The Cocoon Trilogy

by David Saperstein

  Ben interrupted. “You say for education, not war?”

  “Right. These beings on that planet, Parmans, are crystals. Like rocks, but they are alive and they feed on ultraviolet light. The Antareans want to use them as spaceships or on their spaceships. It’s all beyond me, but what I’m trying to say is that I don’t think this army is for war as we know it. These Antareans don’t make war.”

  “That’s good to know,” Ben said.

  “This planet is near Sirius, you say?” Art asked. He was on his feet.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s not like going to Detroit,” Bernie said.

  “Not even Beverly Hills,” Joe quipped.

  “Not even Disneyworld,” Art said. “We are talking about nine light years. That’s, uh, I think something like fifty-three trillion miles from here. That’s pretty far, guys.”

  Ben leaned back against the bulkhead. “So are we talking about a trip to forever?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO – TO REPLACE AN ARMY

  The room was glowing bright red. The atmosphere was humid and thick. The entire Antarean expedition crew laid on the cots with the overhead lamps turned on full. They communicated silently with one another, each projecting thought without interruption; each absorbing the previous thoughts into one pattern; each building on the pattern until it became one thought for all.

  Shall we block out their thoughts?

  We promised.

  We should.

  Agreed and done.

  They are good men.

  I like them.

  Strange that their race rejects them because they have age.

  It is common in primitive societies.

  Not always. The Sengs in Galaxy Outer Seven revere their old ones and ask them to rule.

  True, but the Sengs are descended from the First and are closest to Touching.

  True.

  These are not Sengs. They are dwellers who call themselves human beings. I will trust them.

  And I.

  Will it be right to take them to Parma Quad Two?

  That is the mission.

  Then you are sure the cocoons are useless?

  I am certain.

  We must replace them deep and secure in the undersea chamber.

  For another time.

  If the dwellers agree, can we program them in time?

  I believe we can.

  We have only four of them. We need nine hundred forty-one!

  Where will we get them?

  We will task the four will find them.

  They must be old like our four. Of that I am sure.

  Explain.

  The processing will not work the young dweller tissue like Jack. I am not certain why. But the chemistry is clear..

  So they must be old human beings.

  There are many in this area.

  They gather here before they die.

  We will need to make commanders of some of them.

  Yes.

  Shall it be these four?

  They will tell us.

  Remember, this is an army of nines and threes. We will need more than four commanders.

  Amos will speak with them. Beam will assist.

  Agreed. Agreed by all.

  Now feed and prepare for new skins.

  The Antareans rested as the overhead cones fed them and prepared their outer skins for the trip back to the mother ship. As they rested an entire row of Antarean soldiers died. Their glowing eyes dimmed slowly until they went dark.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE - SPYING AND CONVERSATIONS OVERHEARD

  Mary Green told the other women that Ben had called and that the men were going to be late. She had not told them about the “business” deal, because she didn’t believe it, and she knew the others wouldn’t, either. However, she felt that perhaps after a drink or two she would work up the courage to tell them exactly what Ben had said. Buying a charter boat, indeed! The ladies met at Alma Finley’s car. They decided to have dinner out as long as their husbands were going to be home late. Mary suggested that they treat themselves to the fancy French Restaurant that had recently opened in Coconut Grove.

  Bess was quiet as they drove north. Her three friends had been helpful. She felt hope in that she was not alone in helping her sister. She was considering asking Art for a loan to pay for private nursing care. Blood money or not, all she knew was that Betty had to be out of that horrible place as soon as possible.

  Judy Simmons was angry and let Sandy and Arnie know it in no uncertain terms. “Your brother is a lying jerk. He’s been in Coral Gables all of the time.”

  “Are you sure, honey?”

  “Don’t ‘honey’ me Arnie Fischer. I am positive.”

  Sandy tried to calm her but Judy wouldn’t have it. “I didn’t see the Manta III but he was there all right. Some men told me that two boats were there. I also spoke to Phil Doyle on the Razzmatazz. He tried to cover up, but he let it slip that Jack was seen over at that Antares Condo Complex too.”

  “Look, Judy,” Arnie tried to reason, “maybe he’s really tied up with these people and they want him to keep things secret. It’s a treasure hunt. You said that. Maybe he’s just doing his job.”

  “He knows he doesn’t have to lie to me. He knows I’d keep my mouth shut. Its people diving for stuff, not some damned covert CIA action!”

  “But maybe it is. Did you ever think of that?”

  That stopped her for a moment. Then she looked them both in the eye and, in a slow and deliberate manner, said, “Maybe it is the goddamned CIA. If it is, then I really want to know. Because if he’s hooked up with them I don’t want to see him ever again! Now are we going, or not?”

  They took Arnie’s car and drove toward the Antares complex.

  Frank Hankinson had been trying to call Ben Green since seven P.M. It had been a strange afternoon. Perhaps Ben could answer his questions. Wally and Shields certainly didn’t know the whole story.

  He had followed Wally into the office at five-thirty. The secretary was gone and Wally was in the inner office with Shields. Frank had decided to wait and listen.

