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  “So,” Brad waited a moment, then realized she was not going to continue. “Enlighten me... what was it?”

  “It looked a bit like a porcupine, only there weren’t any quills,” she revealed after some further hesitation.

  Brad watched her blush again. “This non-porcupine, does he have insurance?” He looked around as if he expected the animal to walk over and pull out a wallet.

  The lady started to respond, then caught his true meaning and smiled despite herself.

  “Just look at my car!” Brad exclaimed, seeing that she was softening. “It’s totalled! And all for a non-porcupine.”

  “Surely not, that’s only a few hundred dollars of damage, isn’t it?”

  Brad smiled crookedly. “More like a thousand or two. And this old beater isn’t worth much more than that!”

  The lady looked at Brad’s car, noticing the rust spots and the old styling for the first time. “I see what you mean!”

  “Hey! It was a good car!” Brad protested. “It does over a hundred miles to the gallon.”

  The lady smiled again. “I know that one,” she said with a grin as she realized he was leading into the old joke about oil consumption. “So, do you always introduce yourself in such dramatic ways?”

  Brad put out his hand. “Usually I use my helicopter!” He watched her eyes widen in surprise. “I’m Brad Hawk; I have a small business... transportation, surveying, that sort of thing.”

  “And I’m Tracy Wilde,” she took the outstretched hand. “I hope this accident isn’t going to delay some important business venture?”

  Brad shook his head sadly. “I’ll have to see if they’ll let me park my other vehicle in the mall parking lot; it could be a bit awkward finding a big enough space, though.”

  Tracy grinned again. “As I have done you out of your conventional transportation, let me make amends by providing you with my own humble vehicle, driven by me, of course,” she added hastily, in case Brad got any funny ideas. “As long as you don’t want to use the trunk...” She pointed at the slightly crumpled rear end of her otherwise immaculate vehicle.

  Brad relaxed, strangely pleased about the events of the previous few minutes. This is better than shopping for groceries, that’s for darn sure!

  By the time the tow truck arrived, Brad and Tracy were sitting on the hood of her Buick, chatting about where he might be able to get a good used car. Tracy wanted to take him around to all the lots in Westwood (which would not have taken very long) and Brad was saying that she did not need to inconvenience herself that much, as he had some good friends in the business, who he was sure would come up with a winner.

  The police arrived as the old wreck was being prepared for towing, took their statements and went away puzzled by the cheerfulness of the two drivers; often they had needed to separate the two people as well as arrange for tow trucks to separate the vehicles.

  As Brad and Tracy continued talking after the police were gone, standing around in the road near the bits of broken tail lights and grille, somehow Tracy ended up offering to take him to the bigger centre of Beddington so he could look for a car there, and she amazed him even further by responding positively to his suggestion that they get together that night for a movie.

  ***

  Brad smiled at the memory. In the course of the three weeks following the accident, he had found out that Tracy was a doctor of medicine, that she was a senior partner in a highly successful group practice in the town of Westwood, where they both lived, and that she also worked relief shifts in the emergency department of the hospital at nearby Beddington, the biggest hospital in the New Hampshire area west of Manchester. He also found out that she had to be at least as strongly attracted to him as he was to her, as, despite her busy schedule, she had managed to meet him for a meal or a trip to the movies several times each week since the serendipitous accident.

  Brad sat back and pictured her as she had appeared that first day. She was a nice height (for him). Her fairly short, straight blonde hair had a slight shine, and framed a pixie-like face; she looked ultra-slim in her grey dress pants and matching blouse. He had discovered later that she was not just slim but positively skinny, so taking her out for a meal became a ‘medical necessity’ in his light-hearted banter, a joke that made her feel amused, flattered and most importantly, valued.

  Then, on the previous Saturday, Brad had been working on his old Bell 206B when a truck had backfired as it passed by the airfield. When Tracy had dropped by unexpectedly to check out his helicopter and offer him a late lunch, she had found him crouching underneath the aircraft, staring out through eyes that saw only the jungle of Viet Nam, and the approaching enemy soldiers. She had taken him home and listened as he haltingly told her about his tour of duty.

