Parallel Missions-The Journey Begins: PARALLEL MISSIONS, #1

By Larry L. Sydow

Parallel Missions

by Larry L. Sydow

What would you do if you saved the life of a total stranger who claimed to be from a parallel universe?  Derek and Margo did, and the stranger, Tomas, recruited them to join him and his wife Judith in creating a Team whose purpose is to save this world and their Parallel world.  "As on Earth, so in Parallel" proves to be the guiding principle for the rescue missions on which they embark.

After a visit to Parallel, which is many hundreds of years advanced scientifically over Earth, they return to this world, rejuvenated and ready for the Missions on which they will be sent.

With Tomas and Judith, they use scientifically advanced equipment, a computer named Bart, and a cigar-shaped Ship, capable of managing rapid transit utilizing wormholes and space-warp technologies.  All equipment with which the parallel world supplies them is in existence or on the drawing boards of scientists in this world. 

With Bart's help, the Team turns a simple European vacation into a working one as the Missions become more dangerous and complex.  Their message on every Mission is spelled out in the appropriate language on their insignia: "VIOLENCE BEGETS VIOLENCE – PEACE BEGETS PEACE."

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Larry Sydow
• Release date: Mar 27, 2021
• ISBN: 9781386388876

Larry L. Sydow

       Larry Sydow is a retired pastor. He received his B.A. Degree from Midland University in Fremont, NE, and his Master of Divinity Degree from Luther Seminary in St. Paul, MN. He previously published “Let Them Answer,” a book of children’s sermons. When he retired, he planned to write a book compiling the best of the devotions he had been writing for almost fifteen years. However, as a Master Gardener, the other writing project on the back burner was a book of the stories medicinal herbs tell.       His writing was interrupted by his first retirement failure by a request that he serve as a nursing home chaplain.  During that time, he began writing science fantasy. The first book of the PARALLEL MISSIONS series, “Parallel Mission, the Journey Begins,” was published in 2017.  He failed retirement a second time when he was asked to fill in for a couple of months for a pastor in Roswell, NM going on medical leave. It was a position that lasted three years, during which he moved to Roswell and continued to write. The results were a continuation of the Parallel Missions Series.      Larry and his wife, Susan, have two children and two grandchildren living in the Seattle, WA area. In 2018 they celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary. Susan is an accomplished quilter. In addition to writing, Larry enjoys music. He sings, plays piano, organ, and guitar. He has written numerous songs for various occasions, including more than 20 “herb songs” illustrating the stories herbs can tell. ABOUT THE ARTIST     Pat Hittle became an artist quite by accident. Studying to become a theater director, she discovered she needed an art course to design her own scenery. She found that she enjoyed it so much that she studied the masters when she lived in Italy. When she returned to the U.S., she found that people wanted to buy her art, so she started entering shows successfully. Thus, she became a professional artist.

Book preview

Violence breeds violence,

Violence breeds retaliation,

Retaliation breeds repression,

And only a cleansing of our whole society

Can remove this sickness from our souls."

Robert F. Kennedy

Announcing the death of Martin Luther King, Jr.

PARALLEL MISSIONS

The Journey Begins

Copyright First edition © 2017 Larry L. Sydow

Copyright Second edition © 2021 Larry L. Sydow

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction.  All characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s fertile imagination or are used fictitiously.

eBook ISBN:  9781386388876

ISBN:  9781393018353

DEDICATION

Dedicated with love to Sue Sydow, the love of my life,

without whom I could not have enjoyed

the writing and publication of this book

—and those to come.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

MY DEEP APPRECIATION to those who read, proofed, and encouraged me to pursue publication of Parallel Missions:  Sue Sydow, Pat Hittle, Sandy Winslow, Bill & Ann Bruggeman, Marcia Skaar, Curtis Michael, Carola Spreaker, and Pat Carpenter.  Thank you!

Chapter 1-The Adventure Begins

Derek and Margo returned from a late-night movie in Omaha that neither of them liked.  He couldn’t, or didn’t want to, remember its name because the name in no way fit the content.  It had been what they agreed at the time, some dumb sci-fi movie about aliens and spaceships. 

Totally ludicrous! they had complained afterward.  Everyone with any brains at all knows there is no such thing as UFOs and aliens.  The nuts who dream up those wild tales and believe that UFO garbage has to be several cards shy of a full deck! Of course, they make lots of money writing it. 

