The Second Ship Read online

  Jack rubbed his face with his hands. Now they had no record of what Harry had been working on. Jack had counted on spending the day going through that laptop with a fine-tooth comb. On the plus side, his to-do list had just gotten a whole lot shorter.

  “Maybe I could put you to bed,” said Janet with a wink. “Unless you’re too tired.”

  Jack raised an eyebrow as he set down the coffee. “If I’m ever that tired, just shoot me. Think I’ll grab a quick shower first, though.”

  “Don’t take too long now, Jack.”

  As he headed for the stairs, Janet’s mischievous laughter tickled his ear. The odds of a luxuriant, slow shower dropped precipitously as he listened. Suddenly, the day, among other things, was looking up.

  66

  “Mark, Jen! It’s so good to see you.” Heather’s voice snapped Mark out of his sudden foul mood.

  He walked rapidly across the room, leaned down, and hugged her. “Good to see you too. You had us worried.”

  Jennifer tugged at his arm, and he moved to let her in to hug her friend. When she raised her head, there were tears in her eyes, which she dabbed at ineffectually with the back of her hands.

  As Fred and Linda Smythe stepped into the room, followed by the McFarlands, Raul stood, then leaned down to kiss Heather on the forehead. “Feel better.”

  Mark resisted a powerful urge to reach out, grab Raul by the back of the neck, and toss him out of the room. Instead, Raul said a quick good-bye and departed.

  Heather smiled. “Wasn’t it nice of Raul to stop by? Dad ran into his father when he went out for coffee this morning.”

  “It was sweet,” said Linda Smythe.

  Mark’s smile was beginning to feel like the kind you held for a family photo as Aunt Betty fooled around with the digital camera, trying to figure out how to get the flash to work.

  The talk in the room quickly turned to questions about how Heather was feeling, to which she responded that she felt fine, except for a residual headache. The doctors were planning to release her later this morning, so they apparently agreed with her own assessment of her condition.

  Everyone in the room studiously avoided any reference to her ordeal the night before, the Smythes having already gotten a rundown on events from the McFarlands. Mark felt bad that he couldn’t tell Heather that the Rag Man was dead, but that would have to wait for a more private venue.

  But something about Heather was not right. Despite her smiles and assurances to the contrary, her normal buoyancy was missing. When Mark looked into her eyes, the spark that had always been there seemed to have gone out.

  The ride home inflicted a somber mood on the whole Smythe family. Something about a brutal attack on someone close left everyone feeling vulnerable and angry. Heather had come so close to dying. If it hadn’t been for Jack Johnson, Mark doubted that he could have saved her, but he would have tried.

  Abilities like the Rag Man’s could have only come from the Second Ship. The realization hit Mark in the face like a hammer. The Rag Man must have been on the ship, possibly even before they had discovered it. He had tried on one of the headsets. What was it the Rag Man had said in the dream they had shared with Heather?

  “I know what you are becoming.”

  Perhaps the Rag Man had once been as sane as any of them. What if the becoming caused his insanity? Was it possible that they had it all wrong? What if the Rho aliens were the good ones and the Second Ship was from an alien race bent upon conquest and destruction? Perhaps Mark, Jennifer, and Heather were being turned into tools of that destruction.

  Mark closed his eyes and leaned back so that his head rested against the back of the seat, letting the vibrations of the road pulse against the back of his neck. None of the scenario he had just imagined felt right. For one thing, the Second Ship was beautiful, its artistic flowing lines indicative of a race that cared about beauty enough to incorporate it where it wasn’t required.

  The Rho Ship, both in the imagery from the headsets and from what he had seen on TV, was ugly. It was industrial in its stark efficiency. No. If he had to place a bet on which side to back, he would support the side that saw beauty in the universe against that which reminded him of the industrial revolution, with all of its smokestacks and grease-covered gears.

