Distant Cousin:

R e p a t r i a t i o n

 

 

 

a novel

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Al Past

2006

 

 

 

 

 

 

            What sets worlds in motion is the interplay of differences, their attractions and repulsions. Life is plurality.

                                                                                    Octavio Paz

 

 

1

March

 

            Goddam west Texas, anyway! Not a damn thing in it, and it went on forever!  He'd driven nearly all day long and seen less and less the farther he got from Austin: abandoned shacks (some of adobe), rusty railroad tracks alongside occasional empty cattle pens, a few windmills and oil wells, scraggly barbed wire fences, a couple ranch headquarters, random dispirited cows and goats, sticker bushes out the wholesale, a couple dozen buttes and hills, and no water to speak of anywhere. And here he was inching along through the middle of it. He shook his head--he was a driven man. The lame pun made him smile grimly.

            At least there was time to think. Hell, there was so little traffic on the interstate he could even read.  He flipped open the binder lying on the passenger seat next to him and glanced at the headline of the newspaper article he had clipped in as page one: "Starchild Lands in West Texas, Remembered by Many Local Citizens."  He knew the article and the pictures that went with it almost by heart.

            A half dozen photographs showed the "starchild" variously riding a bicycle in front of a group of other cyclists, sprinting down the center lane of a stadium track, and sailing through the air in a variety of attitudes. In one, she was frozen like a bird in flight, arms outspread, three stories over a crystal blue pool, in another, stretched out horizontally over a bar, and in a third, midair in a sitting position with her feet in front of her and arms down, appearing to float over the sand in the long jump pit. All these photos were from the previous Olympic Games in Ireland, and in all of them she was wearing several iterations of skimpy Team Barbados uniforms in blue and yellow.

            His next-to-favorite was not from the Olympics; it was her "wanted" poster, taken by some SWAT team that had briefly captured her in Texas, in which she was looking into the camera with a scared and vulnerable expression on her face.

            Where was his favorite, flip, flip, flip, ah, there it was: a full page photo from Sports Illustrated, showing her from the collar bones up, hair wet and slicked back, face tilted down but eyes staring straight into the camera. It had evidently been taken as she concentrated before a dive from the high platform, probably from a camera all the way across the pool. The face was angular and keen and the eyes penetrated into his brain like lasers.

            Suddenly a deafening howl shattered his reverie, as if banshees were after him. Shit! He was driving on the shoulder! Whoa! Get it back in the lane, man! His heart was pounding. There were no other vehicles in sight—damn! Pay attention, you bone head! His quest had only just started, and wouldn’t it be just flat pathetic to ruin it with a car accident in the first few hours? When his heart rate settled down again, he risked another quick glance at the notebook.

            The text of the newspaper piece told the story of how the "starchild" had supposedly come to the moon from her distant home planet to observe Earth, which she had decided was where her people had originated. Disobeying her orders to merely observe the planet, she left the moon and landed in the Davis Mountains to warn her “distant cousins” of approaching meteoroids, but some of those cousins thought she was crazy and others thought she was some kind of exotic threat, and chased her all over west Texas. She devised a desperate plan to make her way to the Olympic Games, where she created a worldwide sensation by winning six gold medals, using the opportunity to publicize the danger to the planet. The article went on to mention a half dozen or so west Texans who had had dealings with her. He had notes on all of them.

            Reporters from everywhere had tried to locate her ever since. All had failed. But he would not fail! No, by God! He would be the one who found her! He would see that face in person, or else. He would do it or die trying!

            He lit yet another cigarette, satisfying but not as good as the alternative—better not to think about the alternative. In the far distance, where the interstate dwindled to two thin, dark lines, mountains began to loom on the horizon. Finally! Assuming he could locate the Indian Lodge State Park and get a camping permit, he could take a shower, eat a can of corned beef, down a couple beers, and see if he could get any sleep in the back seat of his car. Tomorrow his future would begin.

 

 

            "Dr. Harcroft, there's someone here to see you. He says he's a writer."

            "A writer? What day is this? Tuesday? He's early, isn't he? Dammit, what was his name? Oh, screw it--I have more time this morning than I will the rest of the week. Send him in."

 

            "Dr. Harcroft? I'm Scott Zimmer."

            "Come in, Mr. Zimmer. You work for National Geographic, right?"

            "Uh, actually, sir, I write for several magazines. I freelance, you see."

            "Hmm. I thought you were bringing a photographer with you."

            "Oh, uh, he must be delayed. He was coming from El Paso. I drove up from Austin."

            "Yes, well, whatever. Have a seat, Mr. Zimmer. I believe you're writing a piece about those meteoroids that the Russians are about to blow the hell out of?"

            "Yes, sir. The whole thing makes an incredible story."

            "I think 'incredible' might be the exact word for it.  I still maintain it's a long shot that those two particular meteoroids will collide, not to mention send their debris into Earth's path. My fellow astronomers disagree about the matter, but it's certainly true that we cannot afford to assume they will not. If they did strike the Earth, our whole civilization would probably be obliterated."

            "Yes, sir. It's also incredible how it all began, isn't it? With that young woman who turned up here one morning, right? The woman from another planet? Bringing the warning?"

            "She says she's from another planet, but I wouldn't bet my life on it. I mean, there are so many billions of other galaxies out there, each with billions of stars and planets, that it seems possible that life would exist on at least a few of them--but human life? Humans who originated here in the first place? What are the odds of that, do you suppose?"

            "I couldn't guess, sir. But she sure was an unearthly fine athlete at the Olympic Games. And she says another group of her people will be arriving here soon. We might find out then...."

            "We might, we might indeed. But again, I wouldn't bet my life on it."

            "No, sir. You know, it might help if she would be interviewed for this article. Do you have any means of contacting her, perhaps?"

            "I do not. As far as I know she keeps an extremely low profile. She's only shown up a couple of times since she was here nearly two years ago. I don't even know anyone who might know where she is."

            "I see. Uh, Dr. Harcroft, I'm sorry that photographer is late. I'm sure he's on his way. It will save you time if I can do the rest of the interview while he does his shooting, so if it's all right I'll just step outside and call him on my cell phone and find out when he's getting here. I'll let your secretary know when we can continue. I trust that will be all right with you. Thank you, sir."

 

            He walked straight to his car in a visitor's slot, got in, and headed down the mountain. Being mistaken for a National Geographic staff writer had been an uncommon piece of good luck. He'd figured it would be tough to even see the good astronomer from a distance, but instead it was a breeze. Too bad he didn't really work for National Geographic. Maybe some day he would, after this little endeavor bore fruit. Then he could do any damn thing he wanted.

            It wasn't surprising that Harcroft didn't know how to contact Starchild, but he had been the logical place to start. There were plenty other leads. He couldn't risk looking at his binder again while he drove down the winding mountain road, but he didn't need to. The contacts were in there, the day was still young, and the town of Alpine was only a half hour away. He'd find Starchild sooner or later. He'd bet his life on it.

2

 

            Their home, this peaceful spring afternoon, was the finest thing Matt could imagine. This golden day was worth remembering forever. The room glowed with sunlight, having passed through the dry desert air of southern New Mexico, bounced off the rocky dun mountains, and filtered through the tall cottonwood trees around the house. The smells of fresh construction—paint and plaster—hinted at new comfort and convenience. Birds twittered in the distance, trees sighed whenever a breeze jostled them, and a vehicle or two swooshed down old Highway 28 on the other side of the family compound. The Rio Grande was surely twinkling in its eternal way on the other side of the highway.

            The twins were napping soundly and Darcy...what was Darcy up to? Ah! A chair creaked out on the porch, the former porch, that is. The gallery across the back of their little house was so pleasant that they decided to keep it even while they added rooms on both sides. A new wall across the back created a little patio in the middle of their house. She must be sitting at the table out there, working on something.

            He tossed the dish towel onto the counter, eased into his reading chair, and began rubbing Foosh with his toes. The cat, glowing in a beam of sunlight, remained motionless, purring softly, eyes closed. It was calmer now that his parents had returned to Albuquerque. He’d never seen his mother so excited. He’d have thought becoming a grandparent would have made her feel old, but the reality seemed to be the opposite. Maybe he was the one getting older—everything he saw in the room brought back memories.

            The little Virgen de Guadalupe on the wall, a gift from his mother, carried his thoughts back to his visits to Darcy in the hospital. He’d been there constantly after the twins were born, astonishingly tiny, at four pounds something each. They lost a few ounces over the following days, though they soon gained it back. He had run into a nurse who remembered him from six months before when he’d been a patient, getting a knife wound sewn up. She had shyly asked him to follow her to the 24th floor.

            By the door to the helopad she showed him an impromptu shrine off to one side: a small statue of the Virgen de Guadalupe surrounded by votive candles and dried roses under a creditable amateur painting of a golden-haired angel with spread wings and a compassionate expression, her eyes cast downward. She asked him if he remembered being delivered to the helopad. “Not really,” he fudged. “An angel brought you,” the nurse whispered, glancing reverently at the little shrine and then back at him, her eyes wide. “My friend actually saw her!” The next day, walking around with Darcy, he took her to that floor and showed it to her.  “The nurse said an angel brought me,” he told her. “It’s true. I told her I didn’t remember it, but I do.” Darcy said nothing but clasped his hand and laid her head on his shoulder. She had actually left him there.

            Foosh raised his head and yawned, showing tiny sharp fangs and pink tongue. The cat stretched and settled himself again where Matt could keep rubbing him. The knife wound was another thing he’d never forget. Darcy had gone off on the sly to meet with some unexpectedly early visitors from her planet, and one of them had stowed away on her trip back home, raising unholy hell when he arrived. He was deranged for some reason, and when Matt tried to keep him from hurting Darcy, the guy had nearly killed him. She had flown him to the emergency room, disappearing immediately and earning herself the title of “angel.” It was pretty close to the truth, he mused.

            What a pleasant afternoon! Was there anything in sight that didn’t bring memories flooding back? He shifted his eyes twenty degrees.

            A dictionary lay open on the coffee table. Darcy had wanted a definition for the word “chrestomathy.” Matt had had no idea, so she looked it up. Her vocabulary was better than his in many cases, even though her first language, Luvit, was spoken on a planet twenty five light years distant. She still had trouble with some of the idioms, but she never hesitated to ask when she needed a word or term. She was nothing if not curious.

            He shifted his focus twenty more degrees. On the same table was a large book about the history of the Olympic Games. Darcy didn’t want anything visible in the house that would connect to her “real” self, but even so, the book reminded Matt of the months Darcy had been scared half to death and hunted by the government as a possibly hostile alien of some kind. She figured out how to parlay her physical advantages into six gold medals in the Olympic Games in Ireland. He seldom thought about it any more, but every time he did the whole episode seemed incredible.  He’d helped her by leading her to Dr. James Sledd, who suggested that if she became famous, people would finally pay attention to her prediction of danger to Earth. Was he ever right! Darcy had been genetically tuned at birth to metabolize food faster than most people, and she was capable of moving much more quickly than “normal” people. Her Olympic coaches built on those advantages and guided her to successes the world was still talking about. The downside was that she hated being famous. She seemed perfectly content to live quietly, to care for their twins, continue her studies of Earth, to cook, exercise, and be a wife.

            Matt still couldn’t believe that he and Darcy finally connected and that he had eventually convinced her to marry him. Lottery winners were small potatoes next to him. Their present life was as close to heaven as he dared imagine.

            He got up and padded out to the porch to see what his wife was up to.

 

3

 

            Alpine was a surprisingly lovely little town. Even so, he bet he could score some weed after only twenty minutes of looking. He quickly suppressed that thought—he had no money to speak of, and that was never the way he was going to find Starchild, or even his own child, come to that.

            The lobby of a motel provided him with a free map and using that he headed toward the outskirts of town, on the trail of Dr. James Sledd. Sledd, some kind of egghead scholar—who knew what he was doing way the hell out here—was mentioned in the newspaper article as having collaborated with Starchild, better known as Ana Darcy, on an investigation of her native language, which was apparently related somehow to English and Polish and a bunch of others. Sledd’s house turned out to be a nice looking place in an upscale neighborhood. A solid-looking elderly man with thinning white hair answered his ring.

            “Dr. Sledd?”

            “Yes. What can I do for you, young man?”

            “My name is Scott Zimmer, sir. I’m writing an article for Texas Monthly about the contributions to scholarly knowledge Ms. Ana Darcy has brought to the world, and of course, to Texas.” All lies, but plausible lies, surely. “I wonder if you would be able to fill me in a little about that, sir, if you could, please.”

            “Are you indeed?” he replied, looking him up and down. “Have you read the book she is responsible for, A Linguistic Analysis of Luvit, published by Yale University Press last year?”

            “I’ve looked at it, yes, sir, but I didn’t get too far before I bogged down. It was pretty technical....”

            “Well, then, I suggest you try harder to get through it. Her ‘scholarly contributions’ are quite in evidence in that volume, and fully comprehensible to the determined reader. Once you have done so, I would be glad to talk to you further.”

            “Uh...I’ll do that, sir. In the meantime, I wonder if you are in contact with Ms. Darcy at all?”

            “I am not. Our collaboration was entirely by email, and I don’t think she still uses the same email address. Good day to you, sir.” And he shut the door.

            Well, screw you, Dr. Sledd, he thought, as he headed for his car. You were one of my better leads, you old fart. Still, I have a couple more arrows in my quiver. Keep plugging, Zimmerooski.

 

            It was no problem to find Sul Ross State University, but running down the office of the coach of women’s athletics required asking three students for directions. Once he realized he should be asking a woman student, he found it easily enough. The damn office was locked, though. A schedule posted on the door suggested that she was at lunch. Well, it was lunch time.

            He returned to his car, unfortunately parked in the sun, and sweated while he consumed two packets of cheese and crackers, two Slim Jims, and a Milky Way. Bon appetit, Zimmer. At 1:15 pm, after a cigarette, he returned to the office. She was there.

            Lisa Pérez, the coach in question, turned out to be a lively, fortiesh woman, crisply dressed, and someone happy to see him for a change. “I didn’t know her well,” she said, “but I was aware from her first days in Alpine that she was an unusually gifted athlete. Of course, I didn’t know she was from another planet, or that she would go on to set all those records at the Olympic Games. Those totally shocked me, and then a week after the Olympics were over, I was shocked even more, just like everyone else, to see her on that interview program giving the medals back, and warning about those meteor things. I guess you remember that too, probably, right?”

            “Yes, I do. In fact, the more I think about it, the more it amazes me. I wish I could interview her for this article. You don’t happen to know how to get in touch with her, do you?”

            “Golly. I sure don’t. She said on her website—you’ve seen her website, right?—that she had a shyness problem. I think she’s lying low somewhere. I have no idea where.”

            Nuts. Try a different tack, Zimmer. “Hmm. Well, if you were going to get in touch with her, what do you think you would do?”

            “Wow, I dunno. I might take another look at her website, you know? It mentions that organization she set up, the Second Planet Foundation? They might have their own website. Someone has got to be in charge of it, don’t you reckon?”

            “Yeah, good idea. I’ll try it. Thanks—you’ve been very helpful.”

            “Don’t mention it. If you do talk to her, tell her Lisa Pérez said hello. She’s a sweet, sweet girl.”

            “I’ll do that. I’ll surely do that.”

           

            He sat in his burning hot car a few minutes before starting the engine. This was not looking good, not looking good at all. He was beginning to sense the cold, hairy fingers of yet another failure reaching for him. How had things gone so wrong? His life was headed straight for the toilet. He and Julie had had five—ok, three and a half—years of married bliss, but somehow it headed south. They’d hoped their little daughter Madison would perk up their family, but it hadn’t happened that way. Having a child just meant even more responsibilities, more demands on his time, and less money to go around. Marriage counseling had been excruciating, humiliating and something he learned to avoid. Both of the big writing projects he’d been working on flopped. Was there anything more pathetic than an unemployed writer with a hungry, unhappy family? He had to be honest: drugs were a factor too. He still went into a cold sweat thinking about those days, those highs. Despite the euphoria, he had lost everything. He missed Julie a lot, but thinking of Madison was most painful of all. She’d be ten now. He was certain he couldn’t even look at her without breaking down. He couldn’t afford another failure. He would succeed where all others had failed! Starchild would save him!

 

            A copy of the Alpine Avalanche provided him with the address of the editorial offices. A receptionist directed him to a glass-enclosed office containing a middle aged rustic-looking man at a desk with a placard proclaiming “Clint Eastman.”

            “Mr. Eastman?”

            “Yeah. Who are you?”

            “Scott Zimmer. I’m a stringer for Texas Monthly.”

            “Right. What’s up?”

            “I’m working on a piece about Alpine’s most famous recent visitor, Ana Darcy.”

            “You and twenty other guys. No one’s found her yet that I know of, except some TV yahoos in Durham, North Carolina, last year. And they all missed the story.”

            “So you have no idea how to contact her, right?”

            “Right. We printed the best article on her to date, though. Seen that?”

            “Yes, I have. It was excellent. It was written by Matt Méndez, I recall. Is he around?”

            “No, he isn’t. He’s out of town, I guess you could say. He quit about the time that article came out. I haven’t heard from him since. It’s hard to keep good people at a small town newspaper.”

            “Yes, sir. Uh, would you happen to know where he went?”

            “I think he went back to his parents, in Albuquerque, I believe. I don’t know if he’s still there or not.”

            “So you don’t have an address for him?”

            “Nope. Sure don’t.”

           


4

 

            He paused at the door between the living room and the porch. Darcy was sitting with her back to him, fifteen feet away, pencil in hand, concentrating on several sheets of paper. She looked small and taut and full of energy as always. You’d never guess she was the mother of twins, though she fussed about “getting back into shape.” She ate like a horse, but she’d always done that.

            Matt eased up behind her and laid his hands on her shoulders. His thumbs began a gentle massage of her neck muscles. “¡Mamacita!” he whispered. She sat back in the chair and rotated her shoulders under his hands. “Dashka,” she replied. He didn’t know many words in Luvit, but he knew that one: “Dad.” He bent over and kissed her next to her ear. He sat down to her right, leaving Eleanor, the extravagantly fluffy cat uncommonly attached to Darcy, in the chair on her left.

            “Whatcha up to?”

            “Oh, trying to get organized. I told you Uncle Rothan is going to hold the hearing soon. It’ll be fairly formal, so I need to brush up on the procedures.” Rothan Darshiell was the senior member of the delegation from Darcy’s home planet, Thomo, dispatched as soon as Darcy’s first reports had been received, to the effect that Earth was undoubtedly where Thomans had originated.

            “Are you worried about it?”

            If she was, she had cause. There had been four in the group. They had arrived

early and unannounced, but Darcy had been able to meet them secretly and convince them that it was a bad idea to drop in on Earth without warning. They agreed to return to her base on the moon for a year while she did that. Unfortunately, the youngest of the four, smitten with Darcy and behaving strangely, had stayed behind and tried to force her to take him to the United Nations immediately. In the ensuing struggle, Matt had been seriously wounded and the young man unfortunately killed. It stood to reason that a hearing would be needed.

            “Yes, a little worried. Our laws can hardly cover a judicial finding twenty five light years away, so that’s a problem. But no matter what, we have to begin the official Thoman mission as announced. It has to go well, because it will affect the entire relations of Thomans and the peoples of Earth. That was always my biggest concern. That reunion can’t be...can’t be...im-...imperiled?”

            Matt nodded. “What can I do?”

            “Uncle Rothan has decided we can hold the hearing via email. Normally, we’d all have to meet in person, but with the three of them on the moon, we can’t do that now. We could set up a voice link and even a video link, but Hleo says it might be possible for someone to intercept that. So we’ll do it in writing. Your testimony will probably be needed at some point. You were a part of it. A big part.” She looked at him solemnly.

            Hleo was her original moon station manager. He’d come with her sixty years ago when her Earth-watching mission was first set up on the moon. He had been an elderly advisor in his government, and before he died he’d allowed his neural network to be “backed up” digitally. He was a real person, but in electronic form. It didn’t seem as odd to Matt as it once had. He’d emailed with him many times, and he was real—old, a little crotchety, but devoted to Darcy and endlessly resourceful.

            “I’ll do it,” he said. “Gladly.”

            “Thanks, Matt. I knew you would. All we can do is tell the truth. Hleo, Uncle Rothan, Herecyn, and Ianthe will do the rest. They’ll send the report back to Thomo. It’ll take 50 years to find out the decision!”

            Matt’s bare foot found Darcy’s bare foot and they rubbed each other silently for a minute. Her deranged countryman had been about to push Matt out of Darcy’s little escape pod while they were over the mountains outside Las Cruces. Darcy had distracted him and Matt kicked him, causing him to fall out instead. It had been a near thing.

            So now her fellow Thomans would have to rule on the matter. Uncle Rothan was her father’s brother. Darcy’s father was chief of all the tribes and clans of Thomo. Ianthe was Darcy’s third sister, Herecyn her husband. Darcy had explained that Thomans prized balance and harmony, that their second mission had originally included two members from the Council of Clans—Rothan and Ianthe—and two from the People’s Congress—Herecyn and the poor devil who died. There was no way he could guess what the current imbalance might mean for the outcome of the hearing.

            As he and his wife were playing footsie there came several tiny staccato coughs from one of the new rooms that faced onto the patio. The coughs soon turned into wails. “That’s Clio,” said Matt.

            “No. It’s Julio,” said his wife.

            “How can you tell?”

            “It just sounds like him!”

            “I guess mama knows best. Shouldn’t we go get him?”

            “No. Srina is there. He just needs a dry diaper, and then he’ll go back to sleep. Wait a minute.”

            Sure enough, a young woman emerged from the room next to the nursery and went inside. The crying soon stopped. Matt shook his head. This was a new horizon in motherhood. By the time the twins had been brought home from the hospital, Darcy had had everything organized unlike anything he’d ever seen. She’d found eight or ten young women (he was never sure how many), mostly from the nearby university, who were willing to take turns babysitting round the clock, for a generous hourly wage. He didn’t want to think about what that cost, but Darcy had plenty of money thanks to her contracts with the Miami law firm that sponsored her Olympic training.

            She had located, interviewed, and trained all of them: students, wives of students, and a couple local young women, who were fluent in any number of foreign languages as well as familiar with child care. She’d instructed them to speak to the babies in their native languages, and that is what they did, in Hindi, Mandarin, Arabic, Korean, and even Spanish and English.

            Matt still wasn’t sure about that, but Darcy had insisted. He was afraid that the poor little tykes would grow up hopelessly confused, but his wife said they would not, that it was crucial to the formation of developing brains that they be stimulated as much as possible. She added that they would be exposed to reading and mathematics as well in another couple of years. When he gaped at her, she rattled off “Six plus twenty-eight plus fifty-two minus thirty-three plus seventeen equals what?” He must have looked totally bumfuzzled, because she shot back “Seventy. Seventy! Any three year old Thoman knows that!”

            He was still contemplating what a three year old Thoman might know versus what he knew when an attractive young woman in a bright blue sari emerged from the nursery and approached Darcy. “He’s fine,” she said. “I changed his diaper and gave him a bottle.”

            “Thank you, Srina. I hope you can still get some studying done.”

            “Oh, yes, ma’am. No problem.” She placed her palms together, bowed slightly, and walked back to her room.

            Matt looked at Darcy. “Chemistry test,” she said

5

 

            Flaming Albuquerque must have more Méndez’s in it than Alpine had people! The phone book had pages of them! Clearly, some refinement of investigative technique was called for. He began phoning every tenth Méndez and saying that he was looking for Matt Méndez, the newspaper reporter.

            It took hours at a public phone, cost thirty dollars, a sore back, and the resentment of an old lady and two kids with a dog on a leash who wanted to use the phone, but finally, after lunch, as he was well into calling the Méndez’s listed midway between every tenth one he got a nibble. “Oh, you got me confused with Adalberto Méndez. I think he has a son who is a reporter. I don’t know his number. Sorry.”

            There was only one Adalberto Méndez listed. That call was answered by a machine. He hung up and made a note of the number. Adalberto must be at work. What the hell—all that dialing and standing around had made him hungry. He’d find a root to gnaw on, drink a beer, and try later.

            Three beers later, with the sun touching the city skyline, he tried again. “Hallo?” answered a hearty baritone voice.

            “Mr. Méndez? My name is Steve Zimmer, sir. I’m a reporter and I’ve just come from Alpine to talk to your son Matt about several stories he worked down there. Is he home, perhaps?”

            “He doesn’t live here any more. He works for an educational outfit somewhere. He’s always traveling around. I can find out where he is by tomorrow night, if you want to call back.”

            “Oh...er...that would be fine, sir, thank you. May I call you about this time tomorrow, then?”

            “Sure, Mr. Zimmer, was it? Who do you report for?”

            “I freelance, Mr. Méndez. At the moment I’ve been working with Mr. Eastman, editor of the Alpine Avalanche. Your son worked a couple stories that are still in the news and I’d like to bring them up to date.”

            “OK. Call back tomorrow night.”

            “I will. Thank you sir.”

 

 

            Darcy and Matt were enjoying a late supper after Abuelita, Matt’s grandmother, went back to the big house in the center of the family compound following the traditional nightly tucking in of the twins. Buela was easily as happy to be a great-grandmother as Matt’s mother was to be a grandmother. What is more, she heartily endorsed Darcy’s child care system, something similar to what might have transpired in the good old days of yore, after all. The Méndez family wasn’t what it once was, but thanks to Ana Del Arco Méndez and her inheritance from her aunt and uncle in Argentina (Matt’s cover story for Darcy’s Olympic income), some former standards could now be restored. Abuelita even enjoyed the variety of young women constantly around the place, particularly Mioko, on duty tonight in the room next to the nursery.

            Darcy sat back from her meal and briefly rubbed her hands over her ears. “I can’t wait to wash my hair tonight. I really ought to cut it and dye it and get rid of this wig.”  Her real hair was shoulder length and the color of honey, but it was fine rather than full and she kept it out of sight of the sitters since it was probably her most recognizable feature. She used a few other simple tricks of disguise thanks to her theatrical friends in Alpine (dark eyebrows, clunky glasses), but she generally saved the more elaborate ones for going out in public.

            “Well, you know I love your hair, but I can see it would be much simpler just to dye it. Why don’t you?”

            “I might. I want to wait a while, though. I may have to make some appearances when we open our embassy. That could be as early as next month.”

            “There’s no firm date set?”

            “Not really. We need to get this hearing over with first, for one thing.”

            “Ay, that’s right....” Any further comment was cut off by the muted ringing of the telephone. Darcy glanced at the caller ID window. “It’s your father,” she said, handing him the handset.

            “Hello? Hi, dad! ¿Que tal?” Matt watched Darcy as he talked, so she could follow the conversation only hearing his half.

            “No problem. The twins are asleep and we’ve just finished a snack. What’s up?”

            “Zimmer? I don’t remember anyone named Zimmer. What’d he want?”

            “Old stories, huh? Oh, right—I bet he’s just another media snooper trying for an opening somewhere. I guess he could be legit, but I’d doubt it. What’d you tell him?”

            “That’s great; that’s just right. As a matter of fact I’d planned to look in on the school house in Truth or Consequences tomorrow. I could meet him, oh, say at 11:00 am, at the trailer. But I couldn’t talk for long. I have things to do after lunch.”

            “Yeah, that’ll be fine. Thanks, papacito. You told him just right. I’ll take care of it. Yes, sir. Love to mamá! Bye!”

            He looked at his wife. “Sounds like another entremetido reporter, trying to butt into our lives. He said he’s from the Avalanche, and maybe he is, but I never heard of him. I said I’d meet with him, but not here. I don’t want him anywhere near our house. Maybe you shouldn’t go with me tomorrow, just in case.”  No one in Matt’s family knew who Darcy really was, but they all knew Matt was a minor celebrity in certain journalistic circles by virtue of having written the only in-person article about Earth’s first visitor ever from another planet. They respected his wish to keep his distance from all that. His dad, the most frequent contact point, had readily agreed to filter all his calls for him.

            Darcy pursed her lips. “I kind of wanted to see how things are going in that school room myself.” The school, in the trailer of an 18-wheeler, catered to the education of children of migrant agricultural workers. It was sponsored indirectly by The Second Planet Foundation, into which Darcy directed most of the profits from her books and other publicity. “I haven’t seen it since before the twins were born. And Mioko wants to go with us—she’s studying early childhood education. I’ll get Soong Kim and Abuelita to stay with the babies. As long as we’re not seen together, it should be all right, don’t you think?”

            “It should be. I’ll have to concentrate extra hard not to stare lovingly at you, though.”

            “Stare lovingly at Mr. Zimmer instead.”

            “Nooo, I don’t think so.”

 

6

 

            This trip was becoming surreal. Surely he was hallucinating. What the hell kind of nutty place would be named “Truth or Consequences?” It must be a message, and the message must be meant for him, only he had no idea what it could be. Sure enough, there it was, on the map. He looked again, just to make certain he hadn’t dreamed it. Of all the places to meet the person most likely to lead him to Starchild, it had to be this place. This was the most severe case of highway hypnosis he’d ever had in his life. He was tired, so tired, of driving down empty highways. “Truth?” What truth, dammit? Should he admit to this Méndez guy what he was doing? Was it that truth? Or was it why he was really doing this? Did he even know the truth of that? And if he kept his plans to himself—which was his natural inclination—was that when the “consequences” would come into play? What would the freaking consequences be?

            It was hell finding the trailer. Truth or Consequences was on the Rio Grande, with agricultural acreage up and down both sides.  He located it only after asking four people and feeling like a total jackass. The thing was parked two blocks off the highway behind a row of small commercial buildings, amidst irrigated fields of some kind. Here and there he could see groups of people working up and down rows, apparently harvesting something, and several large trucks waiting nearby to receive whatever it was they were picking. Near the trailer were a few picnic tables and some skid cans. Groups of small children were running around and wading in the river. There was a peculiar smell in the air. What the hell was that—onions?

            As it was, he was nearly a half hour late. The trailer was a huge thing, with an awning down one side and the opposite side expanded out to double the normal width of an 18-wheel trailer. It was, well, about the size of a large classroom, which is apparently what it was. An air conditioner mounted overhead was humming loudly. He walked under the awning, climbed six wooden stairs, and knocked cautiously on the door. Hearing no answer, he opened it quietly and looked in. There must have been thirty or forty raggedly dressed youngsters, grouped by age, more or less, being attended to by four or five adults. There were shelves, books, and desks, in abundance—it was a classroom, sure enough. The only male in the place was halfway toward the back to his right, talking to a stout older woman with grey hair in long braids and holding a clipboard.  A teenage girl, evidently supervising smaller children working over sheets of paper, stood right in front of him. She smiled. He smiled back, nodded, and headed toward the guy in back, who he dearly hoped was Matt Méndez. Two other women were sitting on the floor in the far corner, reading a book to a big clump of laughing children. All of them, kids and women, looked up when he began moving toward them. Both women were exotic looking, one with Asian features, the other more Indian. They were black haired and two small children were sitting in their laps. The kids kept laughing, and the women turned back to them and resumed their reading.

            “Matt Méndez?”

            “Yes. Are you Scott Zimmer?”

            “Yes. Sorry I’m a bit late. I got lost.”

            “Easy to do. I had trouble myself. Hang on a sec.” He turned to the woman with him. “This looks terrific, María. Will you excuse me for a bit, please?”

            “Si, claro, señor, con mucho gusto. Gracias por venir, ¿eh?”

            “El gusto es mío. Hasta luego, ¿ok? ¡Que le vaya bien! Let’s go outside, Scott.”

            He tossed some folders into a white pickup truck and locked the door.  “It’s about lunch time. Could you eat, Scott?”

            “Yeah, sure, you bet.”

            “There’s a restaurant in those buildings behind us. Let’s go see if it’s any good. My treat—I haven’t seen anyone from Alpine in a long time.”

            “Oh, well, I’m not exactly from Alpine—sorry if you got that impression. I’m from Austin, but I got interested in bringing several west Texas stories up to date, so I’m sort of checking around a bit, you see.”

            “Really? What stories?”

            “Well, in your case, the one I wanted to talk to you about is the one you wrote about that Ana Darcy woman. She kind of dropped out of sight...sort of like you did.”

            He chuckled at that. “Yeah, well. I was in the right place at the right time to get the right story, but I had nothing to follow it with. I wasn’t cut out to be a reporter anyway. This suits me much better.”

            “What do you do here?”

            “I’m the regional supervisor for the outfit that operates this rolling schoolhouse and three others like it. We follow migrant workers and their families as they move north with the harvests, offering free schooling and counseling for their children, and follow-up assistance after they move on. The idea is to help them not raise a second generation of migrant workers, you see. Ana Darcy, on the other hand, seems to have made herself scarce because everyone wanted a piece of her. That was never the problem with me.” He chuckled again.

            “That’s a cool concept. Who were the people in there, just now?”

            “The woman I was talking to is the head teacher, María Espinosa. There is also a teacher aide and a couple college students, studying education or social work, and the one you didn’t see, the truck driver. He’s a former migrant worker, now with a steady job. He was probably out in the fields visiting his compadres. If you’re looking for a story, this mobile schoolhouse might be a good one.”

            Méndez held the door to the café open for him. It was a small, clean, local place smelling wonderfully of grease. He ordered a combination plate, and reveled in the first decent food he’d had in days, simple and hearty and hot. When the dish was set in front of him his first thought was that it was wrong: it looked like soup, with only a thick layer of cheese and chilies visible. Immediate investigation with a fork, however, revealed that it was a delicious sauce, entirely hiding the tamale, enchilada, and taco underneath. Wonderful! His hunger almost made him forget his quest...for four or five minutes.

            “So,” Méndez said, “you’re probably trying to locate Ana Darcy, right?”

            “Well, yeah, I’d love to interview her if I could. Mostly I just want to update the whole story and maybe fill in a few details. You must have talked to her a good bit, didn’t you?”

            “Not that much, really. A little, but when I saw her running around the track at Sul Ross and so forth no one knew who or what she was, or that she was going to make such a big splash at the Olympics. Once she went to Barbados to train, that was the last we saw of her in Alpine. I put that whole article together afterwards. I figure she’s in Barbados now, actually. I heard she really liked it there. I guess you read the article in the Avalanche, right?”

            “I did. I talked to some of the people you mentioned in it—that Sledd guy, the coach, Lisa Pérez, Dr. Harcroft at the observatory, and the editor of the paper. None of them said they’d heard from her.”

            “I’m not surprised. She must be pretty shy. She sure looked scared during some of those Olympic events. Did you watch those?”

            “Yes, I did. I bought the video, in fact. She was unbelievable. Man, I wish she’d turn up....”

            “Well, according to those interviews she did, a group of people from her planet will be arriving before long. I figure she’ll be there when they do. Maybe you ought to check that out.”

            “Oh, I will. I’m planning on it.”

            “Excuse me.” He pulled out a cell phone. “I need to call ahead to make sure where my next stop will be.”

            Méndez paid the check and they walked together in the direction of the trailer. “Well, I need to hit the road, Scott. It was a pleasure meeting you. Good luck on your story.” He held out his hand, which Zimmer had no choice but to shake, unlocked the door of his pickup, got in, and drove off.

            On a hunch, Zimmer looked in the door of the school room once more. The teacher and the teenager were eating lunch with the kids. The two exotic women were gone. He headed for his car. Well, at least he got a decent meal out of it. Barbados! She couldn’t be in Barbados! No way! He drove past a sign announcing “Leaving Truth or Consequences.”  He blew out a puff of air. “Truth or Consequences, my ass!”

           

 

            Matt watched Zimmer’s car recede into the distance. He felt a little bad about spinning him so many lies, especially about pretending to be Dr. Saldivar, the actual supervisor of the mobile educational unit...but not that bad. He looked at his watch. Darcy should have had time to get to the restaurant after he phoned her. He started his truck and drove three blocks back into town to park in front of the café he’d just left. Darcy and Mioko were munching away at a back table.

            “Áisatsu, honored husband,” she said.  He stared at her. “Koshikakéru,” and pulled out a chair. She glanced at Mioko. “Omo...omoidasaserú las enchiladas.”

            He sat down, at a loss. Mioko, hand over her mouth, was giggling and hiccupping, turning crimson over her iced tea.

           


7

 

            Deep down, V. T. Newsome knew he wasn’t a Lord of the Universe. If anyone had called him that to his face he would have laughed it off good-naturedly. Still, he had to admit a case could be made. He was handsome as a movie star, richer than a rock star (albeit with an asterisk), in the prime of his youth, had a ripped bod, perfect blond hair, and teeth so white they glowed in the dark. As a successful corporate lawyer, he was certain he could argue his case well enough to convince any jury in the land. Not that he’d ever deign to speak before an actual jury, of course—peers? Please! Too icky!

            He also had a penthouse overlooking the ocean and a car whose capabilities he was still learning.  He’d been feeling a little down over a recent financial reverse—a temporary problem, he was sure—so what better way to pull oneself out of the dumps than by acquiring a new car and putting it through its paces? His old Corvette barely made a trade-in dent in the $175,000 cost of his present ride, a Mercedes-Benz SL65 AMG, with a 604-hp twin turbo V12 engine. Yeow! Talk about a mood-altering substance!

            He’d found a deserted stretch of highway and traveled it back and forth several times at increasing speeds until he was sure no highway patrolman was lurking behind a sign somewhere. Then he let it out. He got it up to 160 mph before his nerve failed and he decided to return to his penthouse to calm down. Someday he’d find a race track where he could see what his new beast could really do. Wait till he drove it to work!

            He was entering the security code in his front door, chuckling over the way the salesman had suddenly become so superpolite after checking his credit rating (he’d given his dad as a reference—his dad had money out his ears; hell, he had his own island), when he sensed someone behind him and felt a blinding flash and the lights went out.

            He awoke, groggily, on his own couch. Four figures were standing in front of him. Wha...? No, hold on; there were only two. He tried to make his eyes focus. He had a splitting headache. He tried to move, but his body wasn’t responding.

            “Good evening, Mr. Newsome.”

            “Urh...mm....”

            “Can you hear me, Mr. Newsome?”

            It was all he could do to keep air going in and out of his chest.

            “Tony, get Mr. Newsome a wet towel.”

