
“We have all of the latest editions,” the clerk said proudly. “Choose the ones you want and we’ll figure up your bill.”
The watcher thumbed through a stack and picked a random sample of both the local and other regional papers. Study of such publications always provided interesting clues about a culture. After paying his bill in native currency, he ambled back out onto the walkway.
A few doors down, he found the local gift shop open for business. It had closed the day before due to the illness of the elderly proprietor. A bell over the door tinkled as he entered. An elderly man stepped from behind a high counter.
“May I be of assistance?”
“Just looking right now, thank you.”
The proprietor puzzled at the strange accent of this customer.
“You’re not from around here,” he stated, stepping closer to this odd customer. “May I help you find a little souvenir to take home to the family?”
“You might at that,” the watcher said, finding he was trapped. “Do you have any craftwork made by the local aborigines?”
“Aborigines?”
He had never heard the local tribesmen referred to as Aborigines.
“Do you mean the native tribesmen?”
The watcher realized he had slipped and used the wrong name for the native group. He mentally chastised himself for being so careless.
“Yes,” he replied. “Where I come from, we call them by a different name. Pardon my error.”
The proprietor waved him off with his cane.
“I’ve heard them called a lot worse. I have their stuff over there.”
He pointed toward the back of the store with his cane.
“Mostly baskets and beadwork, a little carved deity. Nothing fancy.” He led his customer past shelves full of trinkets and handicrafts.
“They will be fine,” the watcher assured him and began to eye the merchandise. He found a few wood carvings on one end of the shelf.
“These are interesting,” he said, picking up an oblong piece.
“Those things?” the proprietor said disgustedly. “Came in from one of the local villages. Just one of their gods or something.”
The watcher continued to study the small carving. Although fashioned from some sort of local wood, it closely resembled an Axia patrol ship.
This is puzzling.
He turned it over and over in his hands, examining the intricate craftsmanship.
“I’ll take it,” he said to the proprietor.
The old man grumbled a bit but didn’t complain about the money he received. While the shop keeper wrapped it for safe transport, the watcher glanced again at his pocket watch.
“It looks like I better be going. My train arrives in about fifteen minutes.”
“Here you go, sonny,” the old man said, handing over the package. “Have a good trip and come again.”
Fifteen minutes later found the watcher, his travel bag, and his bundle of local print safely aboard the evening train. His souvenir lay wrapped on the seat beside him.
He relaxed as the train pulled away from the platform and chugged into the hill country. Soon he would disembark and take a short hike into the brush where he would rendezvous with a scheduled retrieval scout ship.
George Citti had only spent a few weeks on this backward planet, but he relished in the idea that in only two days he would be relaxing aboard the sector 2046-W mothership.
∞∞∞
THAT IS MOST CURIOUS, MELISSA, Ert replied as he examined the computer images she’d saved. Due to unforeseen problems, over a week had passed since Melissa had run across the curious situation of the hull plate. She’d finally managed to connect with Ert to show him her discovery.
IT STRUCK ME AS INCONGRUENT THAT THE HULL PLATE FROM THE CABBAGE PATCH WASN’T BURNED OR SCORCHED LIKE THE OTHERS. ENLARGEMENTS OF THE EDGES SHOW SIGNS OF BEING TORN OFF FROM THE OUTSIDE RATHER THAN FROM AN EXPLOSION INSIDE.
I CONCUR, Ert replied. AND I DON’T FIND ANY RECORD OF ANYONE ELSE NOTING THIS DIFFERENCE. I SHALL BRING IT TO THE ATTENTION OF SOMEONE IN AUTHORITY.
THANK YOU. IT’S BOTHERED ME EVER SINCE I DISCOVERED IT.
ARE YOU READY FOR TODAY’S LESSON? Ert asked, changing the subject. Melissa typed her reply and soon the two were deep into a discussion about various chemical properties.
∞∞∞
“How are you today, Sheriff?” Doctor Murphy called out from his front porch when he spotted the sheriff riding past. Sheriff Stoddard reigned his horse in and stopped in front of the doctor’s small office.
“Pretty good, I guess,” the sheriff answered. “I went up in the hills looking for the crooks that attacked Del. How is he doing?”
“Good enough,” the doctor said. “He’s still having trouble getting back his memory.”
Just then both men heard the familiar rattle of one of the local skyflyers. Looking up, they saw Abby Henke’s skyflyer pass overhead, Abby and Delmar seated together between the wings.
“It looks like young love is progressing,” the sheriff said with a grin.
; They watched the skyflyer disappear out of sight.
“But I’m not sure who is pursuing who.”
“That Henke girl has always been a strange one,” Sheriff Stoddard offered. “At least Del has convinced her to get some decent housing instead of sleeping in that drafty hanger.”
“I wonder how long until she convinces him of something else?” the doctor commented.
“You’re not the only one that has taken notice,” the Sheriff said. “Half the town is hearing wedding bells.”
“Well, I just hope someone tells Del soon,” Doctor Murphy laughed. “Because frankly, I’m not sure the boy has a clue.”
∞∞∞
Rosemary Sabeti sat behind the steering wheel of the ground car and watched out the side window. While gently quieting Del Robert, she kept an eye on the elderly form of Agnes placing fresh flowers at Delmar’s memorial. Although she knew it to be true, she was still unwilling to accept the fact of Delmar’s death.
She’s losing weight, thought Rosemary, watching her friend and neighbor. And she’s so frail.
Robert wasn’t the only one keeping a concerned eye on the changes in Agnes. Normally active in the affairs of Big Valley, Agnes had withdrawn from nearly every social activity after receiving news of Delmar’s tragic death. Although not an unusual response in the grief process, Agnes stayed in a perpetual state of depression. Lately, all she did was sit in her rocker and stare out the window.
“I better say something to her doctor,” Rosemary whispered to little Del-Robert when she saw Agnes rise and start toward the vehicle, her pace much slower than usual.
“Otherwise, we might have to hospitalize her.”
∞∞∞
The regular routine of ship service aboard the mothership provided Stan with some of the structure he needed to start working through his grief. The repair work he’d been sent on was simple enough to not require his undivided attention, leaving him time to think. Fortunately, the ship chaplain proved to be a good resource. His counsel helped Stan start to resolve a degree of the deep bitterness he felt eating way at his faith.