Tranquility Down

Part Five

by G. Lawrence

In this sequel to Tranquility in Darkness, we find Grey, Kris, and their allies struggling to establish the Lunar Republic as a legitimate nation. This old-style science fiction novel is presented in 11 parts.

Recap: It's 2070, and in a cooperative effort with several nations, the lunar rebels joined a mission to neutralize a dangerous meteor field. But all did not go well. With his spaceship having crashed, Grey is now hiding on a California farm calling himself Ben Brown. All characters are over 18 years old. All rights reserved.

* * * * * *

Chapter 5

WATER RIGHTS

Black Raven dropped through Tranquility's defense perimeter, fired landing thrusters to set down on landing bay minor, and was towed to the elevator for the descent through the airlock system. Kris waited impatiently for the final chamber to open, then jumped from the lift and bounced toward the hospitality complex, leaving Johnston to deal with their exhausted spacecraft.

Landing bay minor was active, ground crew units performing repairs on the recently returned Toppas in one service bay, routine maintenance on Equinox in another, and major repairs on New Ranger in a third. Packet's bay was empty.

Kris ran up the ramp to the second level and bounced along the walkway overlooking the central floor area, heading for the transition center located between the two landing bays. She had almost reached the pilot's check-in station when Nicholas walked out of Kelly's Saloon.

"Kris, welcome home," he said.

"Hi, Nick. Can't talk now, I want to see Grey as soon as possible," she replied.

"Kris, come and sit. We must talk," Nicholas insisted.

Kris started to object, but when she saw his worried expression, she became even more concerned. Nicholas gently took her hand and drew her into the saloon, seating her in a leather-covered booth just off the main bar area. Tamera and Ted were already there.

"What's wrong?" Kris asked.

"Grey isn't here," Nicholas said. "Packet did not return from the mission."

"Where is he?" Kris asked.

"We don't know," Ted said. "Initially we thought he was taking a long loop back to the Farside station. There are messages requesting the facilities be activated, but none of the tracking points have been reached."

"I have been working with Flight Control, but there is no confirmed data after the last asteroid was deflected," Nicholas added.

"There's a coded message that says, proceeding as planned," Tamera said quickly. "Do you know what that means?"

"Usually Grey works out contingency plans, but nothing we needed on this mission," Kris replied. "Not after the asteroids were already diverted."

"We don't know what it means, either," Ted said. "Life Support is speculating that Grey might have already landed somewhere. There was one additional transmission. It said, 'approach achieved, Packet out.' But we can't trace the source of the transmission. And it was on an open band."

"What's the bottom line here?" Kris asked.

"The bottom line is that Grey is missing," Nicholas said. "The Defense Computer does not think he is in danger and has not initiated emergency procedures, but we still do not know where he is."

"Kris, did Grey say anything about an extra mission? Farside, maybe? Or the Quexelian base?" Tamera asked.

"No, nothing like that," Kris said, trying to think. "He only said he was thinking about taking a vacation."

"A vacation? Grey?" Tamera questioned.

"It didn't make any sense to me, either," Kris admitted.

"We're going to keep looking," Ted promised. "New Ranger's getting ready for search and rescue, and the Flight Control Computer is going over all the data. We're still trying to figure out how that warhead activated. Maybe that has something to do with all this."

"The good news is that the world is very grateful," Tamera said. "Especially the way Grey ran down that rogue. Many are saying he saved thousands of lives."

"Even the NA media has been honest about that," Ted agreed. "They resent being accused of setting off the warhead but agree Grey's action helped avert a disaster. Major Vandebrown says it's helped with the negotiations."

"Negotiations for what? What does Roger say about all this?" Kris asked, angry that so little seemed to have been accomplished.

"I guess none of us asked him," Nicholas confessed.

"Well, I'm going to ask him," Kris said. "And I suggest everyone start working a lot harder. Stop relying on the goddamn computers for answers. If this is another one of their stupid schemes, it will be a rainy day in hell before we learn the truth."

Kris stormed out of Kelly's without waiting for a response, more furious with each step.

"Do you think the computers really know more than they're saying?" Tamera asked.

Nicholas and Ted could only shrug.

___________

John and Grey drove up to the Higgins ranch on Friday morning to meet several other Hope Valley residents just as determined to assert their water rights. Grey found the motley group of seven men interesting, four farmers, two ranchers and a citrus grower. Nearly all were different ages, sizes and colors. Two of the farmers, closer to Grey in age than the rest, were sons of an older farmer.