            A minute later he felt something flop in his lap. He forced his right arm to reach for it. It was one of his Dior hand towels. Slowly he wiped his face and looked again. Both men were wearing unshaped sport jackets over turtlenecks. One had a thick gold chain around his neck. They looked to be as ripped as he was, and, judging from their slick hair, sunglasses, and bulges where firearms probably nestled, a good deal meaner.

            The one with the chain said, “Mr. Newsome? I bring you a message from Razzy.”

            Oh, shit! Razzy Napolitano! His bookie!

            “Razzy says you’re behind in your vig, Mr. Newsome. He’s concerned. That’s not good. Believe me, you don’t want that. From the looks of this place, you can cover it if you want to. I suggest you try to get up to date, and fast, capisce?”

            “Oh, deez, yeah, I know.” He licked his lips slowly. “Dell him I’ll dry.” His mouth wasn’t working up to its normal standards, but that was the best he could do at the moment.

            “You know how he got the name Razzy, Mr. Newsome? It’s because he loves razors. He just loves carving things up with razors. I mean, I hope you never find out personally, of course. Just try real hard to get back on schedule, Mr. Newsome, so you’ll not learn what it means to disappoint Razzy. For your sake, sir, I hope that’s clear. Is it clear? Sir?” He nodded and grunted something. His head was killing him. “Excellent. You have a real nice evening, sir.”

            The two men left. They even closed the door gently, which scared him more than anything else they had done. He’d heard collection guys like that called “leg breakers.” And now he’d met some! Brrrr!

            Oh, shit was he in trouble. He took a deep, shuddering breath. Freaking European soccer! That was where things had turned sour. Damn European soccer—who could understand it? He was a pretty savvy gambler, all in all. He had owed Razzy a little, but it was nothing he couldn’t cover. Now, though—the sure bet he’d depended on had tanked and he ended up half a million in the hole. He didn’t even want to think about the vig—the weekly interest—on that. There was no way he could get his hands on that much cash, short of selling everything he owned and living in a box on the sidewalk.

            Crap! What was he going to do? Those guys didn’t give a shit who his father was, whether he was rich as Croesus or anything. If dad wouldn’t pay his gambling debt, and he certainly wouldn’t, Razzy would have a field day with his fancy pocket knife. He mopped his face several more times. He found himself staring at his bespoke loafers.

            It was so ironic. At the law firm, he helped manage funds and foundations that were worth a hundred times more than the half million he owed. He’d thought and thought about how to set a little of that aside to play with, to invest, as it were, but Dick Caxton, the accountant in charge, was the greatest bean counter he’d ever known, and the risks involved had simply been too great.

            Awww, shit, shit, shit. What a mess. What a freaking mess. At least he wasn’t a bad card counter when he put his mind to it. If worst came to worst there was always blackjack in Atlantic City.

           


8

 

            When Matt woke up he was alone in bed, not unusual these days. He brushed his teeth, pulled on some jeans and a shirt, and walked out to their little living room/dining room. Darcy and Aziza were sitting on the rug watching the twins roll around on a blanket in the middle of the floor. Julio had almost figured out how to crawl: he was up on all fours rocking back and forth but going nowhere. If he could just coordinate his arms and legs, he’d be off to the races. Clio was sitting against Darcy, gnawing on a bright red plastic ring. She looked at him, ring in her mouth, and broke into a big smile.

            Matt had always been a sucker for smiling females. Clio held her arms out to him and he picked her up, being careful not to get the slobbery ring on his shirt, and joined them on the rug. “Salaam aleikum!” he said to the group. “¡Buenos dias!” said Aziza, whose native language was Arabic. Their household had become decidedly eclectic, at least linguistically.

            “Oh!” said Aziza, turning her ear to the side. “That must be Soong Kim. I will let her in. Please excuse me!”

            “Thank you, Aziza,” said Darcy. “I hope you can get a nap this afternoon.”

            “Is no problem, ma’am. See you Wednesday!”

            “Hey,” he said to Darcy, bouncing his daughter on his knee, “were you up a lot last night?”

            “Not much. I nursed Julio about five a.m., and just as he finished Clio woke up and wanted her share. It worked out. Aziza took them then. They’re nursing less, now that they’re beginning to eat solid foods.”

            Matt shook his head. “Man, I don’t know how mothers of twins survive without help like you have. You’re lucky, you know?”

            “Back home, the whole extended family would help. It’s still not easy, but it works something like this.”

            Julio was on his back now, grabbing for a green ring. Matt shoved it to where he could reach it. He picked Clio up so that she could grab the coffee table for support. She stood there and quivered enthusiastically. “What about all these languages?” he asked. “Do you do it that way at home too?”

            “Not on purpose. All we have are different dialects of the same language. They’re all mutually intelligible. It’s normal to have two or three dialects spoken in an extended family. We never think about it.”

            “So, having people speak to Julio and Clio in all these different languages is your idea?”

            “Yes. I know you’re worried they’ll be confused, but they won’t be. They’ll figure it out. They’ll speak whatever languages they hear around them. They’re already learning to. I read a paper by an American linguist—I think his name was Andersson—who studied a child who spoke nine languages by the age of four, because the people around him spoke them. He had no problem. You’ll see. Even if they forget some, it’ll be ok. Their brains will have been set up already. Reading will be the same. No one teaches babies to speak—they teach themselves. It’ll be the same with reading. Reading is just speech, but on paper.”

            Matt was writing on a magazine cover on the coffee table.

            “What are you doing?”

            “Wait. Just a second.” He scribbled some more. “OK. Fourteen times four divided by two, times three, divided by two. What is it?”

            “Huh? Forty-two!”

            “Dang! That’s right! How did you do that?”

            “I told you, Matt, Thoman children learn math about the same time they learn to talk. It’s easy then. It’s easier than language—there aren’t any exceptions, no irregular forms.”

            “Wow. OK; I believe you. That’s cool! So all Thoman children are taught like that?”

            “Oh, Matt, I wish you could see it. We think education is the most important thing in the world. We’d not have survived without it. Your people think cars and cable TV are important. We put education before everything except food and health care. There are no shortcuts. It’s what helps us survive—all of us, not just some of us.”

            “You have schools, regular schools?”

            “Certainly. Only they’re smaller than most of yours. I doubt any of our schools have more than two or three hundred children. And we have lots of teachers. It’s expensive, but not that expensive. Not in the long run.”

            “Hmm. I was just thinking about that Second Planet Foundation trailer we visited, kind of a one-room schoolhouse?”

            “Right. Ours are like that, more or less.”

            “Ouch!” Clio had plumped down in Matt’s lap, hitting him on the chin with the back of her head. She began slapping his thighs and babbling. Julio was back on all fours again. Darcy encouraged him to crawl with a handful of Cheerios.

            He rubbed his chin. “How come you don’t want them watching TV?”

            “Oh, it’ll be fine once they’re two or three. But first they need to learn basic stuff, you know, not to sit like lumps and watch moving pictures.”

            “’Moving.’ I’ve been wondering about that. Do you know if your metabolism or your reflexes might be, uh, what’s the word, heritable?”

            “There’s a chance they will be. They might not. We’ll just have to see!”

            “So if Julio gets to where I can’t catch him any more, or Clio eats like three kids, it might be your fault, huh?”

            “Maybe. Or if they want to become writers, it might be your fault!”

            “Oh!”

            “Oh, what?”

            “Writing...email...that hearing....”

            “Oh, right. I’ll start on my part this morning. I bet Hleo already has the questions waiting in my email.” She looked at the clock. “I can start any time, but let’s have something to eat first, ok?”

            “Sí, let’s. I’ll be around whenever you need my testimony, I guess you’d call it.”

            “Thanks, Matt. I hope we can do this in one day. Two, at least. If you’ll get the high chairs moved, I’ll set up the grand feeding mess. Soong will come help, I imagine.”

 

 

            It ended up taking two days to get through the “hearing,” though no one actually heard anything. The necessity for pauses to feed five people, two of whom were hungry fairly often and not at all inclined to be patient about waiting, plus the need for rest room breaks, fresh diapers, and short walks imposed a slow-motion discipline on their activities. Darcy had never attended hearings or trials back home, so the whole thing was a novel experience for her. Hleo, as the former Secretary to the Tribal Council, conducted this one. It helped that he was fluent in English, so he could translate questions for Matt and then translate his responses into Luvit for those at the moon base.

            The questions for her were of course in Luvit, so there was no way Matt could read what she was being asked, or what her answers were. This was appropriate, since he’d not have been present in a formal hearing until his turn came. The first questions for her were predictable: what happened when, who was involved, and where. There were considerable time lags occasionally. Apparently, the people on the other end also needed to eat, take breaks, and consider her responses before phrasing more inquiries.

            Matt’s turn came the next morning. He sat down at the computer with a mug of hot coffee and not a little trepidation and looked at the first question.

            “Q: At what point were you aware that Mr. Vianogh was coming to your location?” He’d never been sure of the guy’s name. He’d only heard Darcy introduce him once. He remembered his first name had been ‘Bennec,’ or something like that. He began typing.

            “A: I received an email from Hleo Ap Darshiell approximately 16 hours before Ms. Darshiell returned here. It mentioned that she would be bringing someone with her. A second email explained that that person was behaving erratically, and while he was not thought to be dangerous, it would be a good idea to treat him with special consideration.”

            He sent that off and sat there a few minutes. Nothing happened. He should ask Darcy about that. Where was she?

            He found her in their little workout room, across the patio opposite the nursery. She was pedaling away on an exercise bicycle, absorbed in a book.

            “Hey, Darcy, does the moon have anything to do with emailing back and forth?”

            She looked up and stopped pedaling. “What? The moon? What do you mean?”

            “I sent off my first answer and nothing is happening. Does the moon have to be overhead for us to communicate?”

            “Oh! No, it doesn’t. It would if you were sending a radio signal, but not if you’re using email. Email spreads all around the world. It’ll reach the moon no matter where the moon is.”

            “Ah. Well, nothing is happening.”

            “Maybe Hleo is translating your response, and then translating their next question for you. I bet if you look, there’ll be another question there for you now.”

            When he went back to check, there was.

            “Q: Please describe the circumstances under which you first met Mr. Vianogh in person.”

            “A: I first met Mr. Vianogh when Ms. Darshiell landed here, in the family compound, just before dawn on the morning in question. They had apparently had a long trip and were tired. They went inside the house to use the facilities and eat breakfast. After that they slept until late afternoon.”

            Darcy’s Thoman name was Anneyn Darshiell, but it was difficult to pronounce in English. Matt had been surprised to learn that it meant “from the rainbow.” ‘Rainbow’ was her family’s totem. It was Dr. Sledd who had realized the name was similar to French “d’arc ciel,” and similar words in several Indo-European languages. That, and the fact that the ancient Anglo-Saxon word for “protector” was “hleo,” had convinced Sledd that Darcy really was from another planet. She had simplified her name to Ana Darcy. For a formal hearing, however, Matt figured he should use her real name. Hleo’s last name was Ap Darshiell, she had told him, by virtue of his having been a family retainer for years and years. By the time he’d fixed a second mug of coffee, another question was waiting for him.

            “Q:  Please describe what happened after Mr. Vianogh awoke.”

            He took a deep breath and began typing. “A: Ms. Darshiell awoke first. She asked me to purchase some civilian clothes for Mr. Vianogh, who had only his flight suit, and to also check on medical services available for people who had mental problems. When I returned, Mr. Vianogh put on the new clothes. He and Ms. Darshiell had an argument about something, and he seized her, twisting her arm behind her back, and forced her outside in the direction of her ‘escape pod.’ I was afraid he was going to do her harm.

            “The only weapon I could find was a small kitchen knife. I confronted him as he was about to force her to depart. I never saw him move—he was very, very fast. He must have taken the knife from me and cut me across my chest with it. Then he pulled me into the escape pod and forced Ms. Darshiell to take off.

            “The pain in my chest was severe but not disabling. I could tell that Ms. Darshiell was still arguing with him. He made her stop high over the nearby mountains and open the hatch. I believed it was his intention to push me out to my death.

            “Ms. Darshiell said something in Luvit that upset him and made him shout at her.

She answered with something else, and pulled up her tunic and exposed her chest to him. At that point I was able to kick him, which surprised him so much that he fell backwards, out of the vehicle. I never saw him again. Ms. Darshiell flew me to a hospital emergency room where my wound was treated.”

            He clicked “send.” Whew! He had been able to avoid mentioning that he and Darcy were married and that she was pregnant at the time. He didn’t know a lot about Thoman society, but he knew that she was the eldest daughter of the chief of all the tribes of the planet. By marrying she had “changed tribes” (to the insignificant Méndez tribe of Earth) and lost whatever rank she might have had among her own people. He didn’t want to be the one to spill those beans. He was exhausted. No more coffee! In fact, a bathroom break would be a wonderful thing.

            When he returned, there was only this: “Thank you for your testimony, Mr. Méndez. That concludes the questions for now. If there should be more later, I trust we may contact you again. We appreciate your cooperation. Sincerely, Hleo Ap Darshiell.”

            He got up to find his wife and tell her the news. She was crossing the patio headed into the nursery. Good choice!

 

 

9

 

            The fourth morning Zimmer was able to get out of bed in less than ten minutes. That was real progress. The morning before he had hurt in so many places moving hadn’t seemed possible. He still hurt like hell all over, groaning as he stumbled to the grimy sink. The face that squinted back at him from the dirty mirror was a good match for his insides. Both were in desperately bad shape.

            “Hei, Escott, you ‘bout ready? Time to go, man.”

            Obscenities fought with each other in his brain, but he croaked, “Yeah, Esteban, I’m coming.” Esteban, cheery and compact and trim, if not clean, appeared in the doorway. “C’mon, hombre. Grab a couple tortillas and let’s vamonos.”

            In the car, with three vatos in the back seat and Esteban in front, he growled, “Don’t talk to me. I want to die in peace.”  Esteban chuckled and turned to chatter with the guys in back.

            Oh, shit, this was hard. What alternative was there, though? The money was  nearly gone and the main marketable skill left was his body, which was proving barely marketable at all. He was heartily sick of toting bricks, sheetrock, plywood, lumber, and tools all over the work site. Please, please, please, let there be no bricks today.

            The job paid considerably better than minimum wage, and it was easy to get given the desperate need for laborers in the Austin area—no resume required, no questions asked. You didn’t even have to be a citizen. Just show up, work like a goddam mule all week, and get a check on Friday. Friday was tomorrow. If he lived.

            Every damn dime would be saved until there was enough to get to Miami, where that law firm that handled Starchild was. He’d hound the hell out of them until something gave, goddammit. No more cigarettes, either. Damn things were three dollars a pack! The vatos would occasionally pass along a butt—they were pretty good guys. They provided a free bunk in their hovel as long as he supplied the transportation. He gnawed another piece off his tortilla. They shared their food, too, though he kicked in a bit himself. Even so, he was losing weight.

            Actually, he felt some pride in what he was doing. It was permanent; he was helping create some lovely homes in the Austin suburbs. It would be cool to own one some day. Would the residents ever give a thought to the poor slobs who labored to create their lovely dream homes? Probably not. Maybe he could write about this experience eventually, if he survived it.

            Homes. Homes! Dammit, that was a bitter phone call to Julie two days ago. She’d barely said anything. Madison was “fine,” and that was about all. It was painfully obvious she didn’t want to see him, hear him, or think about him, and in all honesty he couldn’t really blame her. He tried not to imagine Madison’s opinion of him, if she even bothered to have one.

            He pulled off the road and killed the engine. The four vatos got out and walked over to the foreman. He followed, limping. The guy, a paunchy, sunburned fellow named Ron, was reading the assignments off a clipboard, pointing here and there to various houses in different stages of completion. “Zimmer!” he barked, pointing. “Bricks! Over there!”

10

 

            After breakfast was a good time to check the garden. Darcy had just started up her computer, playing the solitaire game that came with it. Cards were flying around the screen faster than Matt could identify them. He watched a few seconds but it made him dizzy. He stepped outside thinking of the time they had been accosted by a robber in a mall parking lot. Whatever Darcy had done to that kid happened in about half a second. The robber probably never knew what hit him; Matt certainly hadn’t, and he’d been watching. If the twins inherited any of Darcy’s speedy genes, there’d be trouble some day, maybe soon.

            Yesterday’s sand storm had blown over some of the cages around the little tomato plants, and fixing those plus dragging the hose to a new location took a while. Returning through the patio back gate, he could hear angry baby cries coming from the nursery.

            Clio was in her crib on her back, peacefully batting the toy animals hanging from her mobile, with Mork, the formerly antisocial cat, crouched at her feet in a grey and white striped ball, his tail twitching back and forth in time to Julio’s wails. For whatever reason, Mork had taken a liking to Clio, so much so that he’d stay with her even when other people were around, watching everyone with wide-open eyes.  Before Clio, he ran and hid whenever there were strangers in the house.

            Kelsie, granddaughter of “Old Man Jiménez,” the local handyman, was in the rocker with Julio howling in her arms. “He’s sleepy,” she said, when Matt walked in, “but he’s fighting it. He’s giving up. Aren’t you?” She rocked and rubbed his head and resumed singing a lullaby. Matt patted Clio, whose heavy eyes barely registered, and left them to their naps. It was odd Darcy hadn’t looked in on them....

            He found her still at her computer, but swiveled toward the window, head down and hands between her knees. She didn’t look up. Something was wrong; he felt it. He laid a hand on her shoulder. “Sugar?”

            She looked strained. She leaned against him. “What is it, babe?”

            She sighed. “You’d better sit down. It’s complicated.”

            He sat on the couch. She moved next to him, her hands back between her knees. He pressed her against his side.

            “The hearing. Hleo sent their ruling.”

            “Oh! Was there a problem?”

            “Not with that, not really. We’re ex...exon....”

            “Exonerated?”
            “Yes.”

            “But that’s good, isn’t it? We’re not to blame?”

            “Yes, that’s good. There’s more, though. I never told you what I said to Bennec when he was about to push you out of the pod, did I?”

            “Nooo. I just remember that he shouted at you. And when you said something back and he reacted, that was when I kicked him. But no, you never said what you told him. What did you tell him?”

            “Well...the poor man, he was so confused. He had been telling me how great it would be when we got married. Our two clans would be united and he would be the one to join our people with Earth’s. Nothing I said registered with him until that moment in the pod.” She paused and sniffled. “I told him I had married a citizen of Earth, that I no longer had any clan. That I was nothing.

            “That really upset him. He shouted that it was impossible, that I would never do that to him. I lost my temper. I told him I had and that I was pregnant. That’s when I pulled up my tunic and showed him my belly. Then you kicked him.”

            “I never knew that! That was smart, sugar! But...I still don’t get it. They don’t blame us for that, do they?”

            “No. In fact, they apologized for not recognizing he had a problem before that, and for not keeping better track of him. No, the problem is that the hearing involved more than just my testimony and yours. Hleo was following everything on the moon using the radio in the pod. He was recording it. The recording had to be played at the hearing.”

            “Aaah. Wait a minute—I’m beginning to get it. I never said anything in my testimony about our marriage, but this means they found out anyway, right?”

            “Yes, they did. When they asked me about that, I had to admit it. Do you know what that means?”

            “Well, I guess it means, let me see, it must mean that they no longer count you as a member of one of their tribes. You’ve changed to my ‘tribe.’ So...that means...hmm....”

            “It means they no longer consider me a citizen of Thomo, and no longer a member of the Thoman delegation. Because I’m not. It’s true.”

            “Uh huh. Well, you knew that yourself, didn’t you? I mean, how does that change anything?”

            “You remember I explained about how we like to balance everything?”

            “I do. You said your government had two houses, one for the tribes and one for individuals. This delegation had two from each, counting you. Uh-oh. I get it. Now the balance is off. Is that it?”

            “Yes, that’s it. Now, Herecyn and Ianthe can outvote Uncle Rothan. Hleo can’t vote. He’s not technically a citizen at all...just like I’m not.” She sighed.

            “Sooo, what does that mean, then?”

            “Herecyn has always wanted to be rich. I told you I never liked him. I refused to marry him, a long time ago. All he cares about is status and money. And my sister Ianthe, now that she’s his wife, just follows his lead. So when the mission finally arrives here, I’m afraid he will turn it into a money machine. Hleo told me that’s all Herecyn talks about now. I’ve heard that there are already lots of people here on Earth who see our coming as no more than an opportunity to get rich. They’re already fighting to make money from the hydrogen energy designs that Rothan sent as a gift to everyone last year.

            “But Matt, our returning home isn’t just about money! That should be only a small part of it! Your people, your cultures, have so much to give besides money, and so does ours. We should enjoy each other, learn from each other! If we start squabbling over money and trade, all that will be forgotten! My people will have done this for nothing—I’ll have done this for nothing, worse than for nothing!”

            She laid her head against his side. He put both arms around her and hugged her to him.

            “Oh, man. I see now. That’s a shame! Oh, Darcy, I’m so sorry!”

            “I can’t let that happen, Matt, I just can’t, not if there’s something I can do to prevent it. I owe that to my father, and to our people.”

            Matt’s skin started to crawl. He looked down at her. “But what can you possibly do?”

            “You remember when you found Dr. Sledd?”

            “Of course.”

            “When everyone thought I was crazy, saying that meteoroids were going to collide with the Earth?”

            “Right.”

            “And he said that if I made myself famous people would have to listen, right?”

            “Yes....”

            “And that’s why I went to the Olympic Games. And it worked, didn’t it?”

            “Yes....” He was getting a bad feeling about this.

            “Well, I no longer have any status with the Thoman delegation. But I do here on Earth. People remember who I am, and they want to see more of me. I didn’t care about that until now, but now I have something important to tell them again. Maybe I can use the fame Dr. Sledd talked about to make it happen.”

            “Oh, man!” He thought about what she said. “You figured this all out just now?”

            “I can’t think of any other way, Matt.”

            “Oh, boy. You’ll have to travel, won’t you, and be out in public?”

            “Yes. I’ll have to plan carefully.”

            “And what about the twins?” He didn’t add, though he thought it, What about me?

             Her voice shrank to a peep. “I know. I know! I’ll have to be gone sometimes. But I’ll be back as often as I can, and things are set up here to run pretty well by themselves. They have you!” They did, but what did he know about raising babies? “It’s for my people! It’s for your people! I can’t do nothing! What else can I do, Matt?” She was weeping; he shook out the handkerchief from his back pocket and held it tenderly to her face, pulling her closer. What else could she do indeed? What was he going to do? What would they all do?

11

 

            The board meeting had gone on for two hours and Bill Leachman was still trying and failing to understand what was really happening. It was flattering that Sal Fiorini, his boss, had brought him along to back him up. This was the place for up-and-comers and if Sal thought his assistant should be there too then he must be an up-and-comer himself—but he’d best be careful not to let that go to his head. It was not the place for egos. Watching Kurt Rainer, the owner and founder of the RPT Group, one of the world’s largest and richest privately held conglomerates, run the meeting reminded him of that Chinese movie where what seemed to be going on was nothing at all like what was really going on.

            Rainer was a keen businessman, no doubt about that. He expected his underlings to be knowledgeable, decisive, and ruthless. It was rumored that he dabbled in other stuff, too. Several years earlier, a powerful politician was said to have become a problem and was swept away all of a sudden by a sex scandal, which just happened to come to light in a magazine Rainer owned. The highway patrolman who supplied the evidence retired to Florida as soon as the trial was over.

            A think tank underwritten by Rainer was staffed by hacks, yes-men, and impoverished, dead-end academics thrilled to become stars at a big-bucks foundation. The think tank churned out editorials for newspapers, position statements, and political strategies by the hundreds, all to the taste of its invisible sponsor.

            Yet Rainer himself stayed out of the news. Even his headquarters building barely announced the corporation’s name, The RPT Group.

            Leachman’s attention snapped back into focus when he heard his boss’s name mentioned. Sal Fiorini was the head of the “Strategy and Research Division,” which didn’t seem to mean anything, but at the same time meant everything. He was evidently one of Rainer’s oldest and most valued employees, the one who could find ways to do things, and people to do them, that no one else could. Formerly a veteran of “Congressional relations” (that is, a lobbyist), he had contacts others could only dream of.

            Rainer was saying, in his soft, precise voice, “I think that takes care of the bulk of our business for this week. There is one other item we might devote some thought to. Have any of you happened to look at the website about that new planet, Thomo?” He looked around the table. Six of eight hands went up. “Good. I did too. I’ve spent several evenings with it, in fact. It’s fascinating. Most of the information there is quite general, yet if one reads between the lines, I’m thinking that there might be some nuggets of interest to us. Obviously, their technology is appreciably ahead of ours, yet not dauntingly so. Their knowledge of medicine, genetics, and health care seem most impressive. Manufacturing, energy production, any number of areas, might offer us, here on Earth, and especially in this corporation, stunning opportunities for development.

            “We’re not the only ones to realize that, of course. You can bet when their U.N. mission opens next month it will be besieged by like-minded people. Why don’t we see if we can get the jump on our competition?” He looked around. No one moved.

            “They already have a firm representing them. It’s Benning, Bynum, Caxton, Braithwaite, down in Miami. Do we have any ins with them?” 

            After a second, Sal looked up. “I went to law school with Jack Benning. Haven’t seen him in a couple of years, but we know each other.”

            “Good.” Rainer, looking neither surprised, pleased, or disappointed, continued, “Check it out, Sal. Move it to the top of your list. Meeting adjourned.”

 

 

            It was only 10:15, but it was time for bed. There was probably an early morning feeding ahead, and Darcy already looked tired. Matt made a ticking sound with his tongue and patted the couch next to him. Darcy pushed back from her computer and flopped down next to him. He draped an arm over her shoulders and nestled her close. “It’s about time to quit, whaddya say?”

            “Pretty soon,” she said. “I’ve been thinking.”

            “You? Unbelievable! What about?”

            “About when you taught me how to drive a car. Do you remember that?”

            “I didn’t teach you how to drive a car. I taught you how to drive a truck. And yes, I remember it. You were my best student—my only student, actually. What about it?”

            “I’ve been thinking...maybe it’s time to, how do you say it, return the favor? I need to teach you to fly the pod.”

            “What? You’re kidding, right?”

            “No, not at all. I’m serious.”

            The “pod” was the emergency vehicle originally attached to Darcy’s moon base. She had used it to fly to Earth, and it now sat out of sight in a barn at the back of the Méndez family compound.

            “¡Ay, Chihuahua! I don’t know anything about flying! Why would you want me to know how to fly it?”

            “You’ll be surprised how easy it is. It’s not much harder than driving a car...or a truck. Really. You need to know.” She clasped his hand in both of hers. “I’ve been setting things up with the lawyers. I’m going to be making a trip soon—I’ll tell you the details tomorrow. I’ll probably be making several trips. You know I’ll be careful, but still, like Hleo says, always have a Plan B. If something happens to me, you ought to know how to operate it.”

            “Aww, sugar! I don’t want to think about anything happening to you!”

            “I don’t either, Matt, but I have to. In fact, Hleo already has a Plan B, and maybe a Plan C too. I don’t know all the details, but in an emergency you can email him and he’ll fill you in. And somebody has to be able to take care of the pod. Who else could do it?”

            “Yeah, well, I guess I’m the only candidate. I’ve only been up in it once, as you know, and that time I was in kind of bad shape. I didn’t enjoy it much.”

            “I know. That was terrible. But the pod is easy to fly—it’s fun, really. My people did a great job building it.”

            “How does it work, anyway? It barely makes a sound.”

            “I don’t know exactly how, any more than you know how a computer works.”

            “Well, I didn’t mean how exactly. But how sort of?”

            “Hmm. Well, have you ever read much about cosmology, about the composition of the universe?”

            “Huh? Well, I guess I’ve read stuff in the newspapers and in magazines about the Hubble Space Telescope, and relativity and like that. I don’t really understand it, but sure, I read a little about it. Why?”

            “Your physicists and astronomers have determined that the visible universe, that is, everything that you can see through a telescope like the Hubble, only accounts for about 10% of what is actually out there. They’re not too sure what the rest is. Have you heard that?”

            “Yeah, I have, actually. I think they call the other 90%, the part they don’t know about, ‘dark matter.’”

            “That’s right. Our physicists haven’t figured it all out completely either, but they know more than your people do. One thing they understand is gravity. Your physicists understand it too, but ours have been able to harness it. We can use it.”

            “No kidding?”

            “Yes. That’s why our moon base has approximately Earth’s gravity, even though the moon has only one sixth as much. That’s how come there’s gravity in the pod, even when it’s halfway between the moon and Earth. And that’s what drives its engines.”

            “Oh, holy Pete! For real?”

            “Yes. That’s how I was able to travel here from Thomo at 95% the speed of light. Uncle Rothan’s vehicle did it at 98%.”

            “Oh, my God! Think what that technology would be worth!”

            “Not as much as you think. I mean, it would be like giving a computer to people who didn’t have electricity or numbers or an alphabet. They might figure it out in time, but they would have to develop all kinds of technology first.”

            “Yeah, but they might not know that! They’d want the thing right now!”

            “I guess they would. That could be a problem.”

            “How long will the pod function?

            “We don’t know. A long time, probably. The energy source is more or less infinite.”

            “What did it cost, anyway?”

            “It never really had a price. It’s the only one like that, as far as I know.”

            “Well, you’re so good at mathematics. Make a guess!”

            “Oh, all right. Let me see....” She stared across the room for a minute. “I’d say it cost something around a billion of your dollars.”

            “A billion!! Oh, my God!”

             “It’s one of the most advanced machines we’ve ever made. I think it’s worth close to that.”

            “And you want me to fly it? Me, Matt Méndez, who has trouble balancing his checkbook?”

            She looked up at him and smiled that half-smile she had that always cut to his heart. “Sure! After all, you drive your truck with no problems. This is not much different. We have a little time right now. It’s good and dark. Let’s go out there and I’ll give you a lesson.”

            “Girl, girl, girl. I don’t know about this....”

            But he got up and followed her outside, after she clipped on the beeper the sitters used to summon her when they needed her. She and Matt didn’t care to be interrupted in their bedroom, and the beeper was just the thing for that.

            The lesson was successful. As she had predicted, it wasn’t that hard to fly. The controls were like nothing he had ever seen, but they were quite intuitive and he was sure he would remember how to use them again. At Darcy’s direction, he was able to activate the engines, lift it off the ground, and ease it out into the open. Then, gingerly, he raised it to roughly twice the height of the cottonwood trees around the house and directed it out over the chili field behind their house.

            It was exhilarating. A tiny crescent moon a quarter of the way up the sky provided enough light to see where they were. Cautiously, he turned it around and flew back over their house, over the deserted highway, and stopped over the Rio Grande, barely twinkling in the faint light.

            “¡Allí, madre!” he exclaimed. “Man! This is cool!”

            “OK, now take it back to the barn. Go slowly.”

            He did so, very slowly indeed. All in all, it was easier than backing a trailer up to a loading ramp. He set it down in the barn and cut the power. The faint hum died away. She opened the hatch and they got out.

            “Babe! That was terrific!”

            “See? I told you it was easy! Another night I’ll show you how to use the navigation system. We can do that in the barn, without taking it outside.”

            “How fast will this thing go?”

            “I don’t really know. Faster than sound, I’m sure.”

            “No lie?”

            “Yes—it’ll go fast enough and high enough to tell anyone tracking it on radar that it isn’t a normal aircraft. You’ll want to be careful about that if you ever have to take it somewhere. It doesn’t have the power to leave Earth orbit, but it will go under water.”

            “What? No!”

            “Yes. I did it.”

            “You did? When?”

            “The last time I had it out, when poor Bennec and I were returning from the South Pole. We were over the Gulf of Mexico and some airplane detected us. I think it was looking for smugglers or something.”

            “You never told me that! Dang! What happened?”

            “We could have speeded off, but they’d just have sent faster planes to find us. Instead, I set it down on the water. They had fired warning shots at us. They must have thought they hit us. I forced it to submerge—it was perfectly watertight. After all, it was designed for outer space. We traveled over a hundred kilometers from that point under water. Then we surfaced and came the rest of the way. Poor Bennec was terrified. I was too, actually. I couldn’t see a thing.”

            “Oh, sweetheart! That must have been terrible! Gosh, you were brave!”

            “There was nothing else to do, Matt. There was no other choice. Right now, my choice is to go to bed. OK?”

            “¡Claro que sí! Acostémos, ¡amor de mi vida!” What a woman, even brave enough to sleep with him!

 

 

            “Yeah? Whatcha want?”

            “I need to talk to Nino.”

            “Who are you?”

            “Razzy Napolitano. He knows my uncle, Vinnie, back in Queens.”

            “Whatcha wanna talk to him about?”

            “I got a business tip I think he’ll want to know about.”

            “Wait here.” He shut the door. Some putz in starched jeans and a designer shirt under a light jacket. To hide the gun, no doubt. He was back after a long wait.

            “Follow me.” They walked to the back of the house, to a patio overlooking the beach. A stout bald man sat under an umbrella by the pool, smoking a cigar and watching six or seven people standing around a smoky grill drinking beer. He looked up. “Razzy.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            “Your uncle is Vinnie Napolitano?”

            “Yes, sir.”

            “Good man. Steady. What do you do?”

            He looked around. In a low voice he said, “I run numbers for Joe Bananas.”

            “Yeah?”

            “Yeah. It’s a living.”

            “I bet. I’m entertaining here. And you got business for me?”

            “I apologize. Joe Bananas said you was vacationing down here, but he didn’t want no part of what I found. I thought you might.”

            “Yeah?” He took a thoughtful pull on his cigar. “All right. I’ll give you five minutes. Let’s take a walk.” He pulled himself to his feet and headed for the surf. He was overweight, pale, and clearly in need of a Florida vacation. His feet splashed through the foam at the waterline. “Far as I know, the government ain’t wiretapped the ocean, not yet.”

            “No, sir.”

            “OK, tell me.”

            “See, I got this one customer, I’m into him for a half mil, and he don’t have it. I’m leaning on him a little, just to keep his attention. But before I get serious, I thought I might talk to you. I can’t handle what he’s connected with, but someone like you, you know, you might.”

            “Whazzat?”

            “He’s a lawyer, thinks he’s a big shot lawyer, but he’s more like a pussycat. Got a dad with money out the ying yang, only he won’t bail his kid out. Kid’s a gambler, got it bad, in deep. But get this: he works with big bucks. I did a little checking around. He’s got access to foundation and trust fund money. I mean big money, like hundreds of millions. He’s not smart enough to drain a little off on his own, but someone who knew how to run him—know what I mean?—someone like that, well, there might be big bucks to be made. Huge bucks....”

            “Yeah? What’s in it for you, huh?”

            “Me? Nothin’! Well, your good will. Maybe a good word from you, some time, sir. Maybe even a percentage, but only if you feel like it. Like I say, I don’t have the expertise to work this guy, but he’s ripe. He could be pushed. You can decide. I won’t feel bad if you don’t wanna.”

            “Nothin’, huh?” They walked another fifty feet. Nino tossed his cigar into the water. “Well, the price is right, I’ll give you that. OK, Razz. Tell me about this guy.”


12

 

            Matt did some of his best thinking on the exercise bicycle. Maybe it was the fan underneath it. He just pedaled and pedaled while the thing whizzed away and his mind sort of zoned out on its own. At first he’d been thinking about how he and Darcy hadn’t had much time lately to go out running or biking together. That was understandable, given the twins. Then he started to worry about her upcoming trip, but there wasn’t much point in that since she hadn’t given him the details yet and she probably had it all figured out anyway.

            A more absorbing line of inquiry was him himself. He thought he was making a pretty good father so far, still learning as he went, to be sure. He was a decent manager of the household and all the property and machines and paperwork that went with that. But what else did he do, really? He wasn’t a reporter any more, though he was still writing the account of his wife’s first year on the planet. He didn’t have a job, a paying job. Wasn’t he supposed to? Didn’t society consider him a failure if he wasn’t the main provider for his family? Come to think of it, wasn’t that the position that a lot of women were in, looked down on if they only raised a family, and also looked down on if they earned their family’s keep? Did those who managed to do both get any credit for it? What about that? Was he in that position himself, and if so, did it matter to him?

            And what about him and Darcy? Was he all the husband she deserved? What the hell kind of husband did she deserve, anyway? He knew full well that he didn’t deserve her. Did she deserve him? It didn’t seem like she did—she deserved better, surely...but who better than him? Too bad the state of marriage didn’t come with an instruction book. At some point he became aware that his butt was sending him an increasingly urgent message—it was time to get off the damn bicycle and move to the weights.

            When he walked back to shower, Darcy was napping on the couch, her toes almost hidden in Eleanor’s fur. Eleanor regarded him sagely, as though he wasn’t worth more than a slitted glance. Could even cats see through him?  Maybe the shower would inspire him to create a surprising and delicious lunch for everyone, Eleanor included.

 

 

            “That was great, Matt. Thank you.” Eleanor was still on the arm of the couch but facing the other way, where she could keep an eye on Darcy. “Was that your mother’s recipe?”

            “Mostly. I’m glad you liked it.”

            “The spices were just right. The comino was a nice touch.”

            “Well, that was your suggestion, months ago. I made a note on her recipe.”

            “Oh! I forgot.”

            Aziza had gone back to the sitters’ room to get ready to leave. The sitters changed after lunch, in the evening, and at breakfast. It helped to have an extra hand at meals, to spoon food into two hungry mouths and mop up the spills.

            Darcy continued, “I need to fill you in about my trip.” Matt, wiping pureed spinach off the floor, nodded. “I’ll leave in the morning, to meet with the lawyers. They have an agent for me to meet and some choices to make for the U. N. mission in New York City. That’s about all, for this first trip. I should be back some time the next day. You won’t have to drive me to El Paso. I have a commuter flight from here to Dallas. I’ll fly from there on a big plane.”

            “How about the return?”

            “I’ll probably fly back to Dallas and find another commuter flight. Or maybe a charter to here.” Darcy seldom booked in advance, and tried to vary her pattern, in case anyone might try to follow her. She carried some simple disguises with her as well. One time she looked like a maintenance man, so convincing that even Matt was fooled.

            “OK. Don’t forget your cell phone.”

            “I won’t. You’re the only person with my number. Well, Hleo has it too. There are no numbers stored in it. If I lose it, it won’t tell anyone anything.”

            “Good.” She seemed to have thought of everything he had—and probably many things he hadn’t. She’d even found the La Leche League website and learned out how to store a supply of milk for the twins, something Matt had never heard of and didn’t know could be done. Darcy looked behind him: “Buenos dias, Kelsie!” Kelsie Jiménez walked in from the patio.

