Book 1 Flight of the Armada Chapter 9 Part 1

The ground was green with grass and flowers were coming out all around the edges of the house. Stuart went to Washington before dawn, to a meeting Michael arranged with a congressman. Glendon was at the Gentry’s store and Darien visited the Martins. Brent was searching the Pacific Ocean for uninhabited islands.

Carrol opened her bedroom window and experienced a rush of spring fever. The balmy breeze blew in through the screen. She went downstairs and out to the barn, where Gareth put the finishing touches on a two-seater.

"It is almost done," he told her.

"Good," she said, "I want to help test it."

"Get in, then, and we will fly." She jumped in the back seat, and he sat in front at the controls. They flew out the doors of the barn easily; if they turned sideways, they could have only used one door. They flew low to the ground, only a few feet from the ground. Taking the craft further back into the secluded pastureland behind the ranch, they tested the controls, the roll, the pitch, the yaw. Gareth put the ship down next to a low dip in the middle of a clearing and got out to inspect the undercarriage.

"We will take it out for speed at night," he told her as she got out to join him. "It seems to be holding together.”

"It is wonderful how you can craft this together so cleverly," she marveled.

"But it is Earthian steel," he said with regret. "I wish I had some Pleonian steel or could successfully cut down a scout ship for it without taking all year."

"You are too hard on yourself," Carrol told him. "You have done well." She peered up at the bright blue sky, and the puffy white clouds overhead. "How grand to fly on a day like this, free to journey as we pleased!"

"It would be," he agreed. Satisfied with the reassurance that the ship was in good shape, Gareth turned his attention to her. Her hair was loose, the way he always liked it, and she wore Earthian clothes, slacks and a light top. The sun warmed the day well and the breeze was invigorating but not at all chilly. The fact that they were alone together was not lost on either.

"Oh, I wish we were back at the ranch house," she said as she put her arms around his neck. "I have some literature there." He laughed and hugged her tightly.

"'My glorious thrill, my unending joy, is found in the fulfillment of my wishes and wants, lost in the embrace of you.'" he quoted, from the Vita Kanerra.

" 'What passion in your eyes'," she countered, from the Tarinade, " 'That undress me with a thought'."

For a moment, they were quiet. Then Gareth said plaintively, "I want you, Carrol." It was the first time he called her by her given name directly, and the sound of his voice caressing her name touched her heart more deeply than she ever dreamed.

"I want you, Gareth," she replied.

They slowly and deliberately undressed each other in the small dip in the field. He laid his shirt out on the ground, and she placed her top next to his. She ran her hands over his bare chest, and he shook in anticipation. "For the life of me, I cannot recall another single word from either book," he whispered as he gathered her in his arms.

"Then we will need to write a new verse," she suggested.

They lay together on their discarded clothing. Gareth and Carrol made love under the sunny skies of Earth, free from the bounds and dictates of bishops and Elders and royal edicts. Carrol discovered how absolutely right the rumors in the Standard had been about Gareth being the right man for such duty. As for Gareth, he offered this wonderful woman all his passion, and received in kind the sort of joy and pleasure he craved.

It was late afternoon when they returned to the ranch, after they carefully tucked their shirttails into their trousers and assured everything properly fastened. They could not remove the smiles from their faces or the happy satisfied glow from their expressions. They sat on the front porch swing with a close hold on each other.

"Your Nibs," he said at length, "I can avert my gaze and I can hold my speech and I can take cold baths to ease the heat of my longing, but I doubt I will ever be able to keep in what I feel for you. It has already been an unspoken fact among us all."

"I cannot bear to hide another secret," she told him. "It is a waste of time to deny what we feel. I am happy to be in your arms, Gareth, and there is nowhere else I would rather be." She nestled against him.

"You feel good," he murmured to her. A familiar white truck came down the road and turned in at the driveway. Neither lover moved from their comfortable and loving embrace. Glendon parked the truck and leaped out of the cab with a bag of groceries. As he approached the porch, he slowed with each step until he saw that they were not changing their positions.

