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Book 1 Flight of the Armada Chapter 3 Part 4

Spooky Eyes

By Jay Michael JonesPublished 3 years ago 43 min read
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Stuart obtained a pair of scissors and one Saturday evening he sat down in a kitchen chair. “If I am to contact anyone on this world, I must appear like them. Would someone shorten my hair, please.” Stuart’s long mane of hair reached down to the small of his back. In the Thuringi culture, hair was worn at least shoulder length. Short hair was found only on the young and a few exceptions like Gareth and other mechanics. No one thought it important to clip off one’s hair; trimming was often necessary but to intentionally shear one's head was a strange notion.

No one stepped forward until finally Gareth took the scissors from Stuart’s hand. “Are you certain, Stuart?” he asked. Stuart nodded. Gareth picked up a handful of hair in the back and lifted it. The others stood fascinated as they listened to the rasp as the scissors sliced into Stuart’s hair at the collar line. Gareth placed the cut lock on a nearby table, took another cut of hair, and another. Soon Stuart had a very uneven pageboy haircut. Glendon took the scissors from Gareth.

“Let me try,” he suggested, and Gareth gladly turned the duty over to him. Glendon evened up the length, but the hair was still wrong.

“It must be short, as short as... that young Kennedy chap, the president,” Stuart said.

“That short!” Glendon declared. “Your ears will show.”

“I know,” Stuart sighed. Glendon went ahead and cut more. It was an awful sound and they all cringed at it. Stuart's hair was not looking particularly good. Darien finally stopped Glendon.

“We are soldiers, not clippers,” he said. “This sort of thing needs the hands of experience.” He drove away in the truck and returned followed by Lloyd Martin and his family. The Martins were awed by the number of muscular long-haired people in the ranch house but were gracious enough not to comment. Darien’s astonishing yellow eyes were matched by Stuart’s, but the others wore blue contact lens that made their eyes bright green. The lens were not very comfortable for Carrol or Brent, but Glendon and Gareth had little problem with theirs. Monica sat nearby in a chair to watch the proceedings and her hands grasped the chair arms tightly.

“(I asked them if they knew of an experienced clipper, and the wife said she would do it for us),” Darien explained.

“(You will need to clip me, too),” Glendon told her. “(I am attracting too many odd stares in the Gentry’s store).”

“(And me),” Darien sighed. “(Damnation).” Monica giggled, and her mother quietly shushed her. Darien smiled at the little girl.

Carrol offered the Martins iced drinks as Katie set to work on Stuart’s hair. He had slipped off his Universal Translator and could not understand anything she said, so he just smiled at her. She worked quickly until Stuart sat before them all with his ear trimmed neatly around his ears and short in the back, a part to the side in front with an even cut all over. It was a very professional, businesslike look from an Earthian point of view but to his kinsmen, Stuart looked like a six-foot-seven-inch five-year-old.

“You have such nice thick hair,” Katie observed, running her fingers through it when she was done. “Lord, what some folks around here would do to have hair like this.” She looked around at the other Thuringi. “I don’t guess anyone cuts your hair where you’re from.” She patted Stuart’s shoulder to indicate she was finished with him. He got up, and Glendon sat down before Katie.

“(No),” Glendon said. “(Most of us never had need of the deed before. Only in the front, for our vision’s sake).”

Stuart repositioned the translator as he headed for the bathroom, where a mirror hung over the sink. He felt as if his head might float off his shoulders, it felt so light. “(Oh, God of All)!” they heard him exclaim. “(I am bald)!”

“(If you could, clip me a little longer),” Glendon whispered to her. He slipped off his translator with a smooth motion of his hands and none of the Martins noticed it. She smiled and whispered she would see what she could do. She cut his braid off in its entirety and fastened together the cut braid top with a rubber band to hand to him.

“Now you have a keepsake,” she told him, and Glendon took the braid and stared at it as if in shock. She did not take any more length off. She trimmed his bangs and styled the sides to cover the tops of his ears and tapered from the ears back to just above the collar. “There,” she said, pleased with the results. “You look your age now.” He looked at Carrol for confirmation. Her eyes were wide and she shrugged and repeated what Katie said, not wanting to agree or disagree. He thanked Katie and went to the bathroom.

“(I am a seven-year-old child)?” he asked when he returned.

“No,” Katie protested. “Aren’t you about nineteen?”

Glendon swallowed hard. “(Um, yes. Thank you for cutting me),” he said politely.

Stuart was back downstairs, ruefully scratching his shorn head. “(Well, it is close enough to Kennedy’s length),” he admitted.

Darien sat down heavily in front of Katie Martin. “(This is a strange event),” he muttered. “(I am losing my hair in an effort to guard against ridicule. I hate this. I hate it all).”

“I’ll try to leave you some length.”

“(It does not matter),” Darien told her. “(If my brother can bear the insult, so can I).”

“What makes it so insulting?” Lloyd asked curiously.

“(It is a child’s head of hair),” Gareth explained.

“What about you? Your hair isn’t as long as everyone else’s.”

“(I am a mechanic. I must always trim mine so it will not become entangled in my work).” Gareth’s hair came down to brush along his shoulders in back and his bangs and along the sides of his face was trimmed so he could see easier.

