Book 1 Flight of the Armada Chapter 4

Brent’s initial excitement at exploring the Earthian oceans was tempered by his first good look at a Portuguese man-o-war and noticed the number of fish entangled in its extensions. He recognized a predator when he saw one and as the Isador moved along in the water, he realized how fortunate he had been up until now. Sharks and barracuda and sea snakes were beautiful creatures, but he was completely ignorant about them. They were as bad as parmenters and scorrups of Thuringa. He told himself to be more cautious when exploring outside the Isador. He was the only Aquatic scout, and it would be quite easy to be killed on this alien world. His airbreathing kinsmen might never know what happened.

Still, he was not afraid of anything except being caught by Earthians. He had the Isador to protect him while he slept; he had a laser pistol and a sword for hand-to-fin fighting and his ship resembled an Earthian killer whale so much, no one could tell from a casual glance that it was made of metal. It would take a good hard inspection up close to tell and Brent did not plan to get close enough for anyone to discover his secret.

There was so much to see, so many places to go! These were not like the Thuringa seas which his ancestors mapped and explored until there was little to discover any more. This was all new to him and even a mystery to the Earthians who lived on this world! Brent started his exploration log and made notes, charts, and captured images, and knew he would never be able to thoroughly cover everything. He would have a good time in the attempt, however.

He was curious about a world with such a grand series of oceans and no Aquatics to live in them. Thuringa had only one ocean that covered half the world's surface, with wide bays along its coastline and dotted with small islands inhabited by Aquatics. Thelan technically had no oceans, only millions of large freshwater lakes. Senga's ocean covered forty percent of its surface, but their beaches were rocky. There were very few deep natural harbors on Senga. D'tai's two oceans were the only things left on its world that was not thoroughly mapped, regulated, and utilized efficiently, but Father said it was only a matter of time before every fish on D'tai was tagged and registered like the rest of the planet.

Earth was seventy percent ocean, full of variety and color and beauty, the way Thuringa’s great waters once were. Brent busied himself with mapping the oceans with the help of Wet Dream's computer. He cataloged points of interest he discovered: undersea volcanoes, shipwrecks, coral reefs, drop-offs into the abyss. He had so much to study in the tropics that he did not venture anywhere close to either pole. He observed human behavior at sea and was appalled at their relative lack of seamanship. "Oh, you fellows are just begging to have Father give you a scolding," he laughed aloud as he watched fishermen dragging in a net.

Brent Ardenne was accustomed to peacetime Thuringa, where Aquatics lived in relative harmony with Airmen. When he came across a 40-foot yacht drifting with the tides on Earth, he became curious. There was no activity or sounds after two hours of observation. He boarded the yacht at its aft deck cautiously, keenly aware he would have to leap over the side at once if anyone discovered him. He noticed at once a sickly odor, but he recognized what it was only a second before he saw what caused it. He was so repulsed that he immediately threw up his latest meal.

A man and a woman lay side by side dead, their bodies swollen grotesquely in the tropical heat. Brent had no idea when or how they might have died, but from the haphazard way their limbs were positioned, theirs were not peaceful or willing deaths. Blood had pooled and dried beneath the bodies where they fell. Brent Ardenne was unfamiliar with homicide firsthand, but this was surely it.

He staggered back to the end of the boat and leaped back into the water, aghast at what he had witnessed. He boarded the Isador once again and steered it away for a few lengths, and then sat and brooded for a while.

What should he do? It was pitiful to simply leave the couple there, but he could not bear to board the ship again. He saw enough of the dead and dying on Thuringa. At last, he adjusted his universal translator and turned the com to a frequency he had discovered was used by the American Coast Guard. Not knowing radio protocol, Brent's contact with Americans was remembered for years afterwards by the Coasties: "(Ah, yes. You coastal chaps need to come see to the dead people on the vessel The, ah, The Scurvy Mate. They are in a dreadful way, you see)."

"Copy that. What is the location of the vessel?"

Brent was stumped. He did not have access to Earthian sea coordinates; he used his own Thuringi methods for determining locations. "(I am east of the island of Pewerto Rico)." He was proud to be able to identify that much.

A pause. "Roger, how far east?"

"(I do not know. I have no means of determining the distance for your use)." He almost added, What cheek you have to assume my name is Roger, but he was asked another question.

"Sir, how is it you are asea without proper instrumentation? Do you at least have a sextant?"

"(Do I what)?"

A different voice came over the com. "Unknown call, please identify yourself."

"(I am the man who came across two dead people in a large white ship)."

"Your name, please."

"(Oh for the pity of it! What does it matter what my name might be; there are dead people out here! Now you chaps ought to come and fetch them and give them a suitable burial; your society does that sort of thing, do you not)?"

The American tried again. "What is your port of call?"

The unfamiliar terminology coupled with the horrific sight he just witnessed stretched Brent's nerves to the edge of breaking. "(I cannot understand a single thing you mean! What is a portovcall)?" his voice rasped into the com.

"Sir, could you at least give the name of your ship?"

Finally! "(At last, a chap who does not speak in riddles! Yes, this is the Isador)!"

"And what port did you sail from? Where is your ship registered; your home port, your city?"

"(I have no city and I have no register. You know if you do not wish to retrieve these people I understand. They are quite disturbing a sight, but you should know right now, I am certainly not going to do so)." He switched off the com in disgust. "How cheaply is life regarded here; just leave bodies to fester in the cruel sun at sea! Ugh!" He decided to leave the area. Sooner or later a storm would swamp the yacht, or it would eventually wash up on a shore somewhere. Brent did not want to sink it himself since there was bound to be identification on it somewhere and the families of the deceased deserved closure if possible.