The group looked at Grey with skepticism, seeing a very young man in worn overalls who displayed a strange sort of nervousness. Not fear, they decided. At least, not the same fear they felt. More like claustrophobia, and right out in the open, too. Grey's fear was soon suppressed. Their fear wasn't.

"I want this as much as you do, Farmer," Higgins said, a broad-shouldered man with thinning yellow hair. "But every year we go up there, every year we have trouble trying to prime the damn pumps, and every year we get chased off before we're half done."

"And last time they said if we try it again, someone will get hurt," the citrus grower said, a stocky black man named Jones with a slow, drawling accent.

"We'll see who gets hurt, Trammel," a very elderly man said, a rancher named Old Sam who cradled an ancient shotgun in his lap. None of the others seemed to take the old man seriously.

"We should at least try," John said. "If we get the station working it will prove to the board that we can operate it. McNair will have to leave it alone or risk an investigation."

"He won't want that. The cost of bribery's gone up considerable since the war ended," Higgins concluded. Several others laughed.

Grey noticed that the two young farmers stood off to the side speaking with each other rather than participate in the discussion. Grey guessed by their ages that they might have been in the service at one time but probably had not seen combat.

"What makes you think this kid can help us?" Bill Edelson asked, introduced to Grey as the father of the two younger men.

"Ben's the best repair tech I've ever seen," John said. "He's had experience with pumping stations, and he's willing to help us for free."

"Free?" Jones said.

"Jobs worth five hundred, no, probably a thousand credits. Why would he do it for free?" Higgins asked. Grey could see the others were interested in this question, too.

"Ben?" John asked.

Grey stepped forward struggling to appear composed. The humans did not appear hostile, nor especially friendly either. The two younger males seemed to find his appearance humorous.

"This is a project I wish to undertake," Grey said. "You have no funds to pay me and I have no need for the credits. I intend to go to the pumping station whether you accompany me or not. As far as I'm concerned, whatever decision you make is irrelevant."

"Well how to you like that?" Higgins said.

"I like this kid," Jones said. "Anybody with sass like that has got to be worth his shit."

"Are we going, then?" John asked.

Everyone nodded. Old Sam hefted his shotgun.

The pumping station was located at a rock-lined reservoir in the foothills above the valley, one of several such reserves in the region. The aging square building was open on one side where equipment could be organized underneath a pavilion while the pump controls were installed in an interior room. The surrounding area was dusty and overrun with weeds.

Grey could tell the station had not been operational in several years, possibly since the uprising, and he was pleasantly surprised to find the systems were similar to the hydro pumps in Tranquility's biosphere.

"Not looking too good," Higgins said, jumping down from one of the three trucks and kicking at a tumbleweed.

Grey stashed his shoulder bag in the rear of the control room, then pulled out his tool belt and started to survey the deficiencies.

"This is going to take a couple of days, John," Higgins said. "The electrical feeds all need cleaning and the main valve is stuck tight. Probably rusted. Don't know about the auto controls, either. Balancing them isn't easy."

"Young Walter here says the whole station's antiquated," Jones mentioned, pointing to the younger Edelson brother. "Says we'd do better with a bucket brigade."

"I'll want to hear what Ben says," John said, trying to remain hopeful.

A moment later, Grey emerged from the canal below the pumping station, his face and work suit already covered in silt. He shook some of the mud off, then wiped his hands with a towel John gave him.

"Well, Ben? What do you think? Walter doesn't have much hope for it," John said. Grey's thin eyebrows went up in surprise.

"The station is in excellent condition," Grey said, the excitement of the task showing through his quiet demeanor.

"How long's it gonna take? A couple of days?" Jones asked.

"Days?" Grey said. "The project will be finished this afternoon. Except for some dead vegetation, all but one channel is clear. Once the valves are lubricated and the electrical systems refurbished, I'll reset the controls. These old Kester Pumps were made for extensive abuse, and this one isn't even breaching yet."

"Pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?" the older Edelson brother said, the one named Peter. The human was tall, strong, and seemed to think his superior size would intimidate Grey. Seeing no point in debating one so ignorant, Grey turned to the other humans.

"The motor mounts need to be dismantled before cleaning," Grey instructed. "It's important the connections be secure during reassembly due to the power surge caused by the restart. The lower canals also need to be shoveled out. I'm going to hardwire the valve kick, then test how much power can be pushed through the line."

"We've all done maintenance. We'll get right on it," John said.

Grey nodded and disappeared into the small control room.

"Gives orders like a goddamn general," Higgins said under his breath.

"Maybe he'd calm down if we offer to pay him?" John said.

"Hey, did I ever say there's anything wrong with generals?" Higgins laughed.

