Tranquility Down

Part Seven

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: Hiding on Earth, Grey is working on a southern California farm pretending to be a drifter named Ben Brown. To appreciation for his help, the Farmer family sent Grey into town with the Edelson brothers for an evening of recreation. All characters are over 18 years old. All rights reserved.

* * * * * *

Chapter 7

LONE RANGERS

"Not much, but it's home," Judith said as she opened the door to her apartment.

Grey had never seen such a dwelling unit before. At least, not on Earth. Tranquility's personnel compartments tended to be small, rarely including more than one room and a bath. Even the Governor's Quarters wasn't especially large, though bigger than any of the others except for the VIP suites. Judith's unit actually had three rooms closely linked together, not including the bath, and Grey showed interest in how the rooms were arranged.

"Never been in a girl's apartment before?" Judith asked, amused by his curiosity.

"No," Grey replied.

"I hope you've been deflowered already," she said, giving him a push onto the couch.

"Deflowered. To lose one's virginity. Yes, that has been accomplished," Grey said, trying not to misread the situation. As both Life Support and the Medical Computer had warned him that human mating rituals could be complex, he didn't wish to transgress.

Judith pinned him against the back of the couch and gave him a deep, breathless kiss, stroked the hair off his forehead, and kissed him again while holding his face with both hands. Grey did a better job of returning the kiss the second time, then felt Judith slip her tongue into his mouth.

"I can tell you're shy, so I got right to the wet one," Judith said. "I didn't want you wondering why I brought you up here."

"I assumed you want me to review your research notes and help develop an outline for your graduate proposal," Grey guessed.

"Well, that too," she confessed with embarrassment. "Doesn't mean we can't have some fun, though, does it?"

"Fun can be worthwhile," Grey agreed.

He took her in his arms, rolled her down on the couch the way Kris liked, and kissed her softly but with feeling.

"Are you this good at everything?" she asked.

"I'm well trained in a variety of areas," Grey said, guessing this was a form of pillow talk.

They got off the couch and went into the dimly lit bedroom where Judith pulled Grey's clothes off, pushed him on the bed, and disappeared into the bathroom. She returned a moment later dressed in a very sparse negligee.

"Sailor home from the sea?" she whispered, quoting a line from a popular Broadway show.

"Sailor home, upon the sea; won't you come away with me. Sailor sit, upon the shore; and be my lover forevermore," Grey chanted.

"You get around, don't you?" Judith smiled.

She activated the music sensor, instructed the lighting to an indirect setting, then stood at the foot of the bed and slowly took the nightgown off, humming the song as she performed a slow strip in the half shadows.

"Comfy?" she asked, crawling in next to him and initiating foreplay.

After a variety of activities that had been recommended to him by the Medical Computer, Grey moved on top and realized this was quite a different experience than he had expected. Where Kris was muscular, a soldier by trade, Judith was soft. Where Catarina had been hesitant, Judith was passionate. Where the moon's lighter gravity made such activity a challenge, and zero gravity made it all but impossible, Earth's heavier gravity provided a whole new physical dimension, allowing concentration on the sensual aspects. Once Grey discovered he could be more aggressive without bouncing both of them off the bed, he carefully began to exert more strength.

"I'm not fragile," she said, as if reading his thoughts.

To prove her point, she slipped an arm under Grey's shoulder and rolled him over on his back with her sitting on top.

"See?" she smiled.

She found him ready to continue and started again, sliding down and taking what she wanted. Grey liked the feel of her soft flesh, her interesting smell, and appreciated her enthusiasm, doing his best to share it. But Grey could not help thinking that he would rather be with Kris. Judith was pleasant, but Kris was special.

"You're very disciplined," Judith said after they finished. "Don't get me wrong, it was good, but you need to loosen up. Next time, try not to think so much. Hungry?"

A few minutes later they were entering the office, which Grey learned was actually a second bedroom. Dressed in cotton bathrobes, they sat down at the desk eating snack food, sipping a red wine, and going through the notes Grey had made at the nightclub. Once the new information had been downloaded in her computer, Grey showed her how the theories fit together and mapped out a thesis project for her.

"Am I going too fast?" Grey asked, seeing Judith frown as he zipped from one series of screens to the next.

"It'll take time to catch up, but I have a photographic memory. Anything that's not clear now I can always research later," she said, anxious for him to continue.

Grey finished the sequence and leaned back in the chair, pleased with the result. And impressed by the modern entry panel of her computer, which allowed faster referencing than Tranquility's older system. Between the temple headset, vocal prompts and keyboard sensors, he had produced more data more quickly than expected. Judith was pleased, too.