            “¡Hola, señora! ¡Hola, bebitos!” Clio began gooing, her chin dripping green. Julio was concentrating on using his fist to mash drops of refritos. “¿Tienen sueño?”

            “Nap time!” Matt began unharnessing his children from their high chairs, wiping as he went.

           


13

 

            “Ms. Darcy! So good to see you again!” Charlene Stratemeyer was Benning, Bynum, Caxton, Braithwaite’s head lawyer for foundations and trust funds. In her mid-forties, she was crisply professional and immaculately coiffed, but Darcy liked her anyway. She shook her hand and settled in the indicated leather wing chair. “How have you been?”

            “I’ve been well, thank you. I’m sorry to have bothered you with so many requests lately. Getting the Thoman mission to the United Nations off to a good start is more complicated than I expected. ”

            “I understand, of course. Please don’t worry that you are bothering me. That’s what I do here—whatever you need done! I’m delighted to help.”

            “Thank you, Charlene. It’s wonderful to have you to work with.” Darcy always felt comfortable in formal situations. She had grown up amid much ceremony and etiquette, where good manners were expected and conformity the norm. If she had been too stubborn to always conform, she at least took comfort from the predictability of ceremony. “Please—call me Ana! How is Michelle?”

            “Michelle is a different child these days. I’m almost willing to admit she’s my daughter. I don’t know what you told her during your last visit, but her attitude has done a 180 since then...oh, excuse me—I mean her attitude has improved unbelievably. She’s making good grades in school, and she’s doing well on the high school swimming team. She even has friends now, friends that I like too!”

            “That’s wonderful! I didn’t tell her much, really, just that the only one who could really help her was herself.” Actually, Darcy had thoroughly whipped Michelle’s abusive boyfriend and his larger, uglier friend, but she didn’t think Charlene needed to know that.

            “Heaven knows, I told her that myself about a million times. But I think it was because it came from you, a young and successful and famous person, that got through to her. I’m really in your debt.”

            “Not at all. It was a pleasure, truly.” It had been anything but a pleasure watching the two thugs, bleeding and in pain, driving away from Michelle’s house. The whole episode couldn’t have taken three minutes.

            “You just reminded me! Michelle told me her school is having a rally in the morning to build spirit for the exams the students are going to take soon. The principal is going to speak, and everyone is dreading that terribly. If you’ll be here then, would you be willing to speak to them?”

            “Me??”

            “Yes, you! Absolutely! You and I are going to meet with an agent in” (she looked at her watch) “fifteen minutes, so that you can begin making some public appearances, right? Why not begin with a school? I’ll call the principal and tell him I have an unnamed surprise celebrity who’s willing to speak to his students. Why not?”

            Charlene had a point. Why not? “All right; I’ll do it. If he’ll have me.”

            “Excellent! He’ll have you! Or he’ll answer to me! Now, I remember you like tea. How about some tea? While we drink it, I’ll explain what we’ll cover with the prospective agent and the real estate representative.”

            The rest of the morning’s business turned out to be easy. The agent, a flashily dressed, businesslike man, had been recommended by Chuck Henneke, the athletic scout who had evaluated Darcy’s athletic abilities for the law firm. Henneke’s word was gold with the lawyers, and he suggested a Miami-based sports agent who represented athletes, entertainers, and a few politicians for a nationally-based firm. Darcy saw no reason Henneke’s choice wouldn’t be acceptable, after reminding both the agent and Charlene that she could be contacted only by email, and only by forward through the law firm.

            The real estate person turned out to be an entirely different sort of individual: an older man, extremely polite, painfully correct, and wearing what Darcy assumed was a very expensive, custom-made suit. He showed her a thin folder containing five possible choices for the Thoman U. N. mission and residence, all horribly expensive. She promised to consider them all and come to New York City for a personal showing in a week or so. That satisfied him and he departed, punctiliously. Darcy shot Charlene a glance as the door closed behind him. Charlene shrugged and tilted her head slightly. “Are you hungry? How about lunch?”

            “A good idea!”

            “Shall I invite V. T.?” V. T. Newsome was Charlene’s assistant. He had done some of the legal groundwork on the Second Planet Foundation.

            “Certainly.”

 

            V. T. remembered that the last time Darcy had visited, she said she had never tried Japanese food. They had found her some, and she loved it. As they pulled out of the parking garage in Charlene’s sedan, he reminded her of that and asked her what kind she wanted this time.

            “I don’t know, V. T. I’ve had plenty of Barbadian food, when I was training there, and I’ve had Chinese, Japanese, Vietnamese, and Mexican food. So far I’ve never had any food I didn’t like. What do you recommend?”

            “Miami has it all...well, almost all. Actually, New York City has it all. But we have a lot. There’s Indian, there’s Ethiopian, there’s Mongolian...hey, I know! Not many cities have Haitian restaurants, but we do! How about Haitian food?”

            “Is that all right with you, Charlene?”

            “I’ve never had Haitian food myself. Sure, that’s fine with me. Tell me where it is, V. T.”

            They ended up at a tiny blue collar restaurant strangely named Tap Tap whose walls, tables, and chairs were covered with the most colorful paintings depicting an exotic variety of plants, animals, and odd symbols. V. T. maintained that they had something to do with religious practice in Haiti, but exactly what, he had no idea. Darcy, wearing her black hair, was no more out of place than Charlene and V.T. among the mostly black clientele of the place. The food was good, Darcy thought, but not exceptional, leaning to chicken, rice, and beans, and what she considered overcooked green vegetables. When V. T. asked, she told him she liked it.

            “What amazes me most about food...here,” she said, looking around, “is the spices. In some dishes they are combined with great imagination. I really love that.”

            “Well, if that’s how you feel,” V. T. replied, “next time we’ll have to try Indian food. Have you ever had any?” She shook her head. “I mean, usually one or two spices will dominate a dish, but the Indians do it differently. They’ll add a dozen, maybe two dozen. The effect is quite unlike anything else.”

            “I didn’t know you were such a connoisseur, V. T.,” Charlene said admiringly.

            “Well, I don’t cook to speak of...but I do eat, three times a day. You might be surprised at the things I know!”

            “Would I?” Charlene mused.

            “Sure! I’ll give you another example. I know a journalist who writes for a major magazine who’d love to interview you for a big article, Ana. I bet I could have him stop by the law firm in the morning and do just that. What about that?”

            “Oh. Well, I have something to do at ten. But maybe at nine?” She looked at Charlene.

            “It’s fine with me,” Charlene said. “Who does he write for?”

            “I can’t remember, exactly. But it’s big. Let me call him and see if he can make it.”

            “He can’t do much of an interview in less than an hour,” Charlene pointed out. “Does he live here? Could he begin now and finish later?”

            “I don’t see why not. I’ll ask. I bet he’d sell his grandmother to interview Ana D...uh, Ana.” He looked at the people at the table next to him. They were laughing and pulling meat off chicken bones.

            “Surely not,” said Charlene. “His grandmother might have a say in the matter.”

            “Just a figure of speech, Charlene. Just a figure of speech. By the way, Ana, do you remember going to that club last time you were here to sample some Cuban music? Would you like to go to another one tonight?”

            “I remember. That was fun! But I already have plans tonight, V. T.. I’m sorry. Maybe next time?”

            “OK, sure. I’ll write it down!”

            Darcy’s “plans” were to go to bed early and sleep all night long without any interruption at all for the first time in months and months. And that is what she did, for twelve hours straight.

             

 

            The journalist in question would have borrowed other people’s grandmothers to sell for an interview with Ana Darcy had there been a way to do so. He saw the flashing message light on the phone when he returned to his rent-by-the-week motel room late in the evening, perilously close to death from exhaustion. Construction in Austin, Texas had been like boot camp, but construction in Miami was like slave labor. Sure, the money was decent, but after all those hurricanes the damn place must need about a billion shingles, and he had surely carried half a billion from trucks to roofs. Those bundles were heavy as hell! Crap, he wanted a cigarette. He could even afford them now, but for some reason—pride?—he resisted the urge. Cigarettes were trivial next to some of the stuff his coworkers were ingesting. Maybe it was because his “quest” seemed more noble, being clean. Hell, who knew?

            Who could be calling him anyway? It was more important right now to get the ground-in dirt and roofing tar off his body. Forty-five minutes and three beers later, he checked the message. Yikes! It was from the lawyer he’d been bugging!

            “Hello?”

            “Mr. Newsome?”

            “Yes.”

            “This is Scott Zimmer. I’m returning your message.”

            “Ah! Good! Thanks! Mr. Zimmer, how would you like to interview Ana Darcy in person?”

            “What!? You’re kidding, right?”

            “No, I’m not. I had lunch with her today. She’s in town. I even asked her if she was willing to be interviewed, and she agreed. What do you think about that?”

            “I...I...that’s incredible! It’s unbelievable! You’re sure?”

            “Sure, I’m sure. I told her you were from some big magazine that I didn’t remember the name of. You said an interview would be worth a lot, right? So it has to be a big magazine....”

            “Yeah, yeah, right...it’ll be big, huge.”

            “So...if it’s worth, who knows, maybe millions, there’ll be a little something for the guy who helped arrange it, namely me, huh?”

            “Oh, uh, yes, of course. Thing is, they have to know I really interviewed her before they pay anything. I’ll get paid when the article is done, you see. And so will you, of course. I promise! You’re a lawyer—I’ll sign something, anything.”

            “Well, then, that just might work out perfectly. You see, she has a lot of things to do tomorrow and she can only give you a half hour. That’ll be a start, enough to prove to your editors that you’ve contacted her. But she’ll be back here before long, and you can finish it then. And you’ll have the money too...won’t you?”

            Only a half hour? Shit! But he said, “I’ll do my damndest. It’ll happen. Count on it.”

            “All right. Be here at the law firm in the morning at nine sharp. Don’t be late. She’s got someplace to be at 10:00.”

 

 

            He didn’t sleep much that night. Starchild! Was he really going to meet Starchild at last? It was funny—he had never once considered giving up searching for her, but neither had he ever considered what he would do if he actually found her. It was like the dog which chased cars. If he caught one, then what? What the hell would he ask her? Could he keep from making a total fool of himself? It better be a terrific article, for damn sure. It might not make millions, but it would make his career. It would save his life!

            His whole body was fidgety. He sat up in the gloom. A ghostly column of glittery points of light was floating in the air across the room: the dry cleaner bag containing his one suit, the suit he had been married in, reflecting the light sneaking through the drawn curtains from the motel sign out the window. That suit and most of his worldly possessions had weighed down the back end of his car for months. Please, let the wrinkles be fallen out. There was no iron in the room.  He’d lost considerable weight from all that toting of bricks and shingles. Please don’t let the waistband bunch up under the belt....

 

 

            It was her! It was Starchild! Oh, God, she was beautiful! The pounding in his chest had to be audible. He swallowed hard. His voice wasn’t working right. “Ms. D...Darcy?”

            “Yes, how do you do?”

            Such a gorgeous smile! There she was, right in front of him! He was getting dizzy. He held onto the doorknob with his left hand. With the other he shook her outstretched hand. It was smooth and cool. “I’m...I’m Scott Zimmer, Ms. Darcy. I’m a writer.”

            “Yes; Mr. Newsome told me. This is Charlene Stratemeyer, Mr. Zimmer. V. T. Newsome works with her.”

            “Yes, ma’am. Pleased to meet you.”

            “Mr. Zimmer, welcome. Won’t you have a seat?”

            “Thank you.” Stratemeyer looked like a standard-issue hotshot lady lawyer. Ana Darcy looked, well, like no one he’d ever seen: ordinary and yet also extraordinary. She was small but not tiny, and nicely dressed in black slacks, black suede lace-up flats, and a maroon silk shirt. She wore no jewelry and her nails were short. Her hair was the luminous dark gold of her wanted poster, not dark as in her Olympic pictures. She wouldn’t stop traffic, exactly, but there was something about her...balance, perhaps, or alertness or self-assuredness. He couldn’t stop thinking that she had been born on a different planet and had traveled twenty-five light years just to get here. She looked at him with a focus that made him feel spotlighted, awkward. He was digging frantically for something non-stupid to say when the lawyer lady spoke first.

            “Who do you write for, Mr. Zimmer?”

            “Pardon? Oh, uh, actually, I’m independent. I’ve written for several publications...Texas Monthly, and, uh, like that. I’m from Austin, Texas.”

            “Ah.”

            “Yes...well. Uh, Ms. Darcy, V. T. told me you have to rush off shortly.”

            “Yes, I do. I’m sorry. I promised to speak to a group of high school students. I can’t let them down. But you could come along, if you like!”

            “Really! I’d be delighted—thanks! I thought...I thought you were avoiding public appearances though.”

            “I have been, yes. But I feel an obligation to my people, my people on Thomo. The members of the second mission to Earth will be arriving soon, as you probably know, and I’d like to do everything I can to make sure that the family reunion, I guess you could call it, goes smoothly and happily. So I want to...show the flag? Is that the expression?”

            “Yes, ma’am, that’s it.”

            “That’s why I’m talking to you, as a matter of fact.”

            “Yes, ma’am. I appreciate that, very much.” She wouldn’t speak about her personal life, or the Olympics, he guessed. She might talk about the future, though. “Uh, what are your plans for when they do arrive?”

            “Well, as for that, have you looked at Mr. McLauphin’s website?”

            “Yes, I have.”

            “Then you know that I’m just an ordinary citizen, not an ambassador or representative of our government. My uncle and his delegation will fill those positions. On the other hand, I have been here for a year, and I am not unknown on Earth. I may be able to be an intermediary of some kind, an unofficial goodwill ambassador, perhaps.”

            “I’ll say you are not unknown on Earth! I don’t think I’ve met anyone who’s not heard of you. Ordinary laborers who don’t even know who the President of the United States is know who you are! If you were only an American citizen, you could be elected President!”

            “I’ll never do that, Mr. Zimmer! Ever since the Olympics, ever since soldiers were chasing me across west Texas, I’ve been uncomfortable in crowds. No matter what happens, I’ll never be a public person. I couldn’t stand it.”

            “About the Olympics, Ms. Darcy....” Before he could finish his question, the lady lawyer interrupted.

            “I’m sorry, Mr. Zimmer. It’s time we were leaving for that school. Do you have a car?”

            “Excuse me? Oh, yes, I do.”

            “Why don’t you wait for us in front of this building, then? You can follow us to the school. I’ll see that you’re admitted so you can cover Ms. Darcy’s talk.”

            “All right; I’ll do that. Thank you, Ms., uh, Ms. Straightmeyer?”

            “Stratemeyer. You’re quite welcome. Give us ten minutes.”

           

           

            The traffic wasn’t as bad as he expected, though the high school was way the hell out in the ‘burbs. He pulled into a visitor’s spot and accompanied them into the building, Starchild between him and Ms. Stratemeyer. “What should I tell them?” she asked her companion. “I’m not sure it matters,” was the reply.

            The principal, who they found in his office just off the entrance, turned out to be a well-dressed middle aged fellow with the characteristic ooze of an administrator or city politician. He was clearly thunderstruck when he realized who his guest was. Zimmer knew the symptoms well. The poor fellow actually broke into a sweat and began fumbling his sentences.  When Stratemeyer finally thought to introduce the tagalong journalist, the principal offered him the option of sitting on the dais at the assembly or staying in the back of the auditorium. Zimmer opted for the back. He wanted to see the kids’ reaction.

            It was a large auditorium, full of excited, noisy young people and too few teachers to maintain good order. They quieted somewhat when the principal and five or six other adults filed out to chairs set up onstage, but not much. After these whispered back and forth briefly—Zimmer seemed to be the only audience member to detect signs of surprise among them—the principal stepped to the podium and called for attention. When the hall settled down to rustles of whispered chatter, he began to speak.

            “I’d like to welcome all of you to the spring spirit assembly. This is your lucky day! I have a speech ready for you that is thirty minutes long!” He paused. The students’ apathy was palpable. “But I’m not going to read it.” He paused again. “Instead, we have a special surprise guest today. Of all the billions of people in the world, it is our unique and special privilege to have this young lady with us this morning. All of you have seen her many times on television...” at this all chatter ceased “...when she won six gold medals in the Olympic Games in Ireland last year.” Some of the quicker students around Zimmer gasped and looked at each other in disbelief. “This is the first time she has appeared in public since she addressed the United Nations General Assembly last March. Please give a warm Panther welcome to the only human from another planet, Ms. Ana Darcy!”

            Dozens of girls throughout the auditorium actually shrieked. Heads began swiveling one way and the other and finally Darcy walked out from stage right and took the podium, after ceremonially greeting the principal. The students were on their feet; some were standing on their seats. All were clapping and shouting enthusiastically. At the podium, Darcy looked nonplussed. Even sixty yards away, Zimmer thought she looked spectacular under the stage lights. The applause continued as it had at the Olympics, increasing whenever she smiled or looked like she didn’t know what to do.

            She clasped her hands under her chin and bowed, perhaps a custom with her people, but finally she held up one hand in a clear “stop” position and the clapping gradually subsided. In the comparative silence a boy somewhere in the audience whistled, to be immediately shushed by those around him. She leaned into the microphone and said “Thank you,” which only started people clapping again. Finally, after looking helplessly at the principal, she held up both hands and the audience settled down. “Please,” she said. “You do me too much honor. Please, be seated!”

            The hall finally quieted, but considerable residual excitement was still evident to Zimmer. Students were poking each other and craning their necks to get a better view of the guest speaker, who was continuing. “Thank you so much for that very gracious welcome! I promise I’m as excited as you are. It feels so good to finally be home!” The applause started again, but she raised her hand again and smiled and it died away. “I understand that the purpose of this assembly is to get ready for a big examination you have soon—is that correct?” A chorus of hisses and rumbles answered that question.

            “All right, all right. I understand how you feel. I had plenty examinations too, and I didn’t like them either. I’m sure you will do your best, and that’s all anyone can ask of you. Please know that I wish you well. 

            “Frankly, I can’t say anything that will help you with your tests. But I would like to say something about education in general, because on my planet, education is one of the most important things we do. If you read about our early life there, you’ll learn that it was very difficult. Many of us died. The only way we survived was by working very, very hard—education really was a matter of life and death. I wouldn’t be here today without it. I probably wouldn’t have been born at all.” The kids around Zimmer had stopped whispering. The backs of their heads were motionless.

            “I think today I would like to tell you something that every young person on Thomo has to learn in order to survive and prosper, that when it comes to education, and when it comes to their own lives, each one of them is in control. No school and no person, is more important than that person alone. If it is difficult for someone to learn mathematics, or to learn how to draw, or to become an engineer or an athlete, that person simply has to try, and keep trying, to fight and to practice and practice and refuse to quit, to keep working at it for as long as it takes, until he or she succeeds. Those are the kind of people who built the wonderful machine that brought me to this solar system.

            “What is true for us is just as true for each of you. Your teachers, your family, and others may be able to assist you, and you should take advantage of that. But ultimately, in the end, what happens to you, what you learn and what you do with that knowledge, is in your own hands...your very own hands. Yours!” She pointed at someone in the front row. Zimmer heard the gasp all the way in the back. She lowered her hand but kept looking at whoever it was with the same searchlight intensity he’d seen in that Sports Illustrated photo. Then she shifted her gaze slightly, looking at someone next to that person for a second, and then to someone on that person’s other side, and then, slowly, at kids all over the auditorium. Zimmer actually felt it when she looked in his general direction. He could have heard a pin drop. Finally, she added, “Yours. And no one else’s.”

            She stepped back from the podium with a tiny smile, and said, “I wish you well. That’s all.”

            The applause began again, rhythmic this time. Zimmer hastily jotted down her final sentences and moved to the back exit. She’d probably be whisked out to the car and it might be a mob scene. He’d want to be able to describe it for his article.

           

 

 

            “Excuse me, Kurt. Got a minute?”

            “Sure, Sal. Come in.” Fiorini was the only one who dared call Kurt Rainer by his first name. Rainer was in his outer office, which was bigger than most people’s homes, but ever so much more tastefully furnished, poking through a pile of newspapers, annual reports, and computer printouts. A yellow pad was on the table at his right.

            “I flew down to Miami to attend a Congressional fund raiser and ‘just happened’ to run into Jack Benning—you remember, the lead partner in that law firm?”

            “I remember. What did you learn?”

            ‘You were right, of course. I brought up that business about them representing the approaching delegation from that planet, Thomo. He said they had clients and potential clients lined up around the block, so to speak. It sounded like a gold mine. He was willing to tell me as an old law school buddy that they did indeed have some strategies and opportunities they were exploring, but he was careful to not get specific about any of them.”

            “Much as I suspected.”  He tossed down his pencil and rolled his chair back from the table. “I know you, Sal. You have some ideas, don’t you?”

             “I might. I have an even older buddy who’s like a brother to me. We grew up together. He came to see me last week. He wanted some financial advice. By chance it happened to have to do with that very law firm. He might have a way in. I think it’s worth checking out.”

            “Good. Pursue it.”

            “I will. One more thing, though. It’ll take some seed money. I don’t know how much, but probably less than a million.”

            “You got it. Who is this old buddy?”

            “You don’t want to know, Kurt. I’ll not leave any tracks; you know that. Just believe me, you don’t want to know.”

           

           

            Matt was taking an exam in fatherhood, and his grade was dropping before his eyes. Aziza simply had to leave—she had her own test to take at the university. He figured he could improvise until Sulema arrived, but twenty minutes later she called in sick. He was hunting for Darcy’s roster of sitters to call one to sub when he was pulled away by cries from the nursery. Julio had blown out his diaper, spectacularly. It looked to be a kid, clothes, and sheets operation. It was so monumental Matt was surprised he hadn’t heard the eruption from the kitchen. The poor kid was wailing desperately, and that set off Clio, who couldn’t be far from a digestive event of her own. They’d both eaten just before Aziza departed.

            If he could get them changed and everything cleaned up, maybe they’d go to sleep and he could find that list of telephone numbers. But first he’d have to clean himself up too...the list kept growing, even though he could barely think at all.

            Somebody, do something!  Maybe he should call Abuelita. ¡Hay, pero not yet, hombre! ¡Él era bien macho! He was a real man! He could cope. Méndez! You dumbass! You’re the only somebody around. He would roll up his sleeves, hold his breath, and get started.

14

 

            Sal found his old friend Nino holding court in the back of Café Palermo. It could have been awkward asking Nino to step out for a ride, but nearly a half-century of friendship provided ample justification.

            “Ehi la’, Sal, how you doin’, huh?”

            “Good, Nino, just great. How’s tricks?”

            “Can’t complain, paisan. Hey, how come you call me away from my gnocchi, eh? You just wanna show off your new ride?” Or, maybe you ashamed to be seen with me?

            “Not at all, my friend. It’s just that sometimes, you know, the walls got ears, huh? This limo is secure, know what I mean?”

            “Yeah, you got a point. Freakin’ feds. It’s true: you never know. Ha! Reminds me of the time ma overheard us plannin’ somethin’ on the back porch. We musta been about twelve. You remember that?”

            “I’ll never forget. I remember she hollered ‘Ma chi sono questi buffoni?’ ‘Who are these clowns?’ We were the clowns! What a woman! How is your ma, Nino?”

            “Ah, not so good, Sal. She’s old, what can I say. She’s in a home now in Queens. She wants to visit Sicily before she dies, but it doesn’t look like she’s up to it. You should come see her some time. It’ll do her good.”

            “I’ll do that, Nino. I’ll do that. But hey, in the meantime, I did a little checking around on that lawyer friend of yours, the one in Miami?”

            “Yeah, great. You got connections God don’t got. Whad’ya find out?”

            “He’s a live one, Nino. At least he could be. I know a businessman who’s lookin’ hard at that law firm. I think you should keep working the guy, maybe get another lead inside that firm. The right sort of contact could pay off big. I mean real big, you understand?”

            “Porca troia!  What kinda contact you got in mind, anyway?”

            “Hard to say at this point. Could be one of their main lawyers, or it could turn out to be one of their big clients. Just give your guy some rope and let’s see who wants to get hanged, huh?”

            “Yeah, I can do that. Some dough might help, though.”

            “That’s no problem. I got $500K for you right now. That ought to take us somewhere.”

            “You got it, paisan. I’ll get back to you. Come inside—have some gnocci that’ll keep you solvent for days, man!”

            “Gotta run, Nino, but thanks. You have my number.”

 

 

            “Mmmm.”

            “’Mmmm’ what?”

            “Your lips taste like vanilla. Have you been eating candy?”

            “No!”

            “And your ears smell like baby powder. That might be explainable.”

            “I promise you, Matt, I haven’t been putting baby powder in my ears.”

            “Then I guess you just naturally smell good.”

            “Well, thanks, I guess.”

            “Do I smell like anything?”

            “Huh? Hmm. Maybe.”

            “Well, what?”

            “Oh, I don’t know, Matt. My inventory of smells is not as wide as yours. Leather?” She started laughing. “Cheese? Compost?”

            “OK, never mind. I’m sorry I asked.”

            They were leaning against each other on the small couch in the babies’ room, watching Clio and Julio make slow-motion gestures in their sleep. The light went out in the bathroom, and one came on in the sitters’ bedroom.

            “Looks like Mioko is turning in. Let’s move to the living room, shall we?”

            “Sure.”

            They settled onto the living room couch in a similar position with the lights low.

            “I saw you on the news last night.”

            “Really? Doing what?”

            “I’ll show you. My schedule was so unpredictable while you were gone that I set the VCR to tape the news. It’s right here. Let me rewind it.”

            The third item on the CBS news the previous night was about the surprising appearance of Ana Darcy, the “only human on Earth from another planet, and recent Olympic champion,” at a high school assembly in Miami. The school had evidently videotaped the assembly, and the network showed a ten or fifteen second clip of Darcy speaking to the students. This was followed by clips of students in front of the school.

            “That’s Michelle!” exclaimed Darcy.

            “Who?”

            “Michelle Stratemeyer. She’s the daughter of the lawyer who takes care of the Second Planet Foundation. I met her last year.”

            “Let’s see it again.” He rewound it and pressed play. The on-scene reporter was saying “...met Ana Darcy when she visited the law firm that paid for her Olympic training last year.” Then Michelle, a young, trim brunette, appeared, with her name at the bottom of the screen: “My mom asked her to speak to us, and she agreed. It was sooo cool! She helped me a lot. She’s a really neat person. I just love her.”

            “Michelle knows what she’s talking about,” Matt whispered into her ear.

            “That didn’t go too badly. The students were excited, but they didn’t really go crazy. The agent the law firm recommended said that since people considered me a celebrity and not a political figure, crowds would probably not be too out of control. He thought I could try some more appearances.”

            “Yeah?” Matt thought ahead and made a mental note to print some extra copies of Darcy’s list of sitters, so he could find one when the next baby emergency arose.

            “Yes. He’s working on several for next week, actually.”

            “Next week?”

            “Uh-huh. First, I need to see a real estate agent in New York City and choose a place for Uncle Rothan and Herecyn and Ianthe to live and run the Thoman U. N. mission. After that, maybe on a second visit, I might do another interview. The agent mentioned The David Lehrman Show or something like that.”

            “David Lehrman? Holy moly!”

            “What? What about him, Matt?”

            “Oh, jeez. That show is huge! It’s broadcast all around the world! Millions of people watch him. But you better watch out—he’s a real smartass.”

            “What does that mean, ‘a smartass,’ exactly?”

            “He has a super-quick mind, and he’s not stupid. But his humor has an edge to it. He deflates egos, even including his own, and he’s very clever with insults. If he doesn’t like someone, he cuts them to pieces by making fun of them. I don’t mean to scare you—I think he’ll like you. How could he not? It’s just that there are celebrities who have tried to get on his show for years and never have. Once you’ve been on that show, if you survive, there’ll be nothing bigger left to do. Is your agent sure about this?”

            “He told me the show’s producer would let us pick our own date. They’d cancel whoever was scheduled if they had to.”

            “Really? Wow! Maybe it’ll work out, then. At least it’s done in New York City, probably not too far from where the mission is.”

            “Yes, the agent pointed that out too. There’s a weekend news show I might be on too, and it’s taped in the same place.”

            “Will it be safe?”

            “The show will provide security.”

            “No, I mean will staying in New York City be safe.”

            “The real estate man works with international delegations. He’s chosen several possible places that he said are secure. And the law firm will hire a company to check them too, and even provide guards if they think they are needed. It should be safe. I need to find out, if I’m going to make more public appearances.”

            “I don’t know. I wish you weren’t running around so much in public. It’s risky.”

            “I know. But I’m getting better at it. I can make myself into an old woman or an old man in a couple of minutes. No one gives me a second glance. It’s almost fun!”

            “Golly! New York City! I bet it’s a lot more peaceful right here.” He hugged her to his side.

            “It’s lovely here, Matt. Maybe, though, when the twins are a little bigger, we can travel a bit, and see some of this world.”

            “That’d be great, sugar. I haven’t seen that much of it myself.”

           

 

            “Mr. Newsome?”

            “What! Huh? Uh, yeah. What?” Two black-clad, greasy-looking guys. He’d been half-expecting and totally dreading this for weeks.

            “Get in, Mr. Newsome.”

            “Wait a minute....”

            “It’s all right. Razzy has a business deal for you, that’s all. Get in, please.”

            “But my car...?”

            “It’s all right. We’ll bring you back here when you’re done.” They looked serious; it was an offer he couldn’t refuse.

            “Uh, well, OK.” He got in. After all, he was a prominent lawyer. Hoods wouldn’t bust up someone like him and leave him in an alley, surely. But then he considered that they might just do exactly that. It was too late—he was in the limo, headed God knew where.

            They finally parked behind a sorry-looking strip mall in a neighborhood he had never seen before. One hood opened the door for him and the other opened the service entrance to a restaurant. Making sure his $800 camel hair blazer didn’t brush against the dumpster by the door, he cautiously stepped inside and followed the first guy through the kitchen. It was 5:35 pm.

            No one was in the place except a man sitting at a table by the door to the kitchen. The two of them were about the same age but this fellow was a little softer around the edges, with a face marred by childhood acne. His thinning black hair, dramatically pouffed, hinted at a fragile ego. A newspaper and a bowl of olives were on the table and he was drinking wine.

            “Ah, Mr. Newsome. Right on time. Have a seat.”

            “Uh, sure.”

            “I’m Razzy Napolitano, Mr. Newsome. You and I are related, financially related, that is.”

            “Yes, I know. I’m working on it. I’ve been working on it. You know that, right?”

            “I do. You are to be complimented, Mr. Newsome, for acknowledging your debts. I respect that. You ain’t the best gambler ever lived, but you’re willing to pay the piper in the end. That’s all I ask, usually. You’re a little behind, though. You realize that, don’t you?”

            “Of course. I’m working on it. I’ll catch up.”

            “I know you will, Mr. Newsome. I ain’t worried about that, not at all.” He gave him a half-lidded glance over his wine glass as he took a sip. “In fact, I might be able to help you out a little. That is, if you want. You could help me, maybe. If you help me, I help you, see?”

            “Help you? Me?? How?”

            “It’s easy, really. You know people I don’t—I gotta be honest; maybe they don’t want to know me. You find out something for me, if it’s helpful, I might be grateful. Grateful enough, say, to forgive a week’s vig, maybe two, depending.  Normally, I don’t do business that way. I do it by the book, you know? But if you get me some good skinny, I might make an exception. How ‘bout that?”

            “That would help. That would really help. What kind of information?”

            “Like I say, it’s easy. You work for a law firm. I hear these guys are going crazy getting ready for those folks comin’ from that other planet. What I want to know is why are they going crazy? They must be looking at some business deals of some kind. Why else would lawyers go nuts? So, what kind of business deals, huh? What are they lookin’ at that’s gonna get hot? Find that out. You could start with that.”

            “And that might be worth a week’s vig?”

            “Yeah. I think it would.”

            “I bet I can find that out.”

            “Be careful what you bet, Mr. Newsome.” He smiled like a shark. “But frankly I’m betting on you.”

           


15

 

            She knew by now not to stand up as soon as the plane “came to a full and complete stop.” It always took a long time for the people ahead of her to collect their belongings and file off. A bit of patience was required to wait her turn. She was becoming used to traveling...how many trips had she been on? Five? Six? This was her second trip to New York City. The first had been a whirlwind affair earlier in the week, to meet the real estate agent and select a site for Uncle Rothan’s mission to the United Nations. It had only taken one day, though it had been a long one.

            Now she was back and feeling a little more confident. This time she knew she had to stand in line for a taxi, and where to find the line. When her turn to be ushered into the next taxi finally came, she tossed her backpack on the back seat and climbed in next to it. A card on the seat back revealed the name of the driver: Issa Muwari. A dark, mustachioed man in a flannel shirt, he checked his mirrors, bluffed pedestrians, and accelerated into the stream of traffic.  She decided to try to converse with him, beginning with the greeting that Aziza had always used, “Salaam aleikum!”

            His dark eyes flashed on her in the rear view mirror as he replied “Al hamdu lilla,” followed by several sentences she caught not a word of.  Whoops! “I’m sorry,” she said. “I only know a very little Arabic. I hope to learn more some day. This is the address I need to go to.” She passed a slip of paper to him.

            “Forty-fort street, Tri-State Towers,” he mumbled. “OK. That’s U. N. area. You with the U. N.?”

            “Not exactly. I’m just a visitor.” A visitor, yes, but the concierge where she was going knew who she was now. He hadn’t even seemed that surprised to meet her, earlier in the week. Perhaps the handling of famous or important people was a routine affair for him. Knowing she could hop from the taxi into the relative security of the building entrance, she decided she could safely engage Mr. Muwari. “I’m helping get ready to greet those people coming from that other planet, Thomo. Have you have heard about them?”

            The dark eyes fixed on her in the mirror. “Oh, yesss, very interesting. Much talk, much talk. But very not true.”

            “You think not?”

            “No, not true. People on Earth only. Not on other planets, no.”

            “Well...one of them is already here, you know—the one who was in the Olympics, last year?”

            “Oh, yesss, I watch, but not true! Was trick! Not real! No, not happen!”

            “I can’t agree. I think it was real.”

            “No, not real! OK, OK, the imam say her father is king. But I no believe! Not from other planet! Not possible!

             “I believe she is real, Mr. Muwari. In fact, I know her!”

            The eyes flashed indignantly in the mirror once more and he huffed twice and concentrated on his driving. When the cab finally turned on 44th Street, she selected enough bills to cover the fare plus a generous tip and, after sliding all the way to the right on the seat, out of sight of the rear view mirror, carefully peeled off her dark eyebrows and the latex pad that straightened her nose and put them in a pocket. The wig went into her backpack. She shook out her hair as the cab pulled to a halt at the curb.

            Handing the wad of bills forward, she said, “Thank you, Mr. Muwari.” She opened the door. “I promise you, Ana Darcy is a real person, and she really is from Thomo. And I do know her, very well! Best wishes to you, sir.”

            If only she had been able to capture the expression on his face as he looked back over the seat! Getting out, she heard him say in a shocked voice, “Jazakallahu khairan!” She’d have to ask Aziza about that. The doorman, on the other hand, was unflappable, pulling open the door and saying only, “Good afternoon, Ms. Darcy!” 

 

 

            It was Friday! It was time for a small but well-deserved celebration. If the steak he was enjoying wasn’t the best he’d ever eaten, it was the best he’d eaten in months—and he could go back for another if he liked, and another after that! It had been so gratifying to play one buyer off against another for that Starchild article. It wasn’t half of the article he hoped to get eventually, not a quarter, but such was the hunger for genuine news about her that People magazine had been willing to cough up $5,000 even for that little bit. They probably paid the high school a little something extra for the photos, but that was their problem. The money, welcome as it was, paled next to the thought that his byline would be spread around the world (especially Austin, Texas!), and that glow was further matched by the satisfaction of having at last met his quarry in person.

            He had felt drawn to Starchild—Ana—for a long time but he was surprised to find that in person, while he felt quite bewitched, he hadn’t been tempted to make a fool of himself. She’d been quite approachable, but at the same time coolly reserved. Certainly she’d not shown the slightest interest in him—she never looked back when her lawyer friend whisked her into the car at the high school. Still, she had agreed to finish the interview at the next opportunity, and that was another thing he could celebrate.

            Not that he was ready to count his chickens, of course. It might take weeks before he saw her again. He’d keep his job for the time being, and he’d also keep the slightly more comfortable room he had rented on the strength of the modest raise they had offered. More satisfaction: the aches and pains that had nearly killed him had almost all gone away—his weight was down and the mirror was telling him nicer things about his appearance. Second-hand cigarette smoke was still intoxicating whenever he encountered it, but he refused to give in, so far, at least. Even better, the on-site manager for the construction company had adopted his suggestions for simplifying deliveries of building supplies, and, once they realized that he could communicate well, even in writing, they made increasing use of him in the office.

            Five thousand dollars! Well, really four thousand dollars. He’d told that self-appointed Greek god Newsome that he’d been paid two thousand and gave him half. V. T. needed to be encouraged to help him get the rest of his interview, after all.

            He was ready for another steak, but first he made himself eat the broccoli. It was good for him He was doing the best he could. Starchild would be proud.

 

 

            V. T. wasn’t so frightened to meet Razzy this time, though it still didn’t seem a good idea to relax too much. He was right where his gunsel told him he would be, sitting with yet another of his soldiers at a table at the beach bar of the Royal Banyan hotel, sipping a drink decorated with mint leaves and watching the swimmers frolic in the surf. Both were wearing slacks and what they probably thought were tasteful Hawaiian shirts, no doubt to conceal a whole arsenal of weapons. Razzy barely nodded at him, indicating a chair just outside the shade of the umbrella. He sat in it.

            “Mr. Newsome. How’s things?”

            “Just fine, Mr. Napolitano; things are excellent. In fact, I have some information for you.”

            “Yeah? That’s good, V. T. I’m glad to hear it. Let’s walk.” He shook his head at his assistant, who stayed put, and stood and led the way down to the waterline, where the two of them strolled casually along the water line.

            “So. Tell me.”

            “The new arrivals, those people from” he glanced around “that other planet, they’re already here. Well, not ‘here’ here. They’re at that base on the moon.”

            “Is that so?”

            “Yes. And they’ve already been communicating back and forth with the law firm I work for. Mainly, they’re working out the details of their arrival in a couple weeks. But they’re also talking about making deals.”