Several hours later, John reassembled the task force. All the workers were muddy now, but enthusiastic about the rapid progress of the endeavor. A few minutes later, Grey emerged from the main channel underneath the pumping station so covered in sludge that he was almost unrecognizable. But he, too, was feeling energetic from the effort.

"Damn, this is great," John said.

"Better than I expected," Higgins agreed.

"There is a final task to accomplish," Grey advised. "After that, adjusting the water flow and timers should not prove difficult."

"It's no small task," Walter said, carrying a report chart on the electrical systems. "The transformers can't carry the surge this station needs to kick start the pumps. The motors are only rated for regulation loads."

The work force accepted the bad news with disappointment, and a degree of resignation. All knew that upgrading the existing systems would cost time and money they didn't have. Grey studied their reaction with impatience.

"Ridiculous..." humans, Grey almost said, despite the many times he had been warned not to. He backed off, angry but realizing that anger would not resolve anything. He walked back a moment later, struggling to present his opinions calmly.

"The situation with the transformers can be bypassed," Grey explained. "I will need someone to--"

"The transformers can't stand the stress," Walter interrupted, holding up the chart. "We're wasting our time to think..."

"Are you an engineer? What's your rating?" Grey demanded.

"I've got a little experience. Three semesters at..." Walter started to justify.

"I've been an engineer my whole life," Grey said, his voice swelling with resentment. "I was repairing sub-systems before you learned how to manipulate an integer, so don't presume to tell me my trade."

The entire group jumped back, surprised by the stranger's burst of indignation. But when no one protested, Grey tried to relax, taking a deep breath as the Medical Computer had taught him.

"The transformers are not rated for the influx necessary to jump start the pumps," Grey said, agreeing with Walter's analysis. "However, we don't need to rely on electrical power alone. The turbines will supply the necessary power once the lower chamber is flooded, and the pumps will initiate movement on their own when sufficient pressure is applied. I've closed the inner flood gate and placed a trip-lock on the release mechanism. Once we flood the outer chamber, we'll free the trip-lock. The rapid flooding of the inner chamber will supply the momentum necessary to jump start the pumps. Then all we'll need to do is program the regulators to make the station self-sufficient."

"It sounds easy," Peter said, looking at his brother. "Well, Walter, will it work?"

Walter punched in his calculations and appeared surprised by the answers. But he wasn't convinced yet.

"There's one small difficulty," Walter said. "The inner gate's lift engine isn't working."

"What about the hand crank?" Trammel asked.

"The gears are stripped. How do you expect to release the trip mechanism?" Walter said.

"I intend to knock it open with a mallet," Grey answered

"That's impossible," Walter objected. "When that trip-lock is freed, the inner chamber is going to flood. Water will come down that channel like a brick wall and anyone down there will be shoved through the separation grate like graded cheese."

Again, everyone looked to Grey, who had no trouble explaining his plan.

"I'll wear a harness attached to a safety line," he said. "When the trip-lock is struck free, I'll step back and be pulled up through the maintenance well. It's a simple procedure with minor risk."

"And if you're not pulled up in time? Or the line breaks?" John asked.

"I'll be shoved through the separation grate like graded cheese," Grey tried to joke. Only Old Sam thought it was funny.

"I don't know. It sounds too dangerous," John said.

"The trip-lock is already in place," Grey said. "I would appreciate your help, but the maintenance well does have a ladder."

"For God's Sake, Ben, don't you ever listen to anybody?" John asked.

"Not very often," Grey confessed.

"I'm with the kid," Jones said. "If he says this is the way to do it, I say we back him up."

"Me, too," Higgins replied.

"And me," the senior Edelson jumped in. "John, you said Ben knows what he's doing. Besides, I want that water. Let's give it a try."

"Us, too," Peter said, giving his younger brother a shove.

"At least let one of us free the lock," John said. "It's our water. Our farms. We should take the risk."

"Right," Walter said. "Let me or Pete do it. We're strong and fast."

"That's very generous," Grey responded, impressed by their offer. "But the lock needs to be struck from exactly the right angle, with just the right amount of force. I'm the only one here qualified to execute the procedure."

As there was no arguing the point, the group moved inside the pavilion above the maintenance well. Grey gave Walter instructions for activating the power grid, then let John and Higgins help rig a harness around his waist and shoulders. Then Grey crawled down into the lower flood channel as if he'd done it a thousand times before.

"I'm a little nervous about this, Farmer," Higgins admitted, holding the safety line tightly.

"Hell of a time to get squeamish," John said. "Thought you wanted the water?"