The Isador had not gone far when a Coast Guard cutter appeared on the horizon. Brent dropped his ship to just below the surface so he could see what would happen, and he turned on his com again to listen in.

"…I repeat, we have a ship in sight, one ship. Over."

"Not two?"

"Negative."

"But they can't have left the area that fast! Is that the caller's ship? Over."

"No…no, it's the Scurvy Mate, out of Miami. We are preparing to board her."

"Roger."

Word, they name everyone Roger here! Brent thought with annoyance.

Some uniformed men leaped aboard the Scurvy Mate, searched topside and then went below. They returned topside and radioed in what they found. "Base, there appears to be a triple homicide here, a man and a woman at the wheel and another man below deck with a fired weapon in hand. All three appear to have died execution-style. Just offhand I'd say smuggling."

Despite the gravity of the situation, Brent had to stifle a snort. In the Pleonian language, to smuggle was to be caught with one's pants down during something private or embarrassing, as if suddenly being seen by the public while on the toilet. These Earthians had peculiarly similar words to Stellar Council worlds even if the definitions differed.

"We'll send out a team to investigate and bag the bodies. You don't see any evidence of the Isador in sight, over?"

"Negative! It's downright creepy. Over."

Brent could not resist addressing them on the com. "(You simply do not know where to look)." He took the Isador deeper before he turned off the com and left the vicinity and the Coast Guard crew that scrambled all over the place trying to figure out where he was.

Curious about this quarrelsome race of “Communiss”, Stuart took the Good Lad to the U.S.S.R. to investigate. “If we had landed in their country instead of Michael's, we might have a completely different way of looking at Earthian matters,” he told Glendon one evening. “I will see these powerful people and try to determine how large a threat they are to us. But do not let Darien know I am going! I will go during day hours here for the cover of dark there, and Darien will not come with me and perhaps cause unwarranted mischief.”

“I should come with you. This is a dangerous outpost at times,” Glendon said with concern.

“I would rather you remain here in case Darien or Carrol have need of you. I am an Air Command Warrior, and I will take extreme caution. I only wish to observe what I can.”

“I am not much of a Naradi Famede.”

“We are all scouts on this world, Glendon. It is true we need protection in the scope of our roles as members of the Thuringi Royal Family at times, but there is so much to learn that having a Naradi Famede is more of a luxury for the now. Your task at the Gentry store is extremely valuable and we need you there very much. I am not toothless; I will take full responsibility for my well-being and Father will be aware of it.”

“Yes, but if anything happens to any of the three of you, I will have to answer to your mother! Trust me, Stuart; no one wants to tell Oriel Phillipi de Saulin such a thing. She is a lovely soul, but her wrath would be terrible!”

“For your sake, Glendon, I will take the utmost care,” Stuart promised. “I would not want to cross Mother, either.”

He took the Good Lad after Darien and Glendon left for work. He flew close to the treetops until he was in a safe enough area to lift off without being detected. He then flew the ship to the center of the Soviet Union. Since the ranch in Oklahoma was in the center of America, he thought he might see how the Soviet counterparts lived.

To his astonishment, he found a vast forested land, far different from the highways and towns of Middle America. He came upon a small village and studied it carefully with his eyes and his ship's sensors. He followed the rivers until he came to other villages, each as humble and nondescript as the first. He flew east in search of other cities. The country was so vast it took him all day to explore it even simply flying in a straight line. When the sun rose over the land, Stuart got his first good look at the Soviet Union.

He was dismayed at the lack of modern equipment and goods in many towns. The ordinary people appeared to live quite different, difficult lives than their American counterparts. Their farming implements were cruder and less efficient than the sleek American tractors, and he saw little of the sights he saw on expeditions in America – where were the baseball fields? Where were their grocery stores and livestock auction houses, where were the automobiles and motorcycles? Many of the people dressed in all manner of clothing to keep warm but had little of the flair Stuart saw in other countries. It was a sad, bleak place. Why were Americans so concerned about this country? he wondered. They cannot even look after their own. Even in the sleek modern large cities, there was an undercurrent of need.

It was power, he realized, the power of threat and intimidation that fed the Communiss reputation. Like the Shargassi, the Soviets relied on their reputation to pave their way for them. Their weaponry and ruthless willingness to use it kept them in power. As long as they were a secretive nation that did not reveal its secrets, that power would go unquestioned. Stuart found himself challenged by Soviet aircraft over Minsk.

“Unidentified aircraft, identify yourself!” a stern voice commanded over the com. They even spoke similar to a Shargassi accent and a cold chill ran through the crown prince of Thuringa. The only comfort he had was that those were definitely not Shargassi ships.

“(Why)?” Stuart asked. It was translated into Russian, and the Soviet pilot grew irritated.

“Identify yourself or be shot down.”

“Not this day, sir, or ever in your lifetime” Before the astounded Soviet squadron, the strange triangular ship suddenly streaked away faster than anything they ever witnessed before. Fortunately for the Thuringi, Soviet Russia did not divulge this encounter to the rest of the world thanks to their secretive society, and the alien visitors remained a mystery. Back at the Soviet base, however, a huge uproar took place.

“They sounded British but that was no British spy plane. That was no American plane, that was... that was incredible,” the lead pilot told his superiors. “But they spoke in Russian quite fluently!” The Soviet Air Force was on high alert for several weeks after that and their relations with the British was strained even more. They did not press the point, however. If the British had access to a ship that could fly that fast and that silently and not show up on radar, then it was in the Soviet Union's best interests to stay quiet and increase their spy network. None of their operatives knew what they were talking about when asked to find out about large triangular ships that flew far past the speed of sound.

