The Search

by Jim Laughter

  "That leaves me with one final question?" Pete said after a moment.

  "What's that?"

  "What are you going to do about the family you left behind?" The room grew silent.

  "That's the one question I’ve not been able to answer.”

  ∞∞∞

  Just then another person was dealing with questions he couldn't answer. Security Officer Rome had spent an entire nightshift trying to figure out where a certain missing captain had gone. Dayshift was just coming on and he hoped to come up with a few more leads by questioning the dockworkers.

  After the initial phone call from Robert Hassel, Rome had started checking with all the various checkpoints and gatekeepers at Jasper Station. No luck. He also received a call from a Dr. Alt at the station hospital concerning this captain Eagleman about that time. From what the doctor told him, Captain Eagleman wasn't doing the greatest due to previous concussions and was prone to losing consciousness. That led to the idea of combing the entire facility by hand in case the hapless captain had passed out somewhere. Unfortunately, that had to wait for daylight. His train of thought was interrupted by a knock on the door.

  "Enter,” he said as he prepared himself for whatever this new problem might be. He realized some time ago that only problems seemed to come through his door. Noting the person was one of his subordinates only confirmed this.

  "Sir?" the Trooper in front of him said.

  "Yes, what is it Norton?"

  He liked the people he worked with. With training, they had learned to only bring important matters to his attention.

  “The morning shift was patrolling the derelict storage area this morning at first light,” Norton began. "One of the men noted something funny. Seems there were some pulled-up weeds hung up on the top wire of the parameter fence."

  "That's odd,” Rome agreed. "Any idea how they got there? Did someone break into the storage area?"

  "We don't think so,” Norton answered. "We checked the ground on both sides of the fence and found no indication of footprints or vehicle tracks."

  "What about the motion detectors?" Rome asked. "Did you check the power logs?”

  "Yes sir. Nothing activated them all night. And just to be safe, we tested them to be sure they hadn't failed. The system works perfectly."

  "That is odd,” Rome said again. He thought for a moment. "Take a few of the dayshift workers and comb that area again. Maybe they'll see something to answer our weed puzzle. They might even find our missing captain asleep in one of the old ships."

  ∞∞∞

  Meanwhile, the Hassel farmhouse had turned into a hub of activity. The local authorities had been searching all night along the different routes between Jasper Station and the farm. One of the local sergeants had set up a command center in the Hassel kitchen so they could coordinate the search efforts. Robert and Daren helped plot out every report that came in and mark it on the map spread across the kitchen table. With each new ring of the phone or beep of the sergeant’s portable radio, Robert had felt his hopes go up. And with each negative report, he felt them dashed again. By morning, he was exhausted.

  "So that's it for team C,” Daren said and marked the final report on the map.

  "And they’re all accounted for,” the sergeant said. "No Delmar."

  The phone rang. Robert looked up from where he was sitting. Daren took one look at the older man's obvious exhaustion.

  "I'll get it,” he said and reached for the phone. In a minute, he was back.

  "That was Officer Rome over at Jasper Station,” he began. "They haven't turned up anything either."

  "How does that boy do it?" Robert asked more to himself than to anyone present. "Ever since I've known him, he’s been prone to disappear."

  "I just can't see him taking off without telling us,” Daren said. "It’s not like him."

  "Maybe he’d had a relapse of amnesia like before,” the sergeant offered.

  "Not Delmar,” Robert and Daren said together.

  "Can you be so sure?" the sergeant asked. Just then one of the sergeant’s field men came in the back door.

  "Nothing in the hills, Sarge,” the man said almost immediately. "We even checked all the caves and nooks Mr. Hassel told us about."

  The sergeant mulled over the news and saw the affect it had on Daren and Robert.

  "Look,” he said, "why don't you two go get some rest? I can have one of my men stay here and answer the phone for you."

  "He's right, Robert,” Daren said when he saw his friend start to object. "We won't do Delmar any good being totally exhausted."

  "All right, you win,” Robert said, standing wearily to his feet. "I'll go."

  "And I'm headed home,” Daren said. "I’ll see what RoseMary found out through the local grapevine and then catch a few winks myself."

  "Good,” the sergeant said and started collecting his things. "Miller, you stay here and hold the fort. Coffee's on the stove."

  Robert plodded up the stairs to his bedroom. He peeked into Delmar's room again, hoping he might actually find the young man sleeping in his bed. All he saw was the well-made bed and everything neatly arranged. Even the diaries were still as he had left them. On a hunch, he headed back downstairs and into his office.

  "What are you doing back down here?" the sergeant said sternly as Robert brushed by. "I thought you were going to get some sleep."

  "I was,” Robert called. He went in and sat down in front of his computer. "But I have an idea."

  While Robert powered up the old machine, the sergeant and Miller came in and looked over his shoulder. As soon as it was fully operational, Robert logged-in and accessed the history file. There he found the last entry for Delmar and opened it. It was the saved letter he had written but not sent yet to Abby on Panay. Feeling a little like a snoop, Robert read the letter, hoping to find a clue.