  “Mr. Shields, the boss is playing you for a sucker.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Well, I followed those old fogies like you told me. They left this morning and came back about one. They went into Building B.”

  “I knew it. Damned, I knew it. Mr. Bright was right.”

  “Mr. Bright knew they were in there!”

  “What? Bright knew?”

  “That’s right. They went in for a few hours and then came out. Then they met some young chick by the pool and took her down to the dock.”

  “The dock? No one is supposed to go to the dock!”

  “Yeah, well they did. Before they went down I saw Bright and a few of his strange buddies watching from the rear door.

  They didn’t stop them. And since you told me just to watch, I didn’t stop them either.”

  “So what happened?”

  “It was weird. They checked the dock out. Then suddenly they all jumped up - not the girl. Just the old guys. They looked up at Building B and hustled the girl away. It was like someone yelled for them to get off the dock. But no one yelled. Anyway, they took the girl back to her car and then came back to Building B.”

  “Did you follow them in?”

  “No sir. You told me to stay out of there. I hung around for about an hour. Then I saw the two boats come in and all of those weird people also make a beeline for Building B like some big emergency.”

  “Maybe they caught the old farts. You don’t think they would hurt them, do you?”

  “No. About an hour later Mr. Bright comes out the back door with the four old guys and the captain of the Manta III charter boat. He walks them down to the dock and they take off in the boat. Then Bright goes back to the building. I hung around for a while and when nothing more happened, I came right here.”

  “Was Bright friendly with them?”

  “Like old buddies. Espe
cially with the big guy who reamed us about the pool.”

  “Green.”

  “Yeah. Oh, also, you know who was with them? The guy from the D.A.’s office.”

  “You mean the old lawyer who pushed us to fill the pool?”

  “You got it. He’s one of them?”

  “Son-of-a-bitch! What the hell is going on here?”

  “Beats me, boss.”

  Wally sat staring at Shields. Outside, Frank Hankinson understood by the silence that the conversation was over. He knew he had information that his friend Ben needed. No need to speak to the men in the office now. He quietly opened the office door and left. Instead of going home, he walked around behind Building B and made his way to the dock area. As Hankinson approached the dock, copper man number one turned off the cone above him.

  “Someone approaches Terra Time.”

  “See who it is.”

  He left the processing room and went out the back door toward the dock. Frank had boarded the Terra Time and was in the lower cabin when copper man one quietly came aboard. Suddenly, Frank froze in his tracks. He was awake and aware, but couldn’t move. Then he felt himself turned around and stood facing the strange-looking man.

  “Who are you, and why are you on my boat?”

  Frank felt his vocal cords release and he could talk. “Hank ... Hankinson ... Frank Hankinson is my name. I live here.”

  “Why are you on my boat?”

  “No harm meant. I was just looking ... looking for my friend.”

  “Who is that?”

  “Ben Green. Do you know him?”

  “He is not here. He went out on our other boat.”

  “Oh. Do you live here? I mean if you don’t mind my asking? I don’t think I’ve seen you around.”

  “No. I work here. On the construction.”

  “Oh, I see . Well, I hope you guys finish soon.” Frank felt the unexplained grip on him loosen. But he was not completely free to move. The stranger, who remained in shadow, backed away and swiftly went up to the deck above. Frank then shuddered and he was free. He moved toward the door to the deck but his steps were ponderous and slow, as though his feet were filled with lead. When he finally came on deck the man was gone.

  He stood for a moment and then distinctly heard a voice say, “Please get off my boat!”

  It frightened him because the voice came from inside his head, yet was as clear as if someone was shouting at him. Frank jumped off the boat and headed for home. It was then that he realized it was almost dark and what seemed like a few passing minutes on the boat must have been at least an hour. He had to talk to Ben Green as soon as possible. He was sure that Ben was in trouble.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR – A FOREVER DECISION

  The Manta III‘s running lights played on the calm water of the canal as the cruiser slowly made its way toward the Antares dock. Ben opened his mind and reached out for the Antareans. Commander No Light answered.

  We are decided.

  And so are we.

  Are you rested?

  Enough to meet.

  Where shall we gather?

  Ask Jack to take you to his room. We will find you there.

  Good.

  All the Antareans, as well as Art, Joe, and Bernie, heard the message. Jack got most of it.

  Ben had put things in perspective. In a word, they were talking about forever. How do you leave your home, your life, your planet, forever? It had been only a few years since the people of Earth were able to view their planet from space. It was just becoming familiar. Now these four elderly men were talking seriously about leaving Earth and most likely never seeing it again.

  It is human nature to rise to an occasion when either opportunity or circumstances dictates action. None of the men could deny the excitement and wonder they felt. They were mature - able to weigh their emotions against the facts that faced them. But still, it was a most fantastic thought - to travel through space to a distant star and live with a totally alien life form.