"What are you two doing?" he sighed. "You know the rule."

"The rule be damned," Carrol told him evenly. "There is no shame in an embrace; no wrong in honesty."

Glendon blinked in surprise. He of course had no idea what transpired, although he was beginning to get a fairly good idea. "You place me in an uncomfortable position. Your father's wishes are clear."

"My father told me to be happy, and I am," Carrol stated.

"He told me to be worthy of her," Gareth said.

"And he is," Carrol added. Glendon shook his head helplessly. "Glendon, you have been exemplary in your duties as a Naradi but for the love of God, can you now simply understand?" Carrol pleaded.

Glendon looked at her face, then at Gareth's. The strain was gone from his longtime friend's face, and from the way his royal charge gazed at Gareth, Glendon knew that no Naradi could hope to stand between them now.

"There is no wrong in honesty, I suppose," Glendon finally sighed, and came up the steps. "Any word from Stuart?"

"No," Gareth told him. "Perhaps it is a good sign."

Lloyd Martin's pickup dropped Darien off at the end of the driveway, and the prince walked up the drive, whistling an unfamiliar tune. It was unfamiliar chiefly because Darien was not musical enough to always keep it in the proper key. He saw the couple on the porch swing and whistled notes of surprise and daring.

"And what say you, on this lovely day?" Darien's voice boomed out. "Do I have a fighter ship?"

"After a fashion," Gareth said. "There is still a little work that needs to be done."

"Um hm. And do I have a fighter sister?" he teased.

"Oh, I can fight," Carrol replied. "I simply choose not to, not anymore."

"No?" Darien asked, and leaned against a porch post. "Then what do you choose to do, instead?" he challenged saucily.

"To love my heart’s choice," she answered calmly.

Darien's eyebrows shot up high at her bald confession.

Glendon grinned and shook his head. Now that he surrendered his own guardian position, it amused him to see not even Darien believed that Carrol could out-Darien, Darien. Gareth, too, turned to stare at her. He could not believe her bold words either, but he hoped he had heard them. She kissed him in front of her brother and Glendon.

"And what say you, Gareth?" Darien asked, hardly able to ask.

"I would never think of disappointing Her Nibs," Gareth said, and boldly returned the kiss.

Glendon groaned. "All we need is for Stuart to come home and listen to the explosion."

"There woe not be an explosion from Stuart!" Darien laughed, still unable to accept the contraction won’t. "He may even wonder how he might best convince that chill woman he married to gain inspiration from these two."

When Stuart returned, it was evening time and the night’s meal was served. They greeted him enthusiastically, but their enthusiasm waned at the look on his face. There was no anger or anxiety, just an impassive expression that did not change. He shook his head when they asked about Washington and told them they would discuss it all later. During the ensuing meal he ate without comment, answering only with a brief “let me eat first.”

When dinner was over Stuart volunteered to clean up, even though it was Carrol’s turn. He gently shooed her out of the kitchen and did his task with a great deal of silent contemplation.

At last, he emerged from the kitchen and sat in the living room with the other four. Darien cut to the chase. “What happened today, Stuart? What has brought this blue mood to our happy brother and leader?”

Stuart sat still for a moment, his elbows on the arms of the chair. His hands met at the fingertips, and he studied the tips as if with great interest. Then he spoke.

“This blue mood will pass. But first, how was the day here? Anything interesting happen?” he asked. One glance at their faces told him a great deal. Darien’s mouth twisted into a saucy smile, and Glendon preferred to look anywhere except at Stuart. Gareth straightened slightly and took a deep breath, and Carrol tried hard to look Stuart steadily in the eye.

“The events of our day can wait,” she told Stuart. “It would seem your day is the more pressing.”