  Somehow the evening had crept up on them, and Tracy had found herself sitting in silence as a gentle rain fell on the patio outside her house. Exhausted and temporarily relieved by the sharing of his experiences, Brad had fallen asleep. She watched him slumped out on the couch next to her, his battle-worn face softened in unconsciousness, and tinged with a hint of vulnerability by the fading light.

  ***

  “Hold her steady; there’s some more of our guys coming out of the trees!” Zaug screamed.

  Captain Hawk lowered the powerful Chinook slightly more until it hovered only two feet above the trampled undergrowth, and waited for the approaching group. The sound of sporadic small arms fire was drowned out by the steady roar of the twin Lycoming turbines as the escaping platoon rushed and boarded the aircraft.

  “Take her up!” Zaug shouted as the last man half jumped, half fell into the fuselage. The helicopter climbed abruptly and banked left as Brad Hawk turned it away from the enemy and accelerated towards safety. Keeping close to the treetops, he glanced down and spotted a group of Vietcong guerrillas scrambling through a clearing below. Tracer shells whistled past the starboard side as Hawk swung left and dipped over the next ridge, out of range.

  Zaug leaned over from behind the pilot’s seat once he was satisfied that the troops were getting settled for the flight back to their advanced base.

  “I guess we fooled them again, eh Brad?” he slapped Hawk across the shoulder. A moment later there was a flash as an explosive enemy shell penetrated the cabin, and smoke billowed around, making it difficult to see. Zaug leaned further over, making Brad work to maintain his heading, so he reached back and tried to push his friend off.

  “Cut that out, you idiot, I’ve still got to fly this thing. Go back and make sure that every—” Brad stopped as he noticed the blood on the ‘cyclic’, and looked at his stained hand. Glancing back he found himself facing something that his mind told him must be the remains of his friend.

  He was brought back to his senses by the shaking of the helicopter as it skimmed the treetops on the next ridge. Struggling to keep airborne, he fought with the controls, and slowly the big Boeing CH-47C responded.

  Zaug, Zaug! Why weren’t you flying this time? The whole aircraft shuddered as it was hit again, and Brad could tell that the port engine had suffered a direct hit by the change in vibrations that he heard and felt. Something sprayed over the forward cabin window, obscuring his view. He leaned forward to wipe it clear, only to discover that it was outside. More shells found the helicopter, and the other engine quit without warning. There was a moment of deathly quiet before the trees seemed to rush up and rip them out of the sky.

  “We’re down! We’re down!” Brad screamed into the radio.

  ***

  The sound was wrong. Brad sat up, trying to see. It was pitch black. A clock ticked steadily from the table beside the couch. Sweat trickled down his forehead and into his eyes. There was a creaking sound as Tracy sat up beside him. She turned on the lamp, revealing the rather mundane, though comfortable interior of her sitting room.

  “They seem to be even worse than you said,” she suggested gently.

  Brad said nothing for a while then: “Zaug was so alive... cool… you k
now? I guess I thought nothing could hurt him.” He stared unseeingly at the lamp.

  “I want to help,” she began, “I–”

  “Thanks, Tracy.” He reached out then and took her slender hands in his work-hardened ones. “I guess I never had someone I could talk to. Always thought this kinda thing happened to someone else, not me. It’s been so long… When it all started coming back–” He looked at her strangely. “This isn’t something to do with you being a doctor, is it?”

  “Look. I didn’t worm my way into your life to study you.” She turned so that she could look directly at him. “I’m not ‘Doctor Wilde’ here; I’m just Tracy, your friend.” She looked down at his hands as she felt them shaking.

  “More than just a friend,” he whispered, as he buried his face in her hair.

  I hope so, I really hope so. Tracy held him close, until eventually the shakes went away.

