by E. R. Mason
“My place, Patrick. Looks to me like you just made it.”
He looked at Catherine, and then the water, and gestured for more. When he had drunk, he asked, “Who are you?”
“Dr. Catherine Adara, at your service, Dr. Pacell.”
“Thank-you, Doctor.”
“I need to ask, how deep into the bottle are you?”
“No, no, just this week or so, I think. When I finally gave up all hope, I was looking for a way out. It worked…for a while.”
“So the withdrawals can be managed then.”
“How long have I been here?”
I pulled the cover back up to his neck. “A few hours. Do you feel well enough to tell me how the most eminent physician in the fleet ends up wrecked on my couch?”
“I’m sorry, Adrian. I shouldn’t have come. There’s nothing anyone can do. It’s not fair to you.”
“As I’ve said, Patrick, as far as I can tell, you are exactly where you need to be. Now at least give me a hint. What’s going on?”
He looked around and noticed Danica facing us from the computer station seat.
“Do you need some privacy to talk about this? Should I clear the room of these other misfits?”
He looked up at Catherine and reached for the water once more. He spoke with hesitancy, his voice still broken and hoarse. "It’s something the whole world should hear about. It’s a new kind of hell.”
“Why don’t you start at the beginning?”
“My daughter, Adrian. I watched them take her and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.”
“Who? Who took Emma?”
Pacell pushed himself up more and suddenly noticed the intravenous tube and bag. “Whoa, what the…, Doctor…what was it?”
“Adara, Catherine Adara. You’re welcome.”
He turned his attention back to me. “The Children of Caelestra. You think some of the Earth-based cults are bad? Imagine one from another world. Magic tricks you can’t imagine. Strange and beautiful people surround you. Sales pitches designed to work on any species. Of course these individuals are all close to God. They’re from outer space.”
Patrick was interrupted by a raspy cough. He took more water and shook his head. “So you try to convince your daughter that it looks like a real bad deal all wrapped up in Christmas paper with ribbon and bows, but kids are so sure they know more than their outdated parents these days. Then the bastards pick one particularly compatible alien to begin the romance phase and the human target doesn’t stand a chance. Add to it the off-world drugs, delivered in a variety of innocent ways, and what chance does a father have against it? God, if only she wasn’t eighteen. I could have ordered her to come home for a reality check, but I didn’t even have that.”
The cough kicked back in. Patrick tilted his head forward in his hand. His face became flushed. Catherine interceded. “That’s too much, too soon. By morning, he should be strong enough to talk. Right now I have his headache medicated away but it’s still there and it’s catching up. He’s got to lie back and be quiet.” She gently pushed him down into the pillows. She checked his pulse as he drifted back into unconsciousness. R.J. and I pulled back and stood a short distance away as she worked. When she was finished, the four of us stood in the center of the living room trying to sort it out.
“I’ll check on him through the night and remove the IV as the situation improves.”
“What are you going to do, Adrian?” asked R.J.
“I don’t know. We need more information. We’ll give him a day and try to figure it out tomorrow.”
“And what about Danica? Is it safe here?” he asked.
“You know me. Mr. Neurotic. This place is wired. I have six video monitors built into my night stand. Anyone tries to come in any window or entrance, it wakes me up and shows me where. We’re as safe here as we can be.”
“In that case, does anyone care if I take the spare bedroom? I’m beat,” said Danica.
“I’m going to sit up with Patrick,” said R.J. “I’ll sound the alarm if anything happens.”
Everyone dispersed. I made my rounds, checked locks twice, looked out all the windows for things that should not be, and headed for the master bedroom. Catherine was already there, sitting at the foot of the bed.
“So you run a regular rescue center here in your spare time, don’t you? Why didn’t you tell me? It’s a side of you I couldn’t have imagined.”
“Hey, I think I’ve got you figured out.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. As long as there’s other people around you’re on your best behavior. It isn’t until we’re alone that you change from Dr. Adara to Mrs. Hyde.”
She ignored the slight, quickly shed every stitch of clothing she had on, and climbed into the bed. “You’re not going to sleep in those tourist clothes, are you?”
“How come we’re together again?”
“We’re trying to prove we really don’t like each other.”
“Oh. Okay. That’s what I thought.”
Chapter 9
I awoke late, a man lost in his own home. There was a flurry of activity outside my closed bedroom door, producing a drone of energetic voices. The person who had shared my bed was long gone. I pulled on jeans and had the blue Cammardy shirt half buttoned when the Doctor Adara persona jerked the door open and stuck a head in. “Are you getting up?”
I ran one hand over the beard bristle on my face and grumbled, “Uh-huh.”
Her voice became musical. “There’s coffee out here. R.J.’s making special pancakes.”
“How is…”
“Much better than expected. Sitting up, waiting for food.”
“I gotta shave.”
“God knows.” She backed out and shut the door.