It was drizzling, with occasional stronger downpours. The windshield wipers were beating a steady rhythm.  A few minutes before Derek turned off the highway onto a gravel road, they heard a loud bang that sounded like thunder.  They often used that road as a shortcut to their subdivision.  It wasn’t raining when they entered the theater, so the road was still firm and safe, though it was coming down increasingly hard.  Aside from one vacant old farmhouse, a mile from the highway, the four-mile stretch was deserted and seldom traveled.  As the windshield wipers swished back and forth, he and Margo were quiet.  They had ripped the movie apart already.  All they needed to do, and were looking forward to doing, was to get home for a nice glass of Merlot before going to bed. 

They were shocked to see the figure of a man dressed in what appeared to be a red Spiderman suit running ahead of them down the road in their headlights.  He seemed to be looking up at the sky as if being chased by something.  Derek’s first thoughts were that he must have escaped from prison or a loony bin somewhere.  As they got closer, and the stranger looked back to see their headlights, the look of terror and exhaustion was evident in his face.  Running closer to the edge of the road, the stranger staggered and fell, rolling over the gravel ridge into a deep ditch, as they passed him.

Derek slammed on his brakes, sliding to a stop in the wet gravel.  Did you see what I saw, or was I just imagining it?!

I think I did too, Margo answered.  We’d better see if he’s OK!

Derek backed the car a few feet, hoping to illuminate the area where the man fell.

He knew from over forty years of marriage that she meant he had better get out of the car in the rain to see if the man was OK.  The we in this case, meant you.  Without giving it a second thought, he got out of the car in what was turning into driving rain.

He and Margo had met in a History of Western Civilizations class in college. They struggled together, trying to keep names, dates, places, battles, and outcomes straight.  Perhaps it was their common struggle that drew them together, but the result was that they fell madly in love, were married, had two boys, and survived all that life could throw at them all those years.

They were both approaching retirement age.  Margo was four months older, giving Derek pleasure in being able to tell people he had married an older woman.  Margo got just as much fun informing them she had four months each year to lord it over Derek.  While they had experienced every emotion possible in raising two boys, surviving their adolescence, their marriages, and the divorce of one, they had a good and happy marriage.  In part, they were thankful for Marriage Encounter that really did make their good marriage better.

Margo worked as an executive secretary for the owner of Aksarben Publishing, a successful publisher of historical novels.  It was a job she enjoyed, but one she was looking forward to giving up for the freedom of retirement.  Derek worked as an HR (Human Resources) consultant for Gaylord & Sons, a major manufacturer and wholesaler of high-end furniture and accessories.  He, too, looked forward to retiring but wasn’t sure if he was ready yet for an unstructured life.  Both had gray, almost white hair.  While both were healthy and took no medicines, age was affecting their waistlines—Derek’s more so than Margo’s.

Leaving the car running, Derek stepped out into the driving rain. "Of course!  Where is the umbrella when I need it?!" he grumbled to himself.  At home, in the umbrella stand beside the door staying nice and dry!

Here, Margo offered, you’d better take this flashlight.  You won’t be able to see into the ditch beyond the headlights.

Grabbing the flashlight and closing the car door, he sarcastically replied, Thanks a bunch! knowing Margo wouldn’t hear a word over the sounds of the rain pounding on the car roof and the windshield wipers.  He was already drenched to the skin.  By the time he got back into the car, he’d be nearly drowned. 

Playing the light of the flashlight along the ridge of gravel, he saw the place where the stranger took the tumble.  As he approached the spot, he wondered if he should have called the sheriff’s office and let them handle it.  What did he know about this guy?  He seemed to be running from something.  Maybe he was a serial killer running from the law!  Maybe he was a decoy.   At that, Derek did a sweeping search with his flashlight to make sure someone wasn’t hiding somewhere, just waiting to jump them, molest them, steal their car, and leave them wounded and stranded in the rain—or dead. 

Nothing in sight!  I’ve got to get my imagination under control, he mumbled to himself.

Margo rolled down her window and shouted, What’s the matter?  Is something wrong?

No! he replied.  Just checking.

Training the beam of his flashlight over the gravel ridge, Derek could see the stranger lying face down in the ditch that was filling rapidly with muddy water.  The ditch was about six feet deep, and the water was only three or four inches deep, but it would only take an inch to drown a person lying with his face in it! 

Derek stepped over the gravel ridge onto the slick grass lining the ditch.  As his other foot cleared the bank, the one he thought was on a firm footing slipped out from under him.  The rest might have made a good movie clip of a less than graceful fool, slipping, sliding, and tumbling to a landing next to the stranger, in the center of the rushing muddy water.  The flashlight had sailed from his hand, went out. It was nowhere to be seen.  In the dark shadow created by the car headlights shining on the road above, he scrambled to his feet, slipped again, and landed on his knees.  His hands came to rest on the back of the stranger.  Feeling for the man’s head, Derek grabbed him by the back of his Spider suit and pulled his head up out of the water.  As he did so, he could hear the man cough and sputter, gasping for air.

