The Cocoon Trilogy

by David Saperstein

  Tony was surprised to see the beautiful woman open the door and greet him.

  “Mr. Stranger? I’m Laurie, Mr. Bright’s assistant. He’ll be a few minutes late.”

  Tony was taken by her stunning looks. She was tall and slim with soft blue eyes. Her body was full and round. The top three buttons of her silk blouse were open and revealing. Blondes in Florida were a dime a dozen, but blondes like Laurie were rare anywhere. He came on immediately. “That’s fine, dear. I have time.”

  She smiled coyly. “Come in, please.”

  He entered the office. Beam, now known as Laurie, set the room in his mind. In reality it was still an unfinished office with the five deck chairs from Terra Time scattered about and a small bridge table against one wall. But Tony saw it as a plush office with a large and inviting couch. He even heard soft music and sensed the faint smell of very expensive perfume in the air.

  “You been with this outfit long?” Tony asked.

  “I work for Mr. Bright in his other ventures. I’m just filling in over here for a few weeks.”

  “Terrific!”

  “You used to work for Mr. Bright, too?” she asked innocently.

  “I sold the entire Building A for him.”

  “Oh, yes. I recall he was very pleased about that. You must be a wonderful salesman.”

  Tony beamed with pride. “I do my job. I do lots of things well.” He stared at her and smiled lasciviously

  I‘ll play him a little more, thought Beam, enjoying the game. It was rare that they were authorized to manipulate others beings this way. It was enjoyable.

  Tony began to make his move. “You people really fixed this place up nice.” He moved toward the imaginary couch. Beam projected pure sex to him. He felt a rush pulse through his body. Now Beam was ready.

  Later, when Tony discovered semen in his underwear, he was confused. He knew he had made love to Laurie, better than he had ever made love before. But then Mr. Bright had come into the office and caught them in the act. That was a colossal screw-up. But Tony felt he could approach the man in a few days after he cooled down. God, she was beautiful. It was worth it.

  Beam and Amos had a good laugh as the salesman had stumbled around the bare room attempting to put on his pants, which, in fact, were already on. He had never taken them off. Beam had projected the entire affair into his mind. As he tried to dress, imagining himself naked, Tony had pleaded with Amos that it was just one of those things. Animal and magnetic attraction. Laurie had just left the room, which Tony thought was a bummer, considering he was bare-ass naked and she wasn’t there to support his story.

  “I don’t know how it happened, sir,” he pleaded. “She was just here and I was here and then suddenly it was happening.”

  “I don’t care to hear about it, Mr. Stranger.” Amos said sternly, playing his part. He was cool and aloof. He kept the images of the office in Tony’s mind.

  “What about our meeting?” Tony was panicked.

  “Meeting?! Mr. Stranger, in view of your attitude regarding my office and my employees I don’t think we have anything to meet about, do you?” His word seemed final.

  “Okay. Look, I understand you are upset. I’ll call in a few days. I’m really sorry. Please believe that.” He moved toward the door.

  “Yes, Mr. Stranger. You do that if you wish. Now please leave.”

  The work out at The Stones went slowly. It was one thing to open the seals and bring out the cocoons, but a much more difficult task to replace them, particularly because they had been removing the last few squads vertically to assess the water damage to the cocoons at the bottom of the vaults. Now they had to replace the bottom cocoons first, which meant they had to remove some of the top layers, set them aside on the ocean floor, replacing the resealed cocoons, and then set the top layers back in place. It would take most of the day and early evening to put the ten sleeping soldiers back in place. After that, the process of sealing the vault, draining it of all the polluted sea water, refilling it with purified water and then sealing it again was daunting. But it had to be done to protect the army until a re-equipped Antarean rescue mission could be launched.

  Phil Doyle had heard uneasiness in Jack’s voice. After the Manta III Was out of sight, he steered the Razzmatazz north toward the boatyard in Miami with all intentions of getting the throttle adjusted. It was a mild day. If Jack Fischer wanted to keep things to himself, that was his business. But if he was in trouble, well, Phil would have to think about that. The problem might have passed out of mind if the radio hadn’t suddenly crackled with the familiar voice of Jack Mazuski, chopper pilot, freelance fish finder and all-around lunatic. “How about you worm drowners this morning?”

