The Second Ship Read online

  Then, turning to Mark, Director Krause said, “I hear you are quite a basketball player, young man. I don’t usually make the high school games, but I think I will try to come tomorrow night.”

  Mark grinned. “I’m sure our entire school would be honored to have you there, sir.”

  Director Krause nodded and shook hands with Gil and Fred. “I hope this puts your minds at ease. You have a good bunch of kids.”

  Both men thanked the director, who got into his car and drove off with a wave.

  Suddenly everyone became very aware that Dr. Stephenson was still standing in the driveway. As the director's car disappeared around the bend, the deputy director stepped forward.

  “Be assured, if the decision were mine, neither of you men would ever work at a national laboratory again. It doesn’t matter one whit that you didn’t know what your kids were up to. You are responsible for their actions. No excuses. No exceptions.

  “While your children may not have intended to spy on the lab, I’ll bet they were up to no good. Luckily, they are also no good at what they were up to, as evidenced by their incompetent construction and operation of their aircraft.”

  Dr. Stephenson turned on his heel and walked back to his car, a classic model Jaguar convertible. As he opened the door, he turned toward them once more.

  “Consider yourselves on probation. I’ll be personally checking the quality of your work to ensure it is better than the quality of your child rearing.”

  He slammed the door, and the Jaguar departed with a squeal of tires.

  Heather had never heard her mother cuss, but the stream of language that erupted from the petite woman’s lips was both creative and vile. When she stopped, there was a moment of awed silence.

  Then, Mr. Smythe began to laugh, and the laughter soon spread to everyone in the driveway.

  “Well, Anna, I don’t think anyone could have said that better.”

  With a massive sigh of relief, they decided on a celebratory barbeque to be hosted by the Smythes that evening. While the dads fired up the grill, the moms worked on the appetizers and salad.

  In the meantime, Heather, Jennifer, and Mark moved to their workshop in the Smythe garage. As soon as the door closed behind them, the three shared a round of high fives.

  Jennifer melodramatically wiped her brow. “Thank God that’s over. From here on, no more wild schemes.”

  Heather laughed. “You said it.”

  “Hey, guys. You need to see this.” Mark’s excited voice caused them to spin around. “I never bothered to look at our receiver units since the plane went down—but guess what? We’re still getting a feed from the QTs. There’s a faint audio signal, and we even have video coming in from the camera.”

  “Wait a second,” Heather said. “I thought the camera was destroyed in the crash.”

  “It went black. Maybe the lens was in the mud. Now, wherever it is, it must be getting some light to power the solar cells.”

  Heather was stunned. “You know what this means? Our stuff is still out there and working. We might want to start a recording.”

  Jennifer’s jaw dropped. “Didn’t we almost get our heads handed to us? And didn’t we just agree not to stick out our necks again?”

  Mark shook his head. “This is different. Our airplane is already out there somewhere. The QT doesn’t send detectable signals. There’s no risk.”

  Heather paused a moment to consider, then nodded. “He’s right. It won’t hurt to investigate a bit more.”

  Jennifer sat down hard on the bench, rubbing her temples with both hands. “Mystifying. Okay, stop. Don’t say another thing. I think I’m going to be sick.”

  Mark grabbed his sister by the hand, pulling her to her feet. “Come on, Doc. Let’s go grab some dinner. Once you have some good food in your stomach and get a good night's sleep, you'll start seeing things our way.”

  As they walked into the house, Jennifer replied, “That’s exactly what scares the crap out of me.”

  25

  The smell of mahogany and Old English furniture polish hung thick in the air. Ventilation had never been installed in Dr. Stephenson’s private office, just off the huge laboratory that housed the Rho Ship. He didn’t need it. He didn’t want it. The thick, old smell matched the dark, ceiling-to-floor mahogany of the bookcases. It matched the oversized mahogany desk, the mahogany captain's chair that had once seated Sir Francis Drake.