  Mark glanced across at Jennifer, sitting beside him, her eyes still shining with wetness, her face taut with the horror of what Heather had been through. It brought a lump to Mark’s throat. His sweet sister was so fragile and vulnerable.

  The Rag Man was gone, but without a doubt, forces were descending upon their families that threatened to rip their world apart. Well, he’d be damned if he was going to let that happen. Mark was quite sure Jack Johnson was playing the game for keeps, and he intended to do no less.

  Jack had saved Heather, and for that, Mark would be eternally grateful. But if a man like Jack was in town, there would be others, many of whom would be up to no good. And even Jack would crush them like bugs if he discovered their secrets.

  When the car rolled into their garage, Mark retreated to his room, Jennifer trailing along closely behind him. As Mark reached the top of the stairs, his dad called out.

  “Mark.”

  Mark turned back to see his father right behind them.

  “Would you mind telling me what happened to the banister?”

  Mark glanced down at the wooden railing where his father was pointing. It had been broken, almost crushed in a section just at the top of the stairs. Suddenly he remembered something that had failed to register at the time it had happened. He had broken it during the adrenaline rush over Heather.

  “Dad, I’m sorry. I meant to tell you about it, but forgot in all the news about Heather. I grabbed the railing when I slipped and it just broke. It must have had some weak wood.”

  His father scowled down at it, scratching his chin. “I’ll say. Crap. Maybe we have termites. I’ll have to get the inspector out to the house tomorrow and see if they've damaged anything else.”

  He shook his head and walked back down the stairs, muttering under his breath.

  Mark stepped into his room and Jennifer followed, closing the door behind her.

  She shook her head. “Weak wood.”

  “It had to be. Even with my strength, I can’t crush wood like that.”

  “It didn’t look like that to me.”

  “Well, let’s forget about it for the moment. We have some pretty important things to get figured out.”

  “I’ll say. Did you see Raul smooch Heather as he left?”

  “It’s a miracle I didn’t blow chunks all over the room.”

  Jennifer frowned. “Do you think you can be any more melodramatic?”

  “I’m working on it.”

  “Well knock it off. It’s going to hurt Heather’s feelings. I think she really likes him.”

  This time it was Mark’s turn to scowl. “There’s something about that kid I just don’t like.”

  Jennifer’s eyebrow rose. “Do I detect a hint of jealousy, perhaps?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. This is Heather we’re talking about. Our little math wizard, Rain Girl. I just don’t want to see her get hurt.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Whatever.” Mark’s hand tightened around the back of the chair.

  “Please don’t go breaking more furniture. I don’t think Dad will buy that story again.”

  Mark’s scowl deepened, but he eased his grip. “If you'll quit busting my chops for a second, maybe we can have a serious conversation. This thing with Jack has me thinking. Why is he interested in our families?”

  Jennifer’s eyes widened. “Do you think he knows?”

  “No way. If he knew what we’ve been up to, he would have no problem throwing us in jail and turning the ship over to the government.”

  “But he was in our house.”

  “And Heather’s. Then he just happens to show up at the right time and save her?”

  “So you think he’s watching us?”

/>   “No. I think he’s watching Dad and Mr. McFarland.”

  “That’s terrible. Why would he suspect them?”

  “I don’t know that he does. Maybe he’s just being thorough, checking everyone that works on the Rho Project. Anyway, if he was watching our houses, then he must have seen the Rag Man grab Heather. There’s something else, though.”

  “What?”

  “The dead man in the cave. I’ve been playing the whole thing back in my mind. The Rag Man said that he had called Jack a nickname. The Ripper. That means the dead man was an agent too.”

  “We don’t know for sure that these are NSA people.”

  “No. We don’t. But I think it’s likely. After all, we gave them the first heads-up that something strange is going on with Dr. Stephenson and the Rho Ship.”

  “What if they bugged our houses?”

  “Crap. I should have thought of that.”

  “They could have done it at dinner. They got the tour of both houses.”

