When the Need Is Great

By Gail P. Robertson

Jan Brody and her husband Tom’s semi-retirement becomes anything but relaxing, when one daily chat with the telepathic Shalaian youth Ablakan is pierced by a psychic scream. Distant astronaut Moohri is now stranded on a desolate planetoid. With all three planets lacking the technology to rescue him, it becomes a race against time to save Moohri from starvation and eventually find a way to return him home. Their own lives are soon at risk, as they inform powerful people on their respective planets of the offworld communication which has been going on under the noses of officialdom. The ‘space race’ has a grave new meaning when the need is great.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gail Robertson
• Release date: Oct 11, 2013
• ISBN: 9780992120306

Book preview

When the Need Is Great

When the Need Is Great

Gail P. Robertson

Copyright

When the Need is Great

ISBN:  978-0-9921203-0-6

Copyright © 2013 Gail P. Robertson

All rights reserved.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to

my late husband, Peter Graeme Robertson,

for his endless support, patience and love.

Background photo by W. John McDonald,

modified and added-to by Gail P. Robertson.

Thank-you to Judy Desrochers for being

the face (and personality) of the heroine, Jan.

CHAPTER 1

Jan Brody projected her focus across the light-years separating herself and her telepathic penpal, Ablakan. Conversations with the Shalaian youth were usually the highlight of her day, but this time something felt very wrong. Her pulse quickened. Jan mentally ‘tasted’ the sensation, but was unable to put a name to it. Whatever it was, she didn’t like that feeling at all. She was about to withdraw when Ablakan completed the connection.

Greetings, Jan.

The now-familiar lilt echoed through her mind, and she responded with her best effort at the reply in Shalaian, Greetings to you, Ablakan.

Do I find you well? You are different today.

I might be coming down with a cold, she fudged, not wanting to worry her friend.

Jan’s husband Tom was sitting beside her in what she had dubbed the ‘Reading Room’, her own little sanctuary in their Maine hilltop retirement home. Tom leaned forward to decipher her shorthand scribble, then touched her extended arm in a tactile query.

She opened her green eyes long enough to wink reassuringly at him before asking Ablakan, How was your first day in Learn-more? Did you make any friends?

I am befriending two bodies. They are boy and girl of a family.

His self-image was of a lanky, beige, sparsely-furred youngster sprawled on a multi-angled couch which conformed well to his shape. A bank of eyes glistened at Jan good-naturedly, each black pupil moving independently of its brethren. Beneath them in Ablakan’s horizontally-oblong face were four small breathing slits which rhythmically opened and closed in pairs. From this angle, Jan couldn’t see his cream-colored mane which she knew formed a vertical ridge down the back of his head to end mid-spine. It would turn golden as he matured, she’d been told. Her best guess placed him around 10 years old, in human terms.

A frisson of foreboding impinged on Jan’s mind. She struggled to subsume it, along with the thought ‘What the heck is going on?’. Ablakan didn’t notice, as he enthusiastically talked about his school chums.

Do you plan to visit them? Jan asked.

They not live far. Maybe I go.

Reading this, Tom gave her arm a quick squeeze and she nodded in agreement. They’d been afraid their talks were keeping the child from making other friends. After his father died, Ablakan and his mother had moved to coastal Tabix on Pantai, Shalaii’s largest continent. That was nearly three months ago (Earth time) and this was the first interest Ablakan had shown in meeting others of his age. Or species.

What else should we ask him? Jan wondered aloud.

Tom stroked his tidy salt-and-pepper beard. It would be interesting to know what kids there do for fun. Is hide-and-seek and tag universal, so to speak?

Jan relayed his question, wishing Tom could do it for himself. Not that he hadn’t been trying. He was spending hours in his little observatory lately, eyes closed, brow furrowed in concentration. So far, his only success had been to pick up Ablakan’s emotions during these sessions the few times they had been strong enough. And, Jan realized, chances are Tom was getting those through her, rather than directly from Ablakan.