Thank God you’re breathing on your own! Derek exclaimed.  The last thing he wanted to do was give a stranger, with who-knew-what diseases, mouth to mouth resuscitation!

After a coughing jag, the stranger took several deep breaths and went limp. 

Oh, great!  He’s dead!  Now what?  But as Derek turned the man’s body over facing up into the now drizzling rain, he discovered the stranger was breathing.  Occasionally he coughed to clear his lungs. 

The man was too heavy for Derek to carry up the steep, slippery bank.  He would have trouble getting up the slope himself.  He laid the man’s limp body up on the bank, face up on the side of the ditch.  Unfortunately, his legs buckled, and his body slid back down in a collapsed ball. Derek tried again, turning him around and stretching him upward as far as he could without his body sliding back down, placing the man’s hands over his head.  The stranger was as limp as a dishrag, so his hands kept slipping down.  Efforts to push him up over the ridge were fruitless, but he was able to push him up far enough where the side of the ditch wasn’t quite as steep that his arms stayed over the ridge and kept him from sliding back.  Derek couldn’t get any solid footing, and his feet kept sinking into the soft mud. 

Maybe I can get up on the road and reach over to pull you up, he said, more to himself than the stranger.  Derek slipped and fell several times before he finally made it over the gravel ridge, onto the road, and into the car headlights.  He then sat down to catch his breath.

Did you find him?!  Is everything all right?! Margo asked.

He landed face down in the muddy water, but I pulled him out.  He seems to be breathing on his own.  Derek replied.  I lost the flashlight when I fell, so I can’t tell much in the dark.  I’ve got him lying on the side of the ditch, and I’ll try to reach over and pull him up.

Derek lay down flat on the wet gravel and reached over the ridge. Sliding as far over the edge of the ditch as he dared, he searched for the man’s hands, which were not there.  Derek moved his hands from right to left.... Nothing.  Derek sat up on the side of the ditch and pulled off his belt.

Maybe I can attach it to his wrist and pull him up with that, he considered.  Sliding back into the ditch next to the stranger, he attached the belt to one of the man’s wrists and, holding on to the end of his belt, worked his way back up to the road.  Slowly and steadily, he pulled and scooted back on the gravel until he could see the stranger’s hand.  Working his way back on the taut belt, he reached the man’s arm, dug his fingers into the back of the Spider suit, and pulled.  He hoped the suit would hold as he pulled, sliding his own body back an inch at a time.  Fortunately, wet grass covered the side of the ditch, and the man’s body slid freely.  It was heavy, dead weight, but inch by inch, Derek pulled.  Thankfully, the suit held together and slid up the side of the ditch.

When the upper part of the stranger’s body was on the road, Derek slid his hands under the man’s armpits.  It was then, in the light of the car’s headlights, that Derek noticed that the man’s Spiderman suit wasn’t really a Spiderman suit as much as it looked like skin-tight long Johns.  Derek hoped the gentle rain would wash some of the mud from the ditch off himself and the stranger.

Margo rolled down her window a few inches to view the scene more clearly.  Honey, she commented, you are a muddy mess.  That was a new suit and shirt.  I don’t think Goodwill would even want them.  Your shoes are history too.  And what about that man?  His underwear needs to be given a serious washing.  Is he OK, or is he dead?  I can’t tell if he’s even breathing!

He’s unconscious but breathing, Derek called back to her through the rain.  And thanks for noticing my latest attempt at making a fashion statement - the new ‘muddy look.’  Would you like to come out here and join us?  I’d love to give you a great big hug!

No, thanks.  I like the dry look, myself!

After I catch my breath, we need to get both of us off this gravel road and into the car.  Do we still have that old picnic blanket in the trunk?

I’m sure it’s still there.  We also have a few old towels in a plastic bag back there. When you get up, I’ll pop the trunk.

I’m shivering with cold.  I better get moving.  This guy is colder than I am.

When Derek stood up, Margo popped the trunk for him.  He went back to find the towels and the blanket.  With the car's back door open, He spread the blanket as best he could and placed the dry towels on the floor between the seats.  I’ll use them on myself and the stranger once I get him in the car, Derek said to himself. 

Returning to the man who was still prostrate on the road, Derek knelt at his head and reached under his armpits.  He lifted the man as he stood up and dragged him to the car, leaving two trails in the loose gravel from his heels.