  Phil keyed the mike. “Good morning, Maz. Razzmatazz

  here. I’m heading up to the North Miami yard. Where are you?”

  “Over at the pad. I thought I might have a peek around to see if the sailfish have moved in yet.”

  “When are you going up?” Phil asked.

  “After lunch. Will you be out there?”

  “No. Things are still slow for me.” An idea popped into Phil’s head. “Want some company?”.

  “Sure, Doyle. Grab some Jack Daniels and we’ll go for a ride.”

  “Okay. I’ll go back to the dock and cab it down to the pad. See you about one.” Today was not the day to get the throttle adjusted.

  “You got it, baby. Don’t forget the booze. I’ll bring the cups. Over and out.”

  “Roger. Out.”

  Phil knew that after a few shots of Jack Daniels, Maz would fly his chopper to Europe if he asked. So going over to The Stones would be no problem. Perhaps he could get a better idea of what Jack Fischer was up to. In any case, Jack wouldn’t know it was Phil spying on him, just Maz looking for sailfish. He opened the throttle as much as he dared and moved back to his dock.

  Judy awoke to the ringing phone. It was after one. She had slept all morning. The voice at the other end was unmistakably her agent, Carole Kress. The affected drawl and lisp of the aging agent and den mother always bothered Judy a bit.

  “Good Morning,” Judy said sleepily.

  “Morning, dawling? It’s the middle of a glawious day.”

  “It is? What’s up, Carole?” Judy was not in the mood for chit-chat.

  “Cwanky, awn’t we? I just cawlled to tell you that you have ... that is, that I got you ... an awdition faw the Flawida Powwa and Light Commerciawls ... that’s all.”

  “Oh? Hey, that’s great.” Judy was honestly excited. The local power company always did a pool of several TV commercials each year. It meant several thousand dollars to whomever got the job.

  “Gweat, you say? I think it swoperior.”

  “Do you think I have a chance?”

  “Absawlutely. They woved your pictawes.”

  “Great. Where and when?”

  “Well, sweethewart, the only time they can see you is tonight. At the agency at six. Be there with Bells on, heah?”

  “Yes ... oh ... a problem.”

  “What cwould pwossibly be a pwoblem?”

  ‘I have an appointment late this afternoon.”

  “Well, bweak it, honey, bweak it. This only comes along once a decade faw you.”

  “How long do you think I’ll be?”

  “I hawve no idea ... as lawng as they want. They have to make a chawice by Monday.”

  It was Friday. The trip on Arnie’s boss’ boat would have to wait a day. This was more important. “I’ll be there. Like you say, with bells on. Tell me about the part.”

  “Spowkespwosen ... faw all the commerciawls.”

  “Holy shit! That’s the big tamale! A gold mine!”

  “Now you gwot it, howney ... go to it.”

  “Okay, Carole ... and thanks.”

  “I’m on the case, dawling. Be your nawtraul self and you hawve it made. Ta ...”

  “Bye. Talk to you later.”

  Carole was gone. Long ago Carole had read that agents in Hollywood alwa
ys got off the phone abruptly when they had no more to say. She had practiced the ploy until it became instinctive. She had no idea how much that pissed off the advertising people, but, oddly enough, as a ploy it still worked. They treated her with respect that few agents in Miami received.

  Madman Mazuski lifted the aging Sikorsky EA-155 slowly off the pad and swung to the southeast, up, up over south Miami, over the inland waterway, up, up over south Miami Beach, up, up and out over the blue-green water of the Atlantic. Phil Doyle poured their third Jack Daniels into the paper cups that Maz had supplied. The Madman belted his drink down in one smooth gulp. “Fill ’er up one more time, old Razzmatazz, old buddy.”

  “Just remember you’re the pilot.”

  “I’d better remember or we both go into the shithouse.” He laughed, making Phil even more uncomfortable. “Have another drink, Doyle. You’re uptight today.”

  “Yeah, well ... just keep your eye on the road.”

  “No sweat.”