"That's what bothers me," Higgins said. "Hate to think that someone might get hurt because I got greedy."

"It ain't greed," Jones said, holding his end of the line. "I don't know why, but if the little general thinks he can do it, I believe him."

"You kids talk too much," Old Sam said, sitting in a chair underneath the foyer. "Just pull the damn rope when you're supposed to."

"We've got our orders," Higgins laughed.

"Almost time," Peter announced, running from the control room. "This has got to be timed exactly." He grabbed a section of the rope even though the task seemed well in hand, rapid breathing betraying his apprehension.

"Primers on." they heard Walter shout from the control room.

"Okay, okay," Peter said, looking at his watch. "Here we go. Six, five, four, three, two, one ... Pull! Pull! Pull!"

Beneath them, a thunderous roar rocked the pumping station. Like a group of dedicated fishermen, the crew pulled hand over hand on the rope, gaining a good deal of initial slack at first, then a sudden resistance that pulled them forward.

"Pull, damn it, pull!" John shouted.

The rope fought them for another moment, then jerked upward, everybody losing their footing from a sudden lack of resistance. John was sure the line had snapped and cursed himself for being talked into something so foolish, but Peter kept reeling in the line until a very big fish emerged from the mouth of the maintenance well.

"That was fun," Grey choked, spitting up a belly full of water.

John dropped the rope and ran to his side, searching for signs of injury, but Grey only smiled.

"Are you all right?" John asked.

"Affirmative," Grey responded. "Simply because an operation requires precise timing doesn't make it dangerous. Didn't you play football in college?"

"People don't get killed playing football," John said.

"That's not what I've heard," Grey recalled.

"You're the wettest mackerel I've ever seen," Jones observed, helping Higgins remove the harness. "Is there an inch of you that's not soaked through?"

"I should have taken off my footwear first," Grey lamented. "These boot linings will take hours to dry."

"Hell, I'll buy you new boots if this damn thing works," Higgins said.

"It's looking good," Walter reported, walking over from the control room. "Pumps are primed, the turbines are rotating, and the channels are clear. If the computers can be set to time the regulators, we're all squared."

"Not a problem," Grey said, shaking his soggy sleeves. "I have a special affinity with computers. I'm sure they'll cooperate."

"Does that mean we did it?" John questioned.

Grey stood up, let some of the water drain from his work suit, and briskly disappeared into the control room.

"Did he bring a change of clothes?" Peter asked.

"Ben always carries his shoulder bag with him. He's probably got something in there," John said. "And speaking of something."

John ran out of the pavilion to his truck and returned carrying an ice chest.

"Guess you know what time it is," John said, handing a beer to Higgins, then another to Jones before opening one for himself. The three Edelsons and Old Sam quickly helped themselves, taking their first relaxed breather of the day. Hardly a minute later, a large black ground vehicle pulled up just outside the pumping station.

"Oh, crap, here it comes," Jones moaned.

"Stay calm," John urged. "And take that shotgun away from Old Sam before someone gets hurt."

The farmers formed into a group as four intruders emerged from the vehicle and slowly walked into the pavilion, the sunlight from outside keeping their images shadowy until they were all the way inside.

"What the hell do you think you're doing? You know there's no trespassing here," their leader said, a man of medium height with dark eyes.

"Guess we need to warn them a little harder this time," one of his confederates said, a muscular man who punched a palm with his fist.

"We don't want any trouble, Mason," John said. "We need the water. We've got a right to it."

"You got nothing we don't let you have, sodbuster, and you're not getting anything here," Mason said. "But if you're looking for democracy, we'll give you some. Vote which of you gets his legs broken and the rest of you can go. If you leave fast."

Walter and Peter took an angry step forward, but in a single movement all four intruders peeled aside their long coats to reveal holstered pistols. Bill pulled his sons back.

"Let's talk about it. There's got to be some way to work this out," John said.

"Looks like we've got a volunteer," Mason declared. "What's the matter, Farmer. Wasn't poisoning your dog enough?"

Jones, Higgins and Old Sam closed ranks with John, but the gangsters responded by casually placing hands on their weapons.

"They're bluffing," Peter said.

"They don't need to bluff, son. They do this for a living," Jones warned.

"That's right, dirt digger," Mason sneered. "Better if all of you remember it, too. Farmer, you owe us a leg. The rest of you get out."

When the farmers didn't react, Mason stepped forward to point a menacing finger.

"Okay, you had your chance," Mason announced. "Now the price is going up."