  People were uncomfortable in Dr. Stephenson’s presence under the best of conditions, but here, in the heart of his lair, their discomfort became a physical thing. He hadn’t designed the room with that intention, merely selected furnishings and decor that felt right to him. The stifling effect it had on others he regarded as an unexpected and pleasurable side benefit.

  The nerve of the man standing before his desk annoyed him to no end. Fred Smythe seemed completely oblivious to the oppressive atmosphere in the room and to Dr. Stephenson’s own overbearing personality. He just stood there patiently awaiting a response.

  “No, Mr. Smythe, I will not return the airplane that your kids and the McFarland child made. It became classified the second it penetrated restricted airspace. I will not waste anyone’s time clearing its onboard memory just so your young hooligans can have it back.”

  The deputy director moved over to retrieve the airplane from a closet in the far wall. It had a broken left wing but showed no other signs of damage.

  “You know what I am going to do? I am going to put this right here on my memento shelf so that whenever I am tempted to relax my demanding nature, I can glance to my left and remind myself that security threats spring from everywhere, especially from the seemingly innocent. Now get out of my office and get back to work.”

  With a curt nod of his head, Fred Smythe walked out of the deputy director's office, closing the door behind him.

  Donald Stephenson leaned back in his chair and smiled. That felt really good. All in all, things were going very well.

  Disposal of Abdul Aziz’s body had been completed in a manner that left no possibility that it would be found. It was too bad his agent wasn’t able to intercept the man before he had gained entrance to the Brownstein house. Once Aziz was already inside, it was too risky to attempt a rescue.

  So he had opted, instead, to have his man wait until Aziz finished his work. After that, once the assassin was killed, everyone who might have overheard classified information would be dead. After listening to the Aziz digital recording, Stephenson was confident he had made the correct choice.

  With that situation cleaned up, there was nothing to delay the release of cold fusion technology around the world. It was all so easy. Especially since, less than a hundred feet from where he now sat, on the short side of the L-shaped building, the second alien technology was well into its final round of prerelease testing. And thanks to a couple of unofficial volunteers, that testing had now extended beyond the laboratory confines.

  As Donald Stephenson leaned all the way back in his chair, his fingers interlaced behind his head, the thinnest of smiles creased his lips.

  26

  Whether it was the announced presence of the director of the Los Alamos National Laboratory or just because Mark had a pent-up reservoir of energy from the stress of the week, his performance on the Hilltoppers’ home court that Friday night was record shattering. By the time Roswell Goddard High School found themselves facing the LAHS second team, Mark had left the game to a standing ovation, having scored sixty-two of the team's ninety-three points.

  The national sporting newswires were suddenly abuzz with the story, thanks to an AP reporter, in town covering the Rho Ship, who happened to attend the game. The keys of his BlackBerry almost caught fire as he relayed a game rundown to his best friend and famed ESPN sports reporter, Bobby Harold.

  The story was also picked up by the National Inquisitor, a tabloid best known for its two-headed-baby stories. The lead story in their special Saturday edition screamed, “Alien Child of Rho Project Worker Sc
ores 62.”

  When Jennifer looked at Mark’s face staring up at her from the copy Heather bought at the grocery store, her eyes nearly popped from her head.

  “Oh. This is just great.”

  Heather leaned against the workbench in the Smythe’s garage. “Where is your alien brother, anyway?”

  Jennifer shook her head. “His new cheerleader girlfriend picked him up an hour ago.”

  Heather frowned. “Colleen 'All Cars' Johnson?”

  “That’s the one. What does ‘All Cars’ mean?”

  “That she’s never found a backseat she didn’t like.” Heather’s frown deepened. “What does Mark see in that girl? She’s older than him and gives blondes a bad name.”

  “You have a way of answering your own questions.” Jennifer crumpled the news rag in her hands and tossed it at the trash can next to the garage door. It missed.