Plenty things, their telepathic penpal now transmitted, interrupting her reminiscences. In warm time, youngers stand on swimmers to run far fast best.

Reading the shorthand symbols, Tom murmured, I think he means when it’s warm, they race on the water, though I don’t know what he means by ‘swimmers’.

Swimmers make big plate on water, youngers no fall down under. Ablakan had no trouble ‘hearing’ Tom’s words as he spoke to her, easily picking them up from Jan’s mind.

YoungSSters, she enunciated. Is it your warm time now?

Yes. It is Earth’s?

Well, on this continent it is.

During the brief pause that followed, Jan felt another spurt of apprehension. Quickly, she covered it with a feigned cough. Was it her imagination, or did whatever was bothering her seem more imminent, somehow?

Deliberately, Jan redirected her thoughts to the first time she and Ablakan had ‘met’. Technically, it had been Tom who ‘found’ Shalaii. Night after night, he’d trained his telescope on the same star, some 140 light-years away. Intrigued, Jan had cast about mentally in that direction, and almost instantly been contacted by Ablakan.

Jan surrendered to a dollop of smugness. SETI hadn’t found intelligent alien life, she had. Well, Tom and her. Too bad she could never tell anyone about the child and his beautiful Cassiopeian homeworld.

From Ablakan’s description, it was surprisingly Earthlike. Their level of technology was also similar, running the gamut from commercial aircraft to nanotechnology. But socially the two worlds were quite different. Most telling was the fact that they had no word for ‘war’. Must be nice, Jan thought wistfully.

It is. Killing bad.

AIIIEEEIIIAA –

Jan yelped and clapped her hands over her ears. She doubled over, reeling from the mind-piercing scream. Alongside it, she heard Ablakan’s cry of pain and her husband’s gasp.

What was that? Tom’s face had gone white.

I don’t know. Ablakan, are you all right? That wasn’t you, was it?

Nononononono, he groaned.

Jan didn’t know if he was answering her or trying to scrub the ghastly shriek from his mind.

Someone pain fear cry. Not here.

What do you mean, not here? Where?

Out there.

Not on your planet? Jan asked, incredulous.

Yes, yes! Big scary pain.

Jan spoke slowly. Ablakan, do you know of any other peoples besides yours and ours?

Do now. Mind hurt.

Whose mind? Tom wanted to know, when he read Jan’s notes. Yours or – whoever that was?

Both, Ablakan replied candidly.

What direction did it seem to come from? Tom asked, ever the scientist.

Jan stared at her husband. You heard it, too?

Mostly I felt it, but yeah, there was sound, sort of. He grimaced at the memory. And it sure had a kick to it. About the direction?

I don’t know. It happened so fast, and all I wanted to do was block it.

I can imagine.

What about you? Where did it seem to come from?

Tom faced north, then pointed north-northeast.

Jan bit her lip. Hmm. Now that you mention it, it felt more to the left and up a bit.

Tom slowly moved his outstretched arm.

There! Right there! Well, that way, anyway. I think. She blinked, no longer certain.

My here cuts your here . . . here, Ablakan offered, sending a mental image of a line slicing across their trajectory. Jan silently thanked Tom for his persistent (and often annoying) requests for monthly star charts of what Ablakan saw in his night skies. Translating them to paper from mental images was no fun at all. But now, using the latest one, they soon had a fix on the region.

Tom did some quick calculations. I’d hazard a guess the source is some 117 light-years from us, and maybe 110 from Shalaii.

Jan could feel Ablakan’s eagerness to search that sector.

Maybe I should scan it first, Jan said, not looking forward to the prospect. Whatever had happened was not going to be pretty.

No, I closer. I go first, okay?

If you wish, but please be careful, Ablakan. Much as she wanted to, Jan knew she must temporarily break contact. Otherwise, he would just pick up on her, instead of on – whoever.

During the silence that followed, Tom reached over to give her hand a reassuring squeeze, mouthing ‘I love you’.