“(We just braid it or pull it back),” Brent explained, and privately mused, “(This way may not take so long to dry).” Katie cut Darien’s hair the same way she did Glendon. Monica approached Darien as her mother worked and patted his hand sympathetically.

“I think you look nice,” she told him.

He regarded her through half-closed eyes. “(You are a good-hearted child).” When his haircut was done, he addressed Lloyd. “(Will this suffice)?”

“Well, it’s shorter,” Lloyd said. “I don’t see why it wouldn’t.”

“Now you look handsome,” Monica whispered to him.

“(To an eight-year-old child, I am handsome),” Darien sighed.

“Anyone else?” Katie asked, holding aloft the scissors. She looked at Carrol. “Miss?”

“(No),” Gareth declared in alarm. “(Her Nibs should keep her locks).”

“(Carrol need not get a clipping),” Brent agreed.

“Long hair looks good on ladies,” Lloyd said. “And hers is so long and pretty.”

“(Carrol will not need any clip, thank you),” Stuart told Katie.

“(Good),” Carrol said with relief. “(The very sound of cutting unnerves me).”

“(Cut my hair),” Brent said, and rousted Darien out of the chair. “(I shall join my brethren into the abyss).”

“(You do not need to),” Stuart told him, although he was touched at Brent’s sentiments.

“(But I will),” Brent said. “(Besides, it will dry faster).”

She cut his hair as short as Darien’s, which exposed the diagonal gill slits on his neck under the ears. Katie said nothing but when her eyes met Brent’s, he winked at her. Her glance asked the question as her line of sight flickered over to his gill slits briefly. Too late he realized the mistake of exposing them and decided to meet it head on. He whispered, “(Magic)!” Katie managed a smile at his disarming friendliness.

Gareth looked around at all of the clipped heads of hair and nodded. “(All right),” he agreed. “(All as one).” Carrol murmured sympathetically but was pleased he joined the others.

“You won’t need much,” Katie told him. “I’ll just trim it all over.” It was much shorter all over, but his change was not as radical as the others. She noticed that Brent was the only one with diagonal slits on his neck, and that he also wore a ‘hearing aid’. When she looked at the others again, she saw that they all wore them.

“(You are very good with scissors),” Stuart told her, comforted now that he was not the only strange-looking Thuringi among them.

“Oh, I do this for a living, too,” she told him. “My main job is at the grocery store, but I work part-time at a beauty parlor.”

“(Beauty parlor)?” Darien asked, in a dreadful voice.

“I cut men’s hair, too,” she assured him.

“(Then we will happily compensate you for your work),” Stuart said, and would not hear of her protests otherwise. He paid her a hundred dollars.

“Oh, I can’t take this!” she protested. “That’s twenty dollars a head; nobody charges that much! Two dollars apiece is more than enough.”

“(This should be your free time),” Stuart told her. “(To bring you out in the night to cut off so much hair should be worthy of a bonus. We could not do it ourselves, and we would not have felt comfortable with a stranger).” The statement was a gallant one since no one except Darien had ever met her before that night.

“Well, thank you,” Katie said.

“(Will you have another drink)?” Darien asked Lloyd.

“No, we’d better go on home. It’s Monica’s bedtime. Monnie, say goodnight now.”

“Goodnight,” she told them, and squeezed Darien’s hand. “You’ll feel better when you see how handsome you look.”

“(Thank you),” Darien said, amused.

“Oh Lord, my little daughter has a crush on my buddy,” Lloyd laughed as he and his family headed for the door. “I thought it wouldn’t happen for years.”

“Daddy,” Monica protested, embarrassed. The Martins left after promising to return for a feast to be hosted by the Thuringi. Monica fell asleep on the way.

“Lloyd, how well do you know them?” Katie asked as soon as she was sure Monica was asleep.

“I know Darien better than the others. You know it’s strange about him: you can just tell he’s holding something back all the time. I’ve seen him pick up a length of chain that weighed a good hundred pounds and treat it like it was light as a jump rope. He could probably break the necks of every one of those idiots at work with just one finger, but he won’t. He doesn’t like them, but he puts up with them. Sometimes I think he’s just testing us, or maybe he’s testing himself.”

“But why?”

“I’m not sure. It’s like none of his folks ever met other people before in their lives.”

“Should we be afraid of them?” She thought of Brent’s unusual gills.

“Oh, I don’t think so. I get the feeling that they are more scared of offending us, than we should be of them.”

“What do you mean?”

Lloyd scratched his head and laughed self-consciously. “I haven’t got a good reason really. Call it a gut feeling but the more I get to know him, the more I think Darien Phillipi wouldn’t hurt his friends for anything in the world. He might not let his enemies off the hook but I don’t think we have to be afraid. They’re a lot nicer than most folks I know.”

Katie agreed. Brent did not give her any trouble at all. He was as friendly and cooperative as she ever met in a haircut client. She never before met people who all needed strange-looking hearing aids or had yellow eyes. Maybe he was like a circus freak; maybe the Thuringi were all circus freaks and did not need their differences pointed out to people like Pete any more than they already were.

“Yes, we all look so very handsome in our shorn locks,” Gareth said, ratcheting his tone of voice to a high screech he called “the Royal We” voice. It was remarkably similar to the elegant if nasally way some of the noble Elders spoke. “We are ready to take on the world now.” They laughed and cleaned up the fallen hair. Darien and Brent retained their braids as mementos, but Stuart only kept a few separate locks. He was philosophical.

