The Second Ship Read online

  Ernesto Rodriguez had firmly refused, saying that God had healed his son and that was all they needed to know. Heather understood the residual anger Raul’s dad must feel toward the medical community that had failed him, but she still felt that the denial was shortsighted, possibly hurting others who might be helped by understanding Raul’s condition.

  Now, having met Raul, she was delighted his light still shone on this world. They had gone out twice already, if you counted a trip to McDonald’s for a Big Mac and fries a date. And now he had asked her to the dance on Thursday night. It was going to be a last-millennium, retro sock hop at the school gymnasium, complete with the girls dressing in skirts and bobby socks while the boys wore jeans, collared shirts, and slicked their hair back with copious amounts of hair gel.

  Just thinking about going with Raul to the dance distracted Heather horribly. Already this morning she had been scolded twice by Ms. Gorsky for daydreaming in class. Mark noticed her infatuation, and his snide comments as the class ended added to her annoyance. As he walked by singing “There’s a new kid in town,” Heather elbowed him hard.

  “Mark, I’m really not in the mood for your needling.”

  “Needling? Me?” The look of wounded innocence on Mark’s face didn’t improve her mood.

  “I’m serious.”

  Just then Raul walked up to her. “Am I interrupting something?”

  Heather smiled. “No. Mark was just leaving.”

  “Sure was. I’m sure the reason why will come to me shortly.” Before he could catch another elbow, Mark moved off into the crowd.

  Raul did not seem to notice the quip. “So, Heather, are you doing anything over lunch?”

  “Well, let’s see. I was planning on eating.”

  Raul grinned. “You know that isn’t what I meant. I wanted to ask you to have lunch with me. My folks are going to swing by and will treat at the café.”

  “That sounds like fun. I like getting treated, especially when it avoids the school cafeteria.”

  “Great. It’s a date then.”

  “You’ve got it.”

  As Raul turned away, he yelled over his shoulder, “Oh—meet us out on the front steps at noon.”

  “I’ll be there,” said Heather.

  As she turned back toward her next class, she bumped into Mark, who had his hands cupped over his mouth.

  “I’ll be there. I’ll be there,” he pretended to yell after Raul.

  Although his words were only loud enough for her to hear, Heather felt sudden anger redden her face. She stormed past him, sweeping into the classroom like an ancient pterodactyl swooping down on its prey.

  By the time noon approached, Heather had recovered her composure, determined not to let Mark’s teasing get under her skin. Still, she carefully avoided running into him as she made her way down the hall and out onto the front steps of the school. Raul was already there, along with his parents.

  “Hi, Heather,” Raul said, stepping forward to take her hand. “This is my mom and dad.”

  Mr. Rodriguez was a slender man who looked every bit the scientist that Raul had described, the dark frames on his glasses making the skin on his face appear a lighter shade than Raul’s. Mrs. Rodriguez was a motherly looking woman wearing a floral-patterned dress and leather pumps. Her dark eyes shone with an intensity Heather found disconcerting.

  “I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Rodriguez.”

  There was a brief moment of uncomfortable silence before Mr. Rodriguez extended his hand. “Very nice to meet you, Heather.”

  Mrs. Rodriguez only nodded. “Well, shall we go?”

  Heather wasn’t sure why she had the feeling she was less than welcome on this outing, but seeing Raul’s smile eased her discomfort.

  As they followed Mr. and Mrs. Rodriguez toward the aging green Suburban, Raul leaned in and whispered, “Please be patient. My parents were so protective while I was sick, they’re having trouble adjusting.”

  Heather nodded and smiled. She could only imagine the trauma the little family had been through as Raul’s cancer had advanced. If that didn’t leave significant emotional scarring, then she didn’t know what would.