I love you, too, Jan said. She winced as she caught sight of herself in the antique mirror on the opposite wall. The fear she felt for an unknown being was starkly etched on her face. Not wanting Tom to know how badly it was affecting her, Jan straightened her five-foot-one-inch frame. She had been hunched over in a subconscious effort to protect herself – from what, she didn’t know. At the moment, she looked every one of her 54 years, from the graying hair to the tiny lines at the corners of her mouth. But right now, Jan didn’t care. She might have just heard some poor soul’s dying cry.

Ablakan’s thought presence reappeared beside hers. Mind busy, not asleep, not awake. Body quiet, he reported.

He’s alive! Fleetingly, she wondered how she knew the alien was male.

That’s a start. Tom gave her a faint smile of encouragement.

She asked Ablakan, Do you mean that he’s unconscious? She transmitted an image of a head hitting the ground, then the body lying motionless but still breathing.

Yes. Hurt.

Could you see him?

No. Just feel. Fall hit hard, maybe. Jan look now?

I will.

Jan composed herself to change focus, less afraid now of what she might find. At least the person wasn’t dead. She followed the ‘line’ she had been given. Unlike contact with Ablakan, in which mental joining was immediate, Jan had to sense her way along. She had no way of knowing how far she had to go, or how far she had gone.

Come on, she urged. Just a little hint. Jan cast around until, quite suddenly, she felt his presence. Unaware he was, but beneath strained a consciousness roiling with fear and pain; a nightmare afraid to awaken and find it all true.

Snippets of the crash flashed in her mind’s eye, then blinked off moments later. She ‘saw’ his hands fighting the frozen controls, the planetoid’s surface hurtling towards the capsule’s nose, the explosion of light and heat and pain, then blackness. The images repeated again and again, the being’s subconscious locked in an internal loop.

Caught up in the horror of his situation, Jan tried to think of some way to help. She couldn’t just leave him like this, but what could she possibly do? Abruptly, Ablakan parked his focus beside hers. Jan could have hugged him.

We tell him he not alone? I do first, Ablakan said, not waiting for an answer.

The crash images slowly faded as Ablakan poured in calm and reassurance. Even unconscious, the injured being responded with a flicker of hope. Surely that was a good sign.

Now you, Ablakan said.

Jan flushed. She’d been so caught up in what he was doing, she hadn’t thought out what to say, or even how to project to the alien.

Mind open. Just put in, Ablakan instructed.

Cautiously at first, then with more confidence, Jan implanted an image of herself. As yet, she had no picture of the being, save of his arms and hands as they wrestled with the malfunctioning controls. Allowing her feelings to flow through, Jan mentally took one hand and held it between hers, then pictured Ablakan beside her. She surrounded the alien with a feeling of well-being and friendship before withdrawing.

He sleeps better, the boy reported. I cut mind, keep open with him.

You can do that? Split your focus, I mean?

Easy, like English, Ablakan teased. You tire; you rest now. We talk when he awake?

Good idea. That took it right out of me, Jan realized. Thank you, my friend. Please let me know the minute you feel a change.

I do. And with that, Ablakan was gone.

Jan opened her eyes to find Tom leaning forward in his chair, concern in every line of his face.

You okay, hon?

Jan realized her cheeks were wet with tears.

Yeah, I’m fine. The words came out in a dry croak.

Tom gestured for her to stay put. Don’t try to talk. I’ll be right back. He disappeared down the hallway, and returned less than a minute later with a large glass of juice.

Jan took small sips, and let the cool fluid trickle down her throat.

Better? Tom was still watching her closely.

Much. And her voice sounded it, too. Thanks.

You found him, then?

Yes, poor thing. Between sips, Jan described the encounter and Ablakan’s timely intervention.

Tom nodded. I saw you stiffen and your face go white, and then you started to weep. I didn’t know what to do, so I held you and worked like the dickens to get through to Ablakan, to let him know you needed help. I guess I succeeded. He tried to look humble, and failed.

You’re remarkable, you know that? Jan stretched upward to kiss him.

Mmmm. Remind me to be remarkable more often. His expression sobered. So, what happened then?