  Jack Mazuski had served with the 101st in Vietnam. In those days he had flown a Medivac chopper and then had been transferred to a carrier for search-and-rescue operations. The reason this rare occurrence happened was that he had seen a downed F-105 from the carrier Hornet, in the My Tho River in the Mekong Delta. He was on his way to make a pickup north of the river. The Viet Cong were firing at the pilot as he scrambled out of his fighter where it ditched in the shallow riverbed. Mazuski had swooped down over the V.C. throwing hand grenades out of his small chopper. Then he turned up over the river and hovered the chopper on the far side of the plane, allowing the pilot to jump aboard once he had set the destruct devices. It was a crazy and heroic action. Maz then took the pilot with him to pick up the wounded soldier, which had been his original mission. Against regulations, he brought both his passengers out to the carrier. He was ordered to do so by the pilot, who turned out to be a wing commander and a full colonel. Maz got a Distinguished Flying Cross, two Clusters, a recommendation for a presidential citation, and mention for a Congressional Medal of Honor. In addition, the colonel had Maz transferred to the carrier for the remainder of his tour. Maz trained search-and-rescue pilots on the Hornet and continued to fly missions. But he never got he Medal of Honor. He used to say, “No sweat. I got back to the world alive and that’s enough for me?”

  The chopper chugged its way out over the Gulf Stream. The greenish-blue water turned blue and they knew they had reached their destination.

  After an hour in the air they had spotted six sailfish and a marlin. They directed five boats that were out on the Stream to the locations.

  “Nota lot out here today, but those boats will cover the gas today, anyway.” Maz was semi-drunk, but steady.

  “Want to take a little detour?” Phil asked.

  “What you got in mind, Bro, Bermuda?”

  “No such luck. I want to have a look over at The Stones.”

  “Why?”

  “Well,” Phil lied, “the fishing has been lousy over there for a few weeks. I think it may be a big shark or a mess of them. Something’s screwing up the fishing.”

  “Jaws, huh? Okay. Let’s go have a peek. But that will require another bourbon.”

  Phil gladly poured.

  The work aboard Manta III and Terra Time continued to be slow and tedious. Six of the ten cocoons were in place. Two were in the works below, and two remained on deck. Both were on the Manta III as the helicopter’s rotor noise caused Jack and Hal to look up toward the north. Hal saw it first. “There’s a helicopter coming this way.”

  “Coast Guard?” Jack wondered.

  Hal gave his attention to the sound. He then telepathed to Harry on Terra Time, asking him to zero in on the chopper and triangulate thoughts. Jack picked up their conversation but it became too painful for him to listen in on their intense thought waves. Their rapid thoughts, translated into his brain, was at speed that became a high-pitched whine. He tuned them out and watched. Hal broke it off as the chopper came into view.

  Looking up, Jack spoke. “It’s the Madman.”

  “You know the pilot?”

  “Yes. He spots fish for us from time to time. He’s harmless.”

  “He is not alone. Your friend from the boat this morning, Mr. Doyle, is with him.”

  “Phil? Damn him!”

  Hal knew he could not interrupt the commanders working below on the ocean floor. He sensed danger. The were two cocoons on deck. Turning quickly from the aircraft, he jumped onto the deck and yelled to Jack, “Help me with these, quickly!”

  Jack caught on fast. “Over the side?”

  “Yes. Quickly, before they come too close.”

  It was too late. In the chopper, the Madman saw and recognized the Manta III immediately. Then the Terra Time. “Hey, Phil. that’s your friend Fischer. I don’t know the other boat.”

  “Right,” Phil said. “I wonder if he’s catching fish.”

  “Don’t look like he’s fishing to me.”

  “Let’s have a closer look.”

  Maz swung the whirlybird in closer. They came in above the Manta III from the west, out of the sun. It was an old combat pilot trick. “They won’t see us right away.” The Madman was slurring his words.

  Phil leaned over and peered out of the bubble. “What the hell is that?” He was watching Hal and Jack dump a cocoon over the side.

  Mazuski hovered the copter and turned so that he could look down onto the Manta III. As he did this, Hal and Jack lifted the second cocoon and carried it to the stern of the boat. “Looks like some kind of buoy.”

  “More like a big white torpedo.”