  Mark began pacing slowly back and forth across the room. “If they had every room bugged, we would have already been caught. So, either they didn’t bug anything or only areas where the adults hang out.”

  “Like Mom and Dad’s room and office.”

  “That makes sense. It’s not likely they’re thinking that high schoolers have access to Rho Project info. They probably have the phone line bugged too. We need to confirm it though.”

  “They sell those bug sweepers at stores like RadioShack.”

  “I’d rather build our own. We can pull up the details off the web. The bugs would have to be low-strength transmitters.”

  “Except on the phone line. They could tap that from somewhere else.”

  “Okay then, I’ll get to work on the bug detector. How’s your computer interface for controlling the cold fusion tank coming along?”

  Suddenly a broad smile lit Jennifer’s face. “Come down to the workshop and I’ll show you.”

  Mark followed her back downstairs and into the corner of the garage where they had set up their equipment and the experimental tank. It had been three days since Mark had closely inspected Jennifer’s progress with the control panel. His jaw dropped.

  A new display filled with row upon row of pulsing multicolored LED lights hung from the lead shielding on the far side of the tank. A thick bunch of labeled wires connected the LED panel to the main circuit board, while a set of ribbon cables ran between the circuit board and the laptop.

  A low whistle escaped from Mark’s lips. “Wow, Sis. You’ve been busy.”

  She grinned broadly. “I am so close now I can taste it. You see those readouts?” Jennifer pointed to the panel of flashing colored lights.

  “I see a bunch of flashing LEDs.”

  “Mark, I figured out how to combine a small group of red, green, and blue LEDs so that each little threesome glows in any of sixteen colors.”

  Mark leaned close to the panel. Sure enough, what he had taken to be individual LEDs were little groups of three. How brightly the red, green, or blue parts of each group glowed determined what color you saw.

  “Very pretty.”

  “Don’t you get it? Each color represents a hexadecimal number. I can glance at this panel and see the values change in all of the computer registers. I can see the code playing out. Not just see it, I can read it.” She paused. “Mark, I’ve learned how to think in Hex.”

  “Very exciting.”

  Jennifer’s smile faded a bit. “Okay, let me rephrase. I can glance at that panel and tune this thing exactly. It’ll really help with the subspace transmissions.”

  “Well why didn’t you say that in the first place? That is great.”

  Mark turned to grab the recording equipment he had removed from the Second Ship. “I need to go through all the data on this recorder. You keep working on the subspace controls. We need to get those agents focused away from us and onto Stephenson’s team. I’m afraid we’re going to have to start taking some serious risks.”

  Jennifer stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Start? What, exactly, do you think we’ve been doing?”

  Mark’s eyes locked with Jennifer’s. “I’ve got a feeling that it’s about to get a lot worse.”

  67

  If there was anything on the planet more awkward and uncomfortable than a hospital gown, Heather didn’t know what it was. If the damn thing wasn’t trying to come open at an inopportune moment, it was wadding up uncomfortably when you sat or lay down in it.

  The opportunity to slip out of the gown and into her normal attire improved Heather’s mood as much as anything that had happened all day. Even though she’d hoped to be released by ten o’clock that morning, the doctors kept her imprisoned at the hospital until well after noon.

  Despite her growing appetite, Heather resisted the mandatory offering from the hospital cafeteria, firm in her determination that the next food to pass between her lips be edible. In an act of family solidarity that she found awe-inspiring, her Mom and Dad waited to have their own lunch until they managed to spring her.

  By the time they got back home, Heather was so hungry she had begun questioning her decision to wait. As her mother slid the prepared casserole dish from the refrigerator into the oven, Heather headed upstairs to indulge in a hot bath. She glanced at the floral design on the bubble bath bottle, sniffing it before squeezing a couple of dollops into the tub. Herbal Springtime. Perhaps it could help get the lingering scent of hospital disinfectant out of her nose. One could only hope.