We both gave him a message that we were there, in mind anyway, and that somehow we’d try to help. Jan felt the fear come flooding back. But how? We don’t have the technology, and neither does Shalaii. Unless his own people can rescue him, he’s as good as dead. Tears welled up in her eyes again. She did not want the alien to die.

I know. Tom drew her to him again. But if he does survive, we’ll give it everything we’ve got.

Which is what?

I’ve no idea. But as my dad used to say, when the need is great, even if you don’t know enough, you somehow find a way.

CHAPTER 2

Amazing how refreshing juice is, Jan thought. For some reason, it made her feel more optimistic. It was nearing lunchtime. Neither of them was hungry, but Tom insisted they have a bite.

It’ll be a long day, he predicted.

As she perched on a kitchen stool, Jan watched her husband deftly prepare a salad for them. The gray in his hair reinforced the air of intelligence so obvious to her in his eyes. Intelligence and resourcefulness, she amended, marveling at how he had contacted Ablakan. What had he said? ‘When the need is great, you find a way.’ If the stranded alien survived, they would sure be putting that one to the test. She wondered if whatever communication equipment he might have had with him would still be intact. Or maybe he had an emergency transponder, like planes do.

His mind moves, Ablakan stated without preamble.

I’m on my way. Jan hopped off the stool. Ablakan says the alien is starting to come around.

You get going. I’ll be right there. Tom pulled out a box of plastic wrap.

Jan sprinted for the Reading Room and plopped herself down in her chair. Almost immediately, she felt her eyelids flicker as her mind sought out the stranded being. She was marginally aware of Tom easing himself onto his chair, and of the pen she held poised above the notebook.

Jan’s heart went out to the castaway as he struggled to regain consciousness. Disoriented, he at first did not notice Jan and Ablakan’s mental presence. But as memory of the crash flooded back, he panicked. That was when his telepathic visitors make their presence known.

Thelqtouweht ertuwoty stqhei? he shouted.

Easy, fella, Jan urged, taken aback by the force of his reaction. Once again, it was Ablakan who poured in a sense of calmness and safety. Fear downgraded to suspicion, and finally blossomed into wild hope.

Tehoqtewt qou fjaytupoqe? he begged.

Though of course Ablakan couldn’t see it, Jan made an open-handed gesture. You’re better at images. Can you find out his status?

Status?

If he’s hurt, if he has a way to contact his people – that sort of thing.

Ablakan projected a nod. Okay. Will take time. You listen through me, yes?

Yes, I will. Jan carefully withdrew from the alien’s mind to moor her focus beside the Shalaian’s. Funny, she realized, I don’t think of Ablakan as an alien any more.

There began an exchange of images that frankly astonished her. Both Ablakan and the being (his name was Moohri) ‘think-talked’ at a rate she could never have matched. Only by concentrating mightily was she able to glean a sense of what topic was being covered. It’s we who must seem like children to Ablakan, she thought ruefully.

Her mind must have wandered, for she found Ablakan describing how they had met. By then, Moohri had been told, as gently as possible, that neither Shalaii nor Earth had the technology to rescue him. Jan was almost reduced to tears again, as she felt Moohri face the realization that he was truly, hopelessly marooned.

I will ask why fall, Ablakan said to Jan. Maybe way to help.

A long visual conversation flashed by her mind’s eye, and presently Ablakan broke off to translate the images for Jan.

The space department on Moohri’s planet, Orowa, had recently completed its first unmanned voyage around their furthest moon, Shyr. The moon had an atmosphere and water, and was widely forested. As head of the agency, Moohri had undergone rigorous training to become their first astronaut. His mission was to slingshot around Shyr and to record as much information as possible before returning home to splash down in the ocean.

All had gone perfectly, from liftoff to trajectory towards Shyr. The flight was so uneventful that Moohri had felt let down somehow.