            “Yeah?”

            “Yes. It’s all pretty general so far. Mostly they have to do with medical technology and that hydrogen energy stuff they already sent, but there’s one thing in particular that looks like it’s real big, real exciting.”

            “Yeah? And what’s that?”

            “It’s the way they got here in the first place, from that other star. It’s some kind of fancy inexhaustible energy system they’ve developed. They don’t want to talk about it at all, so of course that’s what’s got our technical expert so excited. He doesn’t know exactly what it is so of course I don’t know either, but...I thought I’d at least tell you about it. Because you asked, you know?”

            “Yes, I did. Well, that ain’t much.” Two beats passed. “But it’s something. I guess it’s something. It’s a start.”

            “Yes, it is. No one else knows it. That’s got to be worth something right there, don’t you think?”

            “Yeah, maybe. I see where you’re going. I think that’s worth one week’s free vig, Mr. Newsome. But not two. You keep digging, OK? Learn some more about this. Good information will be worth more, maybe a lot more. You capisce?”

            “Yes, sir, I do. I’ll stay on it. And, Mr. Napolitano...?”

            “Yeah?”

            “Can I put a thousand on Mommy’s Blessing at Santa Anita on Sunday?”

           

 

 

            It took several minutes to remember where she was when she awoke. New York City! In an apartment belonging to her! Or rather, to the people of the Thoman delegation, once they arrived. She stretched luxuriously—the bed was gigantic! Six like her could have slept in it. It couldn’t have been meant for more than two people, but what two would possibly need this much room for sleeping? Plenty other things, though, were also extravagantly large here: most of the vehicles, many houses, the food portions. True, the rooms in the Thoman suite were not large—they were roughly the same size as those she had grown up in, and as her cozy house in New Mexico. Many other houses she had visited were considerably larger. Even so, small as it was, the Thoman suite was opulently finished. Extravagance seemed to signal prosperity. Well, it did at home, too...but not quite as blatantly as this.

            The view out the windows was gorgeous...what floor was she on? The forty-fourth? It was a clear spring morning. Laid out below was a river, with piers and warehouses, boats and several bigger craft moving slowly up and down, large bridges, and buildings of all sizes as far as she could see. Civilization looked chaotic and disordered. Surely no one person could ever comprehend all that was here.

            She showered quickly, dressing from the pathetically small pile of clothes and toilet articles that had come out of her faithful back pack. The closet alone was nearly the size of her bedroom in New Mexico. Did she dare go down to the restaurant below for breakfast? Wait! Room service! She called and placed an order. The offices of the Thoman mission were nineteen floors below, but that was not going to be her domain—neither was this, in fact. She might as well enjoy it in the meantime, though. She had certainly taken advantage of that bed—eleven hours of solid sleep! Could Matt have fared that well? Uh-oh! Matt! He needed to be sent a text message.

            By the time she had done that and dressed, her breakfast arrived. After signing the chit and adding a tip for the bellhop, she reflected that the bill probably wouldn’t come until next month. Her Second Planet Foundation had paid the first month’s lease, but the Thomans would assume the expenses after that. They could pay for her meal! She smiled to herself: that might be one of the little signs she was becoming a citizen of this place, a little scary and a little sad, but also exhilarating.

            What time was it? Four hours until the chauffer from the show would pick her up. It would be no problem leaving and returning as herself, then. In the meantime, she could put on a disguise and explore the neighborhood. Her new friend Roberto, the concierge, had been delighted to show her three service entrances to the building that she could use if she liked. She didn’t tell him she planned to slip out in disguise. Instead, she’d hang around those entrances a while and see what the people using them looked like. She could probably imitate their appearance with little trouble. But for now, maybe Roberto could direct her to an Indian restaurant—those spices had to be checked out!

16

 

            Matt hoped Abuelita hadn’t noticed his nervousness during the nightly twins’ beddy-bye routine. If she had, maybe she attributed it to his wife’s absence. He had told her that Ana consulted from time to time with Argentine consular officials. Who knew anything about Argentina, or its concerns? No one, that’s who. So if his wife was gone occasionally that was as good a reason as any. Abuelita happily rocked Clio to sleep while Srina did the same with Julio, and then, after a companionable chat with her in the living room over a glass of chardonnay, ‘Buela headed off to her house and bed.

            Matt set the VCR to tape the David Lehrman Show, leaving him a good three hours to fidget. Darcy’s previous trips hadn’t worried him that much, mostly because he’d had no idea what she’d been up to, but this time it was different. The David Lehrman Show was a big deal. He found himself agreeing with his wife that such stuff was hooey, and best avoided. She had no more desire for celebrity than he did. At the same time, he understood the obligation she felt to smooth relations between her people and those here, if she could. What she was doing was important to her and he admired her for her effort. He just hoped it wouldn’t screw up their little family. It would be perfectly fine with him if this phase of her life were a short one. He didn’t want to argue with her; in fact, he knew she felt the same way. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to make sure his feelings were known, though.

            There was garbage to be taken out, cat litter to be changed, a wipe-down of the kitchen, and more, all while his mind motored on. He wasn’t jealous. He was sure of that. Actually, he was rather proud of her. She was his very own celebrity, desired by the world, but herself mostly desiring only him, and the twins. Her devotion to her people, and her risk-taking on their behalf was commendable. But he was finding himself increasingly centered on their family. The rootless existence of his earlier years seemed long past now. This was where they belonged, and he didn’t want it disturbed. Darcy had definite and peculiar ideas about motherhood and child rearing, but she’d known what she was doing heretofore and she probably still did. He looked forward to seeing how the twins would develop under her guidance. If their real identity leaked out, and they had to live under a spotlight...well, it wasn’t pleasant to think about.

            The evening news came on, gateway to David Lehrman. He searched out Eleanor curled up on their bed by Darcy’s pillow, and toted her to the living room couch despite her squirming to escape. He actually told her that “her mommy” was going to be on the television and that she’d want to see her. What a dope he was. But Eleanor licked her tail into position around herself and settled down. Maybe she understood him a little. Who knew about cats?

            Finally, the Lerhman show began. Ana Darcy was headlined as the only guest, except for the obligatory rock band at the end. The opening montage of New York City dissolved to a shot of the audience and then zoomed in on Lehrman striding to center stage for his monologue. He delivered three jokes from the day’s news and then began winging it, looking at the band leader, to his right.

            “How long have we been doing this show, Pete? Thirty years? Forty?” The audience laughed along with the band leader, who replied, “Forty-five years, I think.”

            “Right. A long time. Thousands of shows. We’ve had some big guests—I don’t have to tell you—you know! We’ve had blockbuster movie stars! We’ve had athletes! We’ve had Presidents. We’ve even had Oprah! But I’ve got to tell you, tonight’s show is big. It’s terrific! Tonight we have the first guest we’ve ever had who’s from another planet.” He paused. “That is, if you don’t count Richard Simmons.” (Laughter.) “No, really. You saw the Olympics last year, right? Everyone saw the Olympics. You remember that little woman, a kid, really, just a girl, about this tall,” he held out his hand waist high, “who was running and jumping and diving like crazy, who won every medal they had? She won so many medals they had to help her carry them to the car! Well, then you know, if you were paying attention, and everyone was, that she was able to do that because...because...she was from another planet, right? Understand,” he deadpanned into the camera, “I don’t mean it seemed like she was from another planet. I mean she was really from another planet. See, she came here to tell us about this giant comet that was about to smash into Earth, and ruin everyone’s weekend...and so, and...yes, Pete, what is it?”

            The band leader was trying to interrupt him. “I was just remembering after Lance Armstrong won his sixth Tour de France and you told us Lance Armstrong would be on the show, and you had some 300 pound fat guy ride up the aisle on a bicycle. You remember that? You’re gonna do that again, aren’t you?”

            “What are you talking about, Pete? I swear, that really was Lance Armstrong!” (Laughter) “Sure, he hadn’t been cycling in several days. He bulked up a little. But no, I’m not kidding. The real Ana Darcy is on the show tonight.” He turned to the camera, made the Boy Scout salute with his fingers, and said, “If I’m lying, I’m dying; also the band Amy’s Revenge. You’ll see. I promise! Stay tuned; we’ll be right back....” 

            Matt looked at Eleanor, whose tail was folded over her eyes. He wished he had a nice, fluffy tail—if he had, he could do that too, and maybe stop up his ears in the bargain. After the commercials ended, Lehrman did a couple comedy sketches from his desk, continued his rambling monologue about the extraterrestrial guest, and cut to still more commercials. Finally, the show resumed.

            Darcy was introduced as Lehrman replayed her gold medal-winning 100 meter race, which took less than ten seconds. She emerged from stage right (to the band’s rendition of “Telstar”) as the audience burst into applause which redoubled when they realized it wasn’t a gag—it really was her. She looked much as she had on John McLauphin’s interview show the year before: black tailored slacks, black flats, sky blue silk shirt, with her hair loose over her back—small, next to the tall host, but gorgeous, if her husband were any judge. Someone had highlighted her face with a little makeup, probably to bring out her fair features under the bright lights. Apparently taken aback by the reception (genuinely, it looked to Matt) she smiled that shy smile she had and shook hands with Lehrman and allowed herself to be shown to the guest’s chair.

            The applause continued, reinforced by cheers and hollering. She stood in front of the chair and smiled, clasping her hands under her chin, bowing slightly. Lehrman stood as well, also clapping. She glanced at him as if to ask for guidance but he shrugged and smiled back. Finally she laid one hand over her heart and raised the other in a ‘cease and desist’ gesture, and sat down. The audience quieted and Lehrman sat as well.

            He beamed at her. “Hi!”

            Her reply was inaudible in the laughter.

            “No, seriously. Speaking on behalf of the people of Earth,” he looked at the camera, “I’d like to be among the first to officially welcome you to this, to this planet?” (More laughter.) “You’re lovely! Just fantastic!” That was a standard Lehrman opener. He sometimes added “You smell wonderful,” but he didn’t this time. Darcy never wore perfume.

            “Thank you!”

            “I know you usually avoid public appearances. I’m so glad you decided to come on this show! This isn’t so bad, is it?”

            “Well...nooo.” She glanced at the audience with another shy smile.

            “What a story! My, God! So there you were,” Lehman launched into another one of his flights of rhetoric, “in your little base on the moon, watching us, studying us, and all of a sudden you found these giant meteoroids headed straight for Earth. So you flew down here to tell us about it, but did we listen? No, we did not! Instead, thousands of goons, government goons, started chasing you all over Texas with dogs and guns and knives. So you entered the Olympics and won six gold medals and then held a press conference and...do I have that about right?”

            “More or less. If it hadn’t been for those meteoroids, I’d probably be up there right now, watching your show.”

            “You saw this show when you were on the moon?”

            “Yes! I learned a lot about Earth from you. I saw you throw a football into a taxicab! I saw a cat riding on a dog!”

            “Exactly! The very heart of our culture! You got a crash course!”

            “A ‘crash course?’”

            “I mean, like a concentrated lesson...”

            “Ah. Thank you. I still don’t know all your idioms.”

            “I’m one of the biggest idioms you’ll ever meet.” The audience laughed throughout the exchange. Matt was impressed with how Darcy had adopted the light tone of the show—she’d only seen it several times as far as he knew. Maybe on the moon? Or maybe her agent coached her?

            “Your English is excellent. You co-authored a book, didn’t you, which traces the origin of your language?”

            “Yes, with Dr. William Sledd. My language—our language, Luvit, the language of the people of Thomo—is related to English. It’s also related to German and French and Spanish and Czech, to all the Indo-European languages, actually.”

            “That’s just incredible. And you are related too, aren’t you?”

            “Yes, that’s true. I’m a distant cousin, sort of. Everyone here,” she looked to her right, “is my distant cousin.” A smattering of applause ran through the audience.

            “You know, what people remember when they think of you is what you did in the Olympics. You set world records in six very different events, something no one has ever come close to before. That’s just incredible! I gotta ask you, and I’m sorry if it sounds stupid, but, was it hard to do?”

            “Oh, yes! It took weeks to recover! But I had some advantages. We, our scientists, have learned how to modify our genes. I was given more fast-twitch muscle cells than normal, and I can convert food into energy faster than normal. That helped. But I don’t mean to underestimate the value of the training I received. Coach Haskins and his team were wonderful.”

            “What are fast-twitch muscle cells?” He blinked rapidly at the camera.

            “All of us have two kinds of muscle cells, fast-twitch and slow-twitch. The slow ones are responsible for strength, the fast ones for speed. Compared to a normal woman my size I’m not quite as strong, but a good deal faster.”

            “Hmm. Is that what we saw in that 100 meter race just now?”

            “Yes, partly.”

            “Is there any way to demonstrate that?”

            “Maybe. Do you have a coin?”

            “A coin? My dear, this is a low-budget show. I don’t know.” He looked to his left. “Betsy, do we have a coin?” After a brief delay, Matt saw a hand appear from the right and drop something into Lehrman’s palm. “Aha! A dime! We can’t lose this! The show might go under! What now?”

            “Hold your hand like this,” she made a fist, thumb tucked under, “and put the coin on top. If you flip your thumb, you can toss it into the air suddenly, right?”

            “Let’s see.” He tried it, and the dime shot several feet over the desk.  He caught it on the first bounce from his desk.

            “Now, put your hand here, and I’ll hold mine here. Whenever you’re ready, flip the coin.” She positioned his hand near her on the desk and held her left hand, palm open, about a foot away.

            “What? And just flip it?”

            “Yes, any time.”

            All of a sudden the coin shot off his thumb and just as suddenly disappeared. Darcy opened her hand and there it was. The audience gasped.

            “Wait a minute!” Lehrman exclaimed. “That didn’t really happen! Let’s try that again!” The camera framed the two of them staring at the coin on Lehrman’s fist. He flinched, her hand didn’t move, and the audience laughed. He looked up and mugged and suddenly shot the coin into the air. Again it disappeared. There was another gasp from the audience.

            “Andy, did we get that in slow-motion instant replay? Let’s see that again.”

            The replay clearly showed the coin leaving his hand, making a revolution as it ascended, and Darcy’s blurred hand grabbing it and returning to its original position.

            “Yeow!” exclaimed Lehrman. “That’s unbelievable!” The audience broke into more applause.

            “Not so unbelievable, really. There are probably people here who could do that.”

            “Maybe. But I like it the way you do it!” He raised his eyebrows to the audience, to more laughter. He made a show of putting the dime in his coat pocket. “How far did you travel to get here?”

            “You mean, from Thomo? Or from the hotel?” (Laughter.)

            “From your planet.”

            “About twenty-five light years.”

            “Yeah, well, let’s see.” He paused and stared vacantly at the balcony, shaking his head. “I have no idea how far that is. How far is it in miles?”

            “Oh. Let me think. Hmm...it’s about 150 trillion miles, approximately.”

            “Trillion! I still have no idea how far that is.

            “It’s 150 followed by twelve zeroes. It’s really not that far, when you consider how big the galaxy is. It’s practically next door.”

            “Man! I’m so glad you made it! What a pleasure to meet you! Can you stay a little longer?”  She nodded and he turned to the camera. “We need to pause briefly, but don’t go away. We’ll be right back.”

            Matt looked to his left on the couch. Eleanor was perfectly aligned on the arm, both paws exactly together under her chin. She was gazing calmly at the television screen. “She’ll be back, girl. Don’t move.” He got up and went to the refrigerator and poured himself a second glass of chardonnay. Darcy was going to get two segments on the show.  She was right up there with ex-Presidents, and Oprah!

            When the show resumed, Lehrman was chatting inaudibly with Darcy. As the camera zoomed in he turned from her and said, “Ah, we’re back. We’ve been talking with Ana Darcy, who’s from, well, from another planet, from Thomo, to be precise.” He swiveled back to her. “I don’t mean to pry, but we’d all like to know. So I’m going to pry! I mean, you’re so attractive. Have you met any, you know, any nice Earth, uh, men? Boys?”

            She smiled. “Oh, yes, I have! Like Dr. Sledd, for instance!”

            “Uh, well, that wasn’t quite what I meant. I mean ‘Dr. Sledd,’ and all—I’m sure he’s a wonderful person...but he sounds kind of old, you know what I mean? I meant, I meant, have you met anyone that interested you, uh, romantically, if you see what I’m getting at?”

            Matt was all ears. He knew she wouldn’t say ‘Oddly enough I have. I have a husband and six-month-old twins,’ but what would she say?

            While the audience tittered, she smiled again and said, “Well, I have seen many attractive men here, certainly. But, I’ve been rather busy, and moving around makes it hard to form lasting relationships with people....”

            Good answer, thought Matt. Lehrman nodded and continued, “So I’ve heard.  I kind of have the same problem.” (More mugging.) “Where do you call home right now?”

            “Well, right now, I live at the quarters attached to Thomo’s U. N. mission, right here in New York City.”

            “Excellent! That’s right next door! So you can come back and see us again sometime, huh? You know, most people who come on this show have something to sell,” he rolled his eyes at the audience, “either a movie, or a book, or a television series, or something. Don’t you have anything you can sell?” The audience began laughing.

            “Wait! I didn’t mean that like it sounded! I meant, don’t you have something to promote? Obviously I meant that!” He glared at the camera. “You should be ashamed of yourselves!”

            “Oh! Well, I would hate to disappoint you! There must be something...you know, don’t you, that my Uncle Rothan will be arriving soon to open the Thoman Mission? He’s bringing my sister and brother in law with him—it’s so exciting for me! I never expected to see them again! I could mention that. There will be ceremonies and meetings and all kinds of things. And The Second Planet Foundation website is adding more information about us, plus some of our games that you can play, and samples of our music and stories and several movies, with subtitles of course. You can study our language. There’s a lot there, really, and more all the time.”

            “Now, that’s just amazing. You’ll have your own family reunion, and Earth will have one too. Where are they now, your relatives?”

            “Actually, they’ve already arrived on the moon. They’re resting up from their long trip and getting organized for their arrival in two weeks.”

            “I wonder what they’ll do when they get here. Book a cruise? Tour Universal Studios? Take the Gray Line tour of New York? Lie on a beach and get tans?”

            “They probably won’t have time. There are only three of them, and they’re all important members of the delegation. I’m not. I’m just an ordinary person, so I won’t be able to help with their duties. Their basic goal is just to reestablish contact, after being gone for three thousand years. We have a lot of catching up to do! Thomans are basically one culture, but Earth has thousands of cultures. They’re all so interesting, and this planet is so beautiful. I hope you realize that.”

            “Thank you for the compliment! I hope we do too.” (There was a smattering of applause.)

            “There will probably be some exchange of technical information, like the hydrogen energy data Uncle Rothan sent last year. I understand quite a number of companies are working to develop it now, and that should help slow down the emission of carbon dioxide into the atmosphere.”

            “Absolutely. I hope it helps, too. What a great story—so fascinating! And so are you, if I may say. I can’t begin to ask you all the things I want to know now, but if you’ll come back to the show some time, we can continue. Would you be willing to do that?”

            “Certainly! I would be delighted!” The audience began applauding again.

            He extended his hand, seized hers, and leaned over kissed it. “Thank you, Ana, for stopping by, and for coming down here in the first place! It was a pleasure to meet you.” He turned to the camera, speaking over the applause, “Ana Darcy, everyone! We’ll be right back, with Amy’s Revenge. Stay tuned!”

           


17

 

            “Excuse me, Kurt. Madge didn’t tell me you were busy.”

            “That’s fine, Sal. Come in. I’ll get back to this. Give me twenty minutes, Gayle.”

            “Certainly, sir.” The woman, evidently a stenographer, gathered her pad and papers and rose smoothly from the chair opposite Rainer’s gleaming desk. She strode past Fiorini, nodding politely, and closed the door softly behind her.

            “Have a seat, Sal.” As he took the chair—the one next to the one the stenographer had just vacated—he reflected very briefly on the vast city laid out behind the windows at Rainer’s back on two sides—Rainer’s was a corner office. The corner office. He wondered how many of the larger buildings down there Rainer actually owned. Quite a few, probably.

            “Eldridge told me you were here this morning. I haven’t seen you in a week. How are things going?” That carried two meanings, Sal thought. It meant Rainer would like to know what he’s learned so far, and, since he’d called him here in the first place, he had something to tell him besides.

            “They’re going well, by and large. I assume you’re referring to the Thoman situation. They should be here in a couple of weeks.”

            “So I’ve heard. So they say. It’s been interesting to hear how curious some of my acquaintances are about them. That hydrogen energy business, to name just one thing: there must be thirty or forty companies and syndicates working on that. Yesterday, at the Institute dining room, I heard separate conversations about the possibilities of profiting from Thoman gene splicing technology, stem cell techniques, and pharmacological innovations. No one seems to have anything specific yet on any of it, but everyone is getting ready for a big push in a hundred areas.”

            “Yes, sir. I’ve heard much the same myself.”

            “Right. And we will pursue all those avenues ourselves—leave no stone unturned, as it were.” He swiveled his chair slightly so he could gaze out the window to his left. A traffic helicopter banked and disappeared behind a building. “My gut feeling is that there’s something more, something that we’re missing. It might be bigger than all the rest put together.” He swiveled back to stare at Sal. After ten seconds of silence, he raised his eyebrows maybe three millimeters. Sal knew the signs—that was like anyone else pounding the desk and demanding a response.

            He shook his head. “I don’t know how you do it, Kurt, but I think you may be right. I think there might be something else there too. Let me update you on what I’ve learned. I have a source who’s got a contact in that Miami law firm. The contact is one of their lawyers, but not one of the partners. He’s not up on everything they do, but he keeps his ears open and he hears things that normally would never leave the firm.

            “I took what he’s said and talked to Rowland Haskell, the head of our research lab in Atlanta. I don’t know how well you know him, but he’s well-grounded in both physics and engineering. Mind you, I was just tossing ideas around, keeping it hypothetical. I never mentioned the contact at the law firm. Here’s what it looks like to me.

            “Consider. Those Thomans live 25 light years from here. As far as we know two of their vehicles have made the trip from there to here. Each one took a little over 25 years to do it. That means they traveled at very near the speed of light. The speed of light! For us, that’s theoretically possible, but only theoretically. How did they do that? They damn sure didn’t use liquid oxygen and nitrogen, like we do. And they didn’t use hydrogen. The source tipped it....” He paused. Rainer was looking at him with eyes like steel rivets, unblinking.

            “Gravity.” The eyelids contracted slightly. To Sal, it was as if Rainer had jumped out of his chair and screamed “What!?”

            “They have harnessed gravity. Somehow, they can use it to propel a vehicle through space, for years and years, at nearly the speed of light. Think of that! It would be like using a cup of gasoline to power a vehicle from here to the moon!”

            Rainer’s head tilted to the right a half inch, another signal that Sal understood: ‘More!’

            “Understand, this is pretty much guesswork so far. Even the law firm doesn’t know any details. Apparently the Thomans don’t want to talk about it. I can only guess why. Perhaps it’s classified. But gravity is everywhere. If it could be used as an energy source, it might make all other power sources obsolete. If this proves out, well, all I can say is that once again your intuition has been right on target.”

            Tiny muscles were slowly flexing in Rainer’s jaw. He couldn’t have been more clear. Sal would keep digging.

           

           

            Matt couldn’t say that he had got used to his wife being a frequent traveler, but he was pleasantly surprised at how well their household had held up while she did so. It had been three weeks since she’d met with the law firm in Miami, and two and a half since she appeared on The David Lehrman Show.  She was usually gone for two days at a time—three in the case of Lehrman and the Sunday news show taped on Saturday—and she generally was home two days or three days before she went out again. For the most part, the sitters had kept the twins clean, fed, and happy, with only a couple exceptions that he’d never forget.

            Darcy’s public relations campaign seemed an unqualified success. Her appearances had been covered in news broadcasts and national magazines and he’d even heard people talking about her and the soon-to-arrive delegation from Thomo in the grocery store and at the mall. Standing at a cash register one morning, he overheard a woman  correcting her husband: “No, dear, ‘Thomo’ isn’t pronounced ‘tow-mow,’ it’s more like ‘dough-mow,’ like in ‘domicile.’ It means ‘home’ in their language. I heard it on Oprah.”  Darcy had been a smash on Oprah, doing the girl-talk thing about boyfriends back home and telling anecdotes about the Olympics, all the while playing up her planet’s culture, Earth’s cultures, her website, and schmoozing amicably as if with her best friend. Certainly, Oprah’s audience had taken her to heart. When the delegates arrived early next week they’d certainly find the ground well prepared. Oops! What time was it? Eleven a.m.! Time to wake up la esposita, his little wife.

            She was on her side in bed on top of the spread with a coverlet pulled over her, one arm wrapped over the ever-present Eleanor. He opened the curtains quietly and eased himself down alongside her.  He never tired of breathing in her scent. She stretched slowly as Eleanor extracted herself to the foot of the bed.

            “Mmm. What time is it?”

            “Eleven.” She stretched again.

            “Umm, thanks. That was a good nap. I needed that. This is nice.” She nestled against him. Several minutes passed. “But...why don’t I wash up and we can go have lunch with Abuelita?”

            “I’d rather stay like this all afternoon. But you’re right—we have to eat, don’t we?”

            “I was dreaming about those tomatoes in the garden. Let’s pick some to have with lunch, OK?”

            “Great idea, babe. I’ll pick ‘em while you wash and meet you at the back gate.”

 

 

            They rarely missed a lunch with Abuelita. It was usually the big meal of the day for all three of them. Abuelita loved the ceremony, and so did Darcy. Matt came to enjoy it too. Darcy had taken to cooking. She had a real talent for mixing flavors and textures. Abuelita had taught her the basics but Darcy, using research and intuition, took it from there.

            As often happened, Abuelita was pleasantly surprised by at least one of the dishes Darcy came up with. This day, it was a side dish served on little pieces of buttered toast. “Tomatoes, strawberries, and garlic!” Abuelita exclaimed. “Well, I never! It’s delicious! Wherever did you get that idea?”

            “Oh, I think it was from a cookbook; I can’t remember which one. Actually, it’s the olive oil that brings everything together.”

            “Well, it’s just wonderful. Matt and I have done all right when you’ve been gone, but I have to admit that it’s much more interesting when you are here. I’m sorry, Matt, but it’s true.”

            “Oh, yes, ma’am. That’s true. Much more interesting....”

            “How much longer is all that Argentine business going to keep you busy, do you know?” She turned to reach for the tea pot. Darcy winked at Matt.

            “I don’t know, really. A little longer. It’s a trade negotiation, and they take a long time. Did Matt tell you I’m not consulting for Argentina, but for the United States?”

            “Why, no, he didn’t. I thought since you came from Argentina you’d be working for them.”

            “Yes, ma’am, but I’m not. I’m not a trade expert. But I do know some of the Argentine trade representatives, and I know a little about how they think about things, so I have been working with the Department of Commerce to help avoid misunderstandings.”

            “I see. Very impressive!”

            “Oh, not really. But the pay is good, and that’s nice.” Matt made discreet eyes at his wife. Both knew that Abuelita would like that detail.

 

            They walked hand in hand back to their house. The air was crisp and dry. The sun, filtering through the tall cottonwoods, made the plants and adobe walls glow.

            “I have an idea,” Matt said.

            “What?”

            “Let’s look in on the twins and then walk down to the river. Not for exercise—let’s just walk.”

            “That’s a good idea!”

            They ended up helping Cristy feed the twins their lunch, a messy, loud, enjoyable business. Julio ate everything that was shoved into him, but Clio seemed to have something against anything that was green. Matt could detect no signs of any language he knew in their babbling but at least Cristy was speaking to them in English. Once everything had been cleaned up and they had played with them in the nursery, they left Cristy to see them to their naps and wandered out the patio gate.

            They walked in companionable silence across the compound and crossed the highway. “How are you holding up, esposita de mi corazon?”

            “Huh?”

            “I mean, with all this traveling, all the running back and forth, being on television shows and getting that mission set up, meeting people, doing things. Is it wearing you out?”

            “Oh. Well...yes, it’s tiring. You’ve probably noticed I sleep a lot more when I’m home. That’s wonderful. I’ve met some remarkable people, and been a lot of interesting places. It’s helped me understand how things work here better. But it’s not something I want to do a lot of. I’m probably too, too, what’s the word for ‘happy at home?’”

            “Homey?”

            “That sounds silly. Is there a word in Spanish?”

            “’Hogareño.’ ‘Hogar’ means home, of course.”

            “That’s it. Spanish is better for that. I like it here, with our family.”

            He gave her hand a little squeeze. “I do too. So, you’re happy with how things are going? With getting your people off to a good start with ours?”

            “Yes, pretty much. There’s an incredible amount of interest in us right now. The website is one of the most popular ones there is. The foundation has hired four more translators to make more of our books and documents available in English. Did you know that there are now dozens of linguists and graduate students who are fluent in Luvit?”

            “I didn’t know that.”

            “But I’m still a little worried about Herecyn. Hleo says he’s already setting up business arrangements through the law firm. He’s even hired another law firm to help. I hope the Thoman delegation doesn’t become a...a bazaar?, a place where everything is for sale.”

            “I hope not, too. But there’s not much you can do about that, that you’re not already doing, at least.”

            “No, I guess not.”

            They walked down a turn row alongside a field, stepped single file over a narrow bridge over an acequía, and skirted the edge of a second field. Young chili plants stretched out geometrically in dense rows. A dense green orchard of pecan trees stood out downstream. The Rio Grande gleamed a dull green ahead of them.

            “I learned something amazing, Matt.”

            “Yeah? What?”

            “Do you remember Michelle Stratemeyer?”

            “Who?”

            “The daughter of the foundation’s lawyer. She was on that news clip you showed me after my trip to Miami. She’s a high school student.”

            “Oh, yeah—a little brunette kid, right?”

            “Right.”

            “Yeah, I remember her. What about her?”

            “Her mother tells me she’s been studying about Thomo on the website. She’s been learning Luvit. She took a test at Miami International University and outscored all their graduate students! She’s been reading our history and our literature—her mother is trying to get her high school to give her credit for a foreign language because of her fluency in Luvit. She’s even looking into college credit courses.”

            “That’s amazing! Why is she doing that? I bet you had something to do with it.”

            “I don’t know. I’ve only talked with her three times. She was having...how would you say...problems because of her age?”

            “Growing pains? Adjustment problems?”

            “Yes, that’s it. She was at an awkward age, about fifteen. I helped her a little, I guess. But something really, uh, darn, how do you say, got her interested?”

            “Sparked her interest?”

            “Yes. Thanks. Something sparked her interest. Maybe it was me; I don’t know. She’s also become a competitive swimmer. If I helped her do any of that, that’s really cool, don’t you think?”

            “I do. Really cool.” They had reached the riverbank. “Which way?”

            “That way!” She pointed upstream. “Then when we turn around to come back, it’ll be easier!”

             They headed north up the river bank, chatting from time to time and looking at the sun-caressed fields and the clumps of cottonwoods and other trees growing near the water. When an agricultural warehouse came into view several bends ahead, they stopped and turned back. A tractor could be heard puttering its way through a field on the other side of the highway.

            “How’s next week looking?”

            “Well, I think all the plans are in place. It was really complicated. They wanted to land their vehicle in Central Park, but the city didn’t like that idea. So they’ll land at J.F.K. That’s probably better anyway. Security will be easier and air traffic control will be able to run everything. There were lots of ceremonies and meetings to arrange.”

            “’Air traffic control?’ You are getting some exotic vocabulary! What is their vehicle like? Is it a bigger version of your pod?”

            “It’s a lot bigger. I was really impressed. Our people did an amazing job with it. You’ll see it soon enough. Remember, it’s just a ferry vehicle from their main vessel. That one must be as big as...as big as, well, an apartment building.”

            “Where will they keep it? Will they lease a hangar?”

            “They considered that, but decided not to. I don’t even want to think how much it’s worth. Yet it flies about as easily as the little pod. If someone could get into it they might figure out how to fly it away. No, it’ll return to the moon.”

            “Wow! Won’t that be expensive?”

            “No, not really. The cost of operating it is minimal.”

            “Hmm...if the three delegates stay here, who will fly it back?” She looked at him with that sly smile. “Guess.”

            “Hleo? You mean, he can fly it by remote control, from the moon?”

            “You’ll see!”

            “Good ole Hleo. What a guy!”

            They stopped to examine some bees in a hollow tree. Matt picked a couple tiny daisies which Darcy tucked behind one ear.

            “So, how are you feeling about their arrival? You said you had a good visit with them last year, way down south. What about now?”

            “I’m not sure what to think. Last year I outranked all of them, or they thought I did. This year, I don’t rank at all. I’m not even a Thoman, really. Plus Herecyn has different priorities from Uncle Rothan and me. I won’t live with them, either. I probably won’t count for much at all.”

            “Ha! I don’t see it that way, babe! You’re one of this planet’s best-known and best-loved celebrities. I’d say you’ll still outrank them!”

            “Maybe. Thanks, Matt. We’ll see.”

           


18

 

            Just as Matt’s carefully-laid plans were about to pay off, and the twins were safely asleep and Srina was watching television in the sitter’s room, there was a knock at the front door. Dammit! Who in the hell?

            It was Abuelita.

            “Buela! Isn’t this your nap time?”

            “Normally, yes, but not today. I see you have your television on....”

            “Uh, yeah. I wanted to watch those folks arriving from Thomo live.”

            “Well, I do too. Your television is bigger than mine. Do you mind if I watch with you?”

            “No! No, of course not. Come in. Have a seat. Would you like some tea?”

            “Some tea would be lovely. Thank you.”

            Abuelita sipped her tea carefully while Matt brewed himself some coffee. The broadcast had just started. The screen showed a line of crowd control barricades laid out in a horseshoe pattern, evidently at a private section of the J. F. K. airport. Thousands of spectators were packed behind them. There were stands for VIPs and enough police keeping order to make up the entire force of the Albuquerque PD.  The announcers cut away every five or ten minutes to some NASA or government radar room where a technician pointed out a blip orbiting the earth that, he said, had got to that point from the moon. The blip was moving at the same speed the earth was rotating, and thus for all practical purposes was stationary, over New York City.

            “I know, Matt,” Abuelita said softly, out of the blue. The comment registered oddly in the back of Matt’s brain.

            “Ma’am?”

            “I said I know. I’m old, but I’m not stupid. Did you think I wouldn’t notice that every time Ana Darcy appears on television, Ana Del Arco is out of town?”

            Oh, my God. Chills ran down his back. Oh, no. Eighteen questions leaped to his tongue, but he kept it locked tightly between his teeth. Oh, my God....

            “You’re wondering if I told anyone. Of course I didn’t. It would ruin things for all of us if it got out that your wife was the young woman from another planet. I think your family is marvelous, and I love the way you two have invigorated the family land. Don’t you worry: I’m not about to blab about that.” She actually said “blab.” Matt was breathing again.

            “¡Ai, ‘Buela! ¡Que cosa!” was all he could say.

            “She’s a lovely woman, Matt, a wonderful wife and mother. You’re the luckiest man I know. ¡Mis felicitaciones!”

            He looked at her in amazement, with new respect. She held out a hand to him. He grasped it and they squeezed in agreement.

            “Now let’s watch the show.”

           

 

            New York City! He hadn’t seen excitement to compare to this since, well, never, really. What a deal he’d managed to put together. That little article in People magazine was giving him journalistic credentials that had genuine weight. He was beginning to actually feel like a journalist. He even had a network of contacts, a small one. Charlene Stratemeyer had got him credentialed to the press section of the VIP stands, and that cheap-ass V. T. Newsome had somehow coughed up the price of a round-trip plane ticket. V. T. had promised him that Ana Darcy was willing to finish the interview they had begun all those weeks ago, provided he could wait until this arrival business was over. It was difficult, but he would. He’d seen all her television appearances, but they were fluff bits, not in-depth interviewing like he was going to do. It would still be one hell of an article.

            At the foot of the stands the row of TV cameras was swiveling toward the podium, where a uniformed man with a walkie-talkie had appeared. The man leaned into the microphone, blew on it twice, and announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, the Thoman vehicle has begun its approach. Current altitude is 100 miles. ETA is approximately twenty minutes.”

            Big stuff! History in the making! He turned to the fellow next to him. “Exciting, huh?”    

            “Ja! Dass ist true! Very eggziting! Jurgen Mueller, from Der Tag.”

            “How do you do, Mr. Mueller? I’m Scott Zimmer.”

            “Ach! Mr. Zimmer! You vere de vun who interviewed Mz. Darcy for People magazine, ja?”

            “Yes, that was me.” He felt a surge of pride to admit it.

            “Eggzellent! You must tell me about dot! Vat vass she like, hein?”

            They spent ten or fifteen minutes chatting about what it was like to actually be in the presence of the extraterrestrial Olympian. Mueller seemed totally star-struck, asking about every little detail, until Zimmer realized with a pang of insight that in Mueller’s place he would have done the same. He guessed Mueller might brag some day about having met a person who had met Ana Darcy. Even the reporters around Mueller were listening in and asking questions. Talk about an ego-boosting experience!

            They were eventually interrupted by the man at the microphone, hand to his ear, who leaned over and said, “Visual contact in two minutes,” as every one of thousands of heads looked straight up. This was followed by a couple of shrieks from different spectators, then more shrieks, and then arms pointing overhead, a few degrees off the vertical.

            Zimmer’s eyes were not the best, so it wasn’t until most of the crowd was chattering and squealing amid excited bursts of applause that he actually saw it: a tiny dot, almost directly over them. At first it grew darker rather than bigger, but after a minute or two he could tell it was getting bigger as well. In three more minutes he could make out that it was rectangular, about the proportion of a Greyhound bus. It wasn’t descending very fast at all. By the time he could tell it was colored a mousy gray, it seemed like he should have been hearing some sort of sound from it, but there was none. It just kept descending, to more and more excited applause.