“Whatever may have transpired here today must not be much more than of personal anecdote,” Stuart suggested. Gareth nodded, along with the others. “Is it a good thing?” Stuart asked directly to Gareth.

“Yes,” Gareth replied without hesitation. “We believe that it is.”

“Then it can wait. I can use happy tidings once my tale is told. Now I will tell you a tale of the day’s events, but I ask that you listen and not ask questions until I am through,” he said quietly.

They all solemnly agreed, even Darien. This was not the sunny Crown Prince Stuart, and they were all concerned. He cleared his throat and began his story.

Stuart tried for months to arrange a meeting with President Kennedy. He could not get past the layers of advisors and aides without revealing his true nature, and he did not want to expose his people to so many so soon. In Stuart's mind, the United States president was the same as a king, and King Lycasis of Thuringa was much more receptive to unusual matters than his often-unsympathetic advisors. He searched for another way.

Michael heard of a young congressman, Anthony Price, who was interested in space exploration and was on the committee which funded the National Aeronautics and Space Administration. He was reputed to have an open mind and a friendly disposition, so Michael arranged an introduction for Stuart. NASA would be the most logical way to present the Thuringi to the government and the world.

The congressman was held over in another meeting and asked to talk to them over lunch. They met him in a Georgetown restaurant. Congressman Anthony Price was an intelligent, curious man in his mid thirties who listened intently as Michael and then Stuart carefully laid out the details of their visit.

“I met young Stuart here by accident when the ship he flew unexpectedly came out of the clouds and into the path of my car. I swerved off the road and he saved my life. Then as I got to know him and his companions, I came to realize how fortunate I really was. The technology Stuart and his friends possess is beyond anything we have here in America, or anything on Earth. You see... Prince Stuart is from another world.”

“Uh huh.” The congressman was as skeptical as Michael warned Stuart he might be.

“We are not concerned whether you believe us or not; eventually you will when the rest of our ships arrive," the Thuringa prince explained. "But please know that we have no intention of bringing harm or hardship to any of your people. We only need a place to rest and recover our health after our long flight, and then we will be on our way again. This is not our ultimate destination.”

“And just what is?” Anthony Price asked as he absently stirred his drink.

“A world far into the unknown area beyond this one. Your world is past the edge of the territory of our Known Worlds, and no one has explored this far with any serious intent.”

“And just why are you going there?”

“Our world was destroyed by a race who has harbored a long and needless resentment toward us. We know the target world is uninhabited and we explored it briefly once, but we cannot travel the quickest route there because our ships are too fragile for the journey. That is why we need to rest on your world. We need the sponsorship of your president and his council and hope perhaps you will guide us to that end.”

Stuart saw the bored lift of an eyebrow and the raised bottom lip of a man prepared to brush off an imaginative but time-wasting story. In desperation Stuart pulled off his dark glasses and looked the congressman in the eye. “Please, Lord Price. We came here to establish proper diplomatic relations, but I realize that your world does not take space travel seriously. You believe it the stuff of fantasy and…and poorly made films. Yet your own country is in a race to go into space. Is it beyond your belief that other worlds might not also exist, and also have such dreams in mind? That such dreams have come true and have been in place for centuries? Is it easier to believe that Earthian humans descended from related mammals, or that life can only be found on this one planet because its inhabitants declared it so?"

"Well…" Anthony Price sat up. Come to think of it, the boy made sense and besides, Anthony never saw eyes like that before. "And you only need a place to rest, eh? Just how big a place, what did you have in mind?"

"We have three large general population ships, one oceanic ship, one for our botanicals, one for our surviving creatures, a medical ship, several battleships and cruisers, a few hundred fighters, and nearly forty thousand people. We have lived in our ships for the last ten years; any amount of space as could be spared would be welcome. We only need a chance to repair and improve our ships for the rest of the journey, and perhaps improve the health of the populace with some fresh air and sunshine and some hearty meals of fresh vegetables and fruit. We have the kind of technology your people seek. Perhaps there could be an exchange."