But as he hit the moon's gravitational well, the thruster rockets he deployed failed to fire. Nothing he tried would bring them to life. When the time by which they had to fire was past, he reached for the safety-off lever, to ensure they would not catch. If Shyr’s gravity swung him around to the other side, facing towards home, and if he could then get the rockets to fire, he might still have a chance. He pushed the safety-off lever, only to have the thrusters burst into full power and catapult him away from Shyr. He could only guess that some techno had wired the controls backwards.

Now he had no way to return home. Even voice contact was denied him, for his angle of departure kept Shyr between him and Orowa until long past the transmitter’s limited range.

Moohri had reviewed his situation, praying it wasn’t as hopeless as it seemed. His capsule was not equipped to land. Its steering mechanism was more of an afterthought, because steering was not part of the mission. A prototype, it represented the pinnacle of Orowan space technology. They had nothing to send out after him. He was on his own. His only chance lay in the remote possibility of finding a habitable planet before he ran out of oxygen. Moohri used the thrusters to reach maximum speed, then cut them to conserve whatever fuel was left.

He supposed he should be delighted to have found someplace to land, the odds against being what they were. On the thirteenth day, out of food and water and with oxygen reserves almost depleted, Moohri spotted an atmosphered planetoid off to his right. Rapid calculations confirmed he would pass close enough to have a shot at it, if there was enough fuel left in the thrusters. He had no way to check the composition of the atmosphere or ocean. For all he knew, he would be plunging into an acid sea.

With this his only choice, Moohri turned towards it. He dove in, thrusters at maximum, till he felt the capsule hit the atmosphere. He fought the controls to increase the angle, but they chose that moment to seize up. Now at the mercy of his fates, he could only watch helplessly.

The capsule arrowed into a bog, but it felt like hitting rock. The hatch was ripped off its fastenings and Moohri’s restraints snapped. As he hit the controls, his right shoulder was pulled from its socket.

That must have been when he screamed, Jan surmised. At least, he doesn’t sound too badly hurt. Ablakan, how many legs does Moohri have? Is he able to get up and move about? Can he leave the capsule?

I ask. Rapid-fire visuals flashed in Jan’s mind, then Ablakan reported, Two arms, two legs. Moohri can walk. Capsule is broken. He will check water, plants. Air okay, heat okay.

How is his shoulder?

Moohri says shoulder is big, hurts.

Is it still out of place?

There was a brief pause. Go out, go in, he said.

Good. What about his ship? Is there anything in it he can use?

Seconds passed. Some little things, not much.

A long shot occurred to her. Your people don’t know how to teleport, do they?

Teleport?

Move people or things from one place to another with their mind. Jan flushed, feeling foolish even mentioning it.

Ablakan perked up noticeably. No. Your people do?

I don’t think so. Although, I have heard stories of people teleporting spontaneously – uh, without meaning to – when something terrible was happening.

This terrible. You can teleport?

Jan’s color deepened, realizing Tom would be reading this. I don’t know how true those stories were. It may not even be possible.

Moohri will check new place. I check with Moohri later. I go do Learn-more work. Jan go eat. Body makes sounds.

Jan shook her head in amazement. He didn’t miss much. When you’re finished, Ablakan, can you ask him to give you a visual – um, a mental picture – of himself, his capsule inside and out, and anything else he can tell us about the planetoid he’s on. You never know what details might be useful.

I ask. Then we think, maybe find something.

We’ll sure try. Jan signed off and returned her focus ‘home’. Tom was staring at her, eager for an update. Jan glanced at the page in front of her. She had not recorded a single word.

Oops. Sorry, hon. I’ll fill you in while I eat. I’m famished, for some reason. Her stomach rumbled agreement. Making a mental note to write down the details while they were fresh in her mind, Jan made a beeline for the refrigerator.

* * *

Eating triggered an unexpected side effect. No sooner had Jan stacked the dishwasher than Tom noticed her eyelids begin to droop. Despite her protests, Tom soon had her snuggled beneath the covers. She was asleep in moments.

Sweet dreams, Tom whispered. He turned off the ringer on the phone beside the bed before tiptoeing out of the room and easing the door shut behind him.