  Heather didn’t know what it was that made her so angry when she thought of Mark out with Colleen. After all, he was free to make his own decisions. But someone so shallow? She was stunned.

  “Well, don’t worry about Mark,” Jennifer said as she walked to the trash can and stuffed the wadded paper in. “The way the press is camping him now, there’s no way he can go anywhere near the ship. We’ll pack up the receiver equipment and take it out there ourselves.”

  They had decided it was too risky to keep the equipment in the Smythe garage any longer. Instead, they opted to take a laptop, a tape drive, and the QT receiver unit and set them up on the ship. Power was a bit of a problem that they would have to resolve, but they had a plan for that.

  They had a variety of photo-voltaic cells that would turn light into power, which they could then use to keep the batteries charged. Both Heather and Jennifer were confident they could have the ship focus light on the solar collectors in a way that would give them a sufficient power stream to keep everything running. It would just take a little work to configure it all. With that in mind, they packed a complete set of tools.

  It was almost noon by the time they loaded everything onto their bikes and made their way out to the starship, which they had named the Second Ship. The trip out had taken them twice as long as normal since they stopped several times to be sure they weren’t followed.

  Once through the holographic field, Heather climbed up into the ship first, leaning down to retrieve the packages as Jennifer handed them up to her. Jennifer struggled climbing up but, with Heather’s help, finally managed. Then, pausing only to slip the headsets into place, Heather and Jennifer climbed up to the command deck.

  For two hours they worked, laying out all of the receiver equipment, the laptop, the tape drive, and their tools and then hooking in the solar panel battery charging system. They were very happy with the way the ship responded to their request for enhanced lighting directed to the panel. A bright beam focused itself directly on the spot where they had laid out the solar array.

  Another wonderful discovery presented itself completely by accident.

  As Jennifer and Heather worked on the wiring from the solar collectors to the battery charging circuitry, Jennifer said, “I don’t know about you, but I wish we had more pleasant surroundings to work on this stuff.”

  “I know what you mean. It would be nice to be on the beach in Bora Bora right now.”

  The rose-colored light surrounding them dissolved away, replaced with the cobalt waters of the reef-sheltered island, gently lapping at the shore.

  “Incredible,” said Jennifer, standing and looking around.

  Behind them, a high volcanic peak wreathed in clouds rose majestically into the sky. Heather could feel the soft breeze, smell the sea air, taste the salt on her tongue. It was so real that Heather knelt down to run her fingers through the sand, an act that almost resulted in her breaking a nail on the smooth floor of the command deck.

  “How did it know what Bora Bora looks like?” Jennifer asked.

  “It must have gotten it from my mind,” said Heather. “We stopped there on our Tahiti cruise last year. It’s my favorite Tahitian island. If you’ve seen the old musical South Pacific, then you’ve seen it.”

  The illusion was so beautiful, the girls took a while to return to work.

  When they finally finished and powered the system up, they received an unpleasant surprise. The QT receiver was not picking up a signal.

  Jennifer turned to look at Heather. “What’s going on? Do you think they destroyed the airplane?”

  Heather paused to think. “I don’t know, but I doubt it. More likely it’s somewhere dark, so there’s no power to the system. When the light comes back on, it’ll start sending again.”

  “You mean if the light gets turned on. What if it’s in a box?”

  “Well, we can’t worry about that. Let’s go ahead and set the output to be captured to tape if the computer detects an incoming signal. We’ll just leave it and come back tomorrow after church. Then we’ll see if we have anything.”

  Jennifer moved to the keyboard and began programming in the instructions. As familiar as Heather was with how good Jennifer had gotten, she still found herself amazed at just how fast her friend was on the computer.

  After just a few minutes, Jennifer stood up. “Okay, that’s done. I guess all we can do now is wait.”