“It will grow back.”

A cold front came through that night and they awoke to a chilly house. None of them said so, but the men thought their timing for losing their hair was poor indeed. Michael called that morning and suggested they arrange to get a load of firewood to stock up for the winter and went on to explain in detail how to start and keep a fire going. Glendon decided to purchase firewood from one of the store customers.

The Gentrys liked his haircut and declared he looked just like their son. The other store customers were just as positive. One woman declared, “You look like a movie star!” He took this to be a good thing, although he was uncertain why. From what he had heard, movie stars did scandalous things.

Ed Gentry had him drive the store pickup across town for some gas. Glendon caused a sensation at the pumps. Girls from the local school also gassed up their cars, and they flirted with him so outrageously he almost forgot to pay. He drove back to the store, shaken by their interest. He preferred the former disapproving looks from older people to this sudden and overt attention from the young. The girls found their way out to the feed store as did other girls from their school the next day.

“I never saw so many girls wanting to ask about the price of chicken feed before,” Ed Gentry chuckled. Neither had the girls’ parents. Many fathers bewilderingly agreed to let their daughters pick up the chicken feed or the cattle salt licks or horse tack and feed. If the girls did not live on farms, then they came by to buy sodas and hang around. They derived a special pleasure in watching Glendon load sacks of feed into truck beds or stack them neatly in the store. One bold girl asked if he was dating anyone.

“(Dating)?” he asked. He was uncertain what it meant but thought it best not to admit it. “(No).”

“Well, would you like to go see a movie at the drive-in with me Saturday?” the bold girl with dark red hair asked.

Glendon did not know how to respond. They were supposed to contact Earth people, but this sounded like an unseemly way to go about it. “(I... I have never been to a drive-in before),” he told her.

“That’s okay, you’ll like it. I know you will.”

“(I apologize but I do not think I can),” Glendon said awkwardly. “(I am too old for you).”

“I’m seventeen,” she declared. “How old are you?”

One hundred sixty-one. “(Older than that),” he answered out loud.

“Sharon!” her father bellowed from a car in the parking lot. “Quit flirting with that boy and get over here, we have livestock waiting.”

“Well, you think about it,” Sharon said, and ran off to her father’s car.

Glendon went home that day in a pensive mood. He told Stuart about his experiences. “The Gentrys seem to not mind at all; they said there are many more customers in the store than before, and that fact pleases them. But Stuart, I am a married Thuringi and these little girls do not see me that way. It is uncomfortable. I do not enjoy being rude, but I do not want to be anything worse.”

“It must be difficult to be so admired,” Stuart said with a grin. “Well, Glendon, I do not see how a simple decline of invitation could be found rude. You are not encouraging it so she can hardly fault you for honesty.”

“She is an adolescent Earthian girl,” Glendon sighed. “It is my understanding they can find fault in an Elder for anything.”

“But she does not see you as an Elder. She sees you as - what did Katie Martin say? A nineteen-year-old youth. Just show her your ring.”

Glendon was visibly relieved, and he fondly twisted the silver wedding ring on his index finger. “Yes, I shall do that.”

It did not seem to deter the girl. “How long have you been married?” she asked. “You’re even wearing it on the wrong finger! Can’t have been too long.”

“It does not matter how long,” Glendon told her. “Would you want your man to marry you and then dally with another?”

“No, I wouldn’t,” she admitted. “But... it’s not fair; you’re so cute.” She turned and walked away.

Glendon was relieved and sat down on a stack of feed sacks wearily. Dealing with Earthians could be a struggle. It was fortunate that Thuringi wore wedding rings on their fingers, as did the Borelliat. Thelans wore specifically styled earrings and the Pleonians favored small nose rings. The Sturbin did not bother with wedding rings since such were inconvenient reminders to their lovers.

For the most part, Glendon's task was easy and interesting. The Gentrys were well regarded in the county and their little store was frequented by most of the populace for one reason or another. Glendon listened in on conversations when he could and reported it all back to Stuart when he returned home. Local politics were hard to fathom since so much of it hinged on personality rather than work ethic.

He paid no attention to local gossip, but he did take note of what was considered proper behavior and what might cause a scandal. People were attracted to his looks and were charmed by his polite demeanor. No one had a bad word to say about him, except perhaps the local Romeos whose noses were out of joint by the presence of a good-looking foreigner.

Darien got another round of ribbing from the roughnecks, but it was less than he previously received. The incident in the bar and Stuart’s warning saw to that. He wore his sunglasses only occasionally at work now, and the yellow glow of his eyes kept teasing to a minimum.

Stuart took Brent back to the spot in the Caribbean where the cache of Spanish doubloons was found to gather more. They took them to Michael in Boston, and he helped sell them for cash. They gave him a generous share in it despite his initial protests. He treated them to a seafood dinner at a restaurant on Cape Cod. He was delighted to hear of their triumphs and voiced regret he could not be there.

“I wanted to come back to Oklahoma, but I had a longstanding obligation up here since last winter. I can’t just back out of it; it may lead to bigger and better things.”

“One cannot disregard a promise,” Brent said. “You should not disrupt your life simply because we wandered along.”