Stuart returned after dark and Darien demanded to know where he had been and why no one knew where he went. Stuart shook his head at his hot-headed brother.

“Darien, I have been doing reconnaissance work as is part of my task, and I went to see about the threat of the Communiss. As far as I could see, the only reason Michael's people are alarmed over the Communiss is because they have powerful weaponry. America has far, far more power in its cohesive infrastructure and its network of communications and technology availability to its population. The Communiss have grand land tracts but the people themselves, in a territory equal to our ranchland's, seem woefully poor. Goods are plentiful here as long as one has the scrip to exchange for it.

“Perhaps if we had come to the Communiss first, we might believe America as a sprawling, prideful nation of greed and excess who does not share with its fellow Earthians. But we can see from Michael Sheldon and the Gentrys that this is not so; there are many Americans who are kind and generous. Perhaps in Communiss there are good-hearted people as well, there are bound to be. Still, there is no one against whom we should raise a hand.”

“Then why do they boast of grand military might if their people are poor?”

“You are asking the wrong person, Darien. I do not understand the basic Earthian mindset of miserly living. But I do understand that we are fortunate to be here in this safe house in this land of plenty. Here, I have an idea – come with me.” He took Darien to the Soviet Union himself, and Darien saw the great disparity between the simple villages and the bright glory of Moscow. “You see, Darien: America is not the only country with those who have and those who do not. This land boasts of every citizen being of equal status, but we can see for ourselves that it is not. It is like a rotund D'tai businessman looking into a warped mirror and seeing himself fit and trim; they are fooling themselves. We cannot hope to help these people if they will not even help their own.”

“I suppose you are right,” Darien admitted. “But oh! Such lovely forests, such grand mountains! It is as if they have so much land, they do not know what to do with it. And yet they want to take over even more lands. Bah! They are all greedy people, these Earthians.”

Stuart sat in the dark front room, deep in thought. It was late at night and his fellow scouts were in bed for the night. Everything was still and peaceful; he could at last gather his thoughts. He liked the comforting feel of the rocking chair Glendon got by trading some of his feed store coin. The farm cat was allowed in at night as long as it was not in the same room as Brent when he came home. It now took command of Stuart’s lap. Stuart liked to pet it and coax it into purring. Cats were unknown creatures on Thuringa and fascinated Stuart. Brent hated them and claimed the cat always tried to bite him.

There was only a sliver of a moon visible, and the night creatures were all in full riotous song. It was a beautiful world. The more Stuart tried to make sense of its people and their behavior, the more confused he became. In a world of plenty there were so many in want. In a peaceful setting like this it was hard to believe that there were wars and strife elsewhere. In a world that had kind generous people like his neighbors, there were also terrible people doing cruel injustices to others.

He was baffled by the Berlin Wall and had a difficult time describing its purpose in his scouting report. The idea of walling in half a city in the middle of a county that was divided from the rest of its country was insane. To divide families over politics – madness! Democracy and communism were each convinced of their own greatness, yet neither ideal was capable of working without the right people at the helm.

Voting for those right people had its hazards despite as fair as it seemed to be on the surface. Placing someone in power simply because of what they said to those doing the choosing? How was one to know the truth? What would stop them from saying anything whether it was true or not? How could this be better? Communism in theory was a good idea but it did not work in practice. On Earth there were still the haves and the have-nots. There was no equal access to all goods evenly across the land. Those in power had the power to abuse and they did so with impunity.

There were pockets of wild people on this world, people who knew of no civilization whatsoever, and the thought of these people still in a primitive state unnerved the Thuringi. The disparity between the industrialized nations of the world and natives in grass huts was unlike anything in the Stellar Council worlds. There were kingdoms on this world, but the teeth of royal power had been filed down by the notion of democratic rule until the beast was nearly toothless.

That kind of news would be of great concern to Lycasis and heard eagerly by the likes of Elder Asa Mennar. Asa had long been displeased with the Royal House of Thuringa. He was always one to fight authority in any form and age bolstered his animosity past merely being cantankerous. He fed upon the power that came with dissension and used his position on the king’s council toward that hunger. Lycasis once explained to Stuart that keeping Asa where he could keep track of the troublemaker was more advantageous than booting him out of sight.

Every Phillipi in every rule knew of the awesome responsibilities of guiding the kingdom of Thuringa, and at no time in all those centuries had a Phillipi monarch let the people down. However, there would always be those who could not be satisfied even in the best of times. Stuart dreaded to think that perhaps now, at the lowest point of the history of Thuringa, someone might use the whims of fate to their advantage against the Phillipis in order to chase the empty promises of elected rule. Now that he thought about it, he was anxious to settle the outpost and get back to the Armada in case those sour to the crown chose the dearth in royal numbers to start trouble. On nights like these, Stuart liked having the rhythmic pace of the rocker and the soothing purr of the cat to ease his nerves and encourage his patience.

Carrol plaited her hair into a single braid and let it hang down her back. She intended to walk to the feed store with a shopping list for Glendon and did not want to fool with tangles in her hair from the stiff Oklahoma breeze. She glanced out the kitchen window to check on the whereabouts of Stuart and Gareth. The barn doors on both sides had been pushed wide open in order to let in as much light as possible until it occurred to them that the skeletal form of the new ship could be seen from the road and might attract unwanted attention. Carrol went to the barn since the front-facing doors were closed again. Gareth spent months painstakingly dismantling two ships’ Pleonian steel hulls. He now welded those pieces of steel to the hull of the newer, smaller ship as Stuart held them in place.

“I am setting out for the store now,” she told them. “Are you certain there is nothing else you want Glendon to bring back?”