            When it was low enough for his eyes to be able to judge its height, it rotated slightly to align with the stripe painted on the tarmac in the middle of the horseshoe. Lower, lower, but still no sound. How odd, really. Even a blimp would have been making some noise. It was three our four times higher than the top of the hanger they were next to when he felt...what was that? A low rumble? No...more like a hum, a low, vibrating hum. The hum increased while the shadow of the thing came into view on the other side of the runway, in the afternoon sun, moving slowly toward the landing point as well. The rate of descent slowed even more until finally it stopped altogether, hovering in midair about fifty feet over the landing spot. Two uniformed men wearing absurdly large and completely unnecessary hearing protectors began waving red wands at it in that peculiar airplane language they had. The vehicle began to settle very slowly, until it landed gently on the tarmac. The hum, which he felt rather than heard, under the applause, died away. Now its size was evident: it was a little bigger than a boxcar, and roughly the same proportions, but with rounded edges and corners. There were windows in the front, where the pilot no doubt was, and a few smaller windows down the side facing him. There was a colorful Thoman seal on the hull just forward of what looked to be a hatch and some strange symbols, probably their letters or numbers, below it.

            From the left, a band struck up a dignified march of some kind. “Vat ah zey playink?” asked Mueller. “That’s the Thoman national anthem,” he told him with great assurance. (He’d read that in the New York Times the day before.) With the band was a color guard, one member in the center carrying the Thoman flag. It had a blue field and three circles on it, one large green one and two smaller white ones. (The newspaper had explained that was because Thomo had two moons.) The spectators began applauding afresh as a line of limousines drove up and people began getting out of them. The most identifiable person, and the one who garnered the biggest burst of applause (with not a few shrieks, shouts, and whistles) was Ana Darcy. Zimmer almost felt sorry for the Secretary General of the United Nations, who was clearly playing second fiddle.

            That gentleman, Ana Darcy, and three others stepped toward the vehicle and waited as the hatch swung open in two parts, a top half and bottom half. A solid-looking man with a red beard stepped out—Rothan Darshiell, most likely. He was wearing some sort of close-fitting suit, perhaps a flight suit, under a handsome Nehru-style overcloak, all deep blue. He placed one hand over his heart and bowed to the applauding crowd and then opened his arms as Ana Darcy ran to him. Uncle and niece, after all, thought Zimmer. It was sweet. Two other people emerged next, a tall, serious-looking man and a gorgeous brunette, both dressed like the uncle and with an aristocratic air about them. Ana embraced each in turn, with two air kisses for each. Those would be Herecyn Cymred and his wife, Ana’s sister, Ianthe.

            The public address system wasn’t up to the task of rendering their speech intelligible, but then they wouldn’t have been speaking English anyway. Zimmer wasn’t worried: the cameras nearby would be capturing every detail and he could study it all later.

            Ana introduced the three arrivals to the Secretary General and his party and stood to one side, evidently wiping away tears, while they shook hands, bowed, and otherwise greeted each other ceremonially. That done, they stepped to the podium and began making the predictable speeches. Rothan spoke briefly in halting English, with an accent that to Zimmer’s ears sounded eastern European or maybe Scandinavian somehow. Cymred and his wife also spoke. The younger man’s English was accented, but surprisingly good. Finally, the limousines pulled up behind them and the two groups began shaking hands and bowing all over again and getting in. The brunette, who had a penetratingly sharp face not unlike her sister, stepped to the open hatch of the shuttle and retrieved a small box, which she presented to one of the uniforms standing nearby. Then she too got into a limousine and the whole procession began moving down the flight line, headed for the United Nations building.

            The uniformed man handed the box to a subordinate and stepped to the microphone. “Ambassador Darshiell has asked me to give everyone here a Thoman lapel pin in honor of this occasion. I must insist on order and good manners. If there is any rushing the line, I promise you, I will discontinue the process! Please file by one of these officers, and be patient. There are enough to go round. Thank you very much.”

            That was a very savvy thing for the ambassador to do, thought Zimmer. He had a plane to catch in seventy five minutes, but he’d wait for his lapel pin. If he missed it, he’d take a later one.  

            As it turned out, he did miss his plane, but not because he was waiting for a souvenir—that took only about fifteen minutes. Instead, he remained in the stands to watch policemen cordon off the vehicle as various airport service trucks drove up. Cargo hatches in the rear of the thing opened—how? he wondered. Supposedly, all the occupants had been driven into the city. Quite a number of large cargo containers were offloaded and driven away, and the cargo hatches closed. Then the front hatch closed.

            The guards stood around the vehicle in a large circle, watching the remaining people. Several camera crews were still filming too. Perhaps an hour after the limousines had departed, the humming began again, faintly. The guards didn’t seem surprised. It increased to a very noticeable level, and then the vehicle lifted off the ground. Who the hell was flying the thing? Zimmer would be sure to ask when he next saw Ana Darcy. It eased into the air twenty feet, forty feet, a hundred feet. It began rising faster, shrinking as it went. In four or five minutes he could no longer see it. There’d be no tour, dammit.

            He’d been expecting trouble changing his flight, but the ticket agent was surprisingly understanding. She ventured it was easy to find him a seat on a flight because so many people had stayed in town to watch the visitors’ motorcade into the city. Apparently, not even the presence of the President or a summit conference of world leaders had ever tied up the city like it was this afternoon. She asked if she could touch the nifty lapel pin he was wearing, with its three circles on a bright blue background. If it impressed her, it also impressed him—one of the first few objects to come to earth from the people of another planet, a souvenir from his distant cousins!

 

19

 

            “You must be tired, Dear Sister. I know I am, and I only traveled across the city, not from the moon.”

            “I am exhausted, First Sister. I hope no one took offense that we left the reception early.”

            “I’m certain no one did. Uncle Rothan and Herecyn looked as if they could talk and eat and drink all night long, enough for the four of us.”

            “If that happens I will see them tomorrow. I think I will unpack some of my things and change clothes and relax. Will you join me?”

            “Gladly. I hope you find your accommodations to your liking.”

            “They seem quite adequate. I was getting so tired of the same small rooms on the moon station and the ship. Anything new is welcome.”

            “Please relax, by all means. If I can help show you how to use anything, I will be glad to. The water valves in the bath area can be quite perplexing.”

            “Thank you, dear sister. I would welcome your help arranging my clothes in the, what do they call it? The closet?” She used the English word.

            Darcy nodded as Ianthe began pulling out clothes and laying them on the bed. It was odd how different the two of them were. Had Darcy been in Ianthe’s place, she would have at least opened the curtains to look out the windows. Perhaps Ianthe really was exhausted. It wasn’t surprising that she had been worried about giving offense at their early departure from the reception. Thomans were generally more formal than most people Darcy had met on Earth, and their speech and observance of ceremony and manners was quite punctilious. She had heard that Japanese culture was that way too, but except for her acquaintance with Mioko, one of the baby sitters, she hadn’t been able to sample it.

            Perhaps Ianthe was simply an incurious person. Darcy remembered Ianthe had not remarked on the penguins or anything else on the fascinating polar island she had visited the year before. She tried to remember if their second sister, Onela, was like that. It saddened her that she couldn’t recall. Ianthe, however, was curious about one thing at least.

            “I was astonished, I must admit, dear sister, to hear of your marriage! One might guess from your profile that you are a mother. Do you have pictures?” Normally not prominent, Darcy’s bust did look quite maternal these days.

            “I do, yes.” She fished briefly in her embarrassingly small back pack to locate the  snapshots she had brought of the four of them.

            “Twins! So beautiful! You are blessed, sister! And what a fine, exotic-looking man! I have a hundred questions. You must tell me everything!”

            The two sisters chatted and arranged things in the suite for several happy hours. Darcy sensed the great difference between her marriage and Ianthe’s—her own family life was warm and intimate and just what she had always wished for, whereas Ianthe’s, in addition to the expected formality of an arranged marriage joining two senior clans, seemed to add even an extra measure of reserve on top of that. Darcy subtly steered their conversation to their girlhoods back home and family affairs. Like Darcy, Ianthe was finding it difficult to conceptualize that their family and everything at home was now twenty five years older. It seemed like only weeks ago. A lot could have happened in a quarter century.

            Suddenly, a series of soft clicks from the other end of the room made them pause and look at each other. The door swung open and Rothan and Herecyn strolled in, both flushed and talking a little louder than they needed to. “Honored Niece!” Rothan exclaimed, hugging Darcy again. It was the first time they’d seen each other in private since the brief visit at the island in the South Atlantic a year ago. “I hope I see you well!”

            “Very well indeed, Honored Uncle. And you, sir, I hope I see you well!”

            “Ah, very well, Anneyn dear. These people are most hospitable, extremely hospitable!” She noticed that he no longer addressed her as “First Daughter of Clans,” her rank before she married outside the Thoman clan structure. She regretted nothing about that, but it still made her a little sad. She turned to Herecyn.

            “And you sir, are you well, Honored Brother in Law?” Their hug was considerably more pro forma. Darcy had rejected Herecyn’s marriage suit ages ago. That and two other marriage refusals were what had caused her frustrated father to send her off on the grand mission to investigate what turned out to be Earth, the origin of all Thomans.

            “I am very well, thank you, Honored Sister in Law. May I congratulate you on your choice of countrymen! These people are most interesting, most accommodating!”

            “I rejoice to hear it,” she said, coolly.

            “Will you be retiring soon, husband?” asked Ianthe.

            “Good heavens, no!”

            Rothan chimed in, “Indeed not. We came to change into dinner dress! A grand banquet awaits! We cannot be less hospitable than our hosts! My lovely nieces are of course invited as well! Would you join us?”

            “Well, now that you mention it, I am hungry.” Ianthe looked at Darcy. Darcy was always hungry, and known for being so, and she nodded, predictably. Ianthe turned to Rothan. “Very well, Uncle. We shall accompany you to the meal. But do not expect us to remain to drink until dawn.”

            “Never in this life, dear niece! Now, where are my clothes?”

            It took half an hour of furious unpacking to locate what was needed. Thoman formal dinner dress did not look exactly like the Earth diplomats’ white tie garb, but Darcy thought it quite distinguished. They would look good in the crowd, and she told them so.

            Herecyn volunteered, “I am not worried that anyone might inspect me too closely. Every person I met asked me about you, sister in law. On my honor that is the truth.”

            Rothan, struggling to adjust his shoulder sash, agreed. “That was my experience as well. I must have met a hundred people this evening, and I think all of them said the same thing: ‘Oh! You must be the uncle of Ana Darcy! What is she like?’ It was wise of you to simplify your name, Anneyn, dear. Heavens, but you are surpassingly popular! It is a great service you have done for our people. However did you manage it?”

             “I do not know, honored Uncle. You are already aware of most of what happened—I was finally able to get the message about the approaching meteoroids to the right people, and then I mostly disappeared. I have stayed out of sight until recently, when I began making appearances to promote our people, and our planet.”

            Herecyn observed, “Whatever you did, and however you did it, we owe you a great debt of gratitude. One would think we were saviors or miracle workers of some kind, rather than misplaced relatives who have belatedly found their way back home. It must be due to you, sister in law. I have no doubt you shall see at supper the devotion these people have for you. We are quite in your shadow. How odd, now that you are, as it were, a former Thoman.”

            Everyone paused at that. Finally, Darcy spoke again.

            “Yes, well. I hope the Thoman people will benefit from my efforts.” She looked at Herecyn. “That has always been foremost with me, whatever my status.”

            He nodded, smiled, and offered a small bow. Rothan clapped his hands and proclaimed, “I think we are ready! Forward, everyone!”

 

 

            The three day trip was no longer than others she had been on, but Matt had a good idea how busy those days had been. He’d seen some of it on television, for heaven’s sake. He let her sleep past noon, until Julio and Clio began demanding lunch in no uncertain terms. Darcy nursed them in the patio, in the open shade with a warm breeze blowing, humming and rocking drowsily. He sat with her and told of their trip to the pediatrician for a checkup. They were healthy as horses, the doc said. She gave them some vaccinations which they hadn’t cared for. When they’d nursed enough, Matt carried them one by one to Mioko in the dining room for a dose of solid food, and then he and Mioko took them back to the nursery for a final cleaning and a nap. Darcy was still in the patio, dozing.

            He brought her a wet cloth to help her wake up. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

            “Fine. Really. I just need to wake up. Let me wash better and maybe we can take a walk. OK?”

            “Perfect. I want to hear all about it. And I have something to tell you, too!”

            They decided to walk along the acequía that ran for miles behind their house. “I watched them arrive, of course, and saw clips of the ceremonies afterwards—the speeches, the reception, the banquet. It looked very ritzy!” Darcy looked quizzically at him. “Ritzy. Fancy. Elaborate. How did it look from your point of view?”

            “Well, I guess it looked...ritzy.” She smiled. “I never saw so many happy, important, official, rich people in my life. They wouldn’t let me alone.”

            “I’m not surprised!”

            “It was a little embarrassing. I’m not a member of the mission, not a delegate, or anything. I kept telling them that. Some even asked me for my autograph. I thought that was not done at formal banquets! And all the photographers and media people...I hope Uncle Rothan and Herecyn and Ianthe weren’t insulted.”

            Matt chuckled. “If they were, too bad! I mean, your whole point was to emphasize the human side of your mission, right? The personal aspect? It sounds like you’ve done that to a ‘T.’”

            “’To a ‘T?’ Oh, I see. Maybe. I don’t know. There were plenty of politicians, business people, and lawyers there too, mostly talking to Herecyn. He was, he was...in his, what?”

            “His element?”

            “Right. He was in his element. I’ll just have to see how things develop.”

            By unspoken agreement, they decided they had reached the point to turn around and head home. But first, they leaned back against the trunk of a tall cottonwood tree and regarded the Organ Mountains, stark and stately, dappled by cloud shadows. The irrigation canal by their feet gurgled on to the south, disappearing where it skirted a stand of cottonwoods on a hummock.

            “So beautiful,” she said.

            “Yup.”

            “So what is it?”

            “What is what?”

            “You said you had something to tell me. I told you everything I had. Now it’s your turn.”

            “Oh, man. You’re not gonna believe this.”

            “What?”

            “When the broadcast of the arrival began, guess who came to the door?”

            “Who?”

            “Abuelita.”

            “Well, that isn’t too surprising. She probably wanted to see it with you. You’re good company, Matt.”

            “Yeah. Well, as we were waiting for something to happen on the screen, she said ‘I know.’”

            “’I know?’”

            “Right.”

            “I don’t understand.”

            “I didn’t either. Then she said, ‘Did you think I wouldn’t notice that every time Ana Del Arco leaves town Ana Darcy appears on television?’”

            “Oooh.... Oh, my.”

            “Exactly.”

            She turned to him and rested her head on his shoulder. Easing an arm around her, he pulled her closer.

            “What does that mean, Matt? Are we going to need Hleo’s Plan B?”

            “Maybe not. I haven’t got to the cool part yet. The next thing she said was that she thinks our family is terrific, and she loves the way we’ve got the Méndez family—the Méndez clan, now that I think of it—going again. She said it would ruin everything if she blabbed. She really used the word ‘blab.’”

            Darcy looked up at him in amazement. “My stars! Abuelita!”

            “Yeah. She said she was old but she wasn’t stupid.”

            “Oh, my goodness!”

            “She said I was the luckiest man she knew. She’s right about that too.”

            He turned to her and wrapped her in his arms. A few seconds later she pulled back a tiny bit.

            “I bet she’d say the same thing about me. She ought to.”

            They kissed until they felt dizzy. Then, a little shakily, they headed for home.

 

 

 

            “Hey, new car, Sal?”

            “Naw. These are company cars. They got a hundred of ‘em. Someone checks ‘em each time one goes out. Sorry to pull you away from your fun, but the car is secure. This business is more hush-hush than ever, old friend. For real, eh?”

            “Yeah?”

            “Yeah. I got new stuff to pass to you.”

            “Hey, hold on, paisan. Ain’t you going to ask me about my mama, or my family?”

            “I forgot. I’m kinda rushed these days. Sorry, Nino.”

            “Whatsamatter with you, brother? You don’t forget family, no matter what! You know that! When everything else fails, you got your family. At least you do if you’re like us. That’s the way it’s always been, right?”

            “You’re right, Nino. I apologize. So how is your mama anyway?”

            “Still not worth a damn. Getting’ sadder by the day. But she’d still like to see ya, you know.”

            “Aww, I’ll stop by soon. I feel terrible about that. It’s just this damn business, Nino. It’s hot and heavy right now and it’s killing me. We gotta make some stuff happen, and I figure you’re the man who can do it.”

            “I been sending you skinny from time to time. About that gravity stuff, right? Sounded pretty out there to me, but it shoulda been good info.”

            “You done good, Sal. Let me explain a little better. These Thomans, the new guys, they’re talkin’ to all kinds of people—lawyers, business people, politicians. They’re really dealing. There’s lots of moola getting committed, and I mean lots. My boss is in there with the rest of them, and we’re getting our share. But he’s not happy. He knows about this gravity stuff, this fancy new source of energy, ‘cause you turned it up, ya know? He’s sure it’s worth more than all the rest put together and he wants to nail down a deal for it before anyone else finds out. But the Thoman guys won’t deal, capisce? They’ll talk about damn near anything, but not that, not a peep.

            “So he wants some heat applied. Some serious heat. We find a pressure point, and we push it, push it until they give, see? Now, ask yourself, where is the leverage, huh? These guys live in a guarded building. They never go out without lots of security. There’s no way to get to ‘em to lean on ‘em.” He paused and looked into Nino’s puffy eyes. “Except for one of ‘em. One of ‘em lives apart. One of ‘em shows up in unusual places from time to time.”

            “Oh, shit, Sal! You’re talking about that Darcy babe! She’s like the most famous person in the world!”

            “Bingo. She’s the niece of the head guy and the sister and sister in law of the other two. If we nab her, we’ll have some major leverage with the others. Then maybe they’ll deal.”

            “Madunnazza santa! Anyone who’d hurt her would be in deep, deep stuff, Sal! Real deep stuff! Everybody in the world would want to rip the guy’s balls off and make him eat ‘em!”

            “So don’t hurt her! Just grab her! Hold on to her! Grill her! Learn something useful from her! I’ll take care of applying pressure to the other three, and I’ll make sure we don’t leave any tracks. You see how that’ll work?”

            “Cazzo santo! You must have lost your mind, Sal!”

            “For big rewards, gotta think big, paisan. It shouldn’t be much different from a big heist.”

            “We’ve been outta the heist business since the Hoover era, cumpagnu. And anyway, it would cost a mint to pull off.”

            “You’ll have it. Whatever it costs: five mil, ten mil. Blank check. You can retire when it’s over.”

            “I’m not sure about this, Sal. Yeah, I know a few guys, that’s true. We’d need a place in New York City, and probably one in Miami, in case she pops up there. The money would be nice...but Ana Darcy? That’d be like nabbing Mother Theresa, the Easter bunny, and Barbie rolled up into one!”

            “Twenty mil.”

            They looked at each other.

            “Ehi. Merda. Lemme make a few calls.”

20

 

            Nino had never liked Miami, not before, not now. What the hell kind of Italian restaurant was this, anyway? It was probably swamp land only ten years earlier. The restaurants of his boyhood, in the boroughs of New York City, had been there a hundred years. They had character! They had soul, history, smells! They were like family! This place? It had none of that.

            He was in a bad mood and he knew it. He’d looked in on his mama before he left for Florida—poor old lady, she was getting feebler by the day. Still pushy—all Sicilian mamas were pushy—but sweet, at the same time. She knew she was failing. She’d made him promise to get the rest of the family to visit her before she died, and he would do that or die himself. Mama knew it, too. “You’re such a good son,” she said. “When Poppa died, you became the axle of the Cellini family. It all turns around you now. I can die in peace, mio caro Nino.” It broke his heart, but what could he do?

            He hadn’t had the heart to share his fears with his mother, that the glory days of the family were probably over. Law enforcement was getting tougher and tougher and the new capos, the heads of families, were starting to abandon the old ways. It was everyone for himself now, no rules. It was brutal. His own son—never mind his two daughters—showed no spark of the desire and cleverness he’d need to keep things going.

            Automatically, he looked around the restaurant. His two guys, Carlo and Mando, were eating cannoli at a table where they could see everything. Mando was a Mexican but he was as good as they come, Sicilian, practically. They looked like working stiffs, but they were smart and they could handle anything. They had, many times. Not that there was likely to be a problem—he’d been careful to get clearance from the local family so there’s be no misunderstanding that he might be moving in on their turf. Joe Bananas belonged to them and Razzy worked for Joe B. He was confident he could run this one operation without worrying the local mob. That didn’t change anything, though. He still didn’t like this job. In any case, it was smart to be prepared.

 

 

            Razzy checked his cuffs on the short walk from the valet parking stand.

            “You sure this’ll be all right, Raz?”

            “I ain’t sure about nothin’. That’s why you’re here. Joe Bananas said it was righteous, so we’ll act like it is. It was one thing when I barged in on the man at his vacation home. But when he wants to see me? There ain’t nothing normal about meeting Nino Cellini, from Queens, New York, in Miami, America. That’s unusual. Could be hinky. You guys stay to the side and watch everything. You got that?”

            “’Course, we got it.”

            Razzy was trying not to show his nerves. Mostly, other people were afraid of him. That was how he liked it. Feeling how he made others feel definitely did not engage his liberal tendencies. At least Sharky and Vin the Finn had dressed up like he’d told them to. They were his torpedoes, his trophy torpedoes, and they had to look sharp to make him look good. In fact, they looked just like he looked...or used to, a couple years ago. The three of them were clearly people to be dealt with. He dearly hoped Nino Cellini would be of the same opinion.

 

 

            “Ana, dear, these are obviously extraordinary babies! Don’t you think so too? Look at the way they watch everything around them! They’re not talking yet, but I believe they are telling each other things. You’ve noticed that, haven’t you?”

            There were five for lunch at Abuelita’s house. Matt had driven to Alamogordo to visit the foundation’s third mobile school unit before it headed north with the harvest. Darcy was spooning strained peas into Julio while Mioko fed Clio one of her mother’s mysterious blends of meat and vegetables.

            “Yes, I have, sometimes. I just wish Julio would tell Clio that green things taste good. Has she ever eaten anything green for you, Mioko?”

            “Well, once I put food color in her spinach. It was purple. She still didn’t like it.”

            “Oh, don’t worry,” Abuelita said. “Babies know what they need. She’ll grow out of it. Their father did, as I remember.”

            Finally, the children were satisfied and cleaned up and loaded into their double stroller. The family had more hardware for their babies than local farmers had for their farms. Mioko pushed them back to the nursery while Darcy and Abuelita brewed a pot of tea in the kitchen.

            “Such lovely little babies,” mused Abuelita. Through the window they watched Mioko negotiate the narrow gate with the stroller. Darcy poured some sugar into her tea and set the spoon down with a tiny clink.

            “Ma’am,” Darcy began, “Matt said you told him you knew. About me.”

            “Yes.”

            “How long have you known?”

            “I’ve suspected it about a year. I wasn’t sure until a month ago. Matt was such a good reporter—he got that story about you when no one else did. Then he brought a ‘student’ here to live, remember? And right after that he quit his job and moved here to be with that ‘student,” who was you, of course. He wouldn’t give up a successful career like that without a good reason. I know Matt! So I wondered. And then lately you started traveling a lot. It was while I was watching Ana Darcy on television—I think it was her third appearance—that I put two and two together.”

            “Gosh. Now I feel bad about telling you all that stuff about Argentina.”

            “Oh, pshaw. That doesn’t bother me. I knew you didn’t want anyone here to know who you are. You want a normal life as a married couple. I understand that. Don’t blame yourself.”

            “No, ma’am. Thank you.”

            “Now, don’t you worry about that. The truth is, I had been afraid our family was falling apart. My children have moved all over the country and don’t get together that often. There was less and less point for me staying here where we all began. I was eventually going to die and the house and land would be sold and that would be the end of it. But you and Matt, my dear, and your two lovely children, have been a miracle, a true miracle. Now, there’s a Méndez family again. And this is where it belongs. It doesn’t matter where you’re from. All I care about is that you and Matt are happy and that you raise a wonderful family. You are doing that, and that makes me happy too.”

            Darcy felt her eyes begin to fill. “That’s all I care about too, Abuelita. Almost all....Families are very important where I come from too.” They sipped their tea and watched the spots of shade and sunlight dance on the lawn.

            “Would you do an old lady a favor, granddaughter in law?”

            “Certainly. Anything.”

            “I realize you can’t show yourself in public, not here. But just this once, would you take off your black hair so I can see you as you really are? Please?”

            “Oh, Abuelita! Of course! I’d be happy to.”

           

 

            “Hey, sugar, whatcha watching?” Darcy didn’t watch much television, but when Matt returned home there she was, gazing at the screen, clipboard on her lap and pencil in hand. The remote was on the couch next to her and a dictionary was open on the table.

            “Oh, me, look at this, Matt. Have you ever seen this show?”

            He moved the remote and plopped down next to her, kissing her affectionately in front of her ear. “Everything was fine with the schoolhouse. It’s a wonderful thing you’re doing with that. Here, take this.” He handed her the remote and turned to the screen. “It looks like that show, what is it, Sábado Gigante?” Sábado Gigante was a weekly variety show broadcast to nearly the entire Spanish-speaking world. Several hours long, it had a little of everything—games, music, stunts, interviews, jokes. It was hugely popular.

            “Yes. That’s it. Look at it! It’s wild!”

            “Yes, it is. It isn’t quite to my taste. I’ve seen it a couple of times, that’s all. Why are you watching it?”

            “Do you know where they tape it?”

            “Can’t say I do. Where?”

            “Miami.”

            “Miami?”

            “Uh-huh.”

            He thought a second. “Ooooh. Aren’t you flying to Miami in a couple days?”

            “I am.”

            “¡Esposita! ¡No me digas! You’re gonna be on Sábado Gigante?”

            “I think so. That’s what my agent tells me.”

            “¡Ay, de mí! You’re going to do it in Spanish??

            “I’m going to try. That’s why I’m studying it right now.”

            “Wow! That’s terrific, sweetheart! I bet you’ll do fine!”

            “I’m a little...scared? What’s the word—not quite scared, but sort of worried?”

            “Apprehensive?”

            “Yes. Thanks. Apprehensive.”

            “Oh, you shouldn’t be, babe. You speak Spanish quite well with Abuelita, and with me and the sitters. I’m sure you’ll do fine. Just be yourself. They’ll love you!”

            “I hope so. We need to practice a lot until I leave. Watch a little of this with me, OK? I want to ask you about a couple of things....”

            They sat and watched the tape, paused it, talked, and looked words up in the dictionary for forty-five minutes. The whole time, in the back of his mind, Matt was impressed that she had the nerve to be interviewed on television in a language she was minimally competent in. One thing he knew, though: when she got stumped by something, and smiled that shy smile she had when she asked for help, people’s hearts would go out to her. She’d be a total smash...let’s see, in South America, Central America, Mexico, Spain, parts of Africa, the Canary Islands, the Philippines....

 

 

            That’s them, Nino realized instantly, seeing the trio enter the front of the restaurant from his booth in the back. Look at them—buncha swaggering roosters, leather pants, $40 haircuts, physiques on display. You’d think this was Havana in the fifties. A waiter pointed to the back. The two younger guys peeled off to take station in the middle of the place. Razzy walked right back to his table.

            Razzy had had not dissimilar thoughts, allowing for his different perspective. He spotted Nino’s two pals quickly enough, or thought he did. They looked like they’d each found a twenty in the street and decided to blow it on lunch in a decent restaurant. Otherwise they’d have no business here. He recognized Cellini from the last time, an older, paunchy guy, looking about as dangerous as a retired pharmacist. He knew better. Nino headed a small but potent family in New York City. There were bigger organizations, but few as tightly run. If one hoped to move up, and to stay alive, both of which he dearly wanted, it were best to be nice to Nino. He put on what he hoped was a sophisticated smile.

            “Good to see you again, sir.”

            “Razzy. Likewise. Sit down.”

            “Thanks. You’re lookin’ good.”

            “Yeah, well. Nice of you to say.”

            A waiter approached with menus.  After studying it a minute, Nino ordered a caponata as an appetizer to be followed by the risotto in squid ink and sea bass. Probably no damn good, but worth a try. The waiter turned to Razzy. “The same,” he said, closing the menu. Smart move, thought Nino. “Have some chianti,” he said, moving the bottle to the middle of the table.

            “Thanks.”

            They chatted about this and that and sipped their wine and dipped bread in a shallow bowl of olive oil until the food arrived. It was better than he thought it would be—maybe the cook was Sicilian, Nino thought. He’d try to remember to ask.

            In a low voice, he asked Razzy, “Is this place clean?”

            “Never had a problem....”

            “OK. Good. Got a little business to discuss with you. It’s been cleared with Joe B.  on up, so you ain’t got no problem from that end. A little cooperation here will be a good sign, you hear what I’m sayin’? There’s some money in it for you, considerable, in fact, but I need you in all the way to make it work.”

            Here it comes, thought Razzy. He was on his guard, but also intensely interested. Be cool, man. Be competent. “Sure. Help you? It would be a privilege.”

            “You put me onto a lawyer, you remember that? That was useful. That was good.” He munched a bite of squid. “That lawyer knows a certain young woman, kind of a celebrity, a celebrity from a long ways away, you follow me?” He glanced up from his plate. Razzy nodded.

            “This person keeps a real low profile, most of the time.  Far as I know, no one knows where she hangs out. But every once in a while she shows up. Like in New York a couple times, and here a couple times. Y’know?”

            He nodded again. “I want her.” Razzy couldn’t control his eyes, which popped a bit. He got control instantly. Nino was continuing, “If it’s in New York, I got that covered. If it’s here, I want you to cover it. When you get her, give my guys a call and we’ll take her off your hands. Try not to hurt her. Try not to hurt the lawyer either, but that’s your problem. You told me he’s worth a half mil to you, didn’t you?” Razzy nodded a third time. “All right. Then this is worth a half mil to you. And you can keep your lawyer and his half mil in the deal. Now, can you do that quietly, and not raise a stink?”

            Razzy looked down at the table. All of a sudden he needed a swallow of chianti. Raising the glass to pour it down his throat helped him return Nino’s steady gaze. “Yeah. That lawyer will do damn near anything for a buck. I got him wrapped up tight. He’s seen her most of her previous visits here. I’ll make sure he lets us know the next time. When he gets close to her, my guys will be right behind him. You can count on it.”

            “Good. Remember, it’s gotta be quiet, OK? Easy does it, got that?” Razzy nodded yet again. “All right. I knew you were the man for this. Now, tell me what you think of this bass, eh?”

           


21

 

            This second time around, Zimmer would be ready. After all, he’d met her privately once and seen her in public twice. There’d be no more stammering or dizzy spells. He’d spent his evenings the last two weeks on preparations—reading the papers, watching the news, making notes and listing questions. He wouldn’t be star-struck this time. As stupid as it sounded when he said it to himself, she really was just a person. He kept repeating that, over and over.

            He sipped the coffee the receptionist had brought him—decaf, for his nerves. She’d told him Starchild—no, quit that, dammit! Ana Darcy—was somewhere in the building, in a meeting, and would be along soon.  V. T. had told him she could give him all afternoon! What an interview this would be! And what an article! His career as a journalist was surely at the tipping point. He almost couldn’t stand it.

 

 

            Michelle was having difficulty telling Darcy how much fun it had been being with her and watching her appear on Sábado Gigante before a live audience, mainly because she insisted on saying so in Luvit. Darcy thought her surprisingly fluent for only having studied it about a year, and that mostly by herself. Her own command of Spanish wasn’t much better. Michelle’s vocabulary wasn’t extensive, of course, and she was having trouble with the complex system of formal and informal indicators, but her general enthusiasm for the language and the people were quite evident, and Darcy told her so.

            “But I speak so slowly, Honored Friend. I must often pause to search for words. You spoke freely, and at length.”

            “Perhaps. But consider, if you please: I spoke on topics I was familiar with—food, cooking, and my native culture. It was my good fortune that the audience was also interested in those topics. Had I spoken on less familiar subjects I too would have had more difficulty.”

            “I understanding...understand. I need practice more. I am now able to ‘chat’ with other students of Luvit via the ‘internet.’ This is be helpful, may...might it not?”

            “Yes, certainly it will. You have given me an idea, Dear Friend. I will speak with my uncle about establishing internships at the U. N. Mission, that is, a period of supervised professional practice.  You are a little young for such now, but after high school, perhaps when you are in college, you could spend a summer working with the Thoman delegation. I will urge Uncle Rothan to consider it.”

            “Oh! I would be honorable—honored?—honored to be considered. Thank you!”

            “’Thank you’ is not wrong, dear Michelle. It is used generally with small things, if I had just passed you the salt, for example. For a more special favor, one would probably say “You do me too much honor.” It’s not meant literally. That’s simply what is said.”

            “I see. ‘You do me too much honor.’ Thank you!”

            “Exactly! And now, shall we rejoin your mother?”

 

 

            Finally, Stratemeyer opened the inner door to her office. “Mr. Zimmer? Please come in.”

            Ana Darcy was standing in the middle of the room, talking to Stratemeyer’s daughter—Michelle, he thought her name was. They were speaking a soft, mushy-sounding language he didn’t recognize. Could that be Luvit? How did the kid manage to learn that? They were saying goodbye, evidently, hugging and kissing each other on the cheek, and the girl turned and walked past him to the door, smiling at him as she went.

            “Hello again, Mr. Zimmer,” Darcy said to him, shaking his hand for the second time in his life.

            “It’s good to see you, Ms. Darcy,” he managed to say cleanly, “and you, Ms. Stratemeyer.”

            “Ah, and here’s V. T.,” Stratemeyer replied, looking over his shoulder. “He has an idea that may make your interview more pleasant.”

            “Hello, folks!” said V. T. “That’s right! Why don’t I drop you two off at my penthouse, which isn’t far from here. You can sit on the balcony and talk all afternoon if you like. Then, about 5 pm, Charlene and I will pick you up and we can go to dinner. What do you say?”

            Zimmer looked at Darcy, who was looking at him. She looked agreeable. “That’s fine with me if it’s OK with you,” he ventured.

            “That sounds nice. I’ve always wondered what a penthouse apartment was like.”

            “Great! Can I borrow your car, Charlene? Mine is only a two-seater.”

            “All right, V. T.. Just don’t drive it like you drive yours, please.”

            “No problem, Charlene! I won’t go over 90! I’ll be right back. Follow me, folks!”

           

 

            V. T. punched in the security code to let them into the lobby and led them to the elevator. “There are only four suites on the top floor,” he told Darcy. “Mine is 2002. This is the security code to the door.” He showed her a page from his pocket diary. “There are refreshments in the refrigerator. Phone me at the office if you need anything, OK?”

            “We will,” she said, “Thanks, V. T.”

            “You bet. See you at five.”

            Zimmer thought that was the most delightful elevator ride he’d ever had, but the glow didn’t last long. Darcy punched in the code to 2002, opened the door and stepped inside. He heard her utter a muted “Oh!” and looked beyond her to see a tall man in black opposite looking at them. Two more appeared from the sides and a fourth stepped from behind the door and wrapped an arm around Darcy.

            Things happened in a blur after that. All he registered at the time was a furious blur of blows and thumps, but reviewing it in his mind later, he reconstructed what probably happened. Darcy must have smacked the guy on her left in the face: he hollered and dropped to his knees with his hands over his eyes. At nearly the same time she lifted a foot sharply into the crotch of the man behind her, and then rammed her elbow back into his midsection, doubling him over. The fellow to her right evidently took a chop to the throat from her right hand because he staggered backward, his hands to his neck. At almost the same time there was a muffled pop and she spun around, hair flying, and dropped to the floor in front of him, a red splotch blooming on her shirt.

            Zimmer froze in shock, unable to comprehend what had happened. The man opposite, holding the gun, seemed to be in much the same state, staring at the three men doubled up or on the floor, groaning and in pain. Darcy wasn’t moving. A puddle of blood was spreading under her. The whole thing couldn’t have taken five seconds.  Zimmer blinked twice, whirled and ran for the elevator. The door was just closing. He dived in and pressed the button for the ground floor. By the time the doors opened in the lobby he was shaking uncontrollably and sweating profusely, thoroughly ashamed of himself, but sufficiently alert to notice the second elevator was descending. He fled the empty lobby to the sidewalk and began running for all he was worth.

            After rounding two corners he reached an intersection where there were cars waiting at a light. One of them was a taxi! He ripped open the door next to the driver and jumped in.

            “Hey, what you doin’ man! I’m off duty!” hollered the driver, a portly black man wearing a crisp white shirt and a tie.

            “Life and death!” he gasped. He needed the police...no, wait! It was Starchild! He needed...he needed.... “Do you know where the FBI is?”

            “Wha? Yeah, sho’. Northwest 2nd Avenue, ‘bout a mile from here.”

            “Go! Fast! Now! Life or death! Oh, God, God!” He was gasping for breath and sobbing at the same time. As it sank in—what he had seen and done, and failed to do—tears began running down his cheeks. The driver looked sidelong at him a long second. The light had changed and the car behind honked. He looked ahead and said, “You got it, buddy. Fast it is.”

           


22

 

 

            “Are there any messages, Ms. Fojtik?”

            “Oh, yes, Mr. Ambassador, many. And please call me Belinda.”

            “Very well, Miss Fojtik. I will, but away from the office. Here, I’m sorry, I simply have to use the proper form of address. That’s the way we are. I hope you understand.”

            “Yes, sir. Of course.”

            A book and a pile of papers lay to one side on her desk. “How is your study of Luvit going?”

            “Well enough. As you know, I speak Polish and Czech and Russian. That’s why you hired me. Luvit has many similarities. In some ways it reminds me of medieval Polish literature. Yet it’s a very modern language too. It’s fascinating. I’m enjoying myself. But it’s going slowly—this office is so very, very busy.”

            “Yes, I’m sure. We really must hire an assistant. Perhaps you would help by recommending one. What is the nature of the messages that await, if you please?”

            “Most are from trade representatives of one kind or another. Several are requests for speaking engagements and appearances and the rest come from people with scholarly and social interests.”

            “I see. If you would route those about trade to Mr. Cymred, I would appreciate it. He is at a reception right now with some of those gentlemen, I believe. I’ll take all the others, please.”

            “Certainly, sir. Here you go, sir.”

 

 

            “Agent Aldridge is in the building, sir.”

            “Thanks, Jake. I think we’re ready.”  Special Agent Hal King stepped to his office door. “Mac! Get the team together. Briefing in five.”

            Special Agent Aldridge was head of one of the Bureau’s Washington divisions. This case came under a different department, but Aldridge had been assigned since he and the missing woman had a history. He’d been in charge of the original search for her, and he’d even met her once, after the search was over. He walked into Special Agent King’s office in four minutes.