“We are learning on our own, with your help on the telephone,” Stuart assured him. “It teaches us to be more self-sufficient, I believe. At any rate it is the best outpost assignment I for one have ever had.”

One morning Stuart went on into the larger town nearby after Darien and Lloyd went to the oil field. The marshmallow white truck was easier to drive because of their practice, and Stuart felt comfortable with it. Gareth would start work on the smaller reconnaissance planes after Brent’s ship was completed, but they still needed ground transportation like this.

The town was like a marketplace on D'tai or Borelliat, only smaller and not as hasty. There was a warm peaceful feeling to the main street, where people greeted each other by name and were polite and friendly to strangers. He found a store with furniture in its display window and saw the beds he wanted.

The owner promised prompt delivery and wondered why this large man never took off his sunglasses. But what did he care, he told his equally mystified sales staff. "The guy just walked in and bought five beds and mattress sets and a complete living room set, all in cash. He can wear a turtle on his head and that’ll be all right with me."

Stuart drove around town a little more and returned to the store. "(We will need the cold storage unit – refrigerator? Yes)," Stuart told the manager. He arranged for that to be delivered, too. Stuart paused in another area of the store, thoughtfully looking over the televisions. Michael said they were the best way of receiving news.

"Interested in a television? We have color sets, too," the manager said.

"(I am intrigued)," Stuart told him. "(Tell me more)." The salesman jumped into his spiel, and Stuart nodded thoughtfully.

The manager and his assistants loaded a console television into the back of his truck and promised to deliver the refrigerator that day. Stuart was pleased with his purchases and drove away. This manager told his associates, "If we can keep that fellow happy, we'll have a really merry Christmas this year."

Stuart went into a supermarket and bought bags of different fruit and vegetables, a gallon of luket and more chicken and eggs. Then he drove home, careful not to let the television slide around in the back by not overreacting with the steering wheel. Gareth was immediately taken with the television and had it ready in short order, complete with the aerial out on the rooftop of the ranch house. They switched it on, and Brent adjusted the aerial until they called out that the reception was excellent. He joined them, and they stood mesmerized by the current program.

The Secret Storm, as the title proclaimed, told the tale of tawdry behavior and manipulation among Earthians in a small town.

"Why," Carrol declared, "They have lifted a page from Brent Ardenne's journal!" He swatted her in playful reproach.

Gareth turned the channel. A pretty Earthian woman was dismayed over her naughty son's dirty clothes and swore that a wonderful cleaner would brighten her day and, presumably, her clothing woes.

Gareth turned the channel again. "This is a test, only a test. For the next sixty seconds..." intoned a serious-sounding man's voice, while a high-pitched noise sounded in the background. They all covered their ears.

When it was over, Stuart picked up the television guidebook the store manager gave him. "There will be news this evening," he said. “Until then, it is different stories of amusement."

Gareth flipped the channel again and came upon another serious sounding man droning on about educational television for the public. Gareth turned the set off. "Well, at least we will be able to understand the culture better without actually getting among them at every turn."

A heavy truck came up the drive, and Stuart consulted his timepiece. "That will either be our cold storage or more comfortable furnishings." He turned to Brent. "We will need more coins to trade soon. These items demanded a good deal of scrip."

Brent smiled in anticipation. "I will take one of your ships for the task. I hope the Isador will journey to claim a great deal of them soon."

The truck delivered their furniture, and the deliverymen were astonished the customers did all the lifting and carrying themselves. "That's okay, we'll do that; it's what we're paid to do," one protested to Carrol, who smiled at him.

"(Quite all right)," she replied as she picked up an oak headboard. "(You brought it out here to us, and that was our main concern)." Before they left, one deliveryman offered Gareth a job. Gareth explained he already had more than enough work to do.

Carrol and Brent tried their hand at frying the chicken, so Stuart drove to get Glendon and Darien. Gareth put the beds together and returned downstairs.

"Stuart neglected to get bedding," he told them.

Stuart slapped his head in self-remorse when told the news upon their return. "Oh, it does not matter, Stuart," Darien declared as he threw himself on his bed in delight. "It is a soft flat surface, and I am quite willing to do without superfluous sheeting for one night."

He had never complained about his auto seat or his hammock, but his relief at having a real bed humbled Stuart. Since Darien actually complained aloud about the treatment of the oil workers, it must have been even more excruciating for him than he let on.

That evening they watched the news and an entertainment show until they voted to turn the set off. “If she is that silly and obstinate, I believe I would do more than just tell her she has some explaining to do," Glendon grumbled about a character on the popular comedy. "If he were I, I would shut the door and tell her to get herself out of her own mess."

"But then she would bellow in that maddening squall, most likely," Darien remarked. "She is perhaps a good example of why some people should never marry and procreate."

Carrol went to her bedroom and found a fresh collection of flowers in her bottle vase. She peered out into the hallway and caught Gareth as he was about to enter his room. She smiled at him, and he winked at her. It was all they conveyed, but it would have to do.

Carrol went with Stuart into town and was surprised that several people called his name and waved at him. He waved back and chuckled at her expression. "These are very nice people," he explained. "Very nice, indeed."

They purchased sheets and blankets and pillows for the beds. They went home to discover a package from Michael Sheldon. Brent was impatient to open it and told Stuart and Carrol the beds would have to wait.