Gareth stopped welding and pushed back the dark goggles to rest atop his head. “You can let them go now,” he said to Stuart.

Stuart turned to Carrol. “Are you certain you want to walk in? Would you rather just wait until he gets back tonight?”

“That would entail another trip into town for him. I do not think he should do a lot of driving without a proper license,” she said. “I will enjoy the walk through the countryside. I might get some good samples of vegetation along the way for my research collection.”

“Let me see the list, then,” Stuart said, and took it to study. Carrol became aware of Gareth as he stood quietly beside the partially built fighter. He watched her as if to drink in the sight. She shook off the thought; she was being entirely too egotistical. Gareth was fond of her, yes, but he had much more on his mind these days and it was vain of her to think otherwise. She smiled a tentative smile at him and was rewarded with his bright breezy smile.

“Going out among the locals at last, eh, Your Nibs?” he asked as he wiped off his hands with a cloth. “You might want to take a pistol.”

“Do you think I should?” she asked, surprised. “But these people are not violent.”

“I did not say they were. You still might need protection, though.”

“Whatever for?” she asked, unable to imagine why. He did not move any closer to her but remained where he was.

His gaze began at the top of her golden head and made a leisurely inspection down her figure. She wore a light blouse that buttoned in front, and each button seemed to unfasten in the mind’s eye of his gaze. He took in the way the snug fit of the jeans clung to her hips and shapely legs. His gaze swept back up slowly and delectably. By the time his eyes locked back in on hers, she felt herself trembling under the caress of his look. Gareth smiled warmly but said nothing, and the sensation of his attention electrified her.

“Do you think I should bring a pistol, Stuart?” she stammered to her brother. Stuart was adding a couple of items to the list and thought her question odd. He glanced at Gareth, then back at Carrol.

“Of course. This is still an outpost for us, Carrol. Just because we feel safe here does not mean we should carry on as if nothing could bring us to harm. Suppose there should be an outbreak of violence among the Earthians, and you are caught in the middle? Suppose there is a dangerous wild creature loose out in the countryside? Suppose the Shargassi or perhaps some unknown race stumbled upon this world? Get your pistol and just wear it under your garments.” Gareth cocked an eyebrow and pursed his lips, then deliberately winked at her and grinned. Carrol snatched the list from Stuart’s hands abruptly and went back to the farmhouse. Stuart looked at Gareth curiously. “What did you do to my sister?”

“Nothing,” Gareth replied, even as he wondered if he had gone too far with her. She was a princess, after all, not some rowdy who was too far into a bottle in a cantina to think straight. He promised the king he would be worthy of her, and this was not the way to go about it. “Let us get that little piece over there and see if we can fit it in this space,” he suggested, heading for a piece of scrap metal.

Stuart shook his head and smiled. One moment the erstwhile mechanic was actively flirting with Carrol, and the next he was fully back into his work. That Gareth could compartmentalize his thoughts completely amazed Stuart, who would have had some mental bleed-over.

Carrol tucked her laser pistol into the pocket of a jacket and started down the driveway at a comfortable pace. She took a deep breath of clean fresh air and suddenly thought what a fool Lia Hellick de Neo was. Trapped in marriage with Tomas Hellick in the cold reaches of space was bad enough, but the fool rushed into matrimony after turning down Gareth Duncan! Knowing firsthand how even a few moments of Gareth’s appreciation felt, Carrol wondered how the woman could have walked away from him. She had to rush away from the barn lest she throw herself into his arms and beg for something more physical, despite the presence of her brother. No one else made her feel like that since Maranta, something she never thought would happen.

She was aware of Gareth’s reputation in the bedroom for the entire time he looked at her. Even that reputation paled compared to the promise of those passionate eyes. She was hungry for that which no Thuringi woman could openly confess, and she was doubly glad for the walk into town. Physical exertion might put aside her desire for another kind of physical exertion.

She enjoyed the fair morning’s walk, and the five miles passed quickly. She walked into the Gentry’s feed store and saw Glendon immediately. He crawled along the top of some feed sacks stacked in a loft area. He smiled cheerfully and waved in recognition, and then continued his way across the sacks to a ladder.

“May I help you?” asked a friendly feminine voice beside her. Carrol turned, startled.

“(Oh! I was looking for Glendon),” Carrol explained.

“You must be his sister. I’m Margie Gentry.” The woman introduced herself as she shook Carrol’s hand. Margie Gentry was much shorter than Carrol and plump as a sedentary D’tai matron. Her light brown hair was streaked with gray, pulled back into a tight bun at the back of her head. “We really enjoy having your brother here working for us. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen anyone as strong as Glen before.”

Carrol smiled and nodded, noting the way Glendon’s name was shortened. Did all Earthians shorten names that way and if so, why? Were they in that much of a hurry? Did it have anything to do with their rushed way of living or their short life spans? She and her brothers often called Brent ‘Brenton’ simply to tease him. In Thuringi, brent meant ‘powerful stroke’, whereas brenton was a Thelan name for a noxious weed.

“You know, I keep meaning to invite you folks over for dinner some Sunday, and I never seem to be able to what with the holidays coming up, and all the rush for winter seed and such,” Mrs. Gentry continued, which drew Carrol back to the immediate.

“(That is very kind of you),” Carrol told her. The entry door slammed behind her and a strong, strident woman’s voice boomed out.