  ***

  The chair creaked, and Brad realized that he had dozed off. He looked at his watch. I’d better hurry, or I’ll be late. Never keep a lady waiting, as my old Dad used to say. He grinned and climbed out of the battered chair, grabbed the keys to his latest – though definitely not new – vehicle from the hook behind the door, and jerked the obstinate and warped piece of wood back into its frame as he went out.

  ***

  Richard awoke to the sound of a dog barking nearby. Fragments of his dream skimmed rapidly around in his mind like dry ice in a hot drink. Within moments all traces were gone, and he sat up, relieved that he would not have to pass through the full ordeal of such an emotionally draining experience, at least for one morning.

  After a quick shower and a hasty breakfast, for he had slept late, he said goodbye to his aunt and hurried out. As he walked down the road, he wondered what kind of conversation he would have with Karen.

  Probably tell me about her parents, he concluded a little nervously, as he walked down the road. Overhead, low grey clouds slipped past, and the trees shook their branches at him in anger as he studied them. Leaves skittered nervously up the road towards him, and he blinked as a drop of rain hit him in the right eye. I wonder whether she’s coming to school today.

  Soon he neared Citadel; he looked at the blank walls again, wondering what they might contain, and if Karen really lived inside them. A few more drops splattered on the road around him, threatening a real downpour, but as yet not delivering. As he contemplated the strange structure, she appeared around the end of the building and ran down the patchy grass towards him. She was wearing a grey pantsuit again, but her hair was braided into a thick rope this time, and she looked somehow smaller and even younger when she stopped by the old fence a few yards down from him.

  At first Richard thought this was a matter of contrast, because she was standing outside where the scenery dwarfed her, but then he realized that the legs and arms of the clothing she wore were not so long and crumpled as those of the outfit she had worn the previous day, and so what he was seeing was a closer approximation to her true shape. He walked the last few yards and leaned on a fence post right opposite her.

  “Good morning, my friend Richard.” Her eyes, blue now, focused on him with a complete disregard for the inclement weather or anything else.

  “Nice to see you, Karen,” he said sincerely.

  “I hoped that I would see you from Citadel when you came walking along the road this morning,” she announced in her somewhat halting manner, as if she had prepared this speech very carefully for his arrival. “I am glad I did. I will not come at the school today; I have to do some other thing.” She reached over the fence and held out a large folded sheet of paper to him. “It is very important, so I must stop coming to the school.”

  He took it from her hand without thinking and the wind blew it open, folding it back across his wrist. The paper was fairly shiny and covered with the neatest hand-printed lettering he had ever seen.

  “I ask you to give this writing to our… teachers for me. Please.”

  Richard held it open with both hands, gripping it tightly to prevent it blowing away, and quickly read through the note. He looked up at her uncertainly.

  “Do you mind if I make a suggestion?”

  “You do not want to do this for me?” Karen looked puzzled.

  “No, that’s not it at all. It’s just that I think you should change the wording here to say that your father thinks you may be coming down with a ‘stomach bug’ or something,” he explained. “In fact, make the letter as if it were coming from him. Then they’ll accept it without much thought. That would be better than saying you are too busy.”

  “But this would not be a true thing. It would not be… correct, ah…”

  “I know, but if you want to keep a low profile, that’s what you need to do.” Richard could see that she was not convinced. “Look. I’ll write one for you, pretending it is from your father. I can get some stationery at the store on the way to school; that way it can arrive in an envelope, too.”

  “I do not know… if you are found—”

  “Don’t worry about me being found out, I’ll use my fancy old-style handwriting, they haven’t seen that here yet.”

  “If you are sure…” she said, still doubtful of the wisdom of telling a lie in any circumstance.

  “You said that you and I would be friends,” he continued. “This is something a friend would do. I think I understand these things, well, better than you do, because I’ve been around people a lot more than you have.”