As Mason's underlings approached, there was a sudden shuffling of noise from the rear of the pumping station, followed by the sound of soggy footsteps. The gangsters stopped as a skinny young man of modest height strolled out from the control room and walked right up to where John was standing.

"Is there a problem, Mister Farmer?" Grey asked, staring at the gang members with curiosity.

John saw that Grey had changed from the waterlogged work suit to a light jumpsuit, almost a uniform of sorts. The sleeves were rolled up, and around his waist, he wore a leather holster set quick draw style against his hip. In the holster was a vintage laser blaster, a Lassiter Mark One, the grip swung out wide near Grey's right hand.

"Who's this? Billy the Kid?" Mason's associate laughed.

Grey smiled and calmly stepped between the farmers and the gangsters, studying each of the intruders carefully.

"Ben, these men are professionals," John cautioned.

"These bottom feeders are nothing but low life amateurs," Grey said. "Overfed, overconfident, and overrated."

The mobsters were startled by the bold insult, and even when Grey took up a firing stance, they could hardly believe what they were seeing. Most of the farmers began to scatter, but John stayed at Grey's side.

"Retreat with the others, John. Everything is under control," Grey said, his concentration focused on the opponents.

"Ben, I don't think you should--"

"Get back," Grey ordered, the command leaving no room for disobedience. Then he looked at John with the most piercing stare the farmer had ever experienced. John immediately withdrew and wondered, for the briefest moment, who he should be more afraid of.

Grey studied the situation as he had been trained to do by the Security Computer. How many hours, he wondered, had he prepared for a moment like this, first with the Wild West machine, and later in the garrison training center? Hundreds? Thousands?

Of the four opponents, Grey thought the loud one the most proficient, but he displayed no sense of technique. The leader appeared competent but hesitant to initiate conflict. The other two needed practice, setting poorly and lacking precision. After challenging the soldiers sent against Tranquility by the Northern Alliance, he thought the hoodlums quite a disappointment.

"Think you can take us all?" Mason asked in a mocking tone.

"Three of you, without doubt," Grey said so confidently that there was no brag in the statement. "I think four. It will be interesting to find out."

By now Grey was fully set, his hand floating over the butt of the blaster ready for a fast draw. His intense inspection studied every nuance of the opposition. Nothing in his manner demonstrated fear, or even a high degree of concern. But there was patience, enough to be unnerving.

"I don't like this, Terril," Mason said to his second in command, glancing around the open areas of the pavilion.

"It's just one kid," Terril said.

The two lackeys opened their coats to completely uncover their weapons, but they also took a step back toward their vehicle.

"Hey, Billy. Don't you know how much trouble you're in?" Mason said, the shout echoing through the pavilion.

"Are there more of you waiting outside?" Grey asked.

"No," Mason said.

Grey smiled.

"This is crazy. Let's take him," Terril urged.

"He doesn't look crazy to me," one of the slowly retreating gangsters said.

"Burke? Gonzales? Damn it, will you get back here?" Mason ordered.

"I've seen enforcers before," Gonzales said.

"Me, too," Burke added. "Bunch of nasty hairs soon as shoot you than go bug-squashing."

"He's not an enforcer," Terril disagreed

"He is, he is," Burke said. "Look at those beady eyes. They're beady. They're beady."

"This punk's barely old enough to shave," Terril cursed.

"You fight him," Gonzales said, accelerating his withdrawal.

"They're right," Mason worried, also taking a step back. "This doesn't feel right. It's bad. This is going bad."

Suddenly all but Terril were heading for the exit, and he only held his ground for a moment.

"We'll meet again, Billy," Terril said.

"This valley is under my protection," Grey warned, his voice betraying no particular excitement. "Any attempt to harass these workers will be dealt with severely."

"We'll see what Mister McNair has to say about that," Terril replied, gradually following the others to their vehicle. A minute later they were gone.

"I can't believe it. They actually left," Higgins said, watching the vehicle kick up dust as it headed for the highway.

"For a minute there, I thought they were going to draw down. Thank God they didn't," John said.

"Indeed," Grey agreed. "Killing them might have caused problems with the local authorities."

"You don't really think you could have taken them, do you? All four of them?" Walter asked.

"We have tools to clean," Grey said.

Grey unstrapped the holster, rolled the belt into a ball, and walked back toward the control room.

"He couldn't really have taken them, could he?" Walter asked.

"Ask Mason, boy," Old Sam answered with a laugh. "If you can catch up to him."

___________

"We did it! Mar, we did it. Got water running through every channel this side of Tullock Creek. Enough for any crop we put in," John announced, bursting through the kitchen door covered in dried mud.