            “Hal, good to see you again.”

            “You too, sir.”

            “Remember? Call me Bob.”

            “I remember.”

            There were five agents in the room. “Well, what have we got? Let’s take it from the beginning.”

            King consulted some note cards. “The woman, Ana Darcy, and a journalist who was going to interview her, one Scott Zimmer, from Austin, Texas, went to the apartment of a V. T. Newsome, a lawyer with Benning, Bynum, Caxton, Braithwaite, the firm that represents Ms. Darcy. That was Friday. Newsome dropped them off in the lobby and drove back to his office. When Ms. Darcy opened the door (Newsome had given her the security code), four men inside jumped her. She disabled three of them, but the fourth managed to shoot her. Zimmer ran back into the elevator and escaped. A cab brought him here.”

            “Hold it. She disabled three men?”

            “That’s what Zimmer said. Did it in something like five seconds. Seems incredible, I know.”

            “I believe it. She did something like that once before.”

            “She did?”

            “Yeah. She told me she had been attacked by two men at a rest stop in El Paso. That was shortly after she escaped Army custody. I asked her what happened. She popped one attacker in the eyes and slapped the other’s ears. Stopped them cold. You’ve seen her at the Olympics, right? And on TV? She’s fast, lightning fast. OK; go ahead.”

            “We got a team there approximately thirty minutes after the attack, but they were gone. There was a puddle of blood by the door. It’s hers. We checked that with Duke Medical Center, where she was tested. We dusted the place and retrieved the bullet. We’re canvassing the neighbors in the building and on the street. Nothing on any of that so far.”

            “What about those guys waiting behind a secure door? What about that Newsome guy?”

            “Yes, sir. I’m getting to that. It didn’t take much questioning before he started to sweat and told us the rest. He has a gambling addiction. A local bookie was into him for nearly a half million dollars. He’d been threatened, he said. The bookie told him he’d give him a break if Newsome helped him meet Ms. Darcy. He claimed he had no idea they intended her harm.”

            “What about the bookie?”

            “Local law enforcement knows him. His name is Daniel Napolitano. Goes by the name Razzy. Has a rap sheet long as your arm. Probably mob-connected. We’re looking for him and any mob people he might be working for.”

            “And Ms. Darcy?”

            “No word on her. No ransom note, no visits to area hospitals. There was a fair amount of blood on the floor and a few drips out the door, in the elevator, and in the parking garage. She’s a small person—wouldn’t have to lose much blood to be a lot.”

            “And her relatives, at that U. N. mission in New York City?”

            “All we’ve told them is that she may be missing, not that she’s been wounded. The ambassador,” he looked at his note cards, “Rothan Darshiell, was upset enough as it was. If we don’t learn any more in another day or two, we probably ought to tell him the rest, in case he’s contacted.”

            “Yeah, I agree. I’ll handle that.”

            “We had to tell Ms. Darcy’s lawyer,” he looked at his cards again, “Charlene Stratemeyer, about this. She became nearly hysterical. Among other things, she said Newsome was through at their firm. We’re checking out everyone there too, of course. But Stratemeyer is the only one besides Newsome who knows.”

            “And the journalist...what was his name?”

            “Zimmer. Scott Zimmer. He was pretty shook up. He froze when it happened. When he came to, he took off. Good thing for us, because he gave us a fair description of the shooter, Napolitano. He’s embarrassed that he didn’t do more to help, that he ran. But the other guy had the gun, after all. He couldn’t have done anything.”

            “Did they chase him?”

            “Looks like no. Napolitano was the only guy on his feet when it was over and he’d have wanted to get the vic and his damaged soldiers out of there.”

            “Check Zimmer out too.”

            “We are. He wrote an article about the victim for People magazine a month ago. This interview was to be a longer one, more complete.”

            “Sounds legit.”

            “Looks that way. But we’ll double check.” He paused. “What do you suggest re the media?”

            “Let’s keep them out of the picture for now. Tell Zimmer not to publicize it yet. Tell that lawyer woman the same. Ms. Darcy normally stays out of the news. Check with her agent. Unless she has an upcoming appearance soon that she’ll miss, let’s keep this quiet. If it looks like publicity might help at some point, we can call them in. Anyone have a problem with that?”

            No one did.

            “Well, where are we?” Aldridge looked around. “What are your working assumptions?”

            “We have to assume Ms. Darcy is still alive, and that someone, possibly mob-connected, has her. Why, we have no idea. She has money, but there are hundreds of richer people who would be easier to grab and set off fewer alarms. It might have something to do with her relatives. People are all over them, trying to make deals and learn their technology. That could be an angle. Right now we’re still getting all our people organized and working together. Local law enforcement is being consulted, quietly.”

            “All right. I’ll coordinate with the New York office. Washington may be able to help too. One thing I’ll tell you now.” He looked at the group of agents. “I sure hope your first assumption is the right one.”

 

 

            “Oh, Representative Cymred, here’s a man I’d like you to meet. This is Sal Fiorini, of the RPT Group. Sal, this is Representative Harrison Cymred.”

            “I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Fiorini.”

            “And I am pleased to meet you too, sir. You honor us with your presence.”

             “Not at all. It is you who honor me, sir. I believe I have heard of the RPT Group. In fact, just a minute ago I heard it referred to as ‘The Raptor Group.’ Is that how it is pronounced?”

            Fiorini smiled. “No, not quite. A raptor, Representative Cymred, is a carnivorous bird, a meat eater. You probably heard one of our competitors make a joke about us. I’m sure it was meant well.” He smiled again.

            “Ah. A joke. I beg your pardon, then. With what does the RPT Group concern itself, then, Mr. Fiorini?”

            “Almost everything, actually, but especially molecular biology, genomics, stem cell research, energy production, and digital technology.”

            “Indeed? That covers a lot of ‘ground?’ Is that the expression?”

            “That’s the expression, and yes, there’s not much that we’re not interested in. We represent the pinnacle of innumerable technologies worldwide. You can imagine how much we have to talk about.”

            “My few days here have been a revelation, sir. I could never have imagined there’d have been so much information to be exchanged. Perhaps you have heard that our shuttle vehicle will be returning in ten days or so to transport a cargo of trade goods back to Thomo, eventually—not immediately, but after a number of similar trips.”

            “I’m glad to hear it, sir. I will make it a point to talk to you in private at your earliest convenience. May I contact your office for an appointment, then?”

            “Certainly, Mr. Fiorini. I shall look forward to our next meeting.”

            The third man in the group spoke up. “It’s always good to see you, Sal. Don’t forget to sample some Thoman vodka, at the bar. Talk about a revelation!” With a light hand on the Representative’s shoulder, he steered him to the left. “Here’s another person you need to meet, sir...”

 

 

 

            Darcy never told him exactly when she’d be getting home. He’d got used to not worrying about it, just being delighted when she finally arrived. But when she hadn’t walked in by the close of the fourth day, he was certain something was wrong. The milk she’d left in the freezer would be gone tomorrow. That wasn’t exactly terrible: they could shift the twins to baby formula. Plenty of babies got by on nothing else. Julio and Clio were eating more and more solid food anyway.

            Still, it wasn’t like her not to at least send him a text message. There had been no response to the message he’d sent her. It was a most awkward predicament. He couldn’t call the police or even the law firm in Miami where he figured they’d have seen her most recently. They had no idea she had a husband and a family and he didn’t want to be the one to tell them. There had been no big weather delays to snarl air traffic. The situation reminded him of the uncomfortable week he had spent not knowing where she was when she had gone off to the South Pole. The difference this time was that there was no overriding emergency of any kind that he could imagine...that, plus the fact that now she had two little babies to come home to.

            There were three small comforts, however. If she didn’t show up by lunch time tomorrow, he could mention it to Abuelita. She couldn’t help find her, but at least they could comfort each other. That had never been an option before. The second thing he would do, after lunch, would be to email Hleo, at the moon station.  Hleo was Darcy’s dear friend and confidant, and he had resources Matt could not dream of. The third recourse was a long shot, but still the best he could think of. One partner at the law firm, Hartley Braithwaite, knew about them. He had helped them arrange their marriage. And he, unlike Abuelita and Hleo, was close to the situation, whatever the situation was.

            All that would be completely unnecessary if she would just drive in right now! He went to the window and looked. She wasn’t there.

 

 

            Dark brown, dirty blue clouds obscured everything, roiling spasmodically. Streaks of light, and clumsy, glowing lumps—planets?—tumbled in profusion. And the pain, waves of pounding pain, over everything. Oddly, she could hear her breath passing in and out of her mouth. But gradually, the visions slowly faded, the echoes died away. She stopped struggling. Better to sleep...sleep.

           

 

            It had been a terrible three days for the journalist. He’d been interviewed twice by FBI agents, given a lie detector test, looked at mug shots until his vision swam, and been told nothing in return.  What bothered him the most was his growing sense of shame over what he was realizing had been instinctive cowardice, but next to that the lack of information was most bothersome. Perhaps that meant he really was a journalist. There were moments when he thought he really would have taken a bullet for her...though in all honesty he couldn’t say he’d have given his life. Maybe, maybe not. No, probably not. He was a coward at bottom. He’d seen that all too clearly.

            It was hard to simply return to work and put her out of his mind. In fact, it was impossible. He’d keep thinking. He’d keep digging. Maybe he’d get lucky.

 

 

            “Miss. Miss! Can you hear me? Wake up, please, thank you.”

            She was in pain, burning all over. She felt her eyelids twitch. Was someone calling her? It hurt to breathe. She could smell...something. What was that?

            “Miss. It’s OK. You can wake up now.”

            Her eyelids flickered, blinked open. Blurs, darkness.

            “There you are. Can you see me?”

            “Mmmmm.” See what? Who? A face. A brown face. Short black hair. A mustache. Stranger....

            “Can you see me, Miss?”

            “Yuh....”

            “Good. That’s good. It’s OK. You’re gonna be OK. How are you feeling?”

            “P...posht, bolst....”

            “Take your time. Tell me again: how are you feeling?”

            “Hurt. Hurts.”

            “I know. I just gave you something to help. You’ll feel better soon. You sleep now, OK?”

            “Mmmm.”

 

 

            Nino was not a happy man. Control! Control, dammit! This would never have happened if he had been in charge! Razzy! Stronzo! Coglione! Puffed-up, bouncing bag of shit! Thought it would be so simple, didn’t he? Well, Razzy was Joe Banana’s soldier and Joe Bananas would take care of Razzy, one way or the other. This damn well better not be traced to him.

            He looked around the living room—bare bones setup, barely adequate. On the outside, it looked like a decent house. On the inside, nothing. Well, his guys had added a few things, but no comforts. That didn’t matter. This wasn’t a place for comfort.

            Footsteps sounded from the hallway. Dr. Pérez emerged, stuffing his stethoscope into his coat pocket. He came over and sat down. Pérez had been a surgeon in Cuba. In Miami he was a veterinarian’s assistant, and part time, off-the-books house-call-making doctor to the mob. He came well recommended.

            So, just how much bad news would there be? Might as well find out. “How’s she doing, doc?” he rumbled.

            “She was lucky. Bullet glanced off her rib cage. Made a nasty gash, but punctured no organs. I cleaned the wound. It’s simpler not to stitch it. Instead, I used butterfly bandages. I’ll check her for a couple of days to make sure it doesn’t get infected. She’s in pain, but I gave her some morphine. She’s sleeping now.”

            “Hmph. Yeah, well.” He was pissed, but there was no point chewing out the doc. “OK. Thanks. You done good. I want her healed up quick, you hear?”

            “It’s up to her, now. She lost a lot of blood. She’ll have to recuperate. Just feed her good—lots of liquids—and call me if she gets feverish. Your guys know what to look for?”

            “Yeah, of course. Thanks, doc. Send the bill to Joe Bananas. And doc, whatever you usually charge? Triple it, got that?”

            “If you say so. I’ll do just that. Thanks.”

 

23

 

 

            Matt hadn’t had the courage to reveal his fears to Abuelita. As she had pointed out, though, she wasn’t dumb, and when she’d asked him if his wife shouldn’t be coming home soon he’d simply agreed and said something must have come up. Surely, she was on her way. By the time he’d returned to his own house after lunch, however, he was nearly sick with worry. He fired off an email to Hleo and without waiting for an answer reached for the phone. Either something was wrong with his fingers or his vision was playing tricks on him, because it took four tries to punch in the number of Hartley Braithwaite’s law office. Braithwaite’s secretary told him he was in a meeting. He begged her to tell him who was calling, and that it was urgent. She asked him to hold. He held.

            After what seemed an hour Braithwaite’s deep voice came on. “Mr. Méndez?”

            “Yes sir, this is Matt Méndez.”

            “I know why you’re calling, Mr. Méndez. You’re calling about a young woman we both know, aren’t you?” Apparently Braithwaite didn’t want to risk mentioning their marriage on the telephone. That was fine with Matt.

            “Yes, sir. Do you know where she is?”

            “I am sorry, but I do not. There’s been a problem. I should not discuss the details on the phone, but I can say that it falls under what insurance policies call ‘mysterious disappearance.’ May I suggest that we continue our discussion by email? As you know, the email system the young woman in question set up is extremely secure. Might I email you on this matter right now?”

            “Oh, gosh. Oh, uh, yes, of course.”

            “Please stand by. You should have my message in a few minutes.”

            It actually took a little over ten minutes. Matt knew the exact interval because he checked for email every thirty seconds, spending the time in between worrying, swearing, pacing from the dining room to the bedroom and back to the computer, and trying to control his breathing. Finally, Braithwaite’s message rolled in.

 

Dear Mr. Méndez:

 

            Our friend was apparently abducted from an apartment owned by one of our junior lawyers, where she and a journalist named Zimmer were going to conduct an interview. The FBI has a large team of agents investigating right now. They are not giving out many details—indeed, the fact that this particular woman is missing has not been made public at all. We have learned that the lawyer in question turns out to have had large gambling debts and may have allowed his bookmaker into his apartment to, the lawyer claims, meet the woman. Thus there are many questions presently, and few answers.

            I am certain you will be frantic with worry, as we are here. You need not contact me again unless you hear something we might not. Please be assured that I will contact you the minute I learn anything further.

            In the meantime, know that our prayers are with you and the young woman we both love so much.”

            Yours very sincerely, Hartley Braithwaite

 

            Abducted!! It was his worst dream come to life! Icy prickles skittered down the back of his neck.  His eyelids clamped shut while he struggled for breath. This was terrible news, the worst...no, not quite the worst: almost the worst. Don’t even think about the worst! Braithwaite obviously meant well, but it was clear he didn’t have any helpful or encouraging information to share, except that that Zimmer fellow was there somewhere. He awoke to the fact that he was pacing aimlessly about the house, though he had no memory of getting out of his chair.

            This business of Darcy ducking out to show up in public and then returning home on the sly was simply not working. If she thought she had to be a celebrity, well, then he would try to convince her otherwise. It looked to him as though she had built about all the good will she could. If the Thomans wanted to milk their cash cow there wasn’t much Darcy could do to stop them. She had a family, blast it, and her family needed her. She knew that, and Matt knew she knew that. And she knew that Matt knew she knew...ah, hell. Don’t blame her! He pounded his thighs in frustration.

            He clipped the cordless phone to his belt and headed outside to pace around the outside of the house until he calmed down a little. Darcy! ¡Esposita!

 

 

            The longer Nino sat there the madder he got. Swearing in Sicilian wasn’t making him feel any better, like it usually did. That’s how bad things were. He got up and headed down the hall.

            Carlo was in a chair outside the door to her room. They had cut a big rectangle out of the center and screwed a piece of Plexiglas to it, creating a crude window.

            “La ragazza. What’s she doing?”

            “Sleeping.”

            He looked. She was in a single bed against the opposite wall, maybe fifteen feet from where he stood. To one side, the light was on in the tiny bathroom. The door to that had been removed to an adjacent bedroom. The window to the back yard had been covered with a sheet of plywood bolted to the wall. She was sound asleep, the sheet pulled up to her chin. Several coils of thin stainless steel aircraft cable lay in loops under the bed, one end padlocked to the bed. She didn’t make much of a bulge under the sheet. He shook his head.

            “Where’s Mando?”

            “Went for food and drinks. Also smokes.”

            “What kind of drinks?”

            “Sodas. Water. Juice.”

            “Good. No alcohol, right?”

            “Right. Hey, boss....”

            “What?”

            “We here very long, we gonna need help.”

            “Yeah, I know. I gotta fly to New York, but I’ll be back in less than 24 hours. I’ll get you some reinforcement. This ain’t gonna be no picnic.”

            “Could be worse.”

            He glared at Carlo, but the man was right. It was bad enough but yes, it could be worse. He’d see how it felt about it tomorrow.

           

 

            “I’m Special Agent Robert Aldridge, Mr. Ambassador, of the United States Federal Bureau of Investigation. I’m in charge of the search for your niece.”

            “It is an honor to meet you sir. We can think of little else these days. Please be seated. I pray you have good news for me.”

            “I wish I had. I will tell you what we know so far, but first allow me to mention that I have actually met your niece. I was in charge of the original search for her, before we knew who she was and what she was doing here. You probably know what happened—she outsmarted our best efforts and successfully warned us of the approaching danger. We are of course grateful for that. I was fortunate enough to meet her at the office of her lawyer shortly afterwards. She is a remarkable woman, and I assure you we will do everything we can to find her as soon as we can.”

            “You have our best wishes, of course. Now, what can you tell me of the present situation?”

            “You already know she was abducted. There is reason to believe she may have been wounded at that time, how seriously we cannot tell.”

            “Good heavens!”

            “Indications are that it was an organized effort, not a spur-of-the-moment incident. Therefore we are exploring the possible reasons behind it. Chief among those is ransom.” The Ambassador furrowed his brow. “Ransom is the unlawful holding of a person for payment or other consideration. However, if the goal were to simply obtain money, it would be easier to capture someone else. In the case of your niece, we of course thought of you and your mission. Thus, if you are contacted by any parties who make unusual demands or who offer to release your niece in exchange for money or information that only the people of your mission might have, it is vitally important that you let me or my office know.”

            “I see. I know of no such demands, but I will check with my associates immediately, you may be sure.”

            “Good. Thank you. Here is my card, which shows how to reach me. I promise you, Mr. Ambassador, our best people are working hard on this and we will not stop until the matter is resolved.”

            “I wish you and your colleagues well, Mr. Aldridge.”

 

 

            “It is good to see you again, Representative Cymred. I hope you are well.”

            “I am well, thank you, and I hope you are likewise. You must have been studying our customs, Mr. Fiorini, to greet me as you have.”

            “I am a student of customs of all kinds, sir. I never tire of it. You have a lovely suite of offices, by the way.”

            “Thank you. Already, after only a week, we are feeling comfortable here. It helps that everyone has been so welcoming—like yourself, sir.”

            “Your mission has been like a breath of fresh air, sir. That is, it is something completely new and stimulating. After all, it isn’t every day that we meet people from a civilization that is totally unknown to us, and that has so much to interest us.”

            “Indeed not. I could say much the same thing myself.”

            “In fact, now that subject has come up, I have brought several folders of information about projects that the RPT Group is currently working with. I hope you will agree with me that your own people’s technology may be of considerable use. Perhaps in other areas, our knowledge would be of use to you. I would be happy to leave them with you and discuss them again in a few days, after you have had a chance to look at them.”

            “I would be delighted. I am in your debt.”

            “It is my pleasure, sir. By the way, I promised the chief of the RPT Research Laboratory that I would ask you something on his behalf, if I may.”

            “Certainly. What is it?”

            “He has been quite impressed by all of your technology, but by none more so than by the means you used to travel here from Thomo. He wonders if you would be willing to discuss that with him in the future, perhaps.”

            Cymred nodded and smiled. “He is not the first to ask about that. In truth, that system of propulsion represents the highest achievement of our science, the “cutting edge,” I believe is your expression. You may tell him that the underlying principle is the directed application of the force of gravity. It was, and is, an immensely complicated and expensive system to develop. Alas, I fear it is so expensive that it would have no useful application here in the foreseeable future. But more practically, its implementation would require an infrastructure that would take at least a century, perhaps several centuries to develop. So, while I would not rule out discussing it with him, I would urge him to be patient for the time being and to devote his efforts to more presently achievable projects, in mathematics, physics, and engineering. Common to all of these, of course, is education. The healthier that institution is, the faster the rest will happen. I am confident that in time, similar or even more practical systems will be developed here.”

            “I see. Thank you, sir. I will convey your remarks to him when I next see him.”

 

24

 

                        Sal was not a drinking man but he allowed himself a snifter of single malt scotch before bed time. He had earned it and he deserved it. Things were proceeding satisfactorily, but it was a delicate business. Nino had the girl. The Ambassador knew she was missing. Harrison Cymred had confirmed that the gravity-powered propulsion system existed and that the Thomans didn’t want to divulge anything about it. Now it was time to step up the pressure a little, without it being connected to the RPT Group, Kurt Rainer, or himself. That was no trick at all. A simple anonymous note, shoved under the door, so to speak, specifying a reply in the “personal” section of the want ads of a local newspaper, should serve nicely. Timing was everything. He had always had a gift for that. The time to tell Nino how it was going to end had not quite arrived—it was best to keep him happy as long as possible. Nino had old-fashioned notions of honor that just didn’t fit in the modern world where billions of dollars impelled their own decisions. Kurt Rainer never liked loose ends. Too bad about the girl--if a few chips had to fall, so be it.

 

 

 

            After a quick but uncomfortable flight from New York, Nino Cellini let himself into the Miami safe house. Being short on sleep made him grumpy enough to cause trouble for anyone near him and that was before he considered all his other problems. He didn’t like kidnapping one bit. It was a tacky business for a professional crime boss, for one thing, and in this case the captive was potentially way too hot to handle, and hardly more than a girl in any case. True, the money was almost too good to believe but that was also a reason to be ashamed of himself. Money wasn’t everything. He had standards, after all, and this sorry business was pushing them hard.

            The bare living room was deserted. He walked down the hallway. Mando was in the chair next to a pile of racing forms, a brimming ash tray, and a soft drink can sitting in a puddle of water next to him.

            “What’s she doing?”

            “Very little. Went to the bathroom this morning. Took a shower this afternoon. At least, I think she took a shower. Can’t see into the tub. But she was in there with the water running.”

            He peered through the Plexiglas. She was back in bed, the sheet up to her neck again. Her eyes were closed.

            “She been eating?”

            “Oh, boss, you ain’t gonna believe this.”

            “What?”

            “Carlo ordered us a couple pizzas, you know, Sicilian like he likes? So he took one in there to offer her some. She ate all of it, boss! And it was a medium!” Mando’s eyebrows rose to match his words. He was genuinely in awe.

            “Carlo let her do that?”

            “He said she loved it. She thanked him.”

            “Yeah? I guess that’s good. She drinking too?”

            “Oh yeah. Drinking plenty.”

            “All right. Good. I brought Gino down here to share the duty. He’ll be in this evening. I’m going out to the living room for a while.”

            Terrific. The woman who was the whole problem was the only one who wasn’t a problem. Goddam Sal anyway. Son of a bitch was too busy to give the time of day to a pal from his childhood but not too busy to order that friend around like a freaking servant—him! A full capo! And who was Sal, anyway? A gofer, basically, for some billionaire, that’s what. He’d called Sal while he was in the city and told him the mission was accomplished, and what should he do now. Sal’s answer: “Nothing. Wait. I’ll get back to you.” Sloppy! Disrespectful! He hated that.

            The doorbell rang. The peephole revealed Dr. Pérez. He let him in.

            “I’ll check her dressings. Just take ten minutes.”

            When he returned from the hallway he took a seat opposite, uninvited. Annoying!             “What?”

            “You sure you got the right woman in there?”

            “Whaddya mean?”

            “Weren’t you after that girl who won all those gold medals, that woman from another planet?”

            Nino stared at him. “What makes you think that isn’t her?”

            “This one’s a mother. She’s had a child. Recently.”

            Nino stared holes through him.

            “She has some stretch marks on her abdomen, and she’s lactating. I don’t know if she’s married or not, but she’s given birth, and fairly recently.”

            “Fuck!”

            “Yeah, that’s what I figure too.”

            “No, goddammit. How’s she healing?”

            “Fast. Best I’ve ever seen a bullet wound heal.”

            “Get outta here, doc.”

            “No, really. She’ll be sore for a while, but she’ll be back on her feet in days.”

            “What I mean, doc, is go! LEAVE!” He sat there long after the door closed behind him, thinking. Was that her, or not? There was no help for it: he was going to have to talk to her. He got up.

            “I’m going in there, Mando. Keep an eye on me. If she tries to take my head off, shoot her. Just don’t shoot me, goddammit.”

            “I’ll cover you, boss. But don’t worry. She’s been real calm. So far, anyways.” In a lower voice he added, “If I was you, though, I wouldn’t piss her off.”

            Glaring at Mando, he grabbed the chair next to him, opened the door, and stepped in. Her eyes opened slowly and her head turned toward him. He set the chair down to one side of the line of fire from the doorway. She didn’t look like she’d suddenly jump up and chop him to bits, but after Razzy’s account of her actions earlier he figured he’d not take the chance. She was impossibly small, pale, still. Her face was thin. Nice hair, though. He sat down cautiously.

            “Ms. Darcy?” There was no reply.

            “Ana Darcy?”

            Her eyes opened wider. She blinked slowly twice. “Yes.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “And you are...?”

            “Don’t worry about it.”

            It took a few seconds for her to reply. She spoke slowly, pausing between phrases. “It’s only courtesy. You know who I am. I am in your custody. I should know who you are.”

            “You have a point. But believe me, it’s better you not know. Forget about it. I’m just an old mobster.”

            “A monster?”

            “No! That’s not what I said.”

            “A father?”

            “No, a mobster. A member of the mob. A crime boss.”

            “Oh. I thought I heard something else. I’m sorry. The doctor gave me something that’s making me sleepy. You remind me a little of my father.”

            That took him aback. “Yeah?” He thought a minute. “Your father on the planet you came from?” That produced a tiny nod, sideways since she was lying down.

            “Seems like I remember reading he’s some kind of chief, right?”

            “Yes. He is, or was, chief of the tribes and clans of Thomo.”

            “Why do you say ‘was’?”

            “I’ve been gone a long time. It’s not likely he’s still alive.” It seemed an effort for her to pronounce each phrase.

            “May he rest in peace, then. Why do I remind you of him?”

            “It’s hard to say. Dignity, maybe. The way you carry yourself. You look like a person of authority.”

            He thought that of himself, in fact. Interesting! Even half-awake and lying on her side, this woman was perceptive. “So, you’re the daughter of the head man, eh? Is that like royalty or something?”

            “No. He just had a lot of responsibilities, that’s all. People trusted him to do the right things, and he tried to be worthy of their trust.”

            “Yeah, well. I’m sorry about all this, Ms. Darcy. It’s nothing personal; I hope you understand that. It’s just business.”

            “Business? What do I have to do with business?”

            “It’s complicated. Never mind.”

            “Why am I here? What do you want from me?”

            “Nothing, for now. Don’t worry about it.”

            “Don’t worry about it? You hurt me! You nearly killed me!”

            “Hey, you sent three men to the hospital yourself! And anyway, my guys didn’t hurt you. That was some other schmucks. If there’s anything I need from you, I’ll let you know. In the meantime, we wait.” He stood up.

            “May I ask you a favor, Mr....Mr. Mobster?”

            “What?”

            “I need to wash my underclothes. If you have my backpack somewhere, could I please have the clothes that are in it? And maybe the toilet articles?”

            “Yeah. All right. Anything else?”

            “Something to read.”

            “Like what?”

            “You decide. Pick your favorite book, or books. Please?”

            That surprised him. “I’ll think it over. You better sleep some now.”

 

 

            The cook was bustling around in the kitchen while Rothan, Herecyn, and Ianthe gathered at the dining table for a small aperitif as per Thoman custom. Rothan judged it was time to discuss the matter that had been weighing on him for nearly two days. The cook didn’t speak Luvit in any case. He found a suitable opening as Herecyn wound down his account of a contract he’d sent to their lawyers earlier in the day involving an exchange of gene-splicing laboratory equipment for food grains.

            “You have done well, Honored Representative Herecyn. I never cease to be amazed at the variety of trade negotiations we have become adept at handling—you, in particular, sir. I would have predicted we would sorely miss our designated trade expert, the unfortunate Representative Vianogh, but your efforts have been stupendous, enough for two people all by yourself!”

            “You honor me, sir. I merely did my best.”

            “And that reminds me of our dear niece Anneyn, who is, in her turn, like poor Bennec Vianogh, facing grave difficulties.”

            Ianthe placed her hands on the table and leaned forward. “I think of her constantly, Honored Uncle. Is there news?”

            “Yes, there is, in a manner of speaking. At least, I have been in contact with the main law enforcement officer handling her case, Special Agent Aldridge of the American Federal Bureau of Investigation. The day before yesterday I received a demand from those holding her, which I immediately passed to Mr. Aldridge.”

            “Dear heavens!” gasped Ianthe. “What was the demand?”

            “It was for a complete description of our gravitation propulsion system. If it is not supplied, in a certain form and at a certain time, they say they will execute our niece.”

            “Oh!” Ianthe unconsciously clasped the pendant hanging from her throat.

            “Yes.” Rothan looked at Herecyn. “You have told me several parties have inquired about that system, is that not so?”

            “Indeed. More than a few. Twelve or more, at least. I gave all the same answer, that the system had grown from technology that was at least a century beyond what was possible here, and that it was prohibitively expensive in any case. But such is the nature of people that I am sure many did not believe me.”

            “No doubt. Nor is it certain that those holding our niece would be among those twelve. They could be entirely unknown to us. I urged Mr. Aldridge to be frank with me about the case and what his recommendations might be. He says situations like this are notoriously difficult to manage. Those holding the captive are completely in control unless they make a mistake which might lead the authorities to rescue him or her.

            “Similar situations are not unknown on Thomo, of course. We well understand that as long as we do not turn over the desired information, the kidnappers would be encouraged to keep their captive alive. Yet that also means she remains in their hands. Frankly, I see no reason not to give them the information. As you say, Representative Herecyn, it will do no one here any good for a long, long time. But the problem then becomes one of assuring the safe return of our dear niece, and Agent Aldridge could not be encouraging about that. There would be considerable risk involved at that point.”

            “What brutes these people are!” Ianthe snapped. “Sometimes I swear I regret we ever undertook this mission.”

            “Some are brutes, no doubt, Honored Niece. Yet our people are not perfect, either. It does seem that our presence here has attracted mercantile interests, and some of those do manifest a notable degree of rapacity. But that is beyond our control. As for our presence here, we have come at the request of the Tribal Council. We must expect some problems, although it is true that this particular one is extraordinarily anguishing. Nevertheless, our people expect our best efforts and we must be resolved to endure as best we can.

            “For now, we must decide whether we wish to provide the information or refuse to do so. I trust the life of our honored niece Anneyn is our prime consideration, is it not?” He looked at the others. Ianthe’s eyes were wet. She glanced at Herecyn.

            “Certainly.”

            “Then we must vote, to either deliver the description of the gravitation system or not to. I shall take our decision to Agent Aldridge tomorrow.” He paused. “I see nothing to be gained by prolonging the matter. I vote to deliver it.”

            Herecyn regarded the glass in front of him. He picked it up, drained the contents, and said, “I agree that prolonging the situation solves nothing. Yet I fear for our honored sister in law if the information were delivered without a perfect guarantee of her safe return. For her sake I cannot in good conscience agree to that. I say we do not deliver it.”

            Ianthe looked stricken. “Oh, what woe is here!” she sobbed. “Dear Anneyn, dear Honored First Sister! I cannot bear to leave her among savages! Surely, even brutes are capable of honoring a bargain. My vote...” she paused, “...my vote is to give them what they want. I shall pray that they have the decency to fulfill their part. I see no other way!”

 

           

           

            Despite his emotional turmoil, Matt was gratified to note that Hleo was clearly upset by Darcy’s disappearance. He’d dealt with Hleo for a year or more, always satisfactorily, but Matt had always retained some doubts about him. He wasn’t a real person, not corporeally, at least—he was electronic, a person literally inside a machine. Matt never could quite forget that. He had not detected much in the way of emotion from him at any time and rather doubted he was capable of it. Before, during emergencies, Hleo had been cool and analytical, resourceful, speedy, and always very correct. Matt had never been sure whether that was because that was the type of “person” Hleo was or because that was what happened when a human was absorbed into a machine. But in his most recent email, Hleo was clearly upset. Good for you, Hleo! He, Matt, was upset too.

            What seemed to bother Hleo most, beyond Darcy’s unexplained absence, was that he could think of nothing to do about it. Matt understood that helplessness all too well. Hleo beseeched him to pass on any clues whatsoever, so that he could try to work with them. Hleo had been, and probably still was, the station’s main watcher and analyst of Earth, scanning, collecting, and studying incomprehensibly large swaths of electromagnetic emissions originating there. Darcy, the human in nominal charge of the moon station, had merely overseen his efforts.

            Matt knew—because Darcy had told him—that Hleo had followed the development of the internet from its earliest “Arpanet” days. He had recreated all the crude early computers within the circuitry of the moon station’s equipment and become a better programmer and hacker than most of the people doing the same things on Earth, and maybe better. So it made sense to Matt that if he could only feed Hleo some ideas, Hleo might be able to connect dots and make discoveries that no one else could.

            The problem was finding ideas to communicate to Hleo. That was never far from his mind, as he helped feed the twins, tended to their three cats, and performed all the other daily chores that had to be done. The FBI would tell him nothing; he was certain of that. They were famous for not telling anyone anything. That didn’t leave much. There was the lawyer, Hartley Braithwaite. And there was Scott Zimmer, the journalist who was present when Darcy was abducted and might still be in Miami. He remembered Zimmer from their meeting in Truth or Consequences. Zimmer might know something. Perhaps Braithwaite could put him in touch with Zimmer.

            It was past midnight. Unable to sleep, he sat under the tiny reading light Darcy had used ages ago to read the newspaper article he had written about her and brought from Alpine to show her. There were all kinds of crazies who might want to harm her, but this didn’t sound like a case of that, not with a bookmaker and his buddies involved. Why in blazes would bookmakers want to kidnap her? Probably not for money...must be for something she knew, or maybe for what she represented to...to...her relatives? Could someone want something from her family?

            He sighed, thrust his legs out straight, and jammed his hands in his pockets, staring into the gloom. Not knowing was the worst part. Even with four-fifths of his immediate family around him he felt hollow. He wanted her back, terribly. And he wanted whoever was responsible to pay, and pay dearly.

            It was too late to contact anyone. Somehow he had to get through the night. He would start calling tomorrow.

 

25

 

 

            Nino wasn’t a book person. He never had been. He followed the financial news and the crime news, but the nuns had beaten out of him whatever taste he might have had for literature long ago. So why the hell was he wandering around Half Price Books? Why did he give a shit? Damn store smelled funny....

            Over there—a section with a sign that said “Classics.” Check it out...bunch of stuff he’d never seen...foreign-sounding titles...a few others he’d heard of somewhere or other, and...and...wait, there’s one he remembered. It was a good-sized hardback in decent shape: Selected Works of William Shakespeare. Right! He’d read something by that guy. A famous play writer or something. Sister Aloysius used to go nuts over him. What had she made him read? Macbeth? Yeah, maybe that was it...twelve bucks. Christ! That’s half price? But then he weighed that against twenty million dollars and felt ashamed of himself.

 

 

            “Watch me,” he growled at Gino. Eternal vigilance was the price of, well, to be honest, of not getting beaten up by a 100 pound blonde girl. Not as silly as it sounded—she sure put some serious hurt on three of Razzy’s guys. He turned the lock and stepped cautiously inside. She was still in bed, or rather on it, dressed in black pants and a nice-looking green silk shirt—one thing he knew was clothes—not tucked in. The twenty foot cable attached to her ankle was coiled on the floor.

            “How you doing?” he asked, not too gruffly.

            “OK. How are you?”

            “Not bad.” He set down the chair he had carried in, but remained standing next to it.

            “I got you a book.” Very slowly, so as not to invite violence, he took a couple steps and held it out.

            She moved her elbows under herself and eased into a sitting position, wincing in pain. She took the book.

            “Thanks.” She looked at it. “Shakespeare!”

            “Yeah. You said ‘a favorite book.’ I don’t really have any favorite books, but I remember reading some of that one in high school. It’s supposed to be good.”

            “Oh, yes, he’s said to be one of the greatest writers ever, and especially in English.” She opened it and turned some pages. “I always meant to read some of his plays, but I never had time. They weren’t easy for me. This has glosses! That will help. Thank you, very much.”

            He had no idea what glosses were. “You’re welcome.” He sat down. A minute passed. “You need anything?”

            “I could use a ride to the airport.”

            “Yeah, well. Sorry. Business. How’s your wound healing?”

            “It’s better. It still hurts, though.”

            “The doc says you’re healing fast, faster than he’s ever seen. Is that because you’re from, like, that planet?”

            “Maybe. My immune system was reset shortly after I was born. I don’t get sick very often. When I do, I hardly know how to act.”

            “Well, you look better now. Let me know if you need any food or something.”

            “That pizza yesterday—that was wonderful! What kind of pizza was that?”

            “That was a Sicilian pizza. Well, not from Sicily, but made in the style of Sicily. I like ‘em myself. My grandparents came from there.”

            “That’s an island, isn’t it? Near Italy?”

            “That’s right. Lotta people came here from there, ‘bout a hundred years ago.”

            “What is the language there? Do you speak it?”

            “It’s Sicilian. It’s like Italian, only different. I speak it some, not very good.”

            “Then it’s probably related to my language, Luvit. Luvit is related to Italian and French and Spanish, and to most European languages. Have you ever been to Sicily?”

            “Yeah, a couple of times.”

            “What was it like? What did you think?”

            “It was weird. It felt familiar, but also strange, you know?”

            “That’s interesting. That’s how I felt when I came to Earth: it was familiar but also strange.” They thought about that.  “What would you say is the most important thing you got from your Sicilian background?”

            “The most important thing? Family. Sicilians are very family-oriented. Sicilian families here are too. Families stick together, you know? They stand up for each other, or they should. They don’t always, but they should.”