They were a festive bunch. Keeping track of everything that was going on was too much for early morning eyes. Patrick looked like a different man. He had been allowed coffee and was guarding it against his bare chest as Catherine took his pulse at the neck. As warned, the place smelled like pancakes and coffee. It triggered the hunter-gatherer instinct in me. Danica was dashing back and forth between the kitchen and the living room, distributing paper plates, napkins, and plastic utensils.
We ate like ravenous wolves, interrupted only by occasional off-color jokes or commentary on the culinary discourtesies exhibited by some of us. Escape from the dark problems hanging over us lasted only as long as the food. Cleanup quickly brought sobriety. With the other three in the kitchen, I dragged my chair and coffee over to the patient and sat back with my feet up on a nearby armrest.
“I didn’t expect you to look this good so quickly. You know, I’ve never ever seen you unshaven.”
“Adara. That woman really knows her stuff. I have the feeling I feel a lot better than I am. It’s stupid and embarrassing. I just lost it.”
“This is what happens sometimes when the last road is a dead end.”
“Well put, Adrian. Very well put.”
“So obviously the problem has been repeatedly brought to the attention of the appropriate government agencies?”
“I was forcibly removed from the State Department main office on my last attempt. That was the dead end road you mentioned.”
“And their position is?”
“She left voluntarily. They cannot send ships into space searching for people who do not want to be found.”
“It’s a valid argument.”
“What you want to bet she wishes badly to be found by now?”
“How can you be so sure?”
“From the beginning, all the parental alarms were going off. The first thing that set me off were the costs.”
“They were bleeding her dry?”
“Just the opposite. They were giving her credits. She wasn’t being asked to pay for anything or even provide any kind of service. I tried to look into how they funded their extravagances, but it was a brick wall. That’s when I really began to get scared. Nobody, even off-worlders, set up a religious retreat for the s
ole purpose of giving away wealth. Their sales pitch was that enlightenment leads to a life of abundance, a complete freedom from dependency on the material world. I’m pretty sure they introduced mild hallucinogens into the food or air, telling their members that the effects were from advancing spiritually by being there. They kept promoting my daughter to new meaningless titles of higher authority. I couldn’t get anywhere investigating them. But one thing I finally learned really set alarms off. Nobody was coming to Earth to expand or join the colony. But people were leaving all the time. Periodically, groups of Earth students who had achieved a high enough spiritual level were awarded the chance to study at the advanced school on Excelsia, if there really is such a place. I could not find any evidence of any of them ever returning. A short time later, as you would expect, my daughter was awarded that same chance. She did not contact me before leaving. I was not allowed any information about her. You pretty much know the rest.”
“That’s an ugly little story, Patrick.”
“It has happened on Earth so many times, you would think the government would be up in arms about it.”
“And they just blew you off?”
“They gave hints that this particular off-world group was under investigation, but they would not provide any details. They did not want me interfering.”
“How did you end up here?”
“Nira Prnca. I ran into her in one of the government offices. I gave her a quick rundown. She seemed to know something about the whole thing. She said I should talk to you, though I still don’t know why. How can anyone do anything?”
“You saw Nira? How was she?”
“Busy. She looked like she was putting in too many hours.”
“So is that it? Do you have anything else to go on?”
“There are a few bits and pieces I picked up. One of the investigators asked me if I had heard the name Lugal Amar. Another time, I was asked if I had been approached by anyone claiming to be from the Mu Arae Tolkien Minor, whatever that is.”
“Tell you what. I’m going to make a call, see if I can get a lead on what’s going on with this. Why don’t you hang on a bit longer before you throw yourself in front of the bus again, okay?”
“I don’t see what you can do, Adrian, but thanks.” He leaned back with a new expression of despair on his face. It was complete despair with some doubt added. It was a slight improvement.
I went to the kitchen door and stuck my head in. Three faces sitting at the kitchen table stopped talking and looked up at me.
“Don’t anyone go anywhere, okay?”
They all stared back, awaiting an explanation. I ducked out.
With coffee cup in hand, I took refuge in my den, a spare bedroom converted into an office to preserve all of the paperwork items I had not completed and never would. I plunked down in the big simulated leather swivel seat, chosen especially for its conduciveness to sleeping, and placed my feet up on the only bare corner, a space specifically designated for that purpose, all other surface area being covered by layers of ignored documents or rejected attempts to reply to them.
A glance at my watch told me it just happened to be the perfect time of morning for the call. I dug the phone out of my jeans and fumbled around in the desk drawers until I found the number. He answered on the third ring. There was no reciprocal image on my display.
“Stan-Lee, you dog.”
“Adrian Tarn! What a damn surprise. I heard you augured one in. But of course, here you are without a scratch. How’d you do it?”
“Believe me, Stan. There are scratches.”
“Yeah, I heard you became a pop-tart at the end of the toast cycle.”
“Stop any bullets lately, Stan?”
“I try not to think about it, Adrian.”
“We’re two of a kind.”
“You know I still owe you one for cheating me through that two-week survival course.”
“Wow! That’s way back. I forgot all about that. You shouldn’t have mentioned it, but since you did…”
“I have never eaten snake again, by the way, but when you’re starving and about to flunk out, it can taste pretty damn good, you know?”