  It felt odd to leave all of their equipment set up on the floor of the command deck, but it made climbing the steep canyon slope back to their bikes much easier. It also made for a pleasant ride back to White Rock. As they approached the turn in to their houses, Meadow Lane held a surprise that killed Heather’s good mood.

  A small crowd had gathered in front of the Smythe house, clad in an assortment of outlandish garb and carrying signs such as “Send out the Alien” and “Basketball is for Earthlings.”

  Braking hard enough to leave skid marks, Jennifer barely managed to miss a woman who danced out into the street whirling a long scarf. It reminded Heather of one of those Olympic ribbon gymnastic routines.

  “Hey, watch it! What do you think you’re doing?” Jennifer demanded.

  The woman stopped whirling, a vapid smile on her lips. “A welcoming dance, of course. The young alien must know that some of us welcome his presence here on our planet. Not everyone on Earth is a bigot.”

  Seeing Jennifer’s raised eyebrow, Heather leaned over.

  “Jen, forget it. Let’s get inside.”

  Two policemen were on the scene and managed to keep the group off of the Smythe front lawn and out of their driveway. One of them was kind enough to escort Jennifer through to her garage. Heather waved at Jennifer and then ducked into her own garage. Fortunately, the crowd remained oblivious to her presence.

  By the time her mother had dinner ready, a larger contingent of police had arrived with a van and, having made several arrests for unlawful assembly and trespassing, managed to clear the area.

  Heather’s father peered out through the curtains on the front window before joining Heather and her mother at the table.

  “Finally. I was wondering when the authorities would get that under control.”

  Her mother shook her head. “All it takes to stir up the nutcases is a story in the Inquisitor. Poor Mark. They almost attacked him and his girlfriend when they came home this afternoon. She seems like such a sweet girl.”

  Both her parents looked over at Heather as she almost choked on her spaghetti.

  “Are you all right, babe?” her father asked.

  Heather grabbed her water glass, taking a big gulp before responding. “Fine, Dad. I just swallowed wrong.”

  Relaxing, her parents returned to their discussion. By the time dinner was over and she made her way up to bed, Heather had gotten her fill of what a lovely family the Johnsons were and how proud they were of Colleen. After all, she was a two-time All-State Cheerleader and a shoo-in for her third selection in a row. And wasn’t she just the cutest in that pretty little outfit she had been wearing this afternoon? And didn’t Mark seem to be enjoying her company? And wasn’
t it about time he found a nice girlfriend?

  On and on the conversation had revolved around the lovely Miss Johnson until Heather excused herself from the table, professing exhaustion. It was that or have her head explode.

  Of course the church service Sunday morning featured a sermon entitled “Love Thy Neighbor,” all about how many people poison their minds with unkind thoughts toward others. By the end of the hour, Heather was thoroughly ashamed of herself and angry that she felt ashamed. Thank God she had not mentioned to her mom or dad her nickname for Colleen.

  “Why the glum look?” her dad asked as they got into the car.

  Heather forced a smile. “Was I looking glum? I must have been thinking about homework.”

  Great. Now she was lying to her parents again. God must be having a tough time keeping track of the sins she was racking up this week.

  As they pulled up at their house and got out of the car, Heather found Jennifer waiting for her on the front porch. She noticed the Smythe’s front lawn was protestor-free and looked back at Jennifer in question.

  “Mark drove off with Colleen, and the crowd left,” Jennifer said. “We didn’t even have to call the police this morning.”

  “Then let’s get going before some new ones show up.”

  “Exactly what I was going to suggest.”

  Jennifer’s mom had packed them a picnic lunch of peanut butter sandwiches and diet sodas. Since a peanut butter sandwich was one of the few food items Linda Smythe could adequately prepare, Heather looked forward to it.

  By the time Heather and Jennifer reached the Second Ship, they were both starving. Donning the headsets, they ate their lunch gazing out toward snowcapped Mt. McKinley, its peak rising majestically in the distance, courtesy of the amazing graphical capabilities of the ship's computer system.