He paused briefly. Never much of a risk-taker, what he had in mind fairly made his skin crawl. And it would have to be played just right.

Tom headed for the kitchen phone and dialed a number from memory. Soon his old boss was on the line.

Tom, how are you doing? Young Rick Mallory’s jovial manner erased the age difference between them, as it always had. I thought you’d forgotten us slaves.

No, I think of you every time I cash my pension cheque.

Mallory groaned eloquently. And me still decades from retirement! How’s the missus?

Fine, great. In a way, that’s why I’m calling. I need a favor. Do you still play poker with that fellow from NASA? Tom frowned in annoyance. Real smooth intro, he chided himself.

Jack Foxworth? Occasionally, why? You joining the space race?

Tom winced. That hit too close to the mark. No, but I do need to talk to him, if you can arrange it.

I suppose so. Seen a UFO, have you?

No, but something has come up, and it’s time-sensitive. You wouldn’t have his number handy, would you?

Mallory remarked, You really do have a bug in your craw! There was a lengthy delay. Okay, I’ve reached him a couple of times at this number.

Tom scribbled it down, as his former boss started to backpedal. I can’t promise he’ll talk to you. As it is, he’ll be sore at me for giving out his work number, so this better be important. Say, you’re not writing a book or something?

No, nothing like that. I owe you dinner. You and Jacklynne. I’ll brief you as soon as I can. Don’t be too hard on the crew. And Rick – thanks. He hung up before Mallory could ask any more awkward questions.

The number he’d been given rang twice before it was answered. The girl sounded young but efficient. She took his message, and assured him Mr. Foxworth would call him back in a short while. All Tom could do now was wait and hope he wasn’t making a big mistake. He had no desire to let official types know what had been going on in their little hilltop retreat.

They had chosen the two-bedroom rancher in Maine for their retirement home, with its flowerbeds and open skies, mostly to let Tom fulfill his lifelong dream of having a small observatory. He had converted the loft into a dome for that very purpose.

Tom had thought it fitting that Jan have a secluded spot of her own to pursue her hobby – psychic skills development. Which was how the den ended up being repurposed as what she euphemistically dubbed the ‘Reading Room’.

His woolgathering was cut short by the phone. Jack Foxworth’s voice was pleasant but neutral.

Good day, sir, Tom began, as he perched on the edge of the counter. Thanks for returning my call. I had to practically mortgage my soul to Rick Mallory – he was my boss – to get your number, but as I told him, time is critical. I just need to know how close to light-speed our present spacecraft can attain.

You a reporter? Foxworth’s tone instantly had an edge to it.

No, sir, and I’m not writing a book either. I just need to know how long it would take our fastest ship to go 117 light-years.

A snort greeted that statement. You’re kidding, right? Rick put you up to this?

No, he didn’t. Look, I know how it sounds, but a rough estimate is all I need.

Foxworth grunted. You probably heard about that new propulsion system we’ve been working on with the Russians, the Brits and the French. It’s too early to tell if it’ll even work, but the press have been calling it a done deal. Don’t you believe it.

Theoretically, though. If it were successful, how long would it take to go 117 light-years at maximum speed?

Foxworth sighed. I’ll have to work it out. I’d really like to know what this is about first. They don’t pay me to sit around answering hypothetical questions over the phone.

I wish I could explain, sir, I really do. But I just need that one question answered. I could call back in a while, if it suits you.

We’re not that broke ­– yet. I’ll get back to you. He hung up before Tom could thank him.

Tom sighed. He’d almost forgotten what a trial it was, dealing with scientists. You were one, too, he reminded himself. Tom frowned, wondering if he had ever grilled callers who requested information.

With nothing to do but wait – again – Tom went to check on Jan. She was sleeping soundly, her breathing slow and regular. Satisfied, he returned to the kitchen and turned his attention to Moohri’s plight. No matter how he looked at it, the prospects were grim. He went over what little he knew of space travel. His thoughts were still casting about dispiritedly when the phone rang. He grabbed it.