Inside the package was a bulging smaller envelope and a rectangular box with two circular disks on top, connected by a flat thin strip of flexible material. A sign on one of the buttons along the top said, "Push Me" and that is what Gareth did.

"Hello there," Michael Sheldon's voice said through the speaker. "This is, um, kind of unorthodox, but I thought this would be easier for you than trying to read and translate my writing. This is a tape recorder, and I thought I ought to fill you in on some of the customs that are coming up." He went on to explain the other buttons on the machine, and Gareth pushed Stop.

"We should wait until the others are here," he suggested. "Darien complains that Michael Sheldon did not tell us everything we needed to know, and he should hear this proof that Michael is trying." Stuart agreed, and they went on about their business until Carrol fished around in the box and came up with more flat sweets.

"It is chocolate," Stuart told her. "The woman in the food store told me."

"It is good," Brent said. "I think we should plant some of it, instead of vegetable seeds in Glendon's garden."

“Aquatics,” Gareth drawled in an excellent imitation of Brigadier General Hartin Medina, an Air Command officer known for teasing Brent's father, “They could not farm their way out of a paper net.” Brent snorted in amusement.

Stuart opened the bulging envelope and pulled out a thick wad of currency. "Word!" Stuart declared. "This will be a serious venture with such an amount of Folding Coin."

When Glendon and Darien came home, they all ate a large dinner of fruit. Afterwards they enjoyed their new furnishings in the front room and listened to Michael Sheldon’s recording. He explained the seasons of the year, the holidays, the days and weeks of special note, the requirements of the government and the American monetary system. "At some point, you will need birth certificates, proof of birth. I know your mere existence should be proof enough, but the government wants proof on paper, a way to trace you. This might be difficult and possibly not what you need right now. Working usually means getting a social security card, but you have to be a citizen of the United States for that. You need to have a passport as an 'alien', a foreigner. As it is, you have no proof of who you are, so you can take one of two roads: either lie or forge false documents which I would not recommend; or the rest of you, do not get jobs."

"Too late for Darien and me," Glendon declared to the air.

"I do not recommend lying, because if you want people of Earth to believe your story about the Armada, you must not start out with an already fantastic story and then lie about something. Everything will be seen as a lie then. Just stay as out of notice as possible. If you have a chance, get a radio or television." Stuart nodded, pleased he had accomplished this already. "I can call more often now that I am in a steadier schedule. I can still answer questions you might have if I cannot be there, and you can later use it to make arrangements for meetings with people you will want to contact."

He went on to briefly describe the upcoming holidays. "In America, families often gather for a big dinner together in observation of the early settlers of this country surviving their, er, their outpost. Christmas will occur the next month, and there will have a big celebration in which people give others gifts and pray for peace on Earth. It is to celebrate the birth of Jesus I told you about. Now, you do not have to join in any of these holidays if you do not want to, but it is generally a nice gesture if you do." He continued with such thumbnail sketches throughout the year, what kinds of activities to expect and what might be expected of them.

After they listened to all of the tape Darien sat back, contented. "So, I was wrong about friend Michael. He does care to guide us in our uncertainty."

They all made their beds in a flurry of activity, especially after Brent tested a pillow against Darien's head to test its sturdiness. There ensued a rousing quasch. Glendon still preferred his hammock so the Phillipi brothers squeezed his bed into their room to give Brent a place to stretch out and sleep. He was well hydrated now and liked the warm feeling of covers over him. It also freed up the bathroom for anyone to use at any time during the night without disturbing him.

A week later before the break of dawn, they rolled the Isador out of the barn/hanger and attached guides to it. Rather than tear the ship completely down, Gareth succeeded in encasing the spaceworthy ship in the Earthian sheet metal shell and refitting it to travel underwater. It would have taken far too long to cut through a Pleonian steel hull and Brent needed the ship now. Gareth's next project would be to cut down at least two of the other scout ships and create smaller fighter-sized ships. It would not be an easy task.

Suspended between four scout ships, the Isador was lifted into the air and flown to the Gulf of Mexico. UFO sightings were reported in a straight line through Texas. Once the Isador settled into the water and Brent and Gareth checked to make sure all seals were tight, they took her for a test run. The other four ships sat down on the island beach of Galveston, stunned at the expanse of sand and surf. Carrol eagerly gathered samples of sealife she found washed up on shore and put them in her ship to study later.

The Isador was smooth and trim, easy to manage despite its power. Brent took Gareth out until they reached the edge of the Continental Shelf, and he gingerly approached the edge. Gareth pressed forward. “If it will leak it would have done it by now, and if the engines fail you will be able to swim outside and perhaps drag it back to edge. I have enough confidence in my work that it does not alarm me.”

Brent was pleased with the Airman’s courage and confidence. The Isador performed ideally. They sailed back to Galveston, Gareth testing the Isador's speed and responses along the way. They finally came ashore where the other scouts waited.

"On the week-end days, we will come and get you," Stuart told Brent. "But on the weekdays, you can explore the Great Waters to your heart's content. Just be careful and check in with us as often as possible. You are the first Aquatic to scout a world and we have no idea what is in store for you." Brent agreed readily. "For the now, you can go on out and explore. Your com is coming in quite clear for us."