Marsus gave him a hug, then directed him toward the laundry room before the dirt spread through the house.

"All in one day?" Marsus asked.

"Not even a day. Finished before dark," John said. "Stopped with Higgins, Jones and the Edelson boys at the Plucked Rooster for a little celebration."

"You're not drunk, are you?" she asked, helping him out of the smelly shirt and coveralls.

"Not very," he smiled, grabbing her around the waist and pinning her against the washer.

"John?" Marsus protested.

"Where are the kids?" he asked in a low voice.

"In the barn working on a secret project," Marsus said. "They insisted on not being disturbed."

"That goes both ways," John said, kicking the laundry room door shut.

"John?" she said in surprise.

"Out of that dress, woman," John demanded, not waiting for her cooperation.

Before Marsus quite realized what was happening, she found herself on the floor overwhelmed by her husband's enthusiasm. Initially reluctant, she finally gave in to the moment, laying amid the contents of an overturned laundry basket and enjoying a passion well above anything she'd experienced in recent years.

"That was wild," Marsus said after they'd finished, still pinned to the floor with John's weight on top of her.

He slid off slowly, then rolled on his back and pulled her on top of him.

"It's been too long, and I'm sorry," he said.

"I didn't realize the water meant so much to you," Marsus questioned.

"Not just the water," John answered. "Seems like so much has gone wrong somehow. I was beginning to wonder if it would ever get better. Wondered what kind of life Susie and Jaybee are going to have."

"And?" Marsus asked.

"And now I'm not worried anymore," he said, pulling her close for a kiss. "Everything's going to be better. Everything is better. The farm's coming around. We've got water, and Jones and I are going to put the association back together. Get everyone in the valley working as a team again. We'll make enough this year to get the house painted, buy some new equipment. Get some things for the kids. And you. You deserve so much more than I've been able to give you."

"What magic caused all this?" Marsus inquired.

"No magic, honey. It's Ben," John said. "There's something about him. He's a little angled, I know. But everything seems so new and exciting to him. No project is too big, no task too hard. No challenge not worthwhile. Everyone felt it today. And when he faced down McNair's gang..."

"He did what?!" Marsus said, pushing up to a straddling position.

"Mason and his boys showed up just as we were finishing," John explained. "Ben went up to them with a blaster on his hip and told them to go ... Told them to take a walk. And they did. Got back in their runner and took off."

"Just Ben. Ben against, what, two or three of them?"

"Four."

"Four?" Marsus said.

"Seemed to know what he was doing. Looked just like those enforcers in the vids," John recalled. "He ordered me to get out of the way, and I'll tell you, he gave me a stare that scared the shit out of me."

"Jaybee and Susie have been pestering him," Marsus said with concern. "Maybe ...?"

"They'll be fine," John assured her. "Ben's basically a soft-hearted guy. I've even caught him smiling a few times. And he has a strong protective instinct. I bet you didn't know this entire valley is under his protection, did you?" John laughed, but not so hard as to make the idea totally absurd. "I hope he stays around for a while. This world would be a better place if there were more people like Ben Brown."

Marsus could sense the new purpose in John's voice. If Ben can do for others what he's done for John, she thought, then he must be magic. She smiled, gave John a kiss, and crawled off him to pick up her dress. Suddenly she felt the grip of John's hands as he pulled her back.

"Don't be in such a hurry, woman, I'm not through with you yet," he whispered in a cave-like grunt.

___________

Later that evening, after the family was fed and put to bed, Marsus gathered up some clean linens and went out to the barn. Having missed Ben at supper time, she also brought out a tray of sandwiches and lemonade. She found their new field hand sitting at the workbench playing with little slabs of clay.

"Good evening, Ben. I've brought you some dinner," she said. "Clean sheets, too. Least we can do."

Dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt, Grey looked up from his task with a momentary flare of annoyance, but he just as quickly relaxed.

"Thank you, Mrs. Farmer," he said.

"Please, call me Marsus," she replied, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Grey flinched at the contact, but not out of shyness.

"What's wrong with your shoulder?" she asked.

"Nothing serious," Grey said, studying the food before daring to pick up one of the sandwiches.

Marsus looked at his arm, noticed a redness, and saw the same scarlet coloring on his neck. With a huff of impatience, she left the barn and returned a few minutes later with a First Aid kit.

"Okay, Mister Brown, take off that shirt," she instructed with a distinctly Medical Computer tone.

Grey complied with hardly a second thought, so accustomed was he to obeying such commands. As suspected, Marsus discovered Grey had picked up quite a sunburn.