  The Madman dipped the chopper so that both men could look out of the front of the bubble. Two of the copper men popped to the surface, grabbed the cocoon and disappeared below the water in a matter of seconds.

  It was at this point that Harry, the Antarean on the deck of the Terra Time, reached out with his mental powers and froze the minds of the two men in the helicopter. The Sikorsky began to spin out of control.

  “No!” Jack shouted aloud. “Don’t hurt them!”

  Hal mentally took over the controls of the copter while Harry kept Jack Mazuski and Phil Doyle frozen in time.

  “Let them go,” Jack shouted. “They’re my friends.”

  “They saw the cocoon,” Hal said. “They will tell others.”

  “Listen Hal,” Jack pleaded. “They don’t know what they saw. I’ll talk to them tonight. I’ll straighten it out. I promise. Don’t hurt them!” He was emphatic.

  Thoughts passed rapidly between the two Antareans. Then the shiny white head of All Light broke the surface of the water below the hovering aircraft. Hal telepathed to the commander. A tense moment passed. Finally, the commander ordered the Antareans to release the intruders and their helicopter.

  Above, Madman Mazuski jolted awake. “What happened, Doyle?”

  “I don’t know, but let’s get the hell out of here!”

  “Roger that!” Maz was sober. The chopper took off at full throttle to the east.

  Arnie was disappointed when Judy called to say that they would have to put off their spy mission until the following morning. Sandy was ambivalent. She still felt that Jack was simply doing his job and protecting his clients. Arnie felt differently. He called his pretty wife and told her he had to work late. Then he was going to go over to the yacht club and get the keys to his boss’ boat. In fact, he already had the keys. If Judy and Sandy wanted to wait until tomorrow, that was their business. He was going to have a look tonight.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO - THE GERIATRIC BRIGADE

  Joe, Art, and Bernie had returned to the Finley’s condo. Their wives, plus Mary Green, had gathered there after a quick shower and change. Each woman had a neatly printed list. The names totaled over three hundred. Bess had estimated that there were at least fifty men and women at Betty’s nursing home. Rose Lewis had called her Aunt Ruth and casually, in the context of their conversation, asked how many people she really knew on Collins Avenue. Au
nt Ruth had guessed over a hundred. Most of them were living on the edge of poverty.

  Art calculated again. With the people in the building, plus the lists, plus the nursing home, plus Aunt Ruth’s friends, it gave them a total of nearly eight hundred. Now they were cooking.

  “Maybe we can count on everyone in this building knowing at least one other couple,” Joe suggested.

  “That’s good thinking,” Bernie said.

  “And that makes one complete space army,” Rose added.

  “More like a geriatric brigade,” Alma Finley joked.

  Joe laughed at his wife’s joke. Then he nodded. “Yeah. Geriatric Brigade. I like it.”

  They spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon discussing how to contact the people on their lists. It was decided that someone from each family would have to make a trip back home to speak to some of the people in person.

  Bernie was on the phone making plane reservations when Ben Green and a rejuvenated, mind-reading Frank Hankinson reached to ring the doorbell of the Finley’s condo, they didn’t have to. Joe had sensed their approach and opened the door. He startled Frank.

  “What the ... How’d you know I was…”

  “We just do,” Joe said. “You have to get used to being a superman.”

  “I guess so. You startled me.”

  “Sorry. Come on in. How did it go, Ben?”

  “Fine. A as you can see, Frank has joined us.”

  They entered the apartment. Ben waved a hello to Bernie and then Frank and he went into the kitchen where the ladies were gathered. “Welcome Frank to the army.”

  “We have a new name for our army.” Rose announced. “Your wife conceived the title. We are now known as the Geriatric Brigade.”

  Ben roared with laughter. “It’s Perfect!” he exclaimed. “I love it.”

  Art gave Ben and Frank the count and their projection for completing the Antarean requirements for personnel. Ben and Frank agreed with the assessment, but they were skeptical about getting the total cooperation of all the people in Building A. Frank explained his plan with the Amato’s. It might serve as a litmus test. Meanwhile, the women would book flights, pack, and head for their respective hometowns as soon as possible. Perhaps even that night.