            “I know. I really know. My people are the same way. Our whole population is organized around families and groups of families. Without that, we’d be nothing.”

            “Exactly. We’d be nothing, too. Families are everything.”

            “But, like you said, they don’t always work perfectly. I’m an example of that.”

            “Yeah? How so?”

            “I think I told you my father was a chief, didn’t I? I was sleepy from the medicine but I think I mentioned that. Marriages of chiefs’ children are often arranged, for political reasons. I refused three proposals. My father got so frustrated with me that he sent me off into the galaxy. My next oldest sister will follow my father now, instead of me. She has already taken his place, probably. I was not the best daughter he could have had.”

            “Is that so? Why did you refuse?”

            “I didn’t like the prospective husbands. They weren’t my type. The third suitor married my third sister. He’s the one at the U. N. mission in New York.”

            “That tall guy?”

            “Yes. Herecyn Cymred is his name. My sister Ianthe married him.”

            “Jeez. That’s gotta be hard. I mean, I understand how your father felt. But I also understand how you felt. And now, here’s that guy right here with you. Well, not exactly here....”

            “We get along, mostly. He loves money more than anything else, including my sister. I suppose that’s why he’s so happy now. He’s making money faster than anyone on my planet ever made money.”
            “I guess he is. I never thought of it that way. You’re probably right.”

            “I wonder if he even cares that I’ve been captured.”

            “Hell of a thing, for a brother in law to be happy at the misfortune of his sister in law....”

            “Would you tell me something, please?”

            “If I can.”

            “What do you want from me?”

            “Like I said, nothing.”

            “Nothing? You’re just keeping me here?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Then it has to have something to do with Herecyn.” She sighed. “If you wanted information from me, you’d ask. And I’d tell you. I’d tell you anything to keep from being tortured.” He stared at her. “The problem is, I don’t know anything. I don’t have anything to tell you.”

            “Well, then I don’t guess it matters if I tell you. You’ve figured most of it out anyway. It’s some guys, a company of some kind, which wants to know about that energy stuff that brought you and them here.”

            “Ah, of course.” She shook her head. “It had to be that. I was afraid of that. That’s so stupid. It’s useless.”

            “What’s useless?”

            “Our description of how gravitation engines work. It’s the most complex thing our engineers have ever done. It really is a miracle. We could give you the complete description and plans for all of it, and you know what? It wouldn’t help. You still couldn’t build it. It takes technology and engineering that are still a hundred years away from people here. It’s worthless! But the people at this company you mentioned obviously don’t believe that, and here I am! I’m caught in between.”

            She looked sharply at him. It startled him. It was disconcerting.  He found himself thinking of his Uncle Giancarlo, back in Sicily. He flew falcons. She looked just like his favorite bird, chained to his wrist, captive but still fierce and proud. She shook her head in frustration. “Here I am! There’s no way out! What’s going to happen to me?”

            Two beats passed. “I don’t know,” was all he could say. He stood up, picked up the chair, and left.

 

 

            “Is that you, Hal? Bob Aldridge here.”

            “I’m here. Any news?”

            “Yes. The Thomans have received a ransom note.”

            “Bingo!”

            “Right. It looks perfectly clean—forensics has it now. No clues in it yet, and none likely. It tells them to get a description of that gravity propulsion system ready or else they’ll kill Ms. Darcy. They’re to answer via a personal ad in the paper.”

            “Christ. But do we know they really have her?”

            “There was a cotton ball in the envelope. It had some of her blood on it.”

 

 

            Matt now understood the phrase “sick with worry.” He’d always wondered about that, and now he knew. He prayed that soon he would understand another phrase he’d never fully comprehended: “tears of joy.” He’d willingly shed quite a few of those, if only it were possible.

            He finally told Abuelita. She took it better than he had, though she too was clearly upset. She willingly agreed to take over the job of watching the twins and keeping track of the sitters—and thank heavens for the sitters. She seemed eager to do it, in fact, and Matt was quite certain that she’d be better at it than he was.

            “Frankly, I don’t know what I can do in Miami, ‘Buela. I just have to go there and try, or else I’ll go completely crazy.”

            “I know, Matt. You’re a nervous wreck. You have to go. I’ll pray for you. Don’t forget to let me know how you’re doing, please.”

            “Of course I will. I’ll call you every evening. Ana and I always talk in riddles, sort of, in case anyone is listening. We don’t use people’s names, for example. I’ll probably do that with you, so don’t worry. It won’t mean anything bad, necessarily.”

            “I won’t worry. I just hope she’s all right, Matt. She’s such a fine young woman. I hope you bring her home safe and sound.”

            “I’ll try, ‘Buela. I’ll really try.”

            Getting ready for bed without high hopes of getting much rest, he kept running over the possibilities. He’d been tempted to take the pod, but quickly realized that he had no business flying the thing over the crowded southern United States. Where would he park it when he got there? He would take his laptop—that would be his way of staying in contact with Hleo.  And his cell phone, of course. That Zimmer fellow! If Braithwaite could just help him locate Zimmer, that was where he would start.

 

26

 

           

            Nino decided he hated all of Miami, and Florida in the bargain. If he ever retired, it would be to someplace else. Maybe he’d even stay in New York, if he could convince his competition that he was out of the business. That might be tough, though.

            It wasn’t that Miami wasn’t attractive, far from it. He’d gone for lunch to a splendid beachfront hotel and sat by the pool to sip a quiet beer. Only it hadn’t been quiet—teenage kids had been cavorting noisily and displaying their bodies to each other amid clumps of screaming smaller children. Big kids, little kids, and parents fussed loudly at each other the whole time. Finally he couldn’t take it any more. He went inside to the restaurant and ordered a sea food plate with a side order of manicotti. The place was so expensive that the kids and parents apparently avoided it. A second advantage was the food wasn’t bad at all. He came to a decision while enjoying it. He called the waiter over and ordered the same thing to go.

 

 

            It was supper time but Matt barely noticed it, nor had he paid much attention to the rows of palm trees along the highway from the airport to the hotel. The hotel had wireless internet, and that was all he was looking forward to. Before even opening his overnight bag, he powered up his laptop and logged on to send a message to Hleo, saying, in effect, “What news?”

            He made quick use of the facilities and called Abuelita to let her know he had arrived safely. She was as smart as ever: she was helping put the twins to bed but she had clipped the cordless phone to her waist.

            Then he checked his email. There was a reply from good old Hleo:

 

Dear Mr. Méndez:

 

            There have been several developments. The Secretary  [he meant Secretary Rothan Darshiell] has received ransom instructions. Our friend’s captors are demanding a description of our interstellar propulsion system. The Secretary was reluctant to comply. For reasons I will not go into now, I have tried to convince him to do so. Nothing is more important than getting her released safely. He tells me that the instructions were most ingenious, offering but minimal opportunity to be traced to their delivery point. Nevertheless, I think we must follow them, trusting, if we must, that our friend will be released in turn.

            The Secretary is working with local law enforcement, but there are so far no indications as to where our friend is being kept. It is doubtful that you could do any better, and in any case, I urge you to proceed with the utmost caution.

            It is good to know you are where you are. I shall contact you if there is anything you can do locally, and you of course may contact me at any time.

 

Yours sincerely,

Hleo Ap Darshiell

 

            So that was the reason she’d been kidnapped! He remembered being impressed by the way the pod was powered. It stood to reason that smarter people would be even more impressed. In fact, he recalled saying something to Darcy about how it wouldn’t matter that it was too advanced to be duplicated on Earth, that people would want it anyway. It looked like that was just what had happened...and his wife had got caught in the middle of it. This was not a good situation at all.

            He had no idea how he was going to sleep, but he had to try. His plans for tomorrow, such as they were, were already made.

 

 

 

            “You feeling any better?”

            “Maybe a little.” She was sitting up, at least.

            “I brought you some lunch.”

            “Thank you, Mr...Mr...I really need to know your name, please. I don’t feel right calling you ‘Mr. Mobster’.”

            “Yeah, well. Call me...call me Goldman, Antonio Goldman. Tony. That’s close enough.”

            “All right. Thank you, Mr. Goldman.” She was right. It did sound better.

            “You’re welcome.” She opened the box.

            “Sea food!”

            “Yeah. I just had the same thing. It’s pretty good.”

            “I haven’t had much sea food yet. There are so many delicious things to eat here! Do you mind if I begin?”

            “No, of course not. Be my guest.”

            She twisted open the cellophane package and pulled out the plastic fork. “Mmm, this is wonderful!” She barely smiled, but her effort gratified him. She swallowed and patted the book next to her. “Shakespeare is so amazing! I had no idea!”

            “Is that right?”

            “Oh, yes! The pre...preface said that perhaps his greatest play was King Lear, so I read that last night and this morning. I couldn’t believe it! Do you know it?”

            “Not really.”

            “I tried the first page to see if I could follow it, and I couldn’t stop reading. It’s about a king who’s old and tired and wants to stop being king. He calls his three daughters and says he’s turning the kingdom over to them. It’s sooo sad!”

            “Yeah? How so? What happens?” He was genuinely curious.

            “He asks them a strange thing: to tell him how much they love him, so he’ll know how to divide his lands among them.”

            “What? That’s stupid!”

            “I thought so too. But he’s old and a little foolish. And he has three daughters, just like my father.”

            “I know you have a sister in New York. Who’s the third?”

            “I’m the oldest. Ianthe is the sister in New York. My second sister, Onela, has agreed to marry as father wishes. Poor man. He had three daughters, and two left forever.”

            “Hmm.”

            “Do you have children?”

            “Huh? Yeah. Two daughters and a son.”

            “Do they please you?”

            “Please me? Yeah, I guess. Mostly. But what about this King Lear? What happens?”

            “The two older daughters, who are both married, say all kinds of ridiculous things about how incredibly much they love their father. He foolishly believes them and gives each of them a third of his kingdom. The youngest refuses to do that. She tells him she loves him just like a daughter should love her father. He gets furious with her and dis...dis...refuses to give her the last third.”

            “Disinherits?”

            “Yes, that’s it. Thank you. He disinherits her. Oh, Mr. Goldman, you can’t imagine how that affected me. Something like that happened to me. I told you I created problems for my father by refusing to marry the men he wanted me to. But it wasn’t because I didn’t love him! I was like Cordelia, in the play. I really loved my father. But I wouldn’t play the game he wanted me to. And he got rid of me!”

            Nino shook his head slowly. He was ruminating that the story line resonated in his life also. “So how’d it turn out?”

            “It was sad. I could follow it pretty well, even though a dictionary would have helped. The king expected that his children would honor him in his old age, but the two older ones didn’t. They and their husbands fought to take over. They dishonored their father. Cordelia was the one who came back with an army to fight for her father’s side. But they were defeated. The greedy ones won.”

            How Sicilian, he thought. How American.

            “Even though English is a foreign language for me I loved the way Shakespeare said things. Listen to this!”

            She picked up the book and riffled quickly through the pages. “Here it is: ‘How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is to have a thankless child.’ A serpent is a snake, right?”

            “Huh? Yeah, a snake.” He considered the phrase. It was almost musical. He smiled without warmth. “‘...Sharper than a serpent’s tooth.’ That’s good. That’s real good.” A thankless child. Bingo. “How did it end?”

            “It was complicated, but Cordelia was hanged. Her father found out that she really loved him the most all along, and when he learned she was dead, he died too.” She looked up at him, her eyes large and moist. A long minute passed.

            Well, he thought, everyone dies. Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll see if I can get you a dictionary.”

 

 

            Dr. Rowland Haskell, head of RPT Group’s technology unit, wasn’t surprised to hear that Sal Fiorini was on his way from the airport by helicopter. Late afternoon traffic in Atlanta was no picnic. To fight it all the way across the city would have tried a patient person. And Sal was not one of those.

            By the time Fiorini walked into his office, most of the day staff had left the building. Greeting him with minimal pleasantries, Sal got down to business.

            “They’ve agreed to share their gravitation technology with us.”

            “I didn’t expect that! That’s excellent!”

            “Yes, it is, and it’s ours exclusively. It’s top secret, eyes only. Share it only with those employees who need to study it and who are absolutely reliable.”

            “Of course. Did you bring it with you?”

            “No. That’s why I’m here. I’ll give you instructions for obtaining it. Follow them carefully and let me know when you have it. I’m going to write down part of it, but once you’ve done it, destroy this page.

            “The information will be available through their website, next Wednesday, between five and six am only. Then it will be removed. Only you will know the proper web address.

            “Now, watch. I’ll write it down. You know the URL of the Thoman website, right?” Haskell nodded. “OK; I won’t write that down, but that’s where you start. Then click on ‘Culture,’ then on ‘Music,’ then on ‘Early Music,’ and then on ‘Instruments.’” He wrote the links out with arrows from one to the next. “When you get to the link ‘Vocal Music,’ at five am, change the URL from ‘.wav’ to ‘.html’ and hit ‘Enter’. That’ll give you the page with the link to download. You know to ‘Save Target As’, right?” Haskell nodded again. “OK; that should do it. It’ll be a big download, so set up a folder that has at least four gigabytes of storage.”

            “One more thing: do this with a wireless laptop. In fact, do it with two at the same time, if you can, just to make sure that nothing goes wrong. You’ll have to get up early, but find a good hot spot for wireless internet, like outside a coffee shop or even in a hotel. For the love of God, don’t do it here on a lab computer! Scout out a location on Monday, to be sure. When you have the file or files downloaded, bring them here and transfer them to the mainframe and then call me and tell me. If it goes well, it should be completely untraceable. You got that?”

            “I got it. Sounds foolproof, if the file is there and ready to go.”

            “I think it will be.” He smiled a cool smile. “I’m pretty sure they want us to have it.”

 

27

           

            “Hey, Carlo, you want another soda?”

            “Nah. My back teeth are floating. I gotta go on watch in thirty minutes.”

            Two of Nino’s assistants were relaxing in the kitchen. The third, Gino, was sitting in the hallway a few feet from them.

            “You see Manchester United on the TV yesterday?”

            “Naw, I missed it. I was watching the kid. Good game?”

            “Yeah, pretty good. They won. I lost a fin. Bet against them.”

            “I told you not to do that, man!  You always bet with your heart, not your head. Dumb Mexican! You gonna die broke, man!”

            “You said it. That’s what Mexicans do, hombre.”

            “How much longer you figure we gonna be here?”

            “I dunno. Not much longer. How you see it?”

            “’Bout like you do. Can’t go on much longer. Something’s gotta happen.”

            “That’s what I think too. Hey, Mando, you’re the sensitive macho man around here. How come the boss is spending so much time talking to that girl, huh?”

            “Shit, I dunno. She’s famous? She’s good looking? How the hell should I know? Hey, if I was in charge, you can bet I’d talk to her! You know, like ‘talk!’?” He made an obscene gesture with his fingers.

            “I think he likes her. He’s always talkin’ with her. He brings her food. He brought her a book. Hell, yesterday he brought her a dictionary. I ask you, you ever give a girl friend a dictionary?”

            “I promise you, man, I ain’t never given a chick a dictionary. I don’t even know any broads who know what to do with a dictionary.”

            “What do you think’s gonna happen to her?”

            “Beats me. What do you think?”

            “Well, I ain’t never been a part of no kidnapping before. Don’t know a whole lot about ‘em. But whatever it is, it ain’t gonna be good.”

            “Yeah, you’re probably right. Damn shame, too....”

 

 

            “Hal? This is Bob Aldridge.”

            “Yes, sir. Any news from up north?”

            “Maybe. But first, I was going to ask you the same question.”

            “I wish I had news, or at least good news. There’s no trace of Napolitano or his men. We’ve located no witnesses to the abduction. We’ve been monitoring known local mob people, but they don’t seem to be aware that there’s been a kidnapping locally. What about that ransom note?”

            “That’s what my news is about. The Ambassador is determined to provide the information the kidnappers want. We’ve tried to tell him that isn’t a good idea, but he’s adamant. Since we don’t have any better ideas ourselves, he’s going ahead with it. At least he told us about it. He’s cooperating.”

            “Umm. What’s the setup?”

            “It’s looking like a bucket of worms. The information is in a computer file. The Thomans were instructed to put it up in a corner of their website for just an hour, early Wednesday morning when there won’t be much internet traffic. Supposedly, the kidnappers will download it somewhere in the world during that hour. That’s all we know.”

            “Hell.”

            “You got it. We’ll have our internet division on it all the way, and we’ve asked NSA to help us out, but it’s not likely we can make a collar with only an hour’s notice. We’ll have to trace it after the fact, and hope, one, that we actually can trace it, and two, that the trace leads us somewhere. The odds are slightly better than zilch that she’s being held in the Miami area, so you need to get your people on it right away. I want you to bring in local law enforcement down there—they ought to have a capable internet unit, and more bodies can’t hurt.”

            “OK, sure, we can do that. But really, Bob: what are the odds?”

            “Not good, Hal. Any way you think about it, not good.”

 

 

            Matt still had some of his reporter’s instincts. His call to Hartley Braithwaite paid off. Braithwaite was the only partner in the firm he had met, and the only one who knew he and Darcy were married. He’d told Braithwaite that he was looking to contact Scott Zimmer and suggested that Braithwaite call People magazine and see if they had a phone number for Zimmer. They didn’t, but they had the address they had sent his check to. Perhaps hoping for another story on Ana Darcy, they gave the address to Braithwaite.

            It turned out to be a small building of working class apartments, not quite gone to seed but not many years from it. Zimmer wasn’t home. Well, it was the middle of the afternoon. Matt hadn’t gone for a run on a beach since the honeymoon, so he spent a couple hours changing back at his hotel, driving to the beach for a run, and then driving back to his room to shower and dress.

            He checked in with Abuelita—had to get that in before her bedtime—and then cruised down a busy avenue lined with strip malls under towering bright signs looking for a restaurant. Out of sentiment he decided to pick a place Darcy might have chosen. He settled on one offering a sort of hybrid oriental fare, Thai/Japanese/Chinese/Mongolian. The food was tasty, reasonably priced, and quick. Darcy would have loved it. No!! Darcy would love it!

            At seven p.m., Zimmer was home. They took a few seconds to recognize each other. “Scott? Remember me? Matt Méndez, originally from Alpine. We talked in New Mexico.”

            “Right! I remember! Come in!”

            “Thanks. I almost didn’t recognize you. You’ve changed!”

            “Yeah, I guess so. I had to make some money, so I worked construction for a while. Nearly killed me, but it shaped me up some too. Then I did that article for People magazine and was able to afford some new clothes. I even shave, once in a while. Did you see that article?”

            “I sure did. It was a good one. That’s kind of why I’m here. I know one of the lawyers at Benning, Bynum, etc., and he told me Ana Darcy seems to have disappeared. I, uh, I liked that woman. I mean, I reported on her like you did, but I can’t forget her, know what I mean?”

            “Oh, man, yeah. What a neat person. I don’t know if you knew, but I was with her when she was taken. It was the worst day of my life. I thought I was going to die. I thought she was going to die. I’m still not sure about that. I’ve thought about it every hour since. It wasn’t my finest moment.”

            “Must have been horrible. If you have a few minutes I’d like to hear all about it.”

            “Yeah, sure. How about a beer while we talk?”

            “You bet. That’d be great.”

             Matt ended up spending an hour listening to the chilling account of the attack on Darcy and then chatting with Zimmer on what he knew of the situation since then. Zimmer seemed to have done a fair job scouting the local reporters and testing the patience of law enforcement people, but the bottom line was either that these had had little to tell him or they had told him something but he was unwilling to share it with Matt. Matt never mentioned that he knew the whole episode was motivated by a desire to gain information on the Thoman’s propulsion system.

            All in all, Matt rather liked the new Zimmer. He seemed more focused, somehow, and less scroungy than he had in New Mexico. It was disappointing not to have learned more than he had, but they exchanged telephone numbers and email addresses and promised to share anything new that either one turned up. Matt wouldn’t rule it out: he was confident both of them would put aside their reporter’s reluctance to share information if it would clearly help find Darcy. The real problem was that for now, neither of them seemed to have any such information.

 

 

            “Do you believe in God, Ms. Darcy?”

            “Do I believe in God?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Do you mean an an...anthropomorphic God or a transcendent God?”

            “A what?”

            “Do you mean, do I believe in a God who’s like us, but maybe with a beard, or some kind of more abstract, spiritual entity?”

            “Either one.”

            “Well, I don’t think I believe in an anthropomorphic God who lives up in heaven, like some people do. But it would be hard to travel as far across the universe as I have without considering where it all came from. I suppose I believe in God as an algorithm.”

            “A what?”

            “An algorithm. A system of formulas or laws, like in physics, that explain how things have come to be.”

            “Yeah?”

            “I think so. Yes.”

            “Interesting...not a lot of comfort in that, though, is there?”

            “Comfort? I don’t know. Maybe there is, some. It suggests, to me, anyway, that all we have for comfort lies in each other, in ourselves. Whatever God is, we need to care for each other. I try to do that myself. Why did you ask me about God?”

            “Oh, just curious. Never mind.”

28

 

            “Mr. Aldridge? This is Fischer, sir, in Telemetry? The Thoman computer has been contacted. It’s sending the file.”

            “All right. Any idea where to?”

            “No, sir. Preliminary indications are it’s being bounced through several servers around the world. We’re trying to trace it, but it’ll be slow. We’ll let you know, sir.”

 

 

            “Hal? Aldridge here. The Thoman computer is sending the file. It’s happening. Alert your people.”

            “We’re on it, sir. Standing by.”

 

 

            “Mr. Aldridge? Fischer again, sir, from Telemetry. The transfer has ended. It looks like the last router to handle it was in the southern United States, most likely Atlanta. We’ve alerted the field office there, sir.”

            “Shit. Looks like we missed it, doesn’t it?”

            “We were too late to catch it in process, yes sir. But we might be able to ID the last computer to receive it. That’ll take a couple days, sir.”

            “All right. Thanks, Fischer.”

            He slammed down the phone. A fat lot of good that would do. Hell and blast!

 

 

            “Mr. Fiorini?”

            “Speaking.”

            “This is Haskell, in Atlanta. We got it.”

            “Excellent. Have you had a chance to look at it?”

            “Barely. It’s huge! It’s like an encyclopedia! I’ve looked at the table of contents and skimmed some of the sections. It looks like it’s all there. It’ll take weeks to evaluate even preliminarily.”

            “Good. Have at it. Keep me advised. Good work, Rowland.”

            “Thank you, sir.”

 

 

            “Nino? Sal here.”

            “Ehi, cumpagnu! Good to hear from you! What’s shakin’, brother?”

            “Lotsa stuff, Nino. I got some...”

            “Hey, brother, you seen my mama yet?”

             “Not yet, paisan. I swear, next week. Things been crazy lately.”

            “I don’t know if there’s gonna be a next week, Sal, know what I mean? Last time I saw her all she could talk about was her family and the old days. She mentioned you, in fact.”

            “I hear you, Nino. I promise, on my father’s grave, next week. But listen, there’s news, on this business of ours. Urgent news.”

            “Yeah? OK, then, what news?”

            “It’s over.”

            “You mean, ‘stop everything,’ or it’s all finished?”

            “The whole thing. The business. It’s done.”

            “Yeah? That’s good, huh? So?”

            “So, time to clean up the loose ends, wrap it up. Get it behind us.”

            “You mean what I think you mean?”

            “You got it. Close it out. Finish up with everything and go home and collect your money.”

            “My money....”

            “Right. I know you remember that part. Like, payday? Make sure nothing is left over, got that? I mean nothing. Leave it all behind, bury it, you get me? Then head back to the city and relax. OK, paisan?”

            “I hear you, Sal. I hear you.”

 

 

 

            It was just before lunch time. The receptionist told Sal that Mr. Rainer was expecting him, but he wasn’t in his office. Sal found him in the suite next to his office, with a sparkling white cloth around his shoulders, a barber snipping at the back of his neck. A manicurist was sprucing up his nails. “What is it, Sal?”

            “It’s done, Kurt. We got it.”

            “Good. Everything in order?”

            “Of course, sir.”

            “Good. Well done, Sal.”

 

 

 

            “Mando!”

            “Yeah, boss.”

            “Carlo around?”

            “I think he’s napping in the bedroom. Or watching TV, maybe.”

            “Get him. I need to have a chat with our guest. I want both of you to stand by. I don’t think I’ll need you but if I do I want you there like that, hear me?” He snapped his fingers.

            “Sure, boss. Gimme a minute to find him.”

            He clenched his teeth. He was still tired, more tired than ever. Damn, but he hated this. He turned the lock and opened the door. She was sitting cross-legged on the bed, reading in the weak light from the overhead bulb. He set a chair down not far from the entry door and eased himself into it. She looked considerably more lively than he did.

            “Ms. Darcy. How are you doing today?”

            “Better, thank you, Mr. Goldman. My wound still hurts but I can move better now. I changed the bandages myself this morning. How are you?”

             “Oh, not bad, thanks.” He was in no hurry to get down to business. “What are you reading?”

            “Another play by Shakespeare: Hamlet. It seems to be about a man who has trouble making up his mind...but I’m not sure about that yet. I guess that’s ironic, isn’t it?”

            “I guess. You know, I read King Lear yesterday.”

            “Really? Did you like it?”

            “Yeah, sort of. A lot of things in it reminded me of my own situation, actually. I hope I’m smarter than that Lear guy.” He was remembering the line: “Ripeness is all.”

            “Surely that’s one of the benefits of reading the great writers, don’t you think? Helping us see things, realize things? That’s true on Thomo, and it seems to be the same here. I’m sure you’re a better person for having read King Lear. I know I am. I really appreciate your getting it for me.”

            “You’re welcome. Listen, Ms. Darcy, we need to discuss some business.”

            “Business? Before, you always said the reason I was here was just business and not to worry about it. Has something changed?”

            “Yeah. Something has.” He paused. She closed the book and set it beside her. Her face lost its animation and became serious. Finally, she spoke.

            “Shall I guess? You told me I was kidnapped because some company wanted to know about the energy source that we used to get here. My family must have provided that information. Is that right?”

            “Yeah.”

            “So...now it’s done. Right?”

            “Right.”

            “And, and the only thing left is me...right?”

            “Right.” She looked over his shoulder at the doorway, where Carlo and Mando would be watching. Her voice became very quiet.

            “They want you to get rid of me.”

            “Yeah.” Two beats passed. She practically whispered.

            “So...what are you going to do now?”

            “Well, that’s what I want to talk to you about.”

            He felt her eyes on him like searchlights, their weight almost piercing.

            “You gotta disappear. That’s the main thing. They don’t want you around to connect to them. Me, I don’t care what happens to you...well, no, that’s not quite true. But whatever happens, you gotta disappear. Or they’ll know I failed, see? I’ll have failed them. I gave my word and if I break it I’ll pay for that. As long as you’re gone, that’s all that matters. You follow me?”

            “I think so.” They looked at each other in silence. She remained frozen in place, palms on the bed on either side. He noticed her hair was clean and brushed. She must have washed and hung out her shirt, the pants also. She never took her eyes off him. Time passed. Details accumulated. She was barefoot. Her big toes were smaller than his thumbs. The aircraft cable coiled across the bed and onto the floor like a giant slinky. She had wedged the pillow behind her back. The dictionary was open on the bed next to her. A pencil stub lay in the crease between the open pages.

            Finally, she spoke. “Almost as soon as I landed on this planet, soldiers and police started chasing me.” He nodded imperceptibly. “They captured and imprisoned me. I had to run for my life. I was attacked by two rapists. I was terrified throughout the Olympics. I had to fight two men in Miami, and I stopped an armed robber in a parking lot. To this day, millions of people try to follow my every move. They mob me if I’m not careful. Most recently, I was shot, and kidnapped.” He nodded again.

            “I love this planet. But I miss my family terribly. For a long time I have thought about returning.

            “My relatives are loading the vessel that brought me here with trade goods to return to Thomo next month. I could go home the way I came, on that.” She let that sink in. “But, if I simply disappear, there will eventually be questions, perhaps investigations. If you agree, I could leave so that everyone would see me do so. And then I would be gone. There would be no doubts.”

            They looked at each other some more. He thought about that. If she lived, Sal might refuse to pay him the final ten million. There was another thing, too....

            “What about the kid?”

            “I beg your pardon?”

            “Your child. The doc said you had had a baby. What about him, or her?”

            “Actually, I had twins.”

            “Twins?”

            “Yes. A boy and a girl. They’re six months old, nearly seven months by now. I would take them with me. And their father, if he would go.”

            “You can arrange that?”

            “Yes. Easily.”

            “Easily?”

            “Easily.”

            Long seconds passed. “Will you give me your word that you will disappear?”

            “Yes. I will. I swear, on my honor, that I will disappear.”

            His instinct, which seldom failed him, was saying this was it at last, a way out. The money? Screw the money, goddammit. And screw Sal too.

            “I respect your honor. I accept.” He stood. He felt better than he had in days. “I’m glad I got to know you, Ms. Darcy.” He held out his hand. She uncrossed her legs and got to her feet, taking his hand in hers. He’d never seen her standing. She was half his size, less than half, but her hand, small and steady, carried palpable gravity. He’d made the right decision. Nobilitá! If only his son could borrow some of that....

            “And I have enjoyed getting to know you too, Mr. Goldman. The honor was mine.”

            “As for that, you would honor me if you would let me take you to lunch. I know a sea food restaurant that I think you would like. After, I will drop you off wherever you like.”

            “Thank you, sir. I accept.”

            “I suggest you pack up your things.” He turned to the doorway. “Mando!”

            “Boss?”

            “Time to wrap this up. You got the gasoline in the garage?”

            “Simón. Got plenty.”

            “OK. One hour. You and Carlo know what to do. But first, unlock the cable from this young lady.”

29

 

            “Srina, I think these babies know their names! Look! Clio! Clio!!”

            “Both of them looked at you, ma’am.”

            “Yes, but Clio was first. Didn’t you notice? Watch again. Julio! ¡Hola, Julio!”

            “I still think they both looked at you.”

            “Oh, they know their names. I’m sure of that! Clio has learned another new thing—have you noticed?”

            “Well, she’s eating something green. That hasn’t happened in a long time.”

            “That’s right! Just look at her!”

            Clio’s eyes were following the approach of the spoon. As it neared her head, she opened her mouth and slurped it clean, except for one little dribble, which Abuelita wiped up.

            “Good girl! Did you see that, Srina?”           

            “Yes, ma’am. What is that?”

            “It’s a special dish that I invented just for her!”

            “What’s in it?”

            “Take a taste. See if you can guess.”

            “Oh! That’s hot! You put peppers in it!”

            “Not many. Just a few. It’s blended peas with just a few little slices of jalapeño, enough to give it some character.”

            “Isn’t that bad for her?”

            “Oh, Srina, of course not. That’s silly. This child has good taste! Just look at her.” Clio was watching the spoon again, her eyes big. She was making “Eh, eh, eh” sounds. Abuelita moved the spoon to her mouth and again she cleaned it off. “You see?”

            “Yes, ma’am.”

            “Do you still think it’s bad for her?”

            “No, ma’am.”

            “No, it’s good for her. Grandmothers know best, Srina. Remember that!”

            “Yes, ma’am.”

 

 

            Matt judged Abuelita would have finished supper and been either reading or getting ready for bed. It was time to call.

            “We’re all fine, Matt. The twins are growing by the day. I got Clio to eat green vegetables. We all miss you. Is there any news?”

            “No, ma’am. Frankly, I’m getting discouraged. I’m not doing any good here, and I miss you all too, terribly. I’m thinking about coming home.”

            “I could just cry about that, Matt. I don’t know what’s best. I will light candles at church for Ana every day. You do what you think you should.”

            “Yes, ma’am. I will.”


30

 

            Charlene Stratemeyer had totally lost track of the time. She was in her study off the kitchen, up to her ears in piecing together a contract for a client, surrounded by books of corporate law and with windows and windows of citations open on her computer screen. Michelle was probably at her own computer in the breakfast room. Charlene had forbidden her to keep hers in her own room, though she’d had it in mind to relent now that Michelle had recently become so responsible. The two of them couldn’t work in the same room together in any case, since Michelle spent so much time listening to, and mumbling, phrases in Luvit. Her mother was delighted, but it was distracting when she was trying to concentrate on legal matters which were distracting enough.

            She was feeling hungry, which meant Michelle probably was too. Maybe the reason she hadn’t heard any mumbling from the next room was because Michelle was in the kitchen improvising a quick meal for the two of them. But now that she thought about it, she hadn’t heard any rustling in the kitchen either. Where was Michelle? Oops! The doorbell chimed. What day was this? She couldn’t remember any appointments. Well, Michelle would get it. If not, she’d get up on the second ring.

            She snapped totally out of her concentration when she heard Michelle scream. She had never heard Michelle scream. Rushing toward the living room she found herself thinking how odd it was to have a fifteen year old daughter and never have heard her scream before.

            The front door was wide open. Michelle was standing in the opening with her arms wrapped around what looked like a ragamuffin student friend of hers, someone in jeans, sweatshirt, and a ball cap, before it had fallen to the floor. Michelle was sobbing, “Darcy! Darcy!”

            She got a better look when Michelle finally released the person. It looked like a young boy...but no, there was that familiar face—yes! It was Ana Darcy, looking thin and dazed and happy at the same time.

            Charlene felt like screaming too, but instead hugged Darcy in turn. “Ana, Ana! We were so worried about you! Are you all right? What happened? Where have you been?”

            “I’m so glad to see you, Charlene, and you too, Michelle! I’ll explain, but now I’m thirsty and I’m starving. Do you have something to eat?”

            “Oh, my God, of course! Come to the kitchen and sit down. Wash up first, if you’d like. Oh, my dear, we’ll feed you until you tell us to stop. Right this way!”

            Darcy finally told them to stop after two Slim Cuisine frozen dinners, a salad of fresh vegetables, and a big dish of chocolate ice cream. The three of them had eaten nearly everything they could find in the kitchen. Over cups of tea, Darcy finally began.

            “I still don’t understand it completely,” she began, “but apparently I was kidnapped in order to get some kind of information out of my Thoman relatives at the mission in New York City. They supplied the information and I was released. I don’t want to worry about all those details now. But I need your help, please, if you’re willing.” Both Stratemeyers glanced at each other and nodded at Darcy.

            “First, please don’t tell anyone I’ve been released for a few days. I have several things I must do. Whether or not it all succeeds depends on no one knowing about it until it happens. Will that be all right with you?” They nodded again. “Next, it would help me a lot if I could stay here overnight. I’m sorry for the imposition, but I’ll be glad to make it up to you somehow. Is that possible?”

            “We’d be thrilled to help, Ana. Anything—just name it.”

            “Thank you. In the morning I need to do some errands. Actually, I’ll probably be busy all day long. You could help me locate some addresses. Second, if you have any medical supplies, like some bandages and antiseptic ointment, I could make use of those—no, don’t worry; it isn’t urgent. I was wounded but I’m healing. I just need to change my dressings.

            “The last thing has to do with Michelle. I’m sure you know, Charlene, that Michelle has become a student of Thoman culture and a creditable speaker of Luvit.” Charlene nodded. “Michelle and I talked of eventually setting up an internship with the Thoman U. N. Mission. I’d like to continue exploring that with both of you, if you are willing.”

            Charlene glanced at her daughter, whose face was illuminated by an expression of surprise and delight. “Certainly, Ana. It seems an odd time to be talking about that, but we’d be glad to, if you wish.”

            “I do. We can talk about that in a few minutes. But first, about those bandages....”

 

 

            Zimmer was just about ready to leave for work when he thought he heard a faint knock at his door. He paused...there it was again. Who the hell? No one ever visited him, except for that Méndez fellow, once. Seven thirty in the morning? Weird! He opened the door.

            It looked like the paper boy, except he didn’t have a paper boy. “Mr. Zimmer?” the paper boy said. That wasn’t a boy’s voice....

            “Yes?”

            “May I come in? Do you recognize me?”

            He looked again and nearly fainted. “My God! Oh, God, come in, come in!” He stepped back and she entered. He couldn’t help himself. He hugged her. He was stunned, almost crying. “Oh, my God! Ana! Ms. Darcy! Oh, my God!”

            She looked pained. “It’s me.”

            “Are you all right?”

            “My side hurts, that’s all. I’m sorry; you didn’t know. It’s healing. I’m OK. How are you?”

            “Oh, Chri..., oh me, I was so worried about you! I’ve felt so bad, ever since, since....You’re all right? Really?”

            “Really. I’m all right. I’ll be fine soon. Do you have a minute to talk?”

            “For you? Are you kidding? I have as long as you want! Let me call the office and tell them I’m sick. I can be sick for days if you like.”

            “This won’t take days. But you can help me if you’d be willing to.”

            “Certainly! Anything! Just name it! What kind of help?”

            “Several things, actually. First, please don’t tell anyone you’ve seen me, not yet, anyway. Will that be a problem?”

            “Uh...no, of course not. Funny, though. I met someone you know only three days ago, and I’m sure he’d love to know you’re all right. You remember a reporter named Matt Méndez? Ah, I see you do remember him. He was in Miami looking for you. One of the lawyers at that law firm told him you’d gone missing. We exchanged information the other day. He may still be in town....”

            “I do remember him. He was a very nice man, very friendly. But I’m sorry—no one should know I’m free until a few days from now. I’ll explain that in a minute.”

            “OK, sure, if you say so.”

            She continued: “When we’re done, and this is over, you can write all you want about it. You’ll have the, the, do you call it a scope?”

            “A scoop?”

            “That’s it: a scoop. You’ll have a big story, all to yourself.”

            “OK, fine. But that’s secondary to helping you. Whatever you want....”

            “Thank you. I appreciate that. The next thing you can do, if you would, is to call Special Agent Robert Aldridge of the FBI and ask him to meet you somewhere here in Miami.”

            “And tell him about you?”

            “No. Just arrange a meeting with him. I’ll go with you, but don’t mention me, please. Do you have an email address?”

            “I do, yes.”

            “Good. I’ll need that. There are several more things I’d like to ask of you, please....”

 

 

 

            Matt was sure his seatmate on the plane thought he was a terrible grouch. He couldn’t even do the crossword puzzle in the in-flight magazine. He just stared at the seatback in front of him, sighing every minute or two. He’d thought the worst he’d ever felt in his life was when Darcy had disappeared without a trace before, and it had been, until now. Now he understood the wretched people he’d seen on the news from time to time—parents of abducted children, spouses missing mates. The absence was bad enough, but the not knowing magnified it. It was horrible. He missed the twins terribly, and his Abuelita and his house. He even missed the cats and the sitters. Well, hell, they had money. If he had to, he’d shuttle back to Miami every week. Something had to happen. Things couldn’t go on like this.