  The café the Rodriguez family had picked out turned out to be McDonald’s, something that almost made Heather laugh out loud. She could not imagine her mother referring to Mickey D’s as a café, although, to be fair, it did serve burgers and sodas, pancakes and coffee, and many other things that fell within the realm of typical café fare. Still, it just didn’t seem right to utilize any word of French or even European origin to describe a fast-food joint.

  As they settled down in a booth to eat, an awkward silence descended. For once, even Raul seemed reluctant to break the spell, which weighed more heavily upon Heather with each passing minute. Finally, in a desperate attempt to generate some pleasant conversation, her mouth opened of its own accord.

  “So, Mrs. Rodriguez. It was so wonderful to hear the story of Raul’s recovery. I found it tremendously inspiring.”

  Mrs. Rodriguez turned a stern gaze on Heather. “Really? It is not inspiring. Raul is a miracle from God.”

  Heather gulped. Determined to keep Mrs. Rodriguez talking, in the hope that she could break through that icy reserve, she continued. “Yes, it is a miracle. And I think it’s inspiring because his example can give others hope that they can recover in the same miraculous way.”

  “Raul did not receive a miracle. He is one. His recovery is not something that others can accomplish through Earthly means. God saw fit to bring Raul to us, immersing him in a second baptism of pain and suffering so that we could observe his recovery. So that we might see how this world’s healing is impotent and know that all true power lies in Him.”

  Heather was confused by the intensity of the sudden verbal onslaught. For one thing, the odd manner in which Mrs. Rodriguez spoke almost made it sound as if she were confusing the terms God and Raul.

  Heather struggled to recover. “I really didn’t mean to argue with you. I can’t even imagine the pain that you have endured. And I understand why you wouldn’t want to let any doctors study his recovery. At least until you’re ready.”

  Mr. Rodriguez banged his fist down on the table with enough force to cause other customers to stare. “Until we are ready? How dare you question us. We will not let anyone poke and prod our son anymore. They had their chance and proved their impotence. We will do nothing to aid them in their quest for self-importance.”

  Mrs. Rodriguez leaned forward, her eyes blazing with a zealous light that scared Heather. “It is so easy to be an unbeliever, to walk the path laid at your feet by Satan. But I always knew that God had a plan for my son. Soon everyone will be given a choice—to walk with glory or to burn in the depths of hellfire. Be thankful that He is giving you the chance to become worthy. I, for one, cannot see it within you. Be thankful that His mercy is beyond mine.”

  If Heather’s hair could have curled on her head, it would have, as surely as if she had undergone a two-hour perm at the closest beauty salon. She was beyond speechless. She was stupefied.

  She glanced at Raul, who stared at her as he lifted a golden French fry to his lips, 12 small grains of salt clinging to its greased, 61.6345-millimeter-long form. Heather felt like some insect, pressed between glass slides, as a giant peered down at her, twisting knobs to adjust the focus of his microscope so that he could determine exactly what made her tick.

  When Heather got nervous, she lost focus, and whenever she lost concentration, numbers and equations swirled through her mind in a maddening storm. For 11.857 seconds, nobody said anything.

  Miraculously, Raul put down his golden French fry, uneaten, and dispelled the silence with a musical laugh. “Mom. Look at me for a second.”

  The woman’s harsh gaze turned toward Raul, and as her eyes met his, a mystical transformation occurred. Her look went beyond love to one of adoration, maybe even worship.

  “Mom, I invited Heather because I like her, and I wanted you and
Dad to get a chance to meet her. Did you hear what I said? I like her. And I expect you to like her too.”

  If he had slapped his mother’s face, her expression could not have been more pained.

  “Raul, I am so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. You know I would never question your judgment or think to stand in the way of your desires. Please forgive me.”

  To Heather’s horror, the woman began to cry, burying her face in her hands, sobs shaking her body. By this time, the people at the nearby tables had not only quit looking at them, most had found a good excuse to move to another part of the restaurant.

  Raul rose and walked around the table to his mother, taking her face between his own palms. A look of beatific peace came over the young man’s face.