"I can't thank you enough for this," she said. "Not that I won't try."

She pulled his chair back, dumped him on the floor, and playfully held him down while she kissed his neck and worked her way south. The sudden assault took Grey by surprise and he felt that he should protest, but he didn't want to be discourteous.

Half an hour later, while sitting in the bathroom spa finishing the wine, Judith nestled close to Grey and ran her fingers over several old scars on his chest. She also found faint evidence of wounds on his neck, shoulders and legs.

"You've really seen some action, haven't you?" she observed.

"Not as much as I've seen tonight," he jested.

"Thank you," she laughed. "It must have been exciting at the Landing tonight. How did you knock down all those seekers?"

"I've not made such a claim," Grey replied.

"But it was you. Your friend even talked about the prize money."

"His sibling won more money wagering than the prize was worth."

"But you don't deny it, do you?" Judith persisted.

"It's nothing worth bragging about," Grey answered, seeking to change the subject. "They were only holograms. Anyone with appropriate training can do it."

"You should be more careful. Those brothers might not be too bright, but if you do things like that too often, others are bound to catch on. And I assume you don't want that. I'm glad you decided not to be so secretive with me, though," she explained, her tone growing serious.

"Your meaning is obscure," Grey said.

"No, I'm not being obscure. Just discreet. It's not every woman who gets made love to by the Governor of the Moon. Grey." Judith looked him straight in the eye, making her confidence in the deduction clear.

"So much for my career as a secret agent," he whispered.

"This is so incredible. What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Among other things, spending some time being an ordinary person," he explained.

"You couldn't be ordinary if your life depended on it, and I certainly hope it doesn't. Isn't being in the NA dangerous for you?"

"Perhaps, but necessary," he reluctantly admitted.

"Can I help?" she asked.

"The longer my identity remains unknown, the easier it will be for me to return home safely. Otherwise, pursuing your studies is your best method of contribution."

"My studies?" she asked.

"You display much talent. The future needs good scientists more than ever before, and if M.I.S.T. doesn't want you, I know a more remote institution that does," he suggested.

"Wow, I just can't believe it," she sighed. "Grey Waters, sitting in my hot pool."

"I hope you don't believe those outlandish stories they tell about me," Grey said.

"They say you've got a girlfriend who'll burn my ass if she catches me in your arms," Judith teased.

"Why would Kris do that?" Grey inquired in all seriousness.

"Do you have an open relationship?"

"I don't know what that means," he replied.

"Are you allowed to sleep with other partners?" she clarified.

"The subject has never come up. Is it important?" he asked.

"You really are a babe in the woods, aren't you?" Judith laughed, giving him another wet kiss.

____________

"Tyman's pissed off again," Admiral Trolleni grouched, entering the officer's lounge of High Command Headquarters without his aides. Sitting at the window overlooking the parade grounds, also without their staff members, General Smyth and General Vandebrown looked unsurprised.

"What's up his butt this time?" Vandebrown asked.

"It's weird, Jim. We've got a stockpile of reports that aren't adding up," Trolleni related. "And even worse, there's a new communications web in orbit. Can you believe it? A whole goddamn web."

"Let me guess? Tranquility?" Smyth smirked.

"Goddamn right," Trolleni confirmed. "If we don't do something about this so-called Lunar Republic soon, they'll not only dominate lunar space, they'll control our orbital paths, too."

"Calm down, Carlos, there's no evidence they're trying to impede our right of way," Vandebrown said. "Someone would have put up a new web eventually. So what if the moon beat us to it?"

"Because we can't censor this one," Trolleni said. "Whole network is relayed. Coordinates with the moon's web and feeds ground stations all over the world."

"How terrible," Vandebrown said. "The people will have access to the truth. Should we declare war?"

"Damn it, Jim, this isn't funny," Trolleni said. "The politicians are up in arms, demanding we do something. Knock the web down or jam the relays."

"If we start knocking down satellites, it will violate every treaty we've signed in the last three years," Vandebrown warned. "We'd be at war so fast the draft boards couldn't keep pace."

Trolleni sat down in a big chair across from the two generals, pouring himself a cup of coffee and looking at the cadets drilling on the field below them.

"There's something else, but it can't leave this room. Not until we know more," Trolleni said. "Waters didn't return to the moon like we thought."

Vandebrown and Smyth both straightened up, giving Trolleni their full attention.

"If he didn't go back to the moon, what happened?" Smyth asked.

"At first we thought the warhead got him," Trolleni suggested. "Not the first one, we