 

 

            Zimmer said he’d be willing to come to the FBI building to meet Aldridge, so Aldridge was saved the hassle of getting a team to stake out some location in the city. He moved to the reception room the minute the receptionist called to say Zimmer had arrived. Minutes later the door was opened by Agent Hal King, who stepped to one side and ushered the person with him inside. It turned out to be two people: Scott Zimmer and Ana Darcy.

            Aldridge gaped in shock. While he was searching for his voice, she strode forward and shook his hand. “Mr. Aldridge. It’s good to see you again sir, very good, I assure you.”

            Still gaping, he looked at Zimmer, who had a big smile on his face, and then back at Darcy. He couldn’t help himself: he stepped forward and hugged her. He couldn’t remember ever doing that with a victim before.

            “Ma’am! It’s wonderful to see you, just wonderful!”

            “Yes sir. And it’s even more wonderful to see you, I promise!”

            “Oh, my. We have a lot to talk about, Ms. Darcy. Don’t we?”

            “Yes sir, we do. I’m ready to begin now, if you like.”

            “By all means.” He looked at Agent King. “Hal, could you bring a recorder?”        “You bet, sir. Be just a minute.” He hurried out.

            “Tell me the jist of it, will you?”

            “I was kidnapped by a mobster. That’s what he called himself. I think he was working for someone else. Some company wanted information from the Thoman delegation. That’s really all I know.”

            “Who was the mobster? Did you get a name?”

            “He told me to call him Antonio Goldman, but I don’t think that was his real name.”

            “Where were you held?”

            “I’m not sure. Somewhere near here, I think. In a house. When I left it looked like they were going to set fire to it. If you check houses that have burned in this area, one of them might be the one.”

            “What did this Goldman look like?”

            “Oh...uh, well, I never saw him. Not clearly, that is.”

            “We know you were wounded. How is that doing?”

            “It’s healing. It was just a scratch. A large, deep scratch.”

            “How in the world did you manage to escape?”

            “I didn’t. He let me go. I need to talk to you about that....”

            Hal King returned with the machine and began setting it up on the table.

            “We’ll have to go over everything again, in greater detail, Ms. Darcy. I hope you don’t mind.”

            “No, sir, I don’t mind. But before we do, Mr. Zimmer said he would be glad to photograph you and me together, in case you would like that. It might be your last chance.”

            “I would love that, ma’am. I always wished we had done so the last time we met. Thank you.”

            She put her hands to her head and peeled off her wig, shaking out her straw-colored hair.

            Agent King looked up from his machinery. “How about one with me, too?”

           


31

 

            Zimmer had had many a sleepless night in his life. Some of those nights he hadn’t wanted to sleep, but most of the others he’d wanted to but couldn’t. He’d been miserable. This memorable night he wasn’t miserable; he was elated. When Ana Darcy told him he’d be getting a scoop, he hadn’t dreamed how huge it would be. It made him think of his rare childhood trips to Dairy Queen. The best thing in the world back then was a double scoop. Now he was going to get a double scoop that would surely make his career, and his life. If he was smart and played his cards carefully he’d not only score two Pulitzer Prize-worthy stories, but also make a stunning pile of money. He was going to kick some serious ass. He could go back to Austin, and, and.... Well, maybe Julie still wouldn’t want anything to do with him. If that was how it turned out, he probably could live with that. His daughter was another matter. He couldn’t ask her to forgive him...no, that wasn’t right. He could ask her, and he should ask her. But if she needed some time he’d understand. He couldn’t change the past, but maybe he could at least affect the future. He still didn’t fully understand what had motivated him to bet his life on Starchild, but he’d stayed with it all the way and now it was going to pay off. Bless you, Starchild!

 

 

            Being home was a bittersweet experience for Matt. The twins were lively and fun and Abuelita was a dependable source of resolve and optimism. Most of the sitters were outgoing and cheery too, in addition to being helpful. Even the cats seemed to welcome his attention.

            All the same, the place was lonely. There was never anyone in the exercise room, and no tasty surprises from the kitchen. There were no insights zinging in from left field, no little jokes and tricks catching him unaware, no words and phrases to translate. There was no one to hug in the morning...or evening either.

            He was considering another visit to Miami. He’d been home four days but the last two had been particularly unbearable. Something simply felt different—maybe he really was going crazy. Crazy or not, unable to stand it any more, he was on the point of phoning the ticket office of the commuter airline that served Las Cruces when the phone rang, practically under his hand.

            “Matt?”

            “Yes?”

            “This is Scott Zimmer, Matt, in Miami?”

            “Yeah! How are you, Scott? Any news?”

            “I think so, maybe. I can’t be sure, but I hear there’ll be a special bulletin on the news tonight. Turn on your NBC affiliate and keep it on until bedtime. I can’t say, exactly, but I think you’ll consider it good news.”

            “Is it about Ana Darcy?”

            “That’s what I hear. I’ll be watching along with you. Don’t miss it, man.”

            “What do you know about it?”

            “Not much at this point; there are some rumors going round. I hate to say anything that won’t happen. Just watch, OK?”

            “I damn sure will. Thanks for letting me know, Scott.”

            “You bet. I hope it’s good news for us all.”

 

 

            Even though it was the middle of the afternoon, he turned on the TV immediately, with the volume muted. Some bonehead soap opera was on. Should he call Abuelita? Why raise false hopes? On the other hand, if something important happened, she’d deserve to know. He couldn’t decide.

            Instead, he checked his email. There was a message from Hleo that nearly gave him a heart attack:

 

Dear Mr. Méndez:

            I am sure you remember our correspondence of a year ago involving a certain unfortunate and uninvited guest. You may recall that it was regrettably necessary that I be indirect at that time. Once again, Mr. Méndez, I must impose on your patience with news that is less than complete, begging your trust and indulgence as before. In the next 24 hours you will probably receive information that will be extremely upsetting, yet I urge you please to draw no conclusions from it. I hope that very soon you will come to see that it was for the best. Additionally, it is crucially important that you say nothing of this to anyone, lest the outcome be jeopardized. My intention is to palliate your despair with a modicum of hope.

 

Yours sincerely,

Hleo ap Darshiell

 

            What in Christ’s name was he saying? Was this good news or bad news? Surely Hleo meant well...only it sounded anything but good. He sat back in his chair and read the message again. With shaking hands he grabbed Darcy’s dictionary and looked up “palliate.” One of Darcy’s tiny check marks was next to it. Damn Hleo anyway! He had vocabulary to burn, but he didn’t know squat about being clear. Or did he? “Upsetting news?” But “for the best?” To “ease” his despair with a little hope? For the best?? That sounded awful to his ear, like what is said when a terribly sick person finally expires. Well, Zimmer’s phone call had ruined his afternoon anyway. He couldn’t fidget any more than he had before. He headed for the bathroom where he kept the antacid tablets.

            Abuelita came over later, to help feed the twins their supper and bathe them, read to them, and put them to bed. That always put her in a good mood, and it helped “palliate” his own mood a little, too. When the two of them walked back to the kitchen for their customary cup of tea or glass of wine, Matt noticed the television screen showed a reporter standing, apparently, in the glare of floodlights at an airport. His hair was blowing around, and he was looking off camera.

            “Oh, hey, ‘Buela, look at this,” he said as he grabbed the remote and pressed the mute button.

            The reporter was speaking: “...in about five minutes, or so we have been told. This was scheduled to be a routine cargo flight for the Thoman shuttle, ferrying trade items and merchandise from the moon base to Earth, and taking other goods from here to the moon, but authorities have told us this time there will be an unscheduled person involved in the flight. What?” He pressed an earphone into his ear. “I’m told the shuttle is overhead and making its approach to the airport.” He looked up. “It’s dark now, so we can’t see a thing from here.”

            “What’s that, Matt?”

            “I’m not sure, ‘Buela. I got a tip from a reporter in Miami. He said to have the TV on tonight, that it might be interesting.”

            “Did he say why? Does it have anything to do with Ana?”

            “He said it might, but he didn’t know exactly what. I guess we’ll find out together.” Eyes on the screen, they sat on the edge of the couch.

            The reporter was looking overhead again. The camera swung toward the vertical, where a shadowy bulk could be seen emerging from the gloom. As it descended within range of the floodlights it became obvious it was the Thoman shuttle. Even on the TV screen it looked substantial. Just like the last time Matt had watched it, it hovered some distance over the landing target while men on the ground waved instructions. Then it slowly settled onto the tarmac. The rearmost cargo hatches opened and some kind of airport cargo vehicle drove up. Four men climbed into the shuttle and began maneuvering containers onto the extended ramp of the vehicle. Once the shuttle had been unloaded, that airport truck was replaced by another, and the men began moving containers from it into the shuttle.

            The announcer interrupted his narrative of the process: “Wait a minute. There’s a car approaching the vehicle from my right.” The camera swung to reveal a large American sedan driving up. It stopped not far from the shuttle and all four doors opened almost at the same time. Three men in suits got out and also...and also...was that Darcy? The camera zoomed in on her. It was! It was Darcy! Matt stared at Abuelita, who, hand at her throat, glanced back at him in wonder. One of the men approached a podium of some sort and began speaking

            “Ladies and gentlemen, I am Special Agent Hal King of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. We have with us Ms. Ana Darcy, a relative of the delegates from the Thoman mission to the United Nations. Ms. Darcy would like to make a statement.”

            He stood aside for Darcy, who stepped up to the microphone. She looked terrific to Matt, thin but healthy. Thank God! What could be going on?

            “Thank you, Special Agent King. As many of you know, I have been devoting much effort recently to helping get the Thoman mission off to a good start on Earth. That project has been successful, for the most part.

            “As many of you also know, I have never been comfortable in large groups of people. I can’t help that. That is simply the way I am. Also, I have missed my family, back on Thomo, missed it terribly.

            “About a week ago, I was kidnapped by some bad people. I do not know who they were, but they wanted to use me to force concessions from my countrymen at the U. N. Mission. Fortunately, I survived with no lasting damage, and I’d like to thank Special Agents Aldridge and King for their parts in that.

            “That experience helped me decide: I shall return to Thomo on the vehicle that brought me to the moon years ago. It is being prepared now, and should depart from the moon in about a week.

            “It has been a privilege and a wonderful experience to have lived on Earth for the time I have, and gotten to know something of its people, its cultures, and its geography. I really have two homes now. I am going to return to the one I grew up in, but I will never forget this one, our people’s original home. I hope you will continue to learn about Thoman people, and I hope both our peoples will soon be reunited in harmony.

            “Again, thank you for your wonderful hospitality. I shall never forget you. I wish you well. Farewell....”

            That final word was almost inaudible. She stepped back from the podium and turned toward the man nearest her, who embraced her gently—Aldridge? She turned away from the camera and walked the eight or ten feet to the forward hatch of the shuttle.  Reaching the first step, she turned, waved and smiled briefly, wiped her eyes, waved again, and climbed inside. In a minute she could be seen through the thick glass of the cockpit windshield. The cargo vehicle backed away from the after hatch. Both hatches closed. In another minute the shuttle lifted off the ground, hung in place a few seconds, and then began rising faster and faster. In just a few seconds it disappeared into the darkness.

            The reporter was replaced onscreen by someone in a control tower who was showing a blip on a radar screen, moving higher and higher into the sky. The picture cut to several people on a news set, talking away.

            Matt turned to Abuelita. She looked about like he felt. They sat in silence. Matt’s numbed brain was churning the phrases “palliate your despair,” and “for the best.” Finally, Abuelita cleared her throat.

            “She wouldn’t do that.”        

            “I wouldn’t have thought so either...but...it looks like she just did.”

            “Yes. It does.”

32

 

            That night, Matt decided, qualified as an “out of mind experience.” On one hand, he was exhausted, but on the other his heart and his brain kept twisting in knots until he didn’t know what was real and what he was imagining. Various scenarios paraded in his mind: the shuttle would sneak back to Earth at some point, it hadn’t really been Darcy on the screen...on and on, until he wasn’t sure if he was awake or asleep. Every time a cat jumped on the bed, which seemed to happen every fifteen minutes, it would startle him. They were upset too.

            When he thought he heard the bathroom light snap on like Darcy used to do every once in a while, he knew he was dreaming. It was nearly dawn. The sky was a deep violet. He sat up suddenly. Light really was streaming out of the bathroom—wasn’t it? On the wall down the short hallway was a shadow. Very slowly, as he stared, it moved toward the bedroom, toward him. Each time he thought that couldn’t be, that he was hallucinating, it moved.

            Finally, he heaved himself out of bed. Right there, in the hallway, Darcy was standing frozen, looking straight at him with that keen focus he knew so well. “Oh, God,” and she was in his arms. “Mi amor, mi vida!” All he could think about was how frail her shoulders felt, and how she smelled like baby powder—she was real! “Let me look at you,” he whispered.

            “Hi, Matt.”

            He was actually sobbing, and so was she, tears of joy. They were wonderful. “Oh, babe, babe.”

            “I missed you, Matt. I missed all of you. I’m sorry it took so long.”

            “Oh, sugar! I missed you so much! I was going crazy! I wanted to die!”

            “I thought about you too, the whole time, and Julio and Clio, and Abuelita. It was bad...but it could have been worse, much worse.”

            “Tell me!”

            “Just the basics. Fifteen minutes. I’m exhausted. I’ve been flying all night.” She rubbed the wet spot her eyes left on his t-shirt. “I’m almost walking asleep. Is that the expression?”

            “’Asleep on my feet,’ we’d say. Me too. How about some green tea?”

            “Sure. Do we have some tortillas? Make me a burrito, please?”

            “Gladly. Very gladly! Anything, love. Mi vida! Follow me!”

             While he threw ingredients together he tossed questions at her. “’Buela and I saw you fly off in that shuttle. How did you get back?”

            “I didn’t fly off in the shuttle.”

            “But we heard you speak! We saw you go aboard!”

            “That was me. You just didn’t see me get off.”

            “You got off? How?”

            “Maybe you noticed that those cargo boxes were covered with thick blankets. Once the containers had been moved into the shuttle, I crawled onto the loader and pulled a blanket over myself. Then I rode it back to the hanger.”

            “But...but, we saw someone in the cockpit! Who was that?”

            “That was Michelle Stratemeyer.”

            “The daughter of that lawyer? The high school kid?”

            “Yes. She’s about my size. She hid in one of those cargo boxes that were loaded into the shuttle. I got her a wig and used some theatrical makeup to make her resemble me, if you didn’t look too closely.”

            “But...but, she went up in the shuttle?”

            “Yes. She gets to stay in the moon base with Hleo until the shuttle returns again. That should be in a month or two. She was so excited, and her mother was too, really. She’ll take a semester off from school. It’ll be like an internship. She can study with Hleo and take exams for credit at Miami International University when she returns. I bet she’ll be completely fluent in Luvit by then.”

            “Well, I’ll be damned. Lucky kid! She gets to live and study on the moon! What a deal!” He thought a second. “Wait a minute...Michelle left, and you didn’t. You did that so no one would know you actually stayed here...so who knows you didn’t really leave?”

            “Just Michelle and Charlene, and Hleo, of course. Everyone else, the FBI agents, that reporter, Scott Zimmer, and Uncle Rothan think I’m going back to Thomo. That’s the way I want it.”

            “So, no more public appearances? No more Ana Darcy?”

            “Ana Darcy is gone. Ana Méndez is here, here to stay. Mrs. Ana Méndez.”

            He pulled a chair next to her and sat down. “Oh, jeez, then it was worth it. I felt horrible for the last two weeks, useless, helpless, just horrible. But that’s OK. It was worth it. Babe!” He kissed the fingers of her left hand as she polished off the last folded corner of her burrito with her right. She clasped his hand in both of hers.

            “I think it was too, even getting shot. I’m going to have a scar to match yours, Matt! I’ll show you later. I’m so tired. I need to sleep right now. You can tell Abuelita I’m back. I can’t wait to cut and dye my hair. I might even consider plastic surgery some time.”

            “Oh, dear. Let’s think about that a while first. Don’t rush into anything. Let me pull down the shades in the bedroom, sweetheart. You can sleep as long as you want.”

            “Would you wake me when the twins are ready for lunch?”

            “You betcha, mamacita! Welcome home!”

 

 

            So, one day morphed into the next. They weren’t counting. They were determined not to be in any hurry for any reason—it was such a delight just to resume their normal activities as a family. Gradually, they filled each other in on details each had missed.

            Darcy had got her milk supply flowing again, thanks to the La Leche League website. “Relactation,” they called it. They were sitting in the shade in the patio. Julio was nursing. Matt had Clio over his shoulder (which was covered by a burp cloth), patting her gently on the back, while she kicked her stubby feet rhythmically against his chest.

            “Tell me more about the man who kidnapped you.” 

            “I don’t think he kidnapped me. I think he had someone else do that. But he watched the people who guarded me for that week.”

            “You said he was a ‘mobster’?”

            “That’s what he told me. I looked it up. That’s someone involved in organized crime, right?”

            “Right. Sounds like one of the crime families of New York. I think they’re in other cities too.”

            “Crime families? That’s funny. We talked a lot about families. He said his ancestors had come from Sicily, that families were very important to them.”

            “Sicily? No kidding? That’s where a lot of the Mafia is supposed to come from.”

            “Mafia? What’s that?”

            “Oh, I don’t know, exactly. They’re real crime families. They’re famous, like in movies and books, but also for real. Each family has a ‘boss,’ and they have rules that they follow, or don’t follow. They’re into all types of criminal activities. It’s dangerous. A lot of them get killed or end up in prison.”

            “Well, all I know is this man treated me well. He did seem like an important person—he had real dignity, even though he wasn’t that well educated. He had good manners. He brought me food and even books.”

            “Is that so? He must have liked you! Who wouldn’t? You have good manners too....”

            “Well, it’s true that my people are more formal than people here. You think he liked that?”

            “I can only guess, but I bet he did. I’ve read that they’re big on respect, on proper behavior. I’ve never met any mobsters, so I don’t really know.”

            “That makes sense. I wondered...the FBI didn’t understand why they didn’t kill me when my relatives sent them the information they wanted. He and I talked often. The last day I was there he told me he had a problem. He said I needed to disappear. He didn’t care how, but I had to disappear permanently.”

            “Oh, jeez. That sounds like ‘die,’ sweetheart!”

            “Well, I told him that I was having a lot of problems on Earth, that I had thought about returning to my family on Thomo.”

            “You had? Really?”

            “Yes.” She removed a hand from under Julio and patted his thigh. “Of course I’d thought about it. I do miss my family. But you know I’d decided to join the famous Méndez tribe, of Earth. I’d never leave you, or our babies. Anyway, he asked me if I would really disappear. So I told him how it might happen. He said if I’d promise to do that, he’d let me go.

            “He took me to lunch and then dropped me off at a mall! I don’t know if he’s a bad man or not, but he was an honorable person. Once I was free, though, I couldn’t tell anyone except Charlene and Michelle, because I needed their help. I promised him I’d disappear, but not that I’d really go back to Thomo. I guess I lied to him, didn’t I, Matt?”

            “Well, maybe, and maybe not. I bet he was worried that you would still be around making more problems for him. And you’re not, are you? As far as he’s concerned you might as well have gone back to Thomo, right? So no, I don’t think you lied to him.”

            “I hope I didn’t. I kind of liked him. I told the FBI I never saw him well enough to describe. I didn’t want them to catch him. He was nice to me.”

            “That’s sweet, love. If they arrest him, then it will be for something else. He did you a favor and you did him a favor. That seems fair.”

            Clio emitted a small bubble of milky urp on Matt’s shoulder. Darcy began humming to Julio, who was making little slurping sounds in her arms. She pushed her feet against the ground to make the divan rock back and forth. Even Matt was beginning to think a nap sounded like a good idea.

            Darcy gingerly resumed her workout routines with Matt. Her scar was impressive. His was long, but just a line, thin and red, like a scratch.  Hers was shorter but wider, a serious scar. He hated to think what it would feel like to be spun around by a bullet. Once it healed completely it might have a slightly ropy appearance. She wouldn’t like the way she looked in a bikini...but then, he’d only seen her wear a bikini once, on their honeymoon in the Caribbean. Come to think of it....

            For this afternoon’s run she was wearing a grey halter top and running shorts. She was in the bathroom mopping sweat out of her eyes. He stood next to her waiting his turn for the towel until he realized it would be better to wrap his arms around her. “Don’t squeeze!” she said. He slid his hands down her hips and then up under the halter top. Her back was warm and hard and sweaty.

            “Mmm. You feel good.”

            “I’m a mess. I need a shower.”

            “Kind of a nice mess, though.”

            She pushed her hands under the waistband of his shorts and ran them down his flanks. “You’re a mess too, kind of...kind of ripe. A nice, ripe mess.”

            “I seem to remember our shower will accommodate two.”

            “What a good idea!” She pulled off her black hair, an act he always found stimulating for some reason. “Let’s see if it still will.”

            It did. After ten minutes of soapy, slippery fun, Matt wrapped a towel around his waist and opened the door to peek down the hallway. “All clear,” he said, and stepped into the bedroom. Darcy dashed after him and he closed the door behind them. “What now?” he asked.

            With a sparkle in her eyes, she pulled the towel off him.

            “Two can play that game!” he said, pulling her towel off in turn.

            “Eek!”

            “’Eek?’ Where did you learn that word?”

            “Oh, I don’t know. A love story, I think.”

            “Well, that’s all right then. That’s perfectly appropriate.” He wrapped her in his arms. Their lovemaking was every bit as exhilarating as before, though slightly more gentle and less athletic. “Hoo, man!” Matt finally said, breathing hard and looking into her eyes from a distance of maybe twelve inches. “That was nice!”

            “It was, yes. Look at us, though! We’re sweaty again. We could use another shower!”

            “You called it—it’s a nice mess.” He wiped a drop of milk off a nipple and touched it to his tongue. “Sweet! Not that I’d expect anything different, considering the source—no wonder Julio and Clio like it!”

            “What would you think about another one or two to go with them...?”

            “I don’t know. Might be nice. What do you think?”

            “Let’s think about it. There’s no reason to hurry.”

            “Hooray! Mrs. Méndez today, Mrs. Méndez tomorrow, Mrs. Méndez forever!”

            “Probably not forever....”

           

           

            Darcy couldn’t get enough of the twins. She read to them (in several languages), showed them pictures, toured the property with them, and carried them around until Matt’s arms would have fallen off. She and Abuelita extended Clio’s range of acceptable green vegetables, thanks to the judicious addition of jalapeño slices. Julio already ate greens; he had no apparent enthusiasm for spicy foods. They even napped together from time to time, and Matt joined them every so often, though he didn’t normally take naps. 

 

            Darcy and Matt were enjoying a late evening glass of grape juice with Aziza, who had left on the monitor in the nursery. Darcy was at her computer. Matt and Aziza were talking about marriage customs in Pakistan when out of nowhere Darcy said “Oh!” and sat up straight.

            “What is it?” Matt asked.

            “Huh? Oh, I was just checking the news. There’s something surprising in the financial section, that’s all. It’s not important.” She turned back to the screen. When Aziza went back to the sitters’ room to go to bed, Matt remembered to ask Darcy about whatever it was that had caught her attention. She still wouldn’t tell him.

            “Do you know what The Wall Street Journal is?”

            “Yeah. It’s a newspaper. It has extra coverage of business and finance.”

            “Can we get one tomorrow?”

            “Uh, well, I imagine so. I bet the bookstore near the university has it. We can go look. Why?”

            “It might have an article that would interest us. What about Newsweek magazine?”

            “Oh, sure. You can get that at a grocery store. But probably the bookstore will have it too. We can get both of them. Won’t you tell me why you’re interested?”

            She smiled that mischievous smile and used a word he knew she had picked up from him: “Nope.”

            He stood behind her. She had a newspaper article up on the screen. He moved his hands down to her elbows. “How about if I tickle you? Will you tell me then?”

            She squirmed. “Don’t you dare! OK, I’ll tell you!” He pulled over a chair. “I think I know who kidnapped me. I think this was the man who wanted Mr. Goldman to kill me. Look at this article.” She scrolled up to the headline: Reclusive Financier Subject of Attorney General Probe. “Look who wrote it.” He looked. Scott Zimmer!

            “Whoa!” he said, leaning over to read. The first couple paragraphs told the story. A mysterious, wealthy head of a mega-corporation was apparently suspected of all kinds of foul deeds. The article led off with the possibility that he had contracted the kidnapping of Earth’s first visitor ever from outer space, everybody’s sweetheart, Ana Darcy. Many other crimes were alleged as well, from rigging stock prices to bribing Congressmen to pass custom-designed legislation and favorable tax laws, and more: fixing elections, underwriting dirty trick campaign squads, dumping questionable medicines in the third world, and more. The man’s name was Kurt Rainer, of the RPT Group. A graphic with the article showed a spider web of links to politicians, corporations, and think tanks and media all over the world. The Attorney General was taking the whole mess before a grand jury.

            “Yeow!” said Matt. “This is amazing! Unbelievable!” Matt had been a reporter. This kind of blockbuster story was rare, very rare indeed. “How the hell did Zimmer find all this out?”

            To his utter astonishment, Darcy produced another of her sly smiles. “C’mon, babe. Tell me! Don’t make me tickle you!”

            “Who’s the smartest, sneakiest, oldest person you know, Matt?”

            “Huh? The smartest...uh-oh! Surely you don’t mean Hleo?” Her smile turned radiant, nuclear. “Hleo??” What the hell did Hleo have to do with this?”

            “Remember I told you the kidnappers wanted the design for our gravitation propulsion system? Uncle Rothan ordered Hleo to machine-translate it and send it to them. But Hleo also modified it. He scrambled it so it would be completely useless. It will make no sense to anyone. But that’s not all he did. He also inserted some sneaky computer programs, for when they installed it on their computers. I forget the name for those.”

            “Trojan horses?”

            “Yes! That’s it! Trojan horses! Like in the Odyssey! They spread throughout the company’s computers and began sending out information to Scott Zimmer and to the FBI and the New York Attorney General, and to others. All this evidence came from their own files!”

            “Well, I’ll be damned! Hleo! Good ole Hleo! That is one smart cookie, sugar.”

            “’A smart cookie!’ I like that expression. Yes, Hleo is a smart cookie. And Mr. Zimmer is not bad either. Look at this.” She clicked to another window showing the Newsweek homepage. There was a grainy picture of Darcy, standing in the hatchway of the shuttle, wiping her eyes and waving goodbye. Below was the splash headline Starchild Forced To Leave: Corporate Kidnappers Drive Ana Darcy From Earth. Exclusive Interview. By Scott Zimmer, Special Correspondent to Newsweek.

            “Holy Pete!” He pulled up a chair and clicked the link. It was all there: the story of Darcy’s kidnapping, the shooting, the demand for information, and her decision to leave. The article closed with the apparent order to kill her, glossed over her “escape” from her kidnappers, and linked to a following article also by Zimmer about the evil machinations of the RPT Group. In the accompanying interview with Zimmer, she had some very nice things to say about the people, places, and cultures she had learned to love, but some discouraging opinions about celebrity and the difficulty of living a normal life. That was probably, she told Zimmer, because she was the first person from Thomo to come to Earth, and because of what had happened at the Olympic Games. She was sad to leave but bore no bad feelings, she would remember everyone fondly, and so on and so on.

            “Man, oh man,” said Matt. “We better print this right now in case it’s sold out tomorrow. Hoo, boy, this is big! And final, too. You left! You’re gone!”

            “Yes. ‘Starchild’ is no more. I never liked that name. I feel badly for Uncle Rothan and Ianthe, though. Hleo thinks for my safety, for our safety, they shouldn’t know the truth, not for a while anyway. I’ll be able to email them as if I were at the moon station, at least until the vessel departs. Hleo will take care of that.”

            “Yeah, that’s too bad. What about that Harrison guy?”

            “Herecyn? I don’t feel so sad for him. He has money and that makes him happy. I’m not sure if he might have cooperated with my kidnappers, actually.”

            “Golly? Do you think so?”

            “I don’t really know. But I wouldn’t, uh, wouldn’t, oh, refuse to consider it?”

            “How about ‘I wouldn’t put it past him?’”

            “Right. I knew that. Thanks. I wouldn’t put it past him. I’ll probably never know the answer to that.”

            “Hey, babe. The twins are out for the night. Let me tell Aziza we’re going out briefly and let’s go get us some magazines and newspapers right now. What do you say?”

            Another solar smile. “¡Vamonos!”

 

 

            The next morning, Matt was playing with his son and daughter on the living room rug. The couch and coffee table were covered with newspapers and magazines, except for the end of the table which had been cleared off to allow Julio space to pound away with his plastic hammer. Clio was on all fours practicing locomotion. So far she was moving mainly in reverse.

            Distracted by Julio’s cries of glee, Darcy pushed back from her computer and swiveled to watch them. Matt saw concern on her face. “What is it, sugar?”

            “Do you know what river blindness is, Matt?”

            “No. Why?”

            “I’m reading an article about it. It’s a parasitic disease. It affects millions of people. But it’s curable and the World Health Organization is trying to wipe it out.”

            “Huh. Well, that’s good isn’t it?”

            “I guess so. This article has a long list of similar diseases, which all together kill and disable millions of children and adults every year. It says most of these diseases are treatable, even curable. The cures have been known for years! Why has it taken so long?”

            “Maybe the right people didn’t care enough. Maybe there wasn’t money for it.”

            “There is money. This article says most of these diseases can be stopped with very little effort. So why don’t people make the effort?”

            “There probably aren’t any good answers to that.”

            “And look.” She swiveled back to her computer and clicked a link. “Here’s another article about poor students in a crowded school. Some foundation sent a bunch of them to a camp where they learned how to sail. Most of them went on to become very good students.”

            Matt nodded. “I’ve seen all kinds of stories like that over the years. Kids are chosen for special treatment, to ride horses or build robots or tour in a choir and they always seem to respond fantastically well. It’s because someone has taken individual interest in them, I think. They respond to that.”

            “Exactly. Both these stories are basically the same. If people will just care for each other they can really make improvements. Why doesn’t everybody do that?”

            “Well, everybody probably should. You do. Look at those mobile schoolhouses your foundation sponsors. They make a big difference.”

            She picked at her thumbs. “Yes, that’s true. I wish we could do more, though. I wish we could get others to do more.” She had a funny look on her face. “Matt, may I consult with you on a matter of, uh, right and wrong? What do you call that?”

            “Ethics?”

            “Yes.”

            “Of course you may. I’m a famous moral philosopher. People even come from outside the universe to ask me ethical questions.”

            “I’m serious. I’m thinking about that man who tried to have me killed, Kurt Rainer. Is he in serious trouble now?”

            “From what I’ve been reading, yes, he’s in serious trouble.”

            “What do you think will happen to him?”

            “Not all that should happen. He’ll have the best lawyers money can buy. You know rich people can get away with things that the rest of us wouldn’t. He might have to go to prison for a while. But it’ll be a nice prison, and he’ll probably still be a rich man when he gets out.”

            “That doesn’t seem right. Not only did he try to have me killed, the things he’s done have killed and injured thousands of other people too, and he’s hurt this planet, and this country. He has abused his responsibility as a rich and powerful person. If he were on Thomo, he would...well, never mind. I guess what I’m asking is, if you had it in your power to decide his punishment, what would you decide?”

            “Well, I don’t believe in capital punishment. If it were up to me, I think I’d either see him in prison for the rest of his life or take all his money away and use it for good causes. Or both those things.”

            “You would? Really?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Are you serious?”

            “Yeah, sure. Why? What difference does it make?”

            “It makes a huge difference, Matt. You won’t believe how big a difference.” Matt looked more closely at her—she was visibly excited.

            “What are you talking about, wife?”

            “You read those articles about that man. Do you remember what he was complaining most about?”

            “Well, yeah. He said he was broke. That he didn’t have any money to speak of. That’s not unusual. Lots of those big corporate guys say that. They play all kinds of games with their books so that it looks like they don’t have any money when they really do.”

            “Not this time. He wasn’t kidding, Matt.”

            “Huh?”

            “I told you that Hleo put Trojan horses in our gravitation documents, remember? And that they began sending out confidential files from the RPT Group, right?”

            “Yes....”

            “Well, there’s more. Hleo got into their financial programs. He transferred all their money to secret bank accounts in Switzerland. They really are broke. They can’t even pay their employees.”

            “He WHAT??” Matt shouted so loudly Julio stopped hammering and babbling and looked wide-eyed at his father. “He didn’t!”

            “Yes, he did. I heard from him this morning. He wants to know what he should do with the money. That’s why I asked you that ethical question.”

            “Oh, my God.” Clio had crawled backwards into Matt’s leg. He picked her up and set her in his lap. “Oh, my God,” he repeated. “How much money are we talking about?”

            Darcy looked as serious as he’d ever seen her. “I can’t say it out loud. I’m sorry. Put Clio down. Come closer.”

            Feeling prickly all over, he set Clio on a baby blanket, got to his feet, and walked to her. She stood on tiptoe to put her lips inches from his ear. He caught another whiff of baby powder as she whispered, “Seventy-eight billion dollars. Approximately.”

            He stared blankly at her. He could feel his lips say “Oh, shit,” but no sound came out of his mouth. He shook his head and tried again. Still no sound. His knees gave way and he eased to the floor, between his children. Darcy sank back into her chair. They looked at each other in wonder.

            Finally he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. My brain just can’t compute that right now. Can we come back to it later?”

            They barely talked to each other the rest of the day. Matt wasn’t sure what Darcy was thinking about, but he couldn’t stop mulling over a pile of seventy-eight billion dollars stashed away in Switzerland. It was quite literally incomprehensible.

            Darcy nursed the twins at noon, and they both spooned goo into them. She practiced on her harpsichord while both babies rolled around under the instrument. During their nap time she disappeared into the back of the house, to emerge later looking different somehow. It finally struck him that she had cut and dyed her hair as she had been threatening. He was going to miss those sparkly, liquid gold strands she used to have, but if that was the price of being an ordinary family, he would get used to it. Since Kelsey was loading the twins into the stroller at the time, he only ran his hand through it and winked at her.

            They had a pleasant visit from Abuelita at the twins’ bedtime—‘Buela never forgot which twin it was her turn to tuck in. As Matt returned from walking her back to her house, he met Kelsey headed for her car, weeping. She paused to hug him and thank him, and then got in and drove away. Darcy was greeting Aziza in the patio and joined him in the kitchen a few minutes later.

            “I just saw Kelsey,” Matt said. “She was crying. Do you know why?”

            “Yes. She’s been so worried that her family won’t have enough money to send her to college. I told her we would cover it.”

            “You did? That’s lovely, sugar.”

            “She said she’d pay us back some day, but I told her instead to help someone else go to college, whether one of her own children or another person.”

            “Good idea, babe. Bless you.”

            “We have the money.”

            “I guess.”

            “Do you want to talk about it after we have a bite to eat?”  

            “Sí.”

            Oddly, they took their time over supper and the cleanup afterwards. Matt was wiping the counters when he heard Darcy close the dishwasher. They glanced at each other.

            “Let me check the calendar,” she said. The calendar? What did that have to do with anything?

            “Ah,” she said. “The moon rises a little after midnight.”

            “And?”

            “Let’s take the pod up. That would be a quiet place to talk.”

            “Zowie! Can I drive?”

            “I want you to.”

            It was pitch dark outside. He was proud he remembered how to power the thing up and get it moving. It really wasn’t hard.

            “It’s probably best to stay low. Don’t go too fast, either.”

            “Right. This area is probably blanketed with anti-drug smuggling radar. We’ll stay below it. Did your Uncle Rothan ever say anything about the pod?”

            “No. He knew I had it. That’s how I got to the South Pole. I guess we were so busy afterwards that it never came up.”

            “Hmm. Well, I suppose now that he thinks you’re on the moon he’ll figure the pod is lost, misplaced, huh?”

            “Probably. Maybe we can figure out a way to use it sometimes.”

            “I’ve been thinking about that. It would fit inside a truck. We could drive it up in the mountains or to the coast and take it out for a spin.”

            “That might be fun. It doesn’t make much of a signal on radar. We could cross an ocean easily.”

            “Sheesh.” His eyes were getting accustomed to the dark. It wasn’t hard to judge their height from looking at car headlights and street signs below. He kept it to what he judged to be four or five hundred feet, drifting slowly over the Rio Grande, so as to avoid any possible antenna towers.

            “What are you thinking about all that money, Matt?”

            “Golly, babe. It’s hard to believe that that much dough can just disappear and no one knows where. I guess it did, though, if Hleo says it did. It’s not exactly ours, and not exactly Hleo’s. Personally, I’d have no ethical problems about using it for charitable purposes if it could be completely anonymous. But I wouldn’t feel right about using any on ourselves.”

            “That’s how I feel too. Back home, the richer and more powerful a person is, the more his or her responsibility to the community. Using wealth for selfish purposes is shameful. I still feel that way. You’d make a good Thoman, Matt.”

            “All right. We agree on that, then. The next thing to consider is if it can be handled anonymously, like, say, if a foundation can be set up to administer it. Maybe Hleo could arrange that. Then, the foundation could dispense grants and stuff. What do you think?”

            “That sounds good. Hleo would be happy to investigate that, I’m sure. He would feel as obligated as we do.”

            “Great. There’s no hurry at all. It might be best to do nothing for a while, in fact—just to let it sit and see what happens to Rainer and his RPT Group.”

            “I hope no one will be hurt by that.”

            “From what I’ve read, the RPT Group didn’t really own that much. They seemed to prefer to control other companies and skim off their profits. There weren’t all that many people working just for RPT, and most of those will find other work. Let’s hope they’ll find honest work.”

            “I bet you can do much better with that money than they did.”

            “Me?”

            “Yes. Remember? I’m not here. You’ll have to be a major consultant.”

            Matt slowed the pod, hovering over a pecan orchard. “You’re not here, huh? What time is it?” He pressed the little light on his watch. “The moon doesn’t rise for ninety minutes yet. If you’re not here, then you can’t possibly mind if I hug you and kiss you until your eyes cross, can you?”

            “Ha! I’d like to see you try!”