"What's wrong with you? You should know better than to be out in the sun so long without protection," she scolded, spreading the lotion on his shoulders.

"Estimating the intensity of the ultra-violet radiation is more difficult than I anticipated," he agreed, finding the lotion very satisfactory.

Grey let his shoulder muscles loosen up as her hands worked in the lotion. Marsus was surprised by the strength she felt. The slim physique was misleading.

"Don't spend much time outdoors, do you?" she commented.

"Not until recently," he said.

"Ben, I want to thank you for what you've done for John. And the others here in the valley."

"Expressions of appreciation are unnecessary," Grey said. "I like being here. Such service is a privilege."

"Who are you, really?" Marsus asked, softly but with seriousness. "How did you just happen to find Hope Valley of all places?"

Grey turned to look into the female's eyes, testing his analysis of her expression. She did not appear angry. It wasn't an accusation. But he did sense concern.

"Why can't I be who I appear to be?" Grey asked.

"Because you don't appear to be like anyone I've ever met, or even heard of," Marsus said, rubbing the lotion down Grey's back all the way to the bottom of his spine. "You've got the most uneven people skills I've ever seen, as if there's been gaps in your upbringing, and yet you've got far too many technical skills not to be well educated."

As Marsus began spreading lotion on his neck, she glanced over Grey's shoulder and saw the small clay tablets laid out on the counter.

"What are you doing there?" she asked.

Grey glanced down at the project Marsus had just noticed, then looked back up.

"I'm making cognitive processors for the combine," he explained.

"See, that's exactly what I mean," Marsus said. "No one makes their own cogs. No one. Those things are made in laboratories by trained techs in white coats and sold for hundreds of credits apiece. Making them yourself is like making a computer out of wire and tinfoil."

"I can do that," Grey bantered.

"I bet you can do almost anything. And John told me how you chased off McNair's gang today. All by yourself. I don't know if you're a government agent or maybe some sort of corporate investigator, but people with skills like yours just don't suddenly show up. It doesn't make any sense."

"I hadn't thought of that," Grey pondered.

"So, you agree I'm right?"

"Of course. Your logic is impeccable. If my presence disturbs you, I'm prepared to leave."

"I don't want you to leave, Ben. But I also don't want anything to happen to John or my children. Our life has been hard since the uprising, but it could be worse, too."

Grey shifted on the stool to face her directly. The woman didn't have the sophistication of other females he had met, but she was intelligent and saw life clearly. He had no trouble admiring her.

"I've not come to harm anyone in this valley," Grey said. "I'll do everything I can to protect your family, and if the situation grows too intense, I'll leave."

"What you're doing here, is it that important?" Marsus asked.

"If my task is completed successfully, it might be the most important thing I've ever done," Grey said.

Marsus turned Grey around and started to apply another layer of lotion, dwelling on the changes she had already witnessed. She couldn't help feeling some apprehension, but she also felt a stirring of hope.

____________

"Morning, Mar," John said, entering the kitchen to give her a kiss.

"Sleeping in this morning?" Marsus asked. "Almost seven, you know."

"We were up late last night," John explained. "Ben said he wanted to evaluate the pest suppressors. I think he just wanted to do a little star gazing."

"Not like he hasn't earned it," Marsus said. "He's been with us two weeks now and I don't know that he's ever taken so much as an afternoon off."

"We should try to do something special for him," John agreed.

A moment later youthful footsteps bounded up the porch stairs.

"Where have you kids been? You're late for breakfast," John said, helping Marsus with the eggs and juice.

"We were with Ben," Susie said.

"Yeah. We've been up since dawn," Jaybee said.

"Thought you children didn't care for Ben?" Marsus questioned.

"Ah, Mom, he's just shy," Jaybee answered. "He untangles once you start talking to him. Specially if you talk about crops or fixing stuff."

"And what stuff were you helping him fix? Is that your secret project?" John asked.

"We were fixing the combine," Susie boasted.

"You know we don't have the parts for that," John said.

"Better tell Ben. He just drove it out to the south pasture," Jaybee laughed.

"Drove it?" John asked.

"Yeah, it works great, Dad," Jaybee said. "If Ben doesn't crash it. I don't think he knows how to drive a combine."

After a hurried meal, the family rushed out to the pasture, Marsus bringing along a basket of breakfast rolls and honey. The tall multi-function tractor glistened in the morning sun, the engines humming smoothly. Underneath, again in the dirt, Grey was adjusting the power train and reciting some sort of nonsensical verse.

"Greetings," Grey said when he saw everyone standing close by.

"I'm not going to ask how you did it. I'm beyond that," John said. "Are the harvesting options working?"