Derek laid the stranger on the blanket on the back seat, then went around to the other side of the car, opened that door, and pulled him in the rest of the way.  He used one towel to wipe the worst of the wetness and mud from his own clothes.  It didn’t take too much to realize it was a losing battle.  It was now raining steadily, and it was like trying to dry off in the shower with the water still spraying from the showerhead.  He reached around and threw the wet towel into the trunk before using the other towel on the stranger.

We better take him to the emergency room at Emmanuel Hospital.  It’s only about five miles from here, Derek announced.

At that, the stranger spoke for the first time, shocking them both, No, please!  No hospital!

You need medical attention, Derek said.  You almost drowned in that ditch.  You were unconscious and too weak to help me get you into the car.  It looked as if you were running away from something or someone.  Should we take you to the sheriff’s office?

No! Please! Promise me - no hospital - no sheriff!  Take me - to your home. 

Derek and Margo were not people to pick up hitchhikers, much less take in a stranger. 

Looking back at him with a skeptical look on her face, Margo began to say, I don’t think...  She didn’t finish the sentence.  Something came over both Margo and Derek.  When they discussed it later, neither of them could explain what it was.  It was an overwhelming desire to take this perfect stranger home as quickly as possible and put him to bed in their guest room. 

At that, the man closed his eyes and seemed to pass out again. 

"Honey, you drive.  I’ll sit back here on the blanket with our new friend."

While Margo risked getting her hair wet in the rain to race around to the driver’s side and get in, Derek ran around to close the other door, making sure the man’s feet were inside.  That was when he noticed the man wasn’t wearing shoes.  His Spiderman suit had footies connected to the legs, like the footies in his granddaughter’s pajamas.  He was also wearing skintight gloves that seemed to be attached seamlessly in the same way the footies were! Slamming the door, he ran back around to the other side of the car, lifted the man’s head and shoulders, slid under them, and closed the door. 

Derek used the towel to wipe both of their faces, then dabbed the man’s suit to soak up some of the rain.  To his amazement, the Spiderman suit seemed to be dry!  In the dim light of the back seat, the man looked to be between five and six feet tall.  It was hard to tell.  His muscles rippled through the suit, showing off his six-pack abs, the muscles of his arms and legs, and everything in between.  He was in great shape, physically.

Margo drove them home, faster than she usually drove, only slowing through the two stop signs before the turnoff to their subdivision.  Glad it’s a dark and stormy night ... she thought.  "Gads! How corny does that sound?!  Actually, I’m glad the police are somewhere else keeping dry. They would have picked me up for speeding and slipping through those stop signs, for sure!"

She didn’t slow down much in the residential area either, squealing the tires when she turned down their street.  "I rarely drive this fast.  Must be the wet streets that cause the tires to squeal," she mumbled to herself. 

As they approached their two-car garage, she pressed the door opener's button and arrived just as it opened fully.  She drove in a little too fast and slammed on the brakes before bumping into the workbench on the far wall.  The windshield wipers caught the ball hanging from the rafter that told them when to stop.  She wasn’t used to driving Derek’s car and parking on his side of the garage.  Feeling a little foolish, she turned off the wipers and backed up.  Finally, she turned off the car and clicked the garage door opener to keep the neighbors from seeing them carry Spiderman into their house.

Derek was out of the car almost as quickly, pulling their guest across the seat, lifting him over his shoulder, and carrying him like a sack of potatoes into the house.  He took the stranger directly to the guest bathroom and wrestled the nearly dead weight into the tub.  Both men were covered with mud.  To Derek’s amazement, he was muddier than their guest.

In better light, the stranger appeared to be about five feet ten, slender, and between forty and fifty.  His dark-blond hair was cut short and streaked with touches of gray.  A strong, handsome face bore a dark suntanned complexion, indicating a Hispanic or black heritage. He didn’t appear to have any obvious wounds or scars.

Derek started the water and checked the temperature before turning on the shower.  The stranger didn’t move.  He lay there unconscious as the water washed over him. 

Derek noticed his own clothes caused some of the muddy water to flow down the drain.  Since he was already wet, he stepped out of his shoes and rinsed them off. Then, he stepped into the tub, straddling the stranger, allowing the shower to wash the worst of the mud off the rest of his clothes. 

When he was satisfied that he had gotten most of it, he let the water wash over the stranger again.  Meanwhile, he removed his clothes, down to his boxers, wrung them out, and tossed them in the sink.  He stepped out of the tub and reached over to turn the man on his side to wash his right side and his back.  Then he turned him the other way to wash his left side. Each turn revealed a small amount of muddy water that became clear.  Once satisfied that he had done the best he could, he turned the water off.

Derek searched for a zipper or some buttons to take the red suit off the man, but found none.  It was as if he had been sewn into the suit.