“Why, you’re that English girl who lives over to Darryl Sheldon’s farm,” said the tall rawboned woman with thin cheeks and intense birdlike eyes who approached Carrol. She wore a blue hat with a large blue plume attached to it, and forever after Carrol simply thought of her as the Bird Woman. “I’m Agnes Derby; my husband is your mailman. I know you’re a long way from home so if there’s anything you need you just let him know. We’re always happy to help newcomers. But now, you’re too young to be a bride from the war – oh goodness! You must be Mike Sheldon’s wife!”

“(No, I am not),” Carrol corrected gently. “(I am not married at all).”

“Agnes, this is Glen’s little sister,” Margie Gentry began, but the angular woman continued on as if neither of them had spoken.

“Mike should have married a long time ago, if you want my opinion, but I suppose better late than never. He’s got a good head on his shoulders, but of course, it never hurts to marry an oil man.”

“Agnes, she’s not married to Mike,” Margie said louder than before. “Hush up and listen. She’s Glen’s sister.”

Glendon made it down to ground level by then and approached the trio. “Hello, little sis,” he greeted the way Brent did. “What brings you here?”

“(I have a list of things we need),” Carrol said as she handed him the paper.

Agnes Derby craned her neck over for a closer look. “Why, I never saw writing like that before,” she said. “That’s not English.”

“It is a foreign language,” Glendon told her. “Our mother is a linguist and we learned it from her.” Carrol admired the glib way Glendon was able to make up a story on the spot, as well as his command of American speech. He did not even need a translator anymore.

“Well, why don’t you just write in English like everybody else?”

“It keeps nosy people from knowing all our business,” Glendon told her, his expression guileless and his voice friendly. The tip of Agnes’s nose quivered slightly.

“Well, I declare!” she stated, and went out the door of the store in a huff.

“I am sorry,” Glendon said to Margie.

Margie allowed the grin on her face to blossom on out. “You know, it’s your charm and your accent that kept her from bellowing at you,” she told him, and confided to Carrol, “I think she’s taken a fancy to your brother. Can you imagine, a gossipy old cow like her, all moon-eyed over a boy a third her age?” Carrol giggled until she wheezed, and Margie continued in amusement.

“By tomorrow morning, she’ll have it spread all over the county that Glen gets smart when his kid sister shows up to visit. I say, so what? I think it served her right. It’s none of her business what other people do. If not for the fact that it’s a federal offense, I wouldn’t be surprised if she opened people’s mail just to be able to get better gossip. But she doesn't because her husband is an honest man and won't let her.” She patted Carrol on the arm as she turned back to her register. “Now, don’t be such a stranger from now on; you’re welcome here any time! What’s your name, honey?”

“Carrol.”

“Oh, that’s a pretty name,” Margie said, and left them alone.

“She is very nice,” Carrol told Glendon.

“She is. So, you need all of this? Very well.” He folded the paper and put it in his shirt pocket. “Did you walk down here?”

“Yes. It is so beautiful here. Can you imagine –”

“Hi, Glen,” came a trio of young voices from the doorway.

He smiled weakly and waved, but he whispered to Carrol in a fierce, almost panicked way. “Please, please, do not leave until they are gone. Please, sister dear.”

“Who are they?” she whispered back.

“A dangerous species: predatory young females.” He cleared his throat and announced to the girls, “How pleasant. You are just in time to meet my sister Carrol.”

The three teens were obviously as taken with Glendon as the mailman’s wife. One of the girls had red hair, a hair color rare among the Stellar Council worlds. Even though Glendon was uneasy in the girls' presence, he could not help but gaze at her hair.

The teens immediately zeroed in on Carrol, and one with the lovely red hair spoke up. “I’m Sharon. Are you going to go to school here?”

“(Me? Of course not),” Carrol laughed, and would have dismissed the thought if not for the quizzical looks on their faces.

“Well, in America, you have to go to school until you’re sixteen,” Sharon told her. She blew a pink bubble from her mouth until it popped, and she continued to chew on the pink material. She linked arms with Glendon and smiled at him in a saucy way. “You’re full of surprises, Glen. You never said word one about having a sister here.”

“I am full of surprises,” he agreed, but he looked at Carrol. “I never noticed how young you look comparatively speaking, but it is true. It is astonishing.”

“Why, how old are you?” The girl asked Carrol.

“She is sixteen,” Glendon quickly told her.

“Me, too,” the girl named Sharon said. “Say, wait! If you’re his sister, then you can tell me this: where is Glen’s wife? He keeps saying he’s married but I’ve never seen her.”

“(She is at their home),” Carrol replied. She wondered if it were an answer that would help or hinder her Naradi.

“Oh, yeah? Back home, over in England?” the redhead asked with a broad smile. She cuddled closer to Glendon. He looked away uncomfortably as the other two girls giggled.

Glendon’s sterling reputation was never in question and Carrol did not like to see him so ill at ease. He was an exemplary Naradi, among the best of the best, yet he could not use a sword to cut himself loose from this predatory female.

“(Oh yes, and she is absolutely gorgeous),” Carrol told the girl. “(I have never seen anyone so madly in love as Glendon and Janis).”

“Then why isn’t she here?” Sharon countered.

“(Oh, well because she is back home straightening out the last little girl who tried to divert his attention),” Carrol said with nonchalant ease. It was a simple premise to present and Glendon thanked her with a grateful look in his eyes.

“What happened to her?” Sharon asked, loosening her grip a little.

“(Janis happened to her. Janis is very territorial – and rather ruthless about it, to be honest).”

“There’s always a gaggle of girls around your brother,” Margie informed Carrol from behind the counter. “It’s those movie star looks of his and those big green eyes. I tell you, the girls here are just heartbroken that he married so young.” She drilled Sharon with a piercing look. “But he is married, and I doubt that your mama and daddy will appreciate your hanging around a married boy.”