The more he heard, the more excited the congressman became. It was not an impossible claim, as it might have been if Stuart named some fantastic number of survivors and boasted of thousands of ships at his command. It was the story of a beleaguered nation under fire with the sort of needs one might expect of nomads fleeing for their lives.

When Stuart produced a small rectangle the size of a deck of cards, Anthony did not know what to expect. He saw a clear crisp picture of a beautiful sunny blonde woman and a boy on the small deck-sized screen. The small screen alone was a revelation of technology unknown to him. With a press of a button, the screen displayed a triangular-shaped aircraft the like of which Anthony Price never saw before, not even of the experimental variety. More and more pictures were shown on that small screen, each one with more exotic, unearthly scenes than the next. There was something about the casual way the people in the background stood and the gorgeously appointed details in the pictures that told him that this was not the product of Hollywood or some advertising agency.

In close quarters, little details about the Thuringi were more noticeable than at first: Stuart Phillipi had no hair other than on his head, his eyebrows, and eyelashes. There was not even hair on the back of his hands or on his arms. He looked like a teenager but even at that, his face did not even bear any 'peach fuzz'. He had smooth skin with small pores and no indication of follicles. His eyes were undoubtedly naturally yellow and not the product of colored lens. When he spoke, it was not always in sync with the way his mouth moved. Most of the words were but there were a few more complex words or phrases where the two did not match. He noticed the small cord along Stuart's jaw.

After lunch Anthony and Michael followed Stuart to his ship. Here was something Anthony could touch, something tangible: irrefutable fact. Stuart let him look the ship over thoroughly and then took him for a quick trip around the world. As they reached the upper atmosphere of Earth and orbited, the congressman had to pinch himself to make certain this was more than an elaborate dream. It was real.

Congressman Price not only believed Stuart; he was enthusiastic about enlisting support for the Thuringi cause. Michael cautioned him to use discretion when approaching these scientists. Anthony assured him he would begin with theoretical scenarios at first in order not to be viewed as a “nut case” himself.

He told Stuart and Michael that as soon as he could arrange a meeting, he would let them know. The best way to garner the president's attention and prove who he was would be to impress the scientists and engineers behind the president's pet project. Many factions of the government would be interested in opening diplomatic channels with the Thuringi, especially the Air Force.

Michael was suddenly uncomfortable at the mention of the Air Force and asked they be left out of the loop.

"Well, I don't know why not," the congressman said. "After all, the Air Force and his Air Command could share helpful information with one another, a sort of arms trade deal. Let me see what I can do. I'll start with the scientists but one of them might contact the Air Force anyway. These guys know funding and how to get it, and I can't very well control that without sounding suspicious, myself."

Stuart could not dictate terms at that point and did not argue. He took Michael back to Boston. On the way, he asked the Earthian man what troubled him so.

“I wish I could say, Stuart, I really do,” Michael told him, “I do not have a problem with Anthony Price but frankly, I do not trust the Army or Air Force or Navy any further than I could throw them where it concerns you Thuringi, and I have no concrete reason.” Michael drew a breath, and blurted out, “Contri faldo.”

“He said what?” the other scouts exclaimed at home that night when Stuart told them.

“He said, ‘contri faldo’. I heard it as plainly as I am saying it to you,” Stuart said. “Although how Michael Sheldon could have possibly overheard that phrase, or figured it out from talking to us, I do not know. But he said, contri faldo - ‘deception with a smiling face’. I asked him if he knew what that meant. He said it sounds like Italian, but he did not know why he said it, he does not understand Italian.”

“What does it mean in Italian?” Carrol asked.

“It means nothing, as far as I know,” Stuart said, “but I know what it means in Sturbin.”