"I am ready," Brent said, and saluted. "Into the deep!" he cried out with enthusiasm. He boarded the Isador once more and took her back out to sea.

"Let us return to the ranch and we can monitor his progress," Stuart suggested. He, Darien and Glendon got into their ships and left. Gareth looked at Carrol, who climbed into her ship.

"Well come on," she invited, "before they realize what they have done." He climbed in after her. After a bit of testing out the logistics, he finally sat in the pilot's seat and she sat on his lap. He put his arms around her waist, and she grasped the controls. "This should be interesting," she said, and they took off. They went over the least populated areas of Texas and Oklahoma they could in order to get back to Iron Post and the Sheldon ranch. He kissed the back of her neck playfully.

"You are wicked!" she exclaimed as she flew the ship.

"I am not," he told her. "I am simply sitting closer to you than normal."

"Normal; something you are not." She shrieked as he poked her in the ribs.

"Are you glad it is not a boot?" he whispered in her ear, and she settled back in his arms.

The overhead sun made it difficult for them to fly high unnoticed, so they meandered for some time through the sparsely inhabited countryside. They were in no real hurry to get back; they were comfortable as they were. His arms held her snugly around the waist, and she remembered the times she and Maranta flew in a similar way. His hands had been much busier with naughty applications; things that she wished Gareth could be at liberty to do. But her brothers and her Naradi waited for them, and she could only take comfort in the fact that Gareth enjoyed the situation as much as he might be allowed.

Upon their return to the ranch, they found the other three ships in the back yard but the Thuringi nowhere in sight. They heard Brent's voice coming in over the com from inside the house, so they went into the front room.

"These are indeed great waters. There are marvelous creatures here, colorful and tiny, great schools of them! There are large clear bulbous things atop the waters with long strings attached to them, the like of which I have never seen! I like this Earth, these waters! If I could fly and venture over quickly to the other great ocean, I wonder what I might find there! Gareth, is there any way I could do that? Is the Isador still capable of flight?"

"No, she can either swim or fly, as I cannot master both with the primitive tools and supplies that I have on hand. Patience, my friend; patience. It is a lesson we all have to suffer," Gareth told him.

"Master Sword and Fist; how good of you to join us!" Darien exclaimed, patting Gareth on the back. "Did the two of you get lost?"

"No, but it is nearly impossible to land a Thuringi scout ship at the front door of an Earthian bar, no matter how hard you try to be inconspicuous," Gareth replied. "We had to settle for returning here in hopes of snatching the keys to the truck away from Glendon."

"A bar? You two went searching for a bar?" Brent exclaimed over the com. "Gareth, you treasure potables over fair company?"

"I did not say that," Gareth said wryly. "But two brothers and a Naradi would tell me to."

Brent laughed, and the other three joined him. Carrol came to stand next to Stuart, who hugged her companionably. He glanced at Gareth and saw him absorbed in Brent's conversation, personal interest in the Thuringi princess set aside for the moment. They spoke a little more with Brent until the signal became weaker. He was far out into the Gulf now and the com broke up. He signed off.

“I have little faith in Earthian satellites,” Gareth admitted. “They are unhandy.”

"That is the most cheerful Brent has sounded in a very long time," Glendon remarked. "We should have thrown him in the ocean a long time ago just to shut him up."

"All hail the master builder, Gareth Duncan!" Stuart declared. "I think a visit to an Earthian bar is a grand idea to celebrate the triumph of our engineering marvel!"

"I certainly have racked up the hours for it. Well, not that it matters here."

"I have currency from Lord Gentry," Glendon announced. "I believe we should all go out and become... what was it you said once, Gareth? Wildly, splendidly, foolishly drunk."

"Just splendidly drunk. Wild and foolish is not a good idea here," Darien recommended.

"How says Darien this, the man whom no law binds?" Carrol asked in surprise.

"We are not royalty or Naradi or recognized geniuses on Earth," Darien said. "We are only foreigners with yellow eyes. Our purchases have alerted the local populace to know of our accumulating fortunes and they might encourage wild spending. From what I heard in the bar, rowdy drinkers are often jailed for over-abundance of enthusiasm and over-indulgence of libation." He looked at each of them. "I for one would not care to be jailed with the type of people I work with. Murder of such in a cell is a charge too tempting to garner. Remember the lessons taught by the Gunsmoke and the Bonanza: their Naradi will place us in a barred room full of nasty people with foul habits, and someone will be shot or struck on the head by an object."

"Then we shall not over-indulge," Stuart said. "They have all seen your eyes; they know we are different. We will keep to ourselves and quietly celebrate."

Darien brightened. "Then, let us dress in our best and do it!"

With Glendon driving and Darien riding beside him to navigate, the other three Thuringi rode in the back of the pickup to the Anchor, the bar Darien visited with Lloyd. When they arrived, there was hardly any place to park; it was Saturday night, and the locals were ready to unwind. They parked down the street and walked, making certain their translators were on along the way. It was not their size or their number that made people turn to stare at them when they entered the bar and too late, they all realized that none of them wore dark glasses and in their excitement to celebrate, neglected to wear their contact lens.