  A couple of lines toward the end gave him an idea. They read: ...and as soon as you are able to complete the necessary questionnaires and pass the citizenship test, you can leave Panay and come here. I'll check on your progress regularly with George Citti. As soon as I get word that you've made it, I'm on my way to get you.

  Robert looked up at the sergeant and Miller.

  "I think I have an idea of what may have happened,” he said to the sergeant.

  "Or at least a motivation,” the sergeant added. "But didn't you say his ship is undergoing a major refit at Jasper Station?"

  "It is,” Robert replied. "And from what Delmar said, it won't fly for a couple of months."

  "Then there's no way he could get off planet,” the sergeant offered. "We have checked with all of the control facilities and public transports and found nothing with an unaccounted for passenger onboard."

  Robert's shoulders slumped.

  "So he's still got to be around here somewhere,” Robert said dejectedly. He shut down the computer and stood back up.

  “I'm going back upstairs.”

  "And I'll be heading back to the station,” the sergeant said to Miller as Robert started up the stairs. "I'll turn things over to Johnson. Check in with him if anything happens."

  "Yes sir.”

  Robert headed to his bedroom. He could hear Miller in the kitchen pouring a cup of coffee and making himself comfortable. As soon as he lay down on his bed, he drifted off into a troubled sleep. Miller found a good book and sat down in the kitchen to the eternally difficult task of waiting. Unobserved by either, the computer turned itself back on.

  Chapter Twelve

  Darrel sat munching on wheat toast at the small cafeteria table. His empty plate showed evidence of a ham and egg breakfast, which he had enjoyed in spite of his suspicions. He picked up his coffee cup and took another sip just as Keith came through the door from the main room of the underground complex. Darrel felt his pulse rise as the Axia operative grabbed a mug and poured himself a cup of coffee from the big urn at one end of the room.

  It had been a difficult time for Darrel since his abduction by these aliens.
The shocking truth that what had actually been more of a hobby was actual fact was almost more than his reeling mind could accept. Finding out that the aliens were also just plain humans (and related at that) was even more unnerving. In his current state of mind, a slime-covered creature with tentacles would have been easier to take.

  Then nightfall, at least on the world above them, had come and Keith offered Darrel one of the spare bunkrooms to get some sleep. He hesitantly accepted but didn't go to sleep until after he’d inspected everything and every nook and cranny in the small room. He was sure there were hidden devices in the walls waiting to open up his body after he went to sleep. He was disappointed again, which only seemed to add to his fear.

  Feinting sleep had been his next ploy while he waited for something like what he read in the UFO books to take place. Where were the mind-probe rays? What about drugging him and doing an autopsy on his living flesh? Darrel had avoided eating anything up to that point to prevent the aliens slipping him some sort of knockout drug.

  Nothing happened. He finally fell into a troubled sleep, his nightmares providing him with the grisly experiments by the aliens that reality denied.

  Darrel woke and noted by the clock on the wall that it was already well into morning. He also found a note slipped under his door. It was from Keith informing him to use the food synthesizer in the small underground cafeteria. Darrel found the toilet facilities on his own, noting their similarity with what was available elsewhere on the planet. He washed up and headed through the doorway marked cafeteria in both English and some other script. Using the food synthesizer had not proved difficult as Keith had explained the selection controls in his note to Darrel.

  Darrel fully expected perfect tasting food from the strange in-the-wall machine, but he was disappointed. Keith warned him that although the food was nutritious, it left something to be desired as far as appearance and flavor. Darrel's hunger overcame any objections he had and he wolfed down the synthesized meal. The cups and coffee urn had been easier to understand since they were similar to such equipment in most human establishments – simple and functional.

  "I see you figured it out all right,” Keith said, taking a seat opposite Darrel. "How did you sleep?"

  "I've had better,” Darrel grudgingly admitted.

  "And you also tried the coffee,” Keith chuckled. "Brave man." Darrel smiled in spite of himself.

  "You were right about the food,” Darrel admitted. "And the coffee would be good if it was hot."

  "Speaking of coffee, would you like a refill?" Keith said, reaching for Darrel's cup. Darrel nodded and released his grip on the ceramic mug. "Want anything in it?"

  "Not if it's synthesized,” Darrel answered involuntarily. Keith laughed. He walked back over, placed the full cup in front of Darrel and sat down.

  "So when does my interrogation begin?" Darrel asked tersely.

  "Right now if you want,” Keith said. Darrel stiffened.

  "You're not taking me anywhere?" Darrel spat out. "I'm staying here?"

  "I had no intention of moving either,” Keith said casually as he took a sip of coffee. "We can talk anywhere you like. Here is fine with me."

  "What are you going to do with me?" Darrel asked suspiciously.

  "That's one I'm still pondering,” Keith said. "I brought you here because you're safer with us than you would be with your own government."

  "You know, you may have me, but they've probably got all my files and records,” Darrel offered. "By now they're on to you."

  "No, they're not,” Keith said. "We’ve already wiped your files clean and substituted false papers for any printed material you had."

  "What about my film?" Darrel asked. "The studio has a copy in their video files."

  "That's what they think,” Keith answered. "We secured your originals and, shall we say, had some fun with the studio files."