There were several instances of cross-reference between the Known Worlds and Earthian dialects: some odd, some amusing. This, however, was not the kind of coincidence that could be tossed away. Michael once told them he did not know many foreign Earthian terms except what he found on menus, and this was certainly not the case. If he had used a Thuringi term for 'deception with a smiling face', it would not have been as startling as a phrase from a world whose language he did not know at all. It was as dire a warning as there could be.

“I will alert Brent to double his efforts in locating an island upon which to settle New Thuringa,” Stuart told them. “We may need to go swiftly if there is deception in the air.”

“Deception from Michael?” Glendon asked in dismay. “Or from this congressman?”

“Not from Michael,” Stuart said, “and the congressman seems ready and eager to help us, but one can never truly know the hearts of acquaintances. Now then,” he said, brightening at last, “there was a mention of good tidings earlier. What is it?”

Gareth resolutely kept his mouth shut. With his abysmal way of speaking, he would only make a mess of it. Glendon and Darien looked at each other, also uncertain of what to say and how to go about it.

But Carrol knew what to do. Catching Stuart’s eye, she took Gareth’s hand in hers and smiled at her older brother.

“We are all aware of your fondness for each other,” Stuart pointed out, unimpressed.

“Then accepting the fact openly should be no large matter,” Carrol said cheerfully.

“Now, wait,” Stuart cautioned, and was suddenly aware of Darien’s nefarious grin. “What are you smirking about?” he demanded suspiciously.

“I do not think it is open for debate, Your Crown Nibs,” Darien said, borrowing from Gareth’s favorite phrase. “Our sister has made her choice, and he has made his.”

Stuart looked at Gareth, who was still silent. “You have never woven a tale of partial truths, Gareth; you have always been quite honest about everything. Tell me what this is all about,” Stuart said.

Darien and Glendon waited in curious expectation of something amazingly blunt, and they were not entirely disappointed.

“You said yourself that you were well aware of our fondness for each other,” Gareth told him plainly. “We are quite certain of that fondness ourselves and intend to continue to share it with each other. Discreetly, of course.” The last three words were the clincher.

“Dis... ah... of course,” Stuart managed. “Where were you?” he suddenly demanded of Glendon.

“At the Gentry store. Darien was in town,” Glendon said.

“We cannot be in two places at once,” Darien argued.

Stuart looked at Gareth for a long minute. If Stuart were father to a daughter, he hoped she would find someone like the man before him now, the man holding Carrol’s hand so reverently in his own.

“Nor can I,” Stuart said in reflection. “I do not believe Father has any objections in Major Sword and Fist as your suitor, Carrol. In fact, I suspect he sent you both here together to get you away from the Elders in the hope of it. His chief concern was public opinion of the Armada. Despite what we personally feel, our subjects expect our conduct to be exemplary. Here, we are not on the Armada, and I do not plan to lose any sleep over your deportment. But have a care; that which is acceptable here on Earth will be under different scrutiny among our people of the Armada. When we return, do not be too comfortable with each other.”

“Who knew that I am more at ease among Earthian ways than our own,” Gareth mused. “I promised discretion, and I will give it. And, I will begin by turning this conversation to other things, thank you,” he told them, and Stuart smiled in agreement. “Darien’s two-seater is ready for a speed-trial run. Everything else checks out.”

Darien leaped to his feet with a triumphant cry. “It will be dark within the hour. I will be more than happy to test the speed of the Naughty Boy, myself.”

“We can go find Brent Ardenne and tell him of today’s events in Washington,” Stuart suggested.

The brothers went out to test the Naughty Boy alongside the Good Lad. Glendon went upstairs with some boxes. Gareth and Carrol watched curiously as the Naradi gathered all his possessions and packed them. Finally, Carrol had to ask the obvious.

“Glendon, what are you doing?”

“I trust my instinct about Michael Sheldon. If he is uneasy about involvement with the Earthian Air Force, then I intend to gather us together on the chance that we may need to leave in a moment’s notice.”

“Do you really think it is that grave a situation?” Gareth asked.