Sharon scowled, but evidently decided the older woman was right. She and her friends left, after singsonging ‘goodbye’ to Glendon on the way out.

“Janis would be proud of you, brother,” Carrol laughed, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I believe I will stroll back home now and leave you in the capable security of your superior.” He swatted her with a yardstick in reply.

Carrol walked back to the ranch and gathered samples of plants as she went until there was no more room in her pockets. People stopped and offered her rides, but she politely explained she walked for exercise.

Stuart and Gareth were on the porch at work on the air pressure ductwork for the ship. Stuart stretched his leg out and nearly tripped Carrol as she passed by him.

“That was suspiciously like a prank,” she observed, amused at the impish look the Good Lad brother gave her.

“Would I do such a thing,” he said mildly. Gareth chuckled.

“And you put him up to it, I suppose, Royal We?” she asked. Gareth sat back on his heels and grinned up at her.

“You are awfully skeptical, Your Nibs,” he replied. His shirt was partially unbuttoned for comfort’s sake, and the scarf of hers that he wore around his neck was plain to see. She remembered her mother’s observation that should a man wear an article of clothing from a woman, it suggested they were next to each other’s skin. The thought made Carrol blush, so she hurried inside before she said or did anything to betray her thoughts.

Gareth glanced quickly at Stuart, but the prince no longer paid any attention to his sister; he concentrated on the ductwork. Gareth kept busy as well and wondered if his earlier foolishness overstepped the line of proper behavior. Perhaps she did not approve of his flirtations any longer.

Glendon brought home everything from Carrol’s list, as well as some very ugly fish. They were a gift from the Gentrys. Instead of scales they had skin, and the heads were flat with whiskers on either side of the mouth. Carrol screamed in fright when she spied them, so shaken Darien suggested Gareth take her out to the porch. He, Stuart and Glendon prepared the mysterious creatures as Margie had instructed. The first thing the men did was to cut away the heads and get rid of them. The farm cat was eager to help, which explained to the Thuringi why the ugly creature was called a catfish.

“Only a cat is brave enough to look at a face like that and still eat it,” Stuart guessed, and the other two cooks solemnly nodded in agreement.

Gareth sat beside Carrol on the porch swing. She still trembled, even as she gave a little laugh at herself. “Can you imagine, I am being so silly,” she said shakily. He put his arms around her, and she turned to him and nestled her face against his neck.

“Nibs, you are starting to alarm me,” he said gently to her. “I cannot remember seeing you distressed this way over a creature. What is it, dear one?”

“It is just so ugly and slimy and… it looked evil, simply evil,” she whispered.

“Do not think about it, then. Think of something pleasant. Think of… think of those pleasant-smelling flowers that grow over there by the corner of the house. Think of how bright blue the sky was today. Did you have a pleasant stroll into town? You did not say when you returned.” She nodded and felt the hard strength of his arms around her. Her racing heart slowed its rapid pace and she snuggled more comfortably against him. He could not withhold a gentle caress. “Ssh, it is all better now,” he whispered.

“It was a pleasant stroll,” she ventured at last. He made the swing rock back and forth with a gentle push of his feet.

“Nibs, I feel an apology to you is in order.”

She turned her head in order to look at him without lifting her head from the comfortable cushion of his chest. “Whatever for?” she asked, stumped.

“I think perhaps my behavior earlier today has set you on edge somehow. I was completely out of line out in the barn this morning. You are someone I respect more than any other living soul and I had no business behaving so commonly towards you.”

“You have always shown me the greatest respect, Gareth, and it is not as if we have had no other encounters with each other. We are so closely guarded now; it only accentuates that which is forbidden to us.” She curled up snugly to him. “You have the most mischievous eyes.”

“Mmm. They are appreciative, I will grant you that.” They could hear the three men inside the house tease each other as they prepared the meal. He was uncertain how long that would take so he was reluctant to reveal his heart’s truth in any further detail.

“Gareth tell me a story. A lovely story,” Carrol requested.

“I am not a very good tale spinner, Your Nibs,” he warned, and kissed her forehead.

“Then tell me how your parents met.”

“Oh, they knew each other all their lives and grew up in Carzon only a few miles from each other. They attended the same poddack, attended services at the same hour, attended the same Festivals, everything. He was granted a farm to tend when he was still quite young and worked hard to develop it. Mother went to Gallina to attend a special weaver’s academy in her twenties, so they did not see each other for nearly thirty years. He farmed and ranched in the interior and she learned to weave by the sea. She traveled to Arne and Fellensk to learn more of her craft before she finally returned to Carzon. Father told me he was half-heartedly courting a lady at the time, just to keep from boredom, really –”

Denys Duncan was torn between being lonely on his ranch out in the wilds of the country and so busy with newborn livestock and burgeoning crops that he could not sit down without falling asleep. He was considered a ‘town Duncan’, since the majority of the clan lived all throughout the mountains of Thuringa as wildlife managers and vegetation specialists. Denys did not even like a town the size of Carzon and purely hated a large city like Arne. There were too many people and not enough gakkis for his liking.

The local medical warned him to not work so hard and to get away every now and then, to relax a little and clear the bran dust from his airways. Denys went to Festival with his parents and attended church services when life on the ranch permitted, and every ginta or so he visited the Bale, the local cantina. Life was slow and sure, and he kept himself busy.

He was seated on a bench on the village square to cool off after loading his wagon with seed grain. He chatted with passersby since he knew everyone in the area, and they all liked him. The earlier morning bustle of the village slowed down as the rhythm of the day bowed to the effect of the warm sun. The breeze made the tree branches in the village square dance overhead, and the scene was as idyllic as any could be. A former neighbor tugged at Denys’ hat as he went by. The neighbor wore an Air Command uniform and Denys almost did not recognize him.