“Not my favorite either.”
“Yeah, so I can tell this isn’t a social call. You got something going. What you got, Adrian?”
“How about two for the price of one? Think of it as interest on that very old debt you just mentioned.”
“You’ll be pushing your luck unless you got something useful to me.”
“What’s the deal with a guy by the name of Dorian Blackwell?”
Too long a silence followed. I began to worry.
“Whatcha mean, deal?”
“I’ve got a close friend who thinks she’s marked by him. Know anything about that?”
Once again, too long a silence. This time it was a message.
“There’s nothing I can help you with on that name, Adrian.”
“Wow. It must be pretty big.”
Silence.
“What else you got, Adrian?”
“Well, what can I do about my friend?”
“Don’t let her out of your sight.”
We both sat again in too long a silence.
“How about Patrick Pacell’s Children of Caelestra problem? Got anything on that one for me?”
“As I’ve said, there’s nothing I can help you with on that name.”
“Nothing else at all you can give me?”
“Actually, I’m late for a meeting. I’ll be gone on assignment for the next few weeks. We need to get together for drinks someday, though. I really want to hear that pop-tart story.”
“Thanks, Stan. Take care.”
“You too, Adrian.”
It left me with such a queasy feeling in my stomach, I almost regretted making the call. Not one thing he had said was by mistake. Yes, there was some type of major investigation going on about Dorian Blackwell, sensitive enough that he couldn’t talk about it. Most alarming of all was the warning to not let Danica out of my sight. That meant Blackwell’s people were indeed looking for her, but Stan’s agency was not in a position to go after them. The reference to going on assignment for a few weeks meant "Don’t be comin’ ‘round here for more information." Whatever the agency was up to, they were trying to remain invisible to their prey. It left me in a terrible spot. I couldn’t sit by and do nothing, but anything I did might be akin to a bull in a china shop.
One calamity at a time. What else had Pacell mentioned? The name Lugar Amar. A place called Excelsia. Someplace else named Mu Arae Tolkien Minor. That one rang a bell, though I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. I tucked my phone in and spun my chair around to the computer station. Searching the web was dangerous, but I could do it from within the agency search engine, protected by the best firewall on Earth. I logged in and went to the broadest engine available. Mu Arae came back instantly with hundreds of hits. It was a G-type star within the constellation Ara. A mere six trillion miles away. Midway between Scorpius and Triangulum Australe. Five planets circling, numerous moons, one named Tolkien. I clicked around trying to get info on it and came up empty-handed. There was little or no interest in that particular body. Next I tried Excelsia. Tons of hits, nothing relative, nothing meaningful. On to Lugal Amar. Nothing but some Latin and Indian references that didn’t help.
On a whim, I went into flight plan filing requests, and filled out a preliminary request for a trip to Mu Arae Tolkien Minor. Something unusual happened. Normally the "application pending" screen comes right up, but this time the screen went blank for a few seconds and came back with "processing". It scared me just a touch. There was no doubt I had triggered something. Too late to cancel. A few seconds passed and I finally got the "Your request has been submitted, expect response within one hour." I wondered what kind of demons I had inadvertently conjured. I began to stand, expecting the answer to my make-believe flight request to take hours, but as I rose, the screen flipped once and a new message appeared.
&n
bsp; Form 8216 B
Amplified Reasons For Request
Applicant; Flight Processing Center Management is requesting additional details for the destination you are requesting. Please elaborate in the space below and return at your earliest convenience.
A new spike of fear went through me. If I did not respond to this request, there would probably be new questions. If I did respond, what to say? We want to search for someone’s missing daughter because you guys won’t? It was a fake request anyway. I sat and typed in "Mu Arae private exploration and charting".
I submitted the dummy reason and stood and stretched. My coffee was cold. I turned to head for the kitchen and once again my screen dinged with an incoming message.
Flight Plan Tentatively Approved.
Please submit your formal long-form when ready.
Spacecraft flight plan requests are never approved that quickly. You can’t get approval for a trip to the moon that fast. Something was happening behind the scene. Either somebody wanted me to go to Mu Arae, or they were just helping, or both. I sat back down and nervously rubbed my chin with one hand. Stan-the-Man did not have any connections to Flight Plan Processing. He couldn’t have pulled strings that quickly. The strangest feeling of all was that I was now sitting here with complete agency approval to take off for Mu Arae Tolkien Minor any time I pleased. And I had an almost complete crew, stuffed with pancakes, sitting in the next room.
Sometimes life has a way of telling you what you will be doing next.
I went in search of R.J. and ran into him outside my door on his way in.
“Can I go now, boss? I gotta get some sleep.”
“R.J., want to go flying?”
“You bastard, don’t toy with my emotions.”
“A naturalist who’s a whore for spaceflight. How does that work, R.J.?”
“Adrian, space is the nature that created the sun.”
“Wow, that’s too heavy for this early.”
“When do we leave? I need to get a shower.”
“Don’t you even want to know where we’re going?”