Margo, he yelled. 

No need to yell!  I’m right here outside the door.  I thought our guest might like some privacy.

Well, don’t worry about that!  He’s still sound asleep!  I need help to get his suit off.  Can you come in and see if you can find a zipper or something?

You’re sure it’s OK?

Modesty is the least of my concerns right now!  I need to get him out of this wet suit so I can dry him off and get him into bed.

All right.  Margo opened the door as Derek propped up their guest. She knelt by the tub beside Derek and examined the back of the red suit. There doesn’t seem to be any zipper or fastener anywhere.  I hate to do it, but let me get my scissors.  It’s the only way I can see to get him out.  That suit feels like cloth, but it fits him like a second skin.  Glancing over his limp body, she added, It certainly doesn’t hide anything.

A minute later, she was back with the scissors.  Try these, she offered. 

Derek took the scissors.  Thanks, Hon!  This should do it.  It’s such a nice suit I hate to ruin it.  He tried to squeeze one blade into a tiny crack between the suit and the man’s neck.  The scissors never got within an inch of the cloth before they flew out of Derek’s grasp. 

Butterfingers! he said to himself.  He picked up the scissors and tried again, with the same results. 

What in the world?!  Did you see that?  I can’t even get close to him with those scissors! The best I can do is dry him off and put him to bed as he is.  What else can I do?

I’ll get an extra blanket to wrap him in and put it on the bed.

Good enough. 

Derek used a dry towel and ran it over the man.  To his surprise, when he had finished, the towel was practically dry.  That is weird, he said.  He was under the shower, but I’m wetter than he is!

Picking the limp man up out of the tub was a little awkward.  The stranger was dead weight.  Derek had to get half in the tub and half out to pick him up. He almost dropped the man before he got his arms under him to carry him to the bed.  He laid the stranger on the blanket Margo placed on the bed and pulled up the other bedding.  He left the room quietly with the door slightly ajar in case their guest woke up. 

I’m going to shower and put on my PJs, he told Margo. 

Excellent idea, she said. 

Take your clothes into our shower and give them a good rinsing while you shower, Margo instructed.  If you wring them out again and hand them to me, I’ll throw them in the washer right away.  I’m going to throw everything, even your new suit pants, in the wash.  They were sopping wet and drug through the muddy gravel, and who knows what run-off was in that ditch.  They’re pretty well shot, anyway.  And your white shirt will never be white again!

Derek followed instructions.  Stepping into the shower, he adjusted the water temperature and let it flow over him.  The incredible feeling of warm, almost hot, water washing down from head to toe felt like a little taste of heaven.  Piece by piece, he rinsed and wrung out his clothes, handing them to Margo over the top of the shower curtain.  He finished washing with soap and shampoo—twice—to make sure all the mud and whatever else was in that ditch washed off.  He turned off the shower and reached for the towel Margo was holding for him when he opened the shower curtain.  While he was showering, she had mopped up the floor and put on her nightgown and a robe.  His PJs, slippers, and robe were waiting for him on the bed when he finished drying off.

The washing machine was purring away as they passed it on their way to the kitchen.  They both took a quick peek into the guest room to see that their guest was still sleeping peacefully.  Sleeping like a baby, Margo whispered. 

Once in the kitchen, Derek declared, I need a drink.  How about you?

We’re on the same page.  Make mine a double!

A double what?

A double anything you’re having.

Got it! 

They talked about a glass of wine on their ride home, but Derek poured each of them a double Bourbon on the Rocks. He puzzled aloud, What did we just do?  We never pick up strangers!  We never bring strangers home!  What do we know about this guy?!

Margo joined in, He doesn’t want to go to the hospital, and he doesn’t want to talk to the sheriff.  Does that mean he’s wanted by the law?  Maybe he’s a serial killer or a spy or something!  Did you see the way he was checking the sky before he tumbled into the ditch?!  He was running from someone!

Or something!  Derek added.

What do you mean?!  You think he was being chased by a helicopter?

"Not in weather like this.  Maybe he was being stalked by some vicious bird of prey, or maybe even ... a space ship," Derek said with a hushed voice and chuckled.

Margo sat, sipping her bourbon.  That’s crazy! she said to herself, more than to Derek.  I don’t think there are any vicious birds of prey big enough to worry about around these parts.  And as far as space ships are concerned—you know, I think that’s a bunch of science fiction hogwash!

The other piece of the puzzle is the man’s underwear, Derek went on.  Why couldn’t I take it off him, and why did it make the scissors fly out of my hand when they got close to it?!  Maybe the suit is anti-magnetic.

Well, declared