"Well," Darien muttered in an aside to them, "Now we shall learn our true measure." Gareth spotted an empty table, so he walked over to it and moved the empty glasses to the middle of it. The others followed him. They all sat down, as if they were not all well over six feet tall and possessed yellow eyes. Darien gestured to a waitress; conversations started up again and the jukebox kept playing its songs.

"I'll be with y’all in just a minute," the waitress promised. She cleared their table as fast as she could, with hardly a look at them.

"(It is quite all right)," Carrol told her kindly. "(You have many patrons here; we realize you are very busy)." The waitress looked at her then and saw no reason to be afraid. They did not seem like devils in person.

"Y’all ain't from around here, are you?" she asked, and Carrol shook her head.

"(No, but we thirst the same)," Darien told the waitress. "(We would like a round of beerz at your earliest convenience)." His way of saying beers seemed to amuse her.

"Okay, big fella." She carried away the empty glasses to the bar, where she was immediately swamped with questions by the bartender and several customers. She came back with five bottles of beer. "Everyone's kind of curious about you folks," she explained. "I guess you're all related?"

"(We are from the same village)," Stuart said, truthfully enough.

"In England?"

"(Y... yes. We are from that direction)." The other Thuringi smiled knowing how Stuart could not bear to tell a complete lie, yet reluctant to speak the bald truth in this situation.

"Well, I guess I can serve you boys," she said with a nod at Darien and Gareth, "but you other three are going to have to show me some I.D. before I can serve you."

"(Why)?" Glendon asked in dismay.

"Honey, you have to be over twenty-one to drink beer in this state," she said sweetly.

"(But I am well over twenty-one)," Stuart protested belligerently.

The waitress fixed a knowing look on him. "Honey, please. I can tell a kid with a fake I.D. from a mile away, so don't even haul it out." Darien laughed at the look on Stuart's face, and spoke up.

"(No, my dear, he and I are twins)," Darien offered, and she smiled at him.

"Then I guess I can't serve you, either."

"(Well, I tried, little brother)," Darien told Stuart in a complete about face, "(And do not go squalling to Mother about it, either. You will get a spanking)." Stuart dropped his mouth open with a biting face. "(Get the boy and his little siblings a wizzar... a soda, and get my friend and myself, a nice cold beerz)."

"Two beers and three Cokes, coming up," agreed the waitress, and she went away.

Darien looked at the three soda drinkers impassively. "We are here to celebrate, are we not?" he asked. "Here to celebrate our good Major Sword-and-Fist's great triumph."

"You are only happy because you will get a beerz," Glendon laughed at Darien. "You would be in as bad a state as Stuart if your hair was shorter."

"I am more dignified."

"You are more worn," Stuart finally said, disgruntled but accepting. They paid for the drinks when they came, and Gareth tested his beer.

"Are these people as testy about their potables as the Thelan?" he asked Darien.

"No, I don't believe they are."

"Good then. Phew!" He made a face but went ahead and drank his beer. "They are inadequate in everything but perhaps in time they will improve."

The waitress approached Stuart again. "Are you really over twenty-one?"

"(I swear by all that is holy to me, I am aged beyond twenty-one years)," Stuart said solemnly. She handed him a beer and winked.

"Don't tell where you got it," she whispered, and he favored her with a broad grateful smile. "But the kid there," she said, indicating Glendon, "is going to have to drink his soda, and your sister, God; she shouldn't even be in here. Do you have a driver's license, miss?"

"(No)," Carrol answered honestly.

"Not even sixteen; that's what I thought," the waitress sighed.

"(No, I just do not have a license. How can I when no one lets me practice).” Carrol pretended to glare at Glendon, who gave an exaggerated shrug. The waitress shook her head in amusement and returned to her work. As long as they did not look anyone in the eye no one was bothered by them as the evening progressed. They were able to toast to Gareth's success and future successes with gusto.

"Do you mind if I have a dance?" an Earthian with a wide brimmed hat on his head and a checked shirt and denim jeans asked Carrol.

"(No, go ahead)," she replied, and realized when he took her hand, just with whom he intended to dance. She looked worriedly at Stuart and Darien and glanced at Glendon and Gareth as the man led her out to the dance floor.

"Even strangers may dance with her," Gareth noted, a trace of melancholy in his voice.

"Look how closely these Earthians dance with each other. God of All, Stuart, what would Father say about this?" an annoyed Darien asked his brother. "Oh, let her be handled about by some istay in an outpost cantina, it is perfectly all right? Well, not to me," he said, and turned to Gareth. "As your Warrior Prince I order you, Major Duncan, to re-capture our Carrol immediately and guard until further notice."

"I am her Naradi," Glendon said as he rose to his feet.

"Sit," Darien ordered. "You are her 'brother'." Gareth looked at Stuart, who nodded at him. Gareth got up and approached the couple.

Carrol was displeased by her treatment. This strange man who smelled of the abominably brewed beerz and of burned leaves, held himself against her with one hand holding one of hers out to the side and the other hand around her waist to force her closer to him. She kept her gaze down and away so as not to meet him eye to eye. "(Stop that, sir, you are far too disgusting for words)," Carrol said bluntly.

The man just laughed. "I love to hear you British gals talk. Say something else to me, like... what's your phone number?"

Gareth put a firm hand on the man's shoulder. The dancer turned around ready to say something, but the look on Gareth's face and the blazing yellow eyes convinced him to stay silent.