“You remember my sister Maribel?” Slate Gordon asked. Denys shrugged and nodded. “Well, she returned home this past ginta from her studies and feels a little out of sorts after so long away. If you see her go by, be a good chap and give her a hello to make her feel welcome, will you?” Slate hurried away to return to the Carzon Air Command base in time for inspection.

Denys was about to climb onto his wagon to go home when he spied a woman down the pathway walking toward him. She was a short Thuringi at five-foot-seven and her disposition was so cheerful it was as if every moment was a newly opened gift. She saw him and slowed her pace ever so slightly the closer she drew to him. She had an inner confidence just on the edge of brash. He thought he never saw such an appealing face: oval shaped with high rosy cheekbones and a pert little nose. Denys stared and remembered her from years ago when she was a tiny imp in braids scampering about the cathedral steps before services. He would have never guessed she would turn out to be such an alluring little thing.

Likewise, she remembered him from when he was a laughing, singing consue student, always surrounded by friends. She used to climb a particular tree at their farm’s fence line as a girl in order to glimpse him as he rode by. He was so busy checking the fence for needed repairs that he never noticed the admiring little girl in the tree. By the time he returned from Agricultural Academy, she was already away to her studies in Gallina.

Her gaze never left his as she approached. Finally, she stopped abruptly a few feet away from him. For a moment neither said a word. Finally, Denys spoke.

“I attend the tenth hour atest at the top of the ginta,” he said as if they were already in the middle of a conversation.

“I will be there,” she replied. He got in his wagon and drove away. He looked back at her once or twice. She continued on her way, but also glanced back at him.

At the top of the ginta on the tenth hour, they met at the base of the steps leading into the Carzon cathedral. “I am Denys,” he said without preamble.

“I know. I am Maribel.”

“Are you living with your parents now?”

“Yes, until I find a place of my own.”

Denys smiled. “I plan to call on you, you know.”

“You had better,” she replied saucily. They went inside the cathedral and sat beside each other. After services he took her home, and they were practically inseparable after that. Denys told the woman he was seeing that another heart called to him and he could not deny his interest in the call. He got a slap and a scold, but ultimately the woman recognized he had always seemed reluctant to call on her, anyway.

Denys and Maribel courted slowly, for they were both under one hundreds, and Maribel was often recalled to Arne or Fellensk for special weaving work using her specialized talents to repair old tapestries. Denys had several problems in back-to-back years, including flooded grain fields, wildfires, runaway gakkis, and an experimental aircraft that plowed up and burned almost half of his crop one year. Except for the aircraft incidence which obviously was simply an unfortunate accident, everyone in Carzon had the same problems so none of it was a reflection on his ability to farm. Things settled down. As the ranch improved his grant was finalized, and he could court Maribel in earnest.

He added on a large room to the farmhouse for Maribel’s looms and machines and materials. They married at an extremely early age to Maribel’s brother’s way of thinking since Thuringi waited at least a century before marriage, but her parents approved of the match. Denys the common-born civilian did not believe in making his heart wait any longer and neither did Maribel. They married in the cathedral they had attended as children on the day after Maribel’s seventy-fifth birthday.

“Fifteen years later, she gave birth to a perfectly obnoxious little boy who could not be kept from tearing things apart to see how they worked,” Gareth chuckled. “They had fifteen quiet personal years, anyway.”

“And she knew all along he was the one for her?” Carrol asked dreamily. As his story unfolded, she laid her legs across his lap and her fingers toyed with the scarf around his neck. All earlier fears of ugly fish were purged from her mind, replaced by Gareth’s warm reflective voice and a tale of everlasting love.

“I suppose she did, at that,” Gareth said. He had the feeling that they were being observed. He looked over his shoulder and saw Darien, Stuart, and Glendon listening at the doorway.

“Do not stop,” Stuart objected. “It is a fascinating story.”

“Oh, that is mostly it,” Gareth told them. Glendon cleared his throat, a Naradi at the ready. Carrol reluctantly brought her legs around in order to sit properly in the swing.

Darien grinned at his sister. “We have managed to prepare what we believe to be is a remarkably able meal,” he told her. “Unless of course, you prefer to dine solely on the rising light of the moon and a delicious love story.”

Carrol stood up with determination. “I am not going to let some hideous creature dictate the terms of my life,” she said. As she walked past Darien, she reached up and pinched his nose. “Or allow a fish to frighten me, either.” He swatted her on the seat, and they had a brief quasch match as they made their way into the kitchen. “Where is it?” she asked with a trace of dread toward the set table.

“It is the little brown slabs on the plate there,” Darien said as he held her chair for her. The meal did not look dreadful at all, and after a tentative taste Carrol discovered the ugly fish made tasty fillets. Every meal was a new experience in the variety of life on Earth. They also ate boiled rice that evening, which the Thuringi found to be wonderful, a very Thuringi kind of dish.

The rest of the evening was fairly uneventful. Darien washed his oil field clothing as he did every evening. The odor of petroleum was strong, and it made all three Phillipis nauseous. Glendon and Gareth did not like the smell, but they were not affected as adversely as the royals. Stuart constantly bought new clothing for his brother since they could not bear the oil smell from the stubborn stains on Darien’s used clothing. It was a sad smell and reminded them of the final days of Thuringa.

Glendon and Stuart worked at mastering the American language as diligently as children in a poddack. Darien told them about a man at the oil field who could not read either. “His own language and he did not take to schooling in it,” Darien said. “He does not seem incapable of learning, however, so you would not be the only bright persons here who cannot read.” Gareth helped Carrol prepare some of her vegetation samples for research until bedtime.