“An Outlander who uses an obscure Sturbin phrase to explain an inexplicable feeling of dread impresses me enough to feel that it is.”

Carrol saw the point and went downstairs to pack away her research equipment, so Gareth packed up some of his tools and personal items.

“You are bitten by good fortune, Gareth,” Glendon told him as they worked. “Losing Lia Neo was the best thing that could have happened to you on many levels.”

“In retrospect of the chain of events, you are right,” Gareth said, “but winning Carrol Shanaugh is the very best.”

“Oh, winning yet! Are you that certain of her heart to claim a win?”

“Yes.” Gareth’s succinct response told Glendon enough to ask nothing more.

Brent Ardenne stood atop the Isador with his feet apart and his hands on his hips, grinning broadly at the incoming ships. The gently rocking waves of the South Pacific made the oceangoing ship bob about in the water, but Brent’s clinging bare feet held him in place firmly. He had a gloriously glowing bronze skin tone, and the sun also bleached his yellow hair almost white. He kept his hair cropped fairly short for a Thuringi, just brushing the top of his shoulders. The length was currently twisted up and held in place by a clamshell he fashioned into a hair clasp. He cut off his slacks until they were scant shorts, and shirts were things that were left inside the Isador as long as the sun shone.

Brent was once again a lord of the seas. On Thuringa he rode the waves of King Lycasis’s oceans, seeing to the well-being of fish and watermen that lived there. His intense passion for life was in concert with the restless wind and waves, and it suffered with him in the cold airless reaches of space. Now he was back in his element, and Brent Ardenne would never again willingly agree to fly the black vacuum for a long journey without it.

The ships that approached were undeniably Gareth Duncan designs, curious triangular crafts of gray metal rounded off at all edges. The wings dipped slightly down at the tips, and the nose of the ships also dipped down. They hovered just above the waves. Stuart and Darien opened their cockpits to hail him.

“Are you the Little Mermaid?” Darien called out. “Monica Martin admires your story.”

“Are you an ill-tempered reprobate who is the constant source of irritation for his long-suffering parents?” Brent called back to him. “And who is that with you, the unfortunate captive of my repressed sister?”

“I am until we return to the Armada, and I give her dancing lessons,” Stuart answered. This brought out whoops and catcalls from the other two. “How is the search for New Thuringa going, Brent?”

“I have just about narrowed it down to a select three possibilities,” Brent said. “Fresh water, out of traffic lanes and trade wind routes, and useful land mass. Why have the sons of Thuringa decided to play with their new toys and fly here to ask me what I would tell them in two days?”

Stuart came out to sit on the nose of his ship, and Darien did the same on his. This brought them within ten feet of each other. “There has been a new development which may be either a boon to us, or trouble,” Stuart told him, and repeated the story he related to the others.

When he was finished, Brent shook his head. “Amen. Michael Sheldon is a very trustworthy lad, so I share your concern about his uncertainty in the American air command. Come with me to the islands I have chosen and see what you think. There is one in particular of which I am fond, but you may find advantages in the others I do not. The sooner we get away from the mainland, the better.”

“Spoken like a true waterman,” Darien snorted.

They gave each island a brief flyover in the late afternoon of the South Pacific. One was almost entirely an atoll, much too small for the entire Armada’s compliment, but it did have a wonderful lagoon and was in a very obscure location. The second one was a bit larger, but almost entirely at just above sea level. Any storm could easily cause flooding.

They flew to the third island located along the 25th parallel south, and Darien and Stuart saw at once the potential it held. It was roughly a mile and a half wide and five miles long. A long sandy beach stretched along the western side and around the north end and down the eastern side until it narrowed at a natural arch. From there, the southern coast was rocky and jagged. The interior of the island was crowded with vegetation. At the wider southern end of the island was an extinct volcano. There were natural springs and surprisingly, little wild goats.

“We have a winning contender,” Stuart said. “What do you think, Darien?”