  “Mom, I know you meant only the best. You have protected me for so long that it is hard to stop doing it. But I don’t need protection now. You know that, don’t you?”

  Mrs. Rodriguez nodded.

  “Good. I am not angry with you. I just want you to be nice to Heather and to like her as I do. Can you do that for me?”

  Mrs. Rodriguez nodded more vigorously, achieving a rate of 3.13256 head oscillations per second.

  When Raul released her face, Mrs. Rodriguez turned to face Heather, and if it had not been for the wet trails of tears down her face, Heather would have thought she was a different woman, so bright and cheery was the smile warming her features.

  “Dear, I am sorry that I gave you such a grilling. I let my overzealous protective instincts cloud my judgment.”

  Heather struggled to breathe. “I completely understand. No apology necessary.”

  Not only did Heather not understand, she felt almost as if she had once more fallen down that rabbit hole after Alice. A quick glance at Mr. Rodriguez put her farther down that hole. He did not look apologetic, merely pensive, studying her as if deciding what further damage she might do.

  Mr. Rodriguez glanced down at his watch. “Well, would you look at the time? If I don’t get you kids back to class, I’ll be answering to your principal.”

  With that, he stood and led them like a row of ducklings, first to dump the trash, then out and into the beat-up, old Suburban.

  Raul held her hand for the car ride back to school and up onto the steps after getting out of the car. Just before they passed through the door, he leaned over and kissed her gently on the cheek.

  “You did great,” he said. “Gotta run to my class, though. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  Somehow Heather found her way to her locker and then to physics class with the right books, notebook, and pencil. As the class began, Heather stared at her teacher, Mr. Harold, with no more comprehension than a zombie. Unseeing. Unhearing. Beyond emotional exhaustion.

  The frequency of Mr. Harold's vocal-cord variations, the amplitude in decibels of each syllable that escaped his mouth, the fluctuations of the classroom air temperature in degrees Kelvin, all formed numbers and equations that cascaded through her mind like water rushing over Niagara Falls. Heather gave up on following the lecture as the beauty and peace of the mathematics washed her brain clean.

  50

  Mark sat up in the darkness, a cold sweat drenching his body. For several seconds he had difficulty remembering where he was, the dark room as unfamiliar to his newly awakened senses as some sleazy Juárez hotel room. The clock shone the time at him in luminescent, bloodred numerals, reminding him of a dimly recalled stained-glass window.

  2:03 a.m.

  His room. He remembered now. He had gone to bed in his own room, so that must be where he now awakened, even if it seemed thoroughly alien in the post-midnight darkness.

  Mark listened to the stillness in the house, his enhanced hearing analyzing the smallest of sounds. Down the hall he could hear the breathing of Jennifer in her room. In his parents’ room, amidst his dad's soft snoring, the sound of his mother’s own rhythmic breath softly whispered.

  The old house creaked, issuing a small crackling sound as the timbers adjusted to the wind. Outside, that wind moaned through the pines, the sound rising to a wail before dying out completely.

  It had been many a year since he had awakened from a dream in terror, but that was apparently what had just happened. The details of the dream were vague, and when he tried to focus his attention upon them, they drifted away as if they didn’t want to be remembered.

  But that was crazy. He did want to remember. In fact, he had a strong feeling that he needed to remember the dream, that somehow his very survival depended upon pulling its contents from the depths of his mind.

  That new kid. What was his name? Raul. Yes, that was right. He had been in the dream, although Mark couldn’t think why that would frighten him. All Mark had to do was reach out, grab Raul by the neck, and give a quick squeeze to snap him like a twig. But something in that dream about Raul had scared him.

  Mark felt the sweat-soaked bed and received another surprise. Where were the sheets and blankets? Even the bottom sheet was missing.

  Mark glanced toward the window. Something was there, blocking his view of the night sky.