  Once they began to discuss it, they could not control their minds. The excitement was too much. Their deepest thoughts were laid bare for the others to see. Yet, in an almost magical way, it was just that phenomenon that allowed them to reach their final conclusion. Bernie’s mind opened first. He could not help himself. Visions of Auschwitz and the horrors of that experience burst upon the minds of the others. They turned to him in disbelief, and then immediately understood. Joe Finley cried. Art Perlman put his arm around his friend. Ben gritted his teeth in anger. Then they saw the bloodstained elevator car and the torn body of Al Berger. They gathered Bernie Lewis’ pain inside themselves, and so forever after his burden would be lighter.

  Joe Finley had few secrets. He had faced death-dealing cancer bravely and then had seen it removed from his body. For him there was little doubt about what he owed to the Antareans. But there was more than just a debt. He was filled with the idea that they would be explorers—the first humans to venture to other planets; to meet other beings. To learn, and as Amos Bright had said, to teach as well. He told the others that as far as he was concerned, he had died on planet Earth from leukemia. His future lay in the stars.

  Ben opened another line of reasoning to the group. His excitement came from the challenge. He was a bitter man and although the others had suspected his anger at a society that forces its aged to retire, they let him vent his feelings. He was born again in a way that was different from Joe. He looked upon this as a business discussion. They were needed. He was needed. The Antareans were depending on them for help. And most exciting, they would return for a meeting and negotiation of terms that would determine their future; their destiny. He believed that to deny this opportunity would be to admit that old age made one useless. And he was far from useless.

  The last to open up was Art Perlman. He knew that he must, and that it must be the truth, but he was not sure how the others would react to his past life and deeds. He had no strong feelings one way or the other about the Antareans and their problem. He wasn’t excited about traveling in space or about being useful to others. He was a selfish man. That was what he told his friends. They were surprised and silent.

  Ben asked him to explain. It came out slowly, in dribs and drabs, in disconnected thoughts and memories of tawdry deeds. The ugly story of Art Perlman’s life flowed into their minds as the blood from the hundreds of contract victims had trickled onto the streets of America for decades. He related his part in this and they were shocked. The mild, quiet accountant was a mobster! He was a facilitator of crime.

  It was Art Perlman’s revelation that took the most time to discuss. At one point Art and Bernie nearly came to blows when Bernie asked Art about his involvement in the garment business. He asked whether Art might have been involved in a manipulation that caused Bernal Woolens its financial trouble. Art denied any knowledge of those activities. Bernie read Art’s mind through to the thought that Art’s friends did, in fact, control a larger part of that industry, especially the trucking and union organization.

  Ben became the mediator and calmed them both. Joe Finley suggested that the burden of Art’s life was really his own business. If Art was satisfied with his position today, then so be it. If Art didn’t want to help the Antareans, that was his business. Certainly it was not their place or desire to pressure anyone to leave the Earth against his will.

  And then, Art Perlman found the answer that satisfied himself.

  “Joe,” he said, “you are right. You can’t ask me to leave the Earth against my will.” Then he paused a moment to gather a thought. “It’s kind of the same situation as when I was in the business. I couldn’t leave against their will. Once I was in, I was stuck for life. You may not believe it, but for many years I did want to get out. To leave it all. But you never can, you know. I knew too much. To this day I’m sure they watch me. They sort of drop in from time to time. A note. A call. An unannounced visit. It will never end.”

  “It can now,” Ben said.

  Art star
ed at the big adman. It was a cold, penetrating stare. They were both, in their own ways, extremely tough men.

  “Yes Ben. It can. I know it will. I’m in.”

  They were agreed. Bernie Lewis made it official by placing his hand on top of Art’s and then moving both hands toward Joe. Joe and Ben got the idea.

  Four old men stood on the deck in a circle, hands joined in the center, and silently swore an alliance to forever. Then they began to discuss their wives and families. And as Bernie added, “Where the hell will we get nine-hundred-forty-one old farts to be a galactic army?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE - CONFRONTATION AND QUESTIONS

  “That’s the girl,” Wally told Shields. “The one who the old men took down to the dock.” He was pointing toward Judy as she led Arnie and Sandy Fischer from the parking lot toward the dock. Shields and Wally cut across the rubble-strewn, would-be lawn of Building B to cut them off.

  “Can we help you folks?” Shields asked, standing on the path to block their way.

  “I don’t think so,” Judy told him. “We’re meeting a friend on the dock. He keeps his boat here.”

  “No one keeps boats here, miss. The dock isn’t opened yet.”

  Arnie stepped forward in front of the two women. “Who are you?”

  “I’m the manager of this place, and to put it directly, you people are trespassing.”

  Arnie got the hostility in the manager’s voice, so he tried to be diplomatic. “Look, friend, this young lady was here before. Her boyfriend is a charter-boat captain, and apparently he is running a charter for some people who live here. She is supposed to meet him this evening.”

  “Well, mister,” Shields answered, “I don’t know where your young lady got her information, but our dock isn’t finished and, like I said, there are no boats here, charter or otherwise.”

  “Do you mind if we have a look?”

  “Yes, I mind. Like I said, you’re trespassing. Wally, please show these people to their car.”