“I agree. Is this the one you had in mind, Brent?”

“Yes, for the fleet; but personally, I am fond of the first one of course.”

“We should claim this now as New Thuringa in the name of the king,” Stuart suggested. He and Darien landed on the beach, and Brent eased the Isador up onto the surf’s edge.

“We claim this land,” Darien shouted toward the center of the island, “in the name of King Lycasis Phillipi de Trennon, twenty-fifth king of Thuringa!”

“The Isle of New Thuringa,” Stuart shouted beside his brother. “Prepare to be settled!”

“You goats be warned,” Brent shouted beside the princes. “Lonely men approach the island!” The Phillipi brothers gave Brent twin looks of consternation.

“No wonder Aura is repressed,” Stuart told him. “You are of a peculiar bend of humor.”

“Aura is a prig with no sense of humor at all! If mine is bent, it is because it must do double duty on behalf of our generational contribution,” Brent said as he walked toward some coconut trees. "Amen!"

Early the next morning the other three Thuringi came out to the island, using the scout ship Her Nibs as their vehicle. The daytime brought out the lush beauty of the island, and Brent was able to show them all the places he thought were especially helpful. The natural arch at the southern tip of the island was a part of the rocky range to the highest point of the island. The deep waters just off that part of the island would be a good berth for the Oceanic ship Freen. A sharp ridge ran along the eastern side of the island, which rose from the flatter northern end up to the apex that commanded the southern tip near the arch. Flat space near the center of the island would serve well as a landing area for the Armada. The Quantid and the General Population Quarters ships could nestle at the base of the cliffs, which were pocked with caves. Much of the land along the northern part and on either side of the ridge was thick with jungle growth, including several pools of water.

They found skeletons of five past inhabitants on the northern tip of the island. Each Thuringi studied the camp to piece together why there were no living descendants to be found. Perhaps they were sailors whose ship foundered, since there was little evidence of useful tools settlers would bring to build a new life. One skeleton’s leg was shattered, perhaps from a fall from the high craggy cliffs or a tree, and infection surely set in beneath the ineffectual attempt to fashion a crude splint with two tree branches and some rags. Two bodies lay near each other outside a crumbling hut, and the metal weapons near their hands suggested a deadly quarrel with no winner. Inside the hut the last two bodies lay on rotting pallets of banana leaves with jugs near each.

Carrol speculated that they were ill with fever or suffered soft tissue injury, to have died in bed. Brent agreed and told his friends about the hazards of jellyfish and sea snakes. Carroll noted the skeletons were all adult males which further supported the shipwreck theory rather than settlers with families. The Thuringi gave the luckless victims proper burials and carefully burned the hut to guard against possible lingering disease. No other human remains were detected on the island. Only birds and reptiles lived there, and Glendon suggested that the goats might have been a part of the sailor’s cargo. Somehow, they made it to shore and thrived on the lush vegetation and lack of large carnivores.

The scouts each made a rough map of separate sections of the island and flew back to the Sheldon ranch for further discussion. Stuart did not want to leave the ranch unwatched for a long period of time. They put together their chartings and came up with a resultant detailed topographical map, to scale and set up in the center of the now nearly empty research parlor. Gareth found items close in scale to the Armada ships: cylindrical oat cereal boxes represented the GPQs and a small cut-down cereal box with film canisters glued to it represented the Daven Bau. These were placed in different locations on the island map, each Thuringi debating the merits and drawbacks of each placement.

King Lycasis would have the ultimate say on the placement, but he would take their suggestions into serious consideration since they were familiar with the Earthian conditions. In the meantime, this preliminary plotting would help them decide where to set up an outpost and living space. No one wanted a reprise of the five sailors’ fate.

One of the main reasons Brent chose this particular area of the Pacific to search for an island was that it was out of commercial shipping traffic. It was a shame there was no snow, he told the others, but the large island at the southern axis of the world held an incredible amount of the cold white stuff.