  “I thank you, Richard Fletcher. I see I have an other thing to learn. I thought you will be a good teacher for me. Goodbye.” She turned and walked back up the slope abruptly. As she neared the end of Citadel furthest from the sea, she looked back. “Come and be here at me tomorrow,” she called out. “Any moment.” She stepped quickly around the curved wall of the structure, and was gone.

  Richard stood for a while, just looking at the silent black Citadel, hoping she would come back out and talk to him some more, then he sighed, straightened up, and walked on towards school, mentally composing Karen’s sick note from her long-dead father as the rain continued to menace him but not make good on its threat.

  Chapter Nine

  The dead will always be with us – Idahnian

  The enigmatic and emotionless Latt stepped into the laboratory dome and walked over to the low table against which Professor Hardy lay crumpled.

  Despite the fire in his stomach, the Professor noticed him approach and twisted to look at him.

  “I tell you… this food is making us sick!” Isaac tried to shout, but his voice would not oblige him with the volume he wanted. “I’ll not work another minute on your fantastic… research unless you provide us with food from Earth.” He managed to push himself up in stages, first leaning on the bench, then the table top, swayed as he reached an almost vertical posture, and glared at the alien. His point was made far more clearly by the sound of retching coming from Ruth, who had just collapsed completely to the horizontal and was sprawled, barely conscious, on the floor behind him. “Look at Terry… and Ruth.” He sobbed.

  Latt stared impassively at the pale-faced Earth natives in front of him. Issssack is still functional, but....

  “And your Controllers, what will…” His eyes started to lose focus. “You must under… understa—” Professor Hardy collapsed into unconsciousness in mid-sentence, falling against the low bench with an ominous thud and sliding off it onto the floor.

  Latt watched Isaac for several minutes, until he was convinced that the Professor was not going to be aware of anything for some time. He walked slowly over to where Terry and Ruth lay motionless on the floor and kicked each one, quite hard, in the abdomen. Then he walked back and tried the same technique on Isaac. There was no reaction from any of them. He stared at them with his brilliant blue eyes for several minutes, then he pivoted soundlessly on his heels and walked quickly out of the lab. He started to tremble and break out into sweat as he tried to compose a suitably worded request for help that h
e could deliver to the ‘Controllers’, one that would not result in them executing him out of hand.

  ***

  Several hours later and a hundred-million miles or so across the desolate, frozen emptiness of space, the police had just arrived at the scene of a multi-vehicle pile-up on a highway in one of the central states of the U.S.A. As the flashing lights threw a strange stroboscopic illumination over the early evening scene, one patrolman reported the emergency on the radio in his cruiser while his partner climbed out of the vehicle and walked over to the twisted wreckage of cars and trucks.

  Just minutes back along the road from the scene of the accident, and totally unaware of its occurrence, a twenty-two wheeler tractor-trailer combination pulled by a Peterbilt 362 cruised steadily along the quiet highway, like an industrious and almost mindless, many-legged insect. Harry Paxson had been driving all day, as he had for countless days before. He was beginning to regret the decision he had made to work for a small company; although the overtime was helping him to save for a deposit on the house he and Carrie had planned to buy, he was dog-tired and ready to quit and find another way to make a living.

  Just another three zillion miles and I’ll be there. Somehow this light-hearted thought failed to comfort him, perhaps because ‘there’ was the far end of his trip, and it would be another week before he could hope to be home, and then only if his boss didn’t find a final leg to complete his tour of the mid-west. In just four months Harry had crossed every state boundary on the rather circuitous company route between New York and San Francisco eight times. He felt like he had visited every state in the union, except Alaska and Hawaii, of course, in the past year. But he couldn’t remember. I’m losing track.

  It had been dark for about two hours, and the road was deserted. Stars seemed to gleam very brightly through the ultra-clear skies. Harry looked up at them briefly, leaning forwards against the steering wheel. He contemplated pulling over, but he knew he would never make Great Falls on schedule if he didn’t struggle on until at least the next delivery point before sleeping. He shook his head to clear it, and slapped himself across the face four times for good measure.