  ∞∞∞

  It was nearly noon when the old pickup truck pulled onto the edge of the empty field just outside of Quickwater Junction. George Citti shut off the rattletrap of an engine and briefly enjoyed the relative quiet. He was sure the thing was going to self-destruct any day now. He wished he could put an Axia electric drive in the truck but knew he had to avoid that because of the primitive level of development on this planet – Panay.

  George stepped out of the truck and patted the pocket that contained a precious letter. He walked to the front fender where he made himself comfortable. The day was cool and calm, not too hot. Stretching a kink out of his back, he settled back to wait.

  A gentle chugging noise interrupted the quiet and George scanned the sky. Off to the west he spotted the speck of an approaching skyflyer. He watched the pilot circle the field before lining up a short approach into the gentle breeze that had sprung up. George studied the design of the skyflyer and noted several unusual differences from the standard practice in aviation on this planet. He smiled to himself and shook his head.

  With only a gentle bounce, the skyflyer touched down and rolled toward the truck. The pilot brought the craft smartly around to a stop. She cut the engine and the field again became silent. Rising from his perch on the fender, George sauntered over to the side of the machine while the pilot, dressed in leather flying coat and breeches, extracted herself from the cockpit.

  "Nice bird,” George said in the girl’s native language and nodded toward Abby's skyflyer.

  "Just got it up and flying earlier this week,” Abby replied in Axia standard. George nodded.

  "I see you've applied some of your studies to this one,” he commented, looking the bird over. "I like it.”

  "Did I do too much?" Abby asked anxiously, still in Axia standard. "I tried not to use too many advanced features like you advised."

  "No, I think you're all right,” George replied, slipping into Axia himself. "And your language skills are definitely improving."

  "I find it easier and easier to use now and have had to catch myself a few times in public."

  "I warned you about that!" George said with a smile. Abby blushed.

  "So why did you want me here?" Abby asked eagerly. "I got your wire yesterday evening and had to rush some modifications."

  "I hope you're not taking any chances,” George said with some alarm as he again glanced over the flying machine. "I wouldn't want anything to happen to you now."

  "Nothing major,” Abby said.

  She turned and pointed at some newly installed brace wires on the tail.

  "It developed a flutter at high speeds and so I rigged extra braces to stabilize it. Worked perfectly on the way here."

  "Ok,” George said, nodding his approval. "Now for why I wanted you to come,” he continued as he took a folded note out of his pocket. He’d printed it off his ship starmail last night. Abby snatched it eagerly, scanned the envelope, and tore it open.

  Dear Abby,

  Life continues to be interesting while I deal with all the problems of my ship. It gets very discouraging at times, but I'm confident the problems will be corrected and the Cabbage Patch will soon be better than new.

  Right now, I am on medical leave so my body can recuperate from all I’ve been through lately. Although I have the good fortune of being grounded at home with Mom and Dad Hassel, I find that I still chafe at the restriction. Dad and I went to a local field where some of the aviation enthusiasts were displaying and flying their vintage aircraft. Quite a display! I saw one that looked very similar to your first skyflyer. Made me a little homesick!

  A friend of mine, Eaton, dropped by with his ship today, which had some new equipment that makes it impossible to detect. Who knows? I might convince him to help me come and visit you some time! Sure would make it easier.

  Anyway, I better wrap this up. Dad and I have a bunch of chores to do tomorrow after Eaton leaves. I know I'm supposed to rest but it's easier to take being grounded by working on something. The fact that I have you on my mind doesn't make it easier. If I could build a ship tomorrow, I'd be there in a flash. Take car
e of yourself and don't do anything foolish with that new skyflyer of yours. Give my regards to everyone.

  Love,

  Del

  Abby sighed and carefully folded the precious letter.

  "I'm surprised he was able to reply so quickly,” she said to George as she folded the letter and slipped it into her jacket pocket.

  "I was a bit surprised myself,” George admitted. "It came through my starmail instead of regular post. At first I didn't realize it was from Delmar since the return code was different."

  Abby removed the page from her pocket and looked it over. She pointed at a line of routing code.

  "Is this what you’re talking about?"

  "Yes it is,” George answered as he glanced at the printout. "It shows the routing of the letter. The first set of characters is the code for the planet, in this case Panay, and my receiver code. Next is the code Delmar picked for you. And finally, the origination point code. I noticed that it came from Mica rather than Delmar's ship or his home planet of Erdinata."

  "What's this set of characters here?" Abby asked, pointing to the very last letters after Mica.

  "That's what puzzled me so I thought I'd ask you in case Delmar said anything to you that might help,” George replied. "I've never heard of a planet named Ert."

  ∞∞∞

  Delmar twisted himself around, trying to get comfortable in the worn control seat of the DayStar. Looking out through the front viewscreen, he could see the effect of traveling faster than light. Because of the repulsion field of the ship's drive, light distorted back into the visible so he could see the passing of stars, although highly accelerated.

  Both because of the tired green box and the need for stealth, Delmar was unable to open the DayStar up and run her in the red arc of the throttle. Prudence dictated he conserve energy and avoid the usual lanes of travel between Axia planets. As a result, progress was slower than he liked and more circuitous.