In the wee hours of the morning, they heard muffled cries from Carrol’s room. All four Thuringi men tried in vain to fit into the doorway to her room at once. Stuart finally got in and turned on the light. Carrol was asleep but she was flinging at her arms at some unknown enemy in her dreams. The sudden light woke her. She gave a squeak and scrunched herself up, her bedding pulled up around her.

“What are you doing?” she asked in confusion.

“Dear one, you were having a fright in your sleep,” Stuart soothed. He sat beside her on the bed.

“I was? I was,” she realized. The men were relieved to know it was only night fright and not a physical grievance. “I saw myself swimming in a grain field, and it became water and all of a sudden these parmenter were heading for me, and they became those ugly fish -” her words became more rushed as she described her dream, and Stuart patted her hand soothingly. She caught her breath and looked sheepish.

“I was afraid this would happen.” Stuart turned to the others. “I will sit up with her for a while. You should all go on back to bed.” Darien and Glendon saluted her and trooped out since she was calmer, and her older brother looked out for her. Gareth smiled at the sight of her tousled hair and wide-awake eyes surrounded by a blanket.

“One would assume you have mastery over the beasts, Your Nibs. After all, it was you who ate them last evening,” he told her.

“I know,” she sighed. “Dreams seldom make sense.”

Gareth went back to bed. Stuart turned on a small lamp by Carrol’s bedside and turned out the overhead light. He sat back down on the bed and took his sister’s hand. She lay back on her pillow.

“I am afraid I have no charming, comforting stories like your Major Sword and Fist tells. You will have to be content with – why, what is this?” He saw the copy of the Tarinade on the table under the lamp.

“Nothing,” she quickly replied.

“Carrol Shanaugh de Phillipi, you have a naughty book,” Stuart chided. “Well, I will not read you any bedtime stories from that! Where did you get it? Oh,” he chuckled, as she gradually brought the covers up over her head. “From an admirer. You had best put that away, little sister. Father would not approve of your possession of a banned book, nor would it be wise of you to read from it any more than you probably already have. Er… you have not shared it with anyone, have you?”

“No. He gave it to me as a prank, to torment me on the trip here. And we have never had opportunity to share it, thank you for being nosy.”

“Carrol, I do not ask you out of nosiness. I ask you out of concern. He is very attracted to you, that much is obvious. But at the risk of sounding like an Elder you must take this relationship with caution. Many, many eyes on the Armada will inspect this mission and some of them are already hostile to the idea of you and Gareth’s interest in each other. If they perceive any impropriety between you it will not fall equally upon your heads; they will likely put the entire blame squarely upon his shoulders. I do not want to see that happen. God of All knows the struggle you already have with the Elder’s List. Do not let it ensnare you as it did – well, just try to maintain decorum between the two of you.”

She nodded. “Stuart, do you approve of our interest?”

He smiled gently. “Of course, I do.” He kissed her forehead. “I approve of anything that makes a good soul like you happy.” He picked up the medical textbook Michael sent. “I will practice my reading skills if you promise not to dream about Earthians reading naughty books.” She chuckled and closed her eyes as he struggled to interpret American.

While exploring the area around the ranch, Gareth and Brent discovered a spot in the nearby river where the water was deep enough to accommodate a swimming Thuringi. They brought the other four to it and spent a delightful weekend day swimming and fishing and enjoying the summer breeze together. That evening they brought home a string of fish to grill. The swimming spot became a favorite place for any of them to go for decompression, a necessity as the days grew hotter, tempers grew shorter, and patience was tested by ill-timed pranks.

Glendon saw no amusement in the girls who came to flirt with him at the store, and their skimpy outfits and sandals left him embarrassed by days' end. He preferred to take a quick refreshing swim in the river before he got home, since Carrol Shanaugh de Phillipi's Thuringi beauty only further served to remind him of his wife Janis, which in turn reminded him that Janis was billions of miles away and he was lonely.

His nerves were often jangled by the curious questions of townspeople and he was uncertain just how to answer some of the more detailed queries. He knew nothing of England and could not name any of the towns he supposedly 'lived near', and he was constantly concerned about being caught in a lie. It was a relief to unwind at the river and not have to be on the spot at every moment.

Gareth felt like a little boy again as he shimmied up the large trees and leaped from the overhanging branches into the water. For a brief time, the cares and responsibilities of constant work were gone, and he could frolic as he did as a child in Leiff River back on Thuringa. He did not have to listen to the Phillipi brothers argue politics or listen to Brent tease him about Carrol. He could also swim with her and as long as he remained in waist-deep water, he did not have to guard against physical reaction to her allure.

When Brent set out to explore the seas again, he and Stuart went deep into the jungles of the world to collect samples of plant life and organisms uncommon to their outposts' environs. It was one of the few times Stuart ever knew of Brent being cautious, but once he saw the kind of damage that jungle creatures like piranha or snakes could do, he was glad his friend asked for help. Stuart thoroughly enjoyed exploring Earth, particularly where humans did not go. They were never so far away that they could not be summoned back to the ranch in case of emergencies and were able to bring back many things that interested both Carrol and Darien.

Carrol wanted to catalog and investigate the samples, and Darien was interested in seeing how useful the plants were. Occasionally Darien went on the expeditions with them. To Stuart's relief, his brother was not always needed to work every day and was usually so fed up with his oil field co-workers he did not want to visit the local Earthian bars. Instead, he went to cities around the world and bought liquor with the help of his universal translator. These bottles he brought home so they could all enjoy a leisurely drink without having to leave the ranch.