"The mechanical functions are sound," Grey said. "I'm having trouble with the sensor coordinators. Each adjustment I make continues to be marginally in error."

"She's always been a little cranky, even when she was new," John said, crawling underneath and playing with the sensor grid.

"Dad didn't think we could fix it," Jaybee chuckled.

"Your assistance was vital to the project," Grey confirmed. "You show great intelligence for such a young human."

"Person, Ben. Young person," Jaybee corrected.

"Yes, that's what I meant," Grey said. "Susan was of much help, also."

Marsus noticed the fondness that seemed to have developed between Ben and her children with particular curiosity.

"Damn, she's looking good," John said. "Where'd you get the memory strips?"

"I made them," Grey replied.

John looked surprised and glanced at Marsus, who smiled and shrugged her shoulders.

"This is great, Ben. Really great," John said. "I'd like to show you some appreciation, too. How about if I give you twenty credits and send you into town tonight with the Edelson boys?"

"For what purpose?" Grey asked.

"It's Saturday night," John said. "You're young. Have a drink. Go dancing. Chase a few girls."

"I still don't understand the purpose," Grey said again.

"It's a recreational activity," Jaybee explained.

Grey dwelled on the information for a moment, compared it to the entertainment programs he had watched while young, and remembered how Kris had often insisted they meet at the Lucky Clover after the weekly duty tours.

"I understand. I've done something like this before," Grey recalled.

"I should hope so," Marsus said. "What did you do while on leave in the service? Didn't you date? Socialize?"

"Yes, I have been on dates," Grey remembered. "And I have socialized on several occasions."

"So, you'll go?" John asked.

The idea didn't really appeal to him, but it would be a new experience. Just the sort of activity the Life Support Computer had recommended.

"I will go," Grey finally announced before climbing back up into the cab and renewing work on the sensors.

"I can tell you one thing about him, Mar," John whispered to his wife. "I don't know what branch of the service Ben was in, but it sure as hell wasn't the navy."

____________

"There's something strange about this report," Admiral Trolleni said, walking into Tyman's office with a monitor pad in hand.

Through the large picture window, Trolleni could see the capitol building and much of downtown Denver under a blue Colorado sky.

Sitting behind his oversize desk, Tyman placed an unlit Cuban cigar back in the humidor and put his jacket on, refusing to do business in violation of the executive dress code.

"What have you got, Carlos?" Tyman asked.

"It's these tracking reports," Trolleni said, putting the pad on the desk and pointing to the data screen. "There's the readings from X51. Here's a trigger signal."

"Sykes came through, after all?" Tyman said.

"Well, a signal was transmitted. Why the warhead activated while our ships were so close is a different question," Trolleni explained. "These are the tracks that are mysterious. Packet follows X40, turns against its face, and rides the asteroid right up to this orbital path. Then it disappears."

"Disappears? What disappears? Waters went back to the moon," Tyman said.

"There are no tracking reports to verify that," Trolleni reported.

Tyman picked up the monitor pad and walked to the big window, punching up figures and looking out on the park below his office. The lunchtime foot traffic was heavy with politicians, office assistants, soldiers and tourists filling the benches around the plaza.

"There's got to be some kind of error," Tyman speculated.

"Maybe, but if there is, we can't find it," Trolleni replied.

"What does it mean?" Tyman asked. "Was he killed when that asteroid blew? Is the rest a cover story so no one will know?"

"That's one possibility. Another is that Packet burned up in the atmosphere. With so many meteors coming in, the debris would hardly be noticed."

"Not all of the debris would burn up," Tyman said. "If Waters is dead, this could affect everything we're doing. We need evidence one way or the other."

"I'd like to get a team going, quietly of course," Trolleni said. "We can run some projections, schedule a search pattern, that sort of thing."

"Public reaction hasn't been good," Tyman reminded. "People seem to think the kid saved our butts even after we tried to kill him."

"Didn't we?" Trolleni asked.

Tyman declined to answer.

"We're getting by for now because the media thinks he returned to the moon," Tyman said. "If it turns out he was killed stopping that asteroid, there's going to be hell to pay, and not just on the floor of the House. Let's make sure we've got containment."

"Silent Forces?" Trolleni inquired.

"Yeah, I don't see that we have a choice," Tyman agreed. "Does anyone other than Sykes know what really happened out there?"

"I'm not sure even Sykes has figured it out," Trolleni said.

Tyman turned to gaze out the window.

"Maybe it would be best if Sykes didn't have too much time to think about it," Tyman suggested.

* * * * * *

To be continued ...