  An irrational, deep-seated dread consumed him, constricting his chest in bands of iron. The dream. Something in his dream had made its way into his room, had somehow attained physical form in the non-dream world.

  Mark struggled to gain control of his thoughts. This was stupid. He was one of the quickest, strongest, and most coordinated people on the planet, with neural enhancements that seemed to be continually growing and refining themselves. But here he sat, bathed in sweat, petrified into inactivity by a dream he couldn’t even remember. And all because of something draped across his window.

  Mark forced himself to move his hand toward the lamp on his nightstand, feeling carefully for the pull chain, while keeping his eyes firmly locked on the window.

  With a quick tug on the chain, the lamp illuminated a scene that brought him to his feet, his heart thundering in his chest. One of his red sheets had been tied between the curtain rod and his Olympic weight bar, which now lay directly below the window. The other sheet had been tacked to the window frame.

  There, silhouetted against the darkness beyond, was the bloodred image of an inverted cross.

  51

  By the time he boarded the bus for school, Mark felt exhausted. It had not taken him long to pull down the bed sheets and remake his bed, but he had been unable to go back to sleep. He had also had no luck in trying to remember the dream.

  It was funny, really. He could replay every minute of every day if he so chose. He could read a book he had merely glanced at, even if that glance was a month ago. But the details of his dream whispered at the corners of his mind, only to dissipate like smoke in the wind when he focused on them.

  Finally he had given up, pulled out his school books, and done all the assignments for the coming week. That, in itself, was a frightening thing.

  Raul. There was something about that little creep that had his subconscious working overtime. It wasn’t that Heather seemed to be infatuated with him. Well, that might have something to do with Mark’s dislike of the guy, but it wasn’t enough to send him into the land of the walking dead.

  No. Something else was going on with that dude, and Mark was determined to find out what it was.

  The thought of Heather did little to brighten Mark’s mood. He glanced across the bus to the seat where she sat beside Jennifer, smiling and talking to his sister as she always did. She hadn’t been that talkative at the dance last night. Every time he had seen her, she had been draped around Raul out on the dance floor.

  A vision of his fist smacking Raul hard enough to send him spinning across the dance floor brought a grim smile to Mark’s lips. Then he shook his head. What was wrong with him today? He didn’t normally take pleasure from imagining beating the crap out of his classmates. With effort he turned his thoughts to other things.

  The cold fusion science project was coming along very well. They now had the tank built and were
working on the construction of the radiation detection probe, which would also contain what Mark called the subspace tuning fork. In reality it was a doped quartz crystal, carefully mounted in a programmable oscillating circuit.

  According to Heather, when in the presence of a small gamma flux, the thing would produce a subspace carrier wave that could be focused wherever they wanted. And that focused subspace signal would induce a real signal at the far end. If Heather’s calculations were correct, which they always were, it would let them put signals on any network in the world. But first, they had to get the damned thing finished.

  Mark’s frustration had been building for weeks. There was so much to discover about the Second Ship that he wanted to spend most of his time there. But that wasn’t possible. He, Heather, and Jennifer had to be careful, so they rarely visited it.

  Then there were their expanding new abilities. As much as Mark loved playing basketball, it practically made him sick to his stomach to have to hold back from what he could really do. Even his aikido practice wasn’t as good as it could be, mainly because he couldn’t take real classes. He had to rely on what he saw on videotape and read in books for his training. Frustrating.

  In the meantime, the Rho Ship sat out there, probed and prodded by people under the domination of Doctor Stephenson, a man who was up to something that he was keeping from the US government. From what Mark had learned about the Rho Ship aliens, that could not be a good thing for this planet.

  Flying blind. That was what the three of them had been doing for some time now. They hadn’t even checked if there were more QT recordings. And now this new fling Heather had going with Raul was taking more of her time. Christ. There was just too much important stuff happening for her to be getting involved with anyone right now, much less that dweeb.

  Mark squeezed his right hand until his knuckles popped.