"(The lady is mine)," Gareth told the man in no uncertain terms, "(and you will release her to me at once)." The man did exactly as he was told and eased away. Gareth took his place with one hand on Carrol's waist, and the other held her other hand out to one side. "How interesting a stance. Perhaps your father would not object to such as this." He looked her in the face and smiled. "Hello, Your Nibs. Are we enjoying this little Festival?"

"We are now," she assured him. "What a disgusting man he was. The smells were hideous."

"One must learn to tolerate such behavior if one is to look the way you do, Your Nibs."

"And what way is that, Royal We?"

He smiled. He was not even using his Royal We voice. "We believe Your Nibs looks quite irresistible." They inched together a little more as they danced.

"And what are we resisting, sir?" She enjoyed the look on his face when she asked.

"We are resisting our impudent thoughts and unseemly musings of late," he replied, and glanced at the other dancers. "There are others who dance more daring than we and think nothing of it. I am uncertain our people will feel comfortable in such a freewheeling society."

"I want to be first in line to see the Bishop's face," Carrol snickered, and they both laughed. He found her body against his own solidly. He pressed the side of his head slightly against the side of hers as he saw the other couples do. She closed her eyes happily.

"It is a custom of dancing, here," Glendon observed from their table, "yet it does not seem wrong, does it?"

"No, it is rather appealing," Stuart said. "Older persons are doing the same, with dignity,” he noted with a look around at the rest of the crowd. "Can you imagine Mother and Father dancing that way?"

"Why, they more or less do anyway, largely because it is the only way Mother can. Can you imagine, say, Hartin Medina squiring Lady Melina about like that?" Darien chuckled as he said it.

"Yes," Glendon said. "I believe they experimented a bit at Festival, after our Gareth and Carrol's unheralded moment. I can see that, yes. I can also see the same with Janis. In fact, I intend to teach it to her the minute we reunite." The Phillipi brothers were greatly amused by this.

"So much for the stalwart guardian of the Princess," Darien snickered.

"She is a grown woman; against whom does she require a guard?" Glendon asked. "If you want my humble opinion, all your father needs to do is give Gareth Duncan free rein. Look at him; deterring all comers!" It was true. Men came up to cut into the dance, and Gareth firmly shook his head like Carrol. The men were turned away, and the happy couple resumed gazing into each other's eyes. “The man is a one-woman Naradi.”

"Can you see your fair Aura dancing like that?" Darien teased his brother.

"No," Stuart said flatly. "Not unless a pistol was pointed to her head by the Bishop himself." The comment did not have a jesting tone to it, so Darien decided to let the subject drop. He glanced at Glendon, who gave the naughty prince a thoughtful nod.

The Princess Aura does seem to have a rather stiff neck, Glendon thought. It cannot be easy to be married to such a difficult woman. I must remember to keep my own private life pleasant for Janis’s sake since I must belabor under my own clan’s expectations.

The song ended and Gareth and Carrol returned to the table. "Your Highness," Glendon said to her, "I have decided that I am going to persuade my wife to dance Earthian style at the next Festival we attend. Would it be a disgrace to practice this with you for a tune? I promise I will not get familiar. I am your Naradi," he explained.

"Yes, you may practice with me," she agreed, and they went out to dance. Glendon was awkward about the outheld hand, and they laughed about it while he experimented with the bend of his elbow.

"So that is why you enjoy dancing so close with our sister," Darien said to Gareth. "You are not bold; you are merely far-seeing." Gareth nodded as he watched Carrol with complacent delight.

"Gareth, you are indeed a breath of fresh air," Stuart told him. Gareth looked at him curiously, and the crown prince said further, "There is no telling what that imaginative mind of yours will come up with next. You are already able to blend in with Outlanders." The dancers returned to the table.

"Perhaps we can practice at the ranch," Carrol offered. "A public place is a difficult rehearsal hall." The sound of an argument was heard over the din, followed by the sound of fists striking flesh.

"A quasch!" Darien leaped to his feet, his eyes bright with anticipation.

"Oh no, this is a cantina fight, and you will not get into it," Glendon objected with a cautious hand. “The Gunsmoke has cautionary tales of these, as well.”

"We had best be on our way," Stuart suggested, and placed a folded bill on the table. "We do not need to get in an outpost fight." They left quickly, and Darien gave one last look of longing toward the sound of a promising fight.

The waitress picked up the folded bill after they left. All this for a few beers and sodas? What a tip! I'll be sure to welcome anybody with spooky eyes from now on, she thought.

“What happened then?” Stuart heard Darien ask Glendon the next morning.

“You know perfectly well what happened.”

“No, I do not. After Gareth danced with my sister, the evening is misty for me. Did we have that quasch?”

“No,” Glendon laughed. “It was hardly the proper course of action, Darien. We came home instead.”

“Oh, you always find the proper course,” Darien grumbled good-naturedly.

“You do recall the quasch just before we left, correct?” Stuart asked in amusement. “I should think you would know we did not join in it. We returned here.”

“Why would I wish to recall something as forgettable as going home? I would rather remember a good fist fight.”

fantasy
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About the Creator

Jay Michael Jones

I am a writer and an avid fan of goats. The two are not mutually exclusive.

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