Hello?

Mr. Brody? Jack Foxworth. I’ve got your answer, for what it’s worth. Even with the new propulsion system, assuming it got built and worked properly, you’re still looking at around 700 years. Obviously, we’d be talking cryogenics or a generational ship which, incidentally, we don’t have and aren’t likely to have for a long time, if ever.

Tom’s shoulders drooped. That’s about what I figured. Thanks for indulging me, sir.

Okay, now why don’t you tell me why you wanted to know?

It was just a long shot. Sorry I bothered you. And please don’t blame Rick. I really did twist his arm.

Yeah, well, after we talked I gave Ricky-boy a call. He assured me you had your head on straight – or did while you worked for him. Somehow I don’t think you’re the kind of guy to cry ‘wolf’, Tom.

So it was ‘Tom’ now. Red flags sprouted like weeds in Tom’s mind.

I figure you’re onto something you want to keep pretty close to your chest, am I right? If you’ll forgive the cliché, you don’t have to be a rocket scientist to come up with an idea we can use. Why don’t you run it by me, let me decide if it has merit? Foxworth was speaking quickly, as though afraid Tom would hang up, which was exactly what Tom wanted to do.

Hearing the eagerness in Foxworth’s voice, Tom hesitated a long minute. He could either come up with some cockamame notion to satisfy Foxworth or enlist his help. The former was by far the safest, and probably wisest, plan. But Tom knew in his heart they had no chance of saving Moohri on their own. All he could hope was that they wouldn’t pay too dearly for his decision.

You still there? Foxworth asked.

Yes. I was just thinking.

And?

Tom inhaled deeply. Before I tell you . . . what’s your title? How much of the whole space travel picture do you know? First rule is, know who you’re dealing with, Tom remembered.

Foxworth’s voice turned frosty. I know enough not to answer a question like that over the phone. Look, Tom, I’ve played straight with you, and you know I didn’t have to. Now it’s your turn.

Tom inhaled deeply. Alright – Jack – but this has to stay between us, for the time being.

"What does?"

A crashed alien. That’s all I can tell you now.

Where? At your place? Is he alive?

Tom’s grip on the phone tightened in alarm. "Not so loud! Is there any way you can come out here on the q.t.? I know it’s asking a lot, but a life is riding on this."

Foxworth hesitated, but not for long. Yeah, I’ve got some vacation left. But if this is a wild goose chase, you’re gonna pay for a lot more than my plane ticket, buddy.

Look, I can understand your skepticism. Hell, I was a scientist, too. But think what my wife and I are risking here. You know better than I what happens to people who become of interest to ‘officialdom’. If you want in on this, you’ve got to come here, alone and soon.

Alright, how do I get there?

Tom felt almost weak-kneed with relief. He gave Jack directions from the airport to the village, three miles from their house.

It’s a bit hard to find, Tom lied. I’ll meet you at the gas station. We only have the one. It’s at the light on the main strip. You can’t miss it.

This would give Tom a chance to size him up before bringing him home. But so far he’d been impressed by Jack’s forthrightness, and he had always considered himself a good judge of character. If Jack could be convinced of the existence of Ablakan and Moohri, he might just be the ally they needed.

For the first time since Jan had her emergency appendectomy, Tom paced the floor.

CHAPTER 3

Men in space suits were walking on the moon, looking for something. They heard a terrible cry and went rushing off in all directions. Then someone was knocking at a door. But there were no doors on the moon. The cry came again, but this time it seemed further away, and again the men searched in vain for the source.

Knock, knock.

Would someone please answer the door!

Jan sat up, still dull with sleep. Come in. No one entered. Tom, it’s okay. I’m awake.

Then she heard the knocking again, inside her head, and understood. Ablakan was calling.

Jan sleeps. Sorry. Moohri checked new place. Enough drinkwater, no food.

That brought her to full wakefulness. Did he say how long since he last ate? And how long he can survive without food?

He ate little food a day for 10 of your days, now no food for two days. Needs food before two tens and five days to stay