  All doubts as to the worthiness of the wait came to an end before the first bite of steaming casserole made its cheesy way from Heather’s fork into her mouth. Her mother was a sorceress who used a ladle instead of a wand. Of that, there could be no doubt.

  Although she had been warned that the casserole was hot, Heather found herself having to shift the first bite around in her mouth as she puffed out air in little whooshes to try to keep her tongue from blistering. Even though a chuckle escaped her father’s lips, it didn’t matter. It was still worth it.

  The meal had barely ended when there was a knock at the door. It was Mark.

  “Everybody decent?”

  Heather grinned up at him as he made his way inside, followed by Jennifer. “If we aren’t, then you’re in for a show.”

  “Can I offer you two some casserole?” her mother asked.

  A look of disappointment creased Mark’s features. “Unfortunately, no. Mom cooked us lunch a while ago. Thank you, though.”

  Heather rose from the table, sliding her place setting into the dishwasher before being shooed away by her mother. “I’ll get the kitchen. You go talk with Mark and Jen.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  Heather started to guide her friends to the couch in the living room, but Mark shook his head. “Do you feel up to visiting the workshop for a second?”

  “Mom, I’m going over to the Smythe’s for a little while.”

  “All right, but don’t push it. No more than half an hour. Then you are going to bed. You don’t get over something like that right away.”

  “Okay, Mom.”

  As she stepped into the Smythe garage, Heather suddenly found herself engulfed in a three-way hug between Mark and Jennifer.

  A leak in Jennifer’s plumbing sent tears streaming down her face. “Oh my God, it’s so good to have you back home. I have never been as scared as I was when Mark and I heard you calling us in our minds.”

  Heather’s mouth dropped open. “You heard me?”

  “You bet we did. Mark even broke the railing on our staircase as he was scrambling into his running suit.”

  “Running suit?”

  Mark nodded. “I could feel you out there, tugging me toward you. I ran like I’ve never run before. Thank God it was a full moon. Anyway, I found the cave where the Rag Man had you.”

  Heather’s knees almost buckled as the memories came crashing back in on her. She sat down on a crate. “I don’t remember a cave.”
r />   Mark repeated the story, only leaving out the most graphic details of the Rag Man’s death.

  Heather did not move for several seconds as she tried to absorb what Mark had just said. “But that isn’t the story that Jack told Mom and Dad, or to the police.”

  “Interesting, isn’t it.” Mark leaned closer, reminding Heather of someone telling a ghost story around a campfire, just as they were getting to the good part. “One other thing. The Rag Man was fast and strong. Maybe even faster than me. But Jack killed him anyway. From what I saw, Jack’s a professional killer. A damned good one, too.”

  Jennifer put a hand on Heather’s arm. “We think he and Janet are NSA agents.”

  Heather’s mind whirled. Despite the shock at what she had just been told, a huge wave of relief swept through her body. Jack had killed the Rag Man. Despite her brave outer facade, a deep terror had been growing inside her since long before last night. To know that the maniac was dead lifted an invisible weight. She could feel the tension in her shoulders ease.

  Jack had killed him.

  For the next several minutes, Mark and Jennifer filled her in on everything, including Jennifer’s progress on the cold-fusion powered subspace transmitter controls.

  “And check this out,” said Mark, pointing her attention to the laptop and recording equipment he had retrieved from the Second Ship. “The tape had a bunch of garbage on it and has a lot of gaps, but I saved the interesting parts in an audio visual file on the laptop.”

  Mark pressed the play button on the screen. Dr. Stephenson was talking to someone, although neither person appeared in the imagery, most of which was blocked off by some obstruction on the shelf where their small airplane was being kept.

  “I am not happy with your progress.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. The nanites work perfectly, but the suspension fluid is not holding up well at temperatures above about three degrees Celsius.”

  “That is completely worthless to me. I told you to find a way to keep the suspension valid indefinitely at temperatures up to sixty degrees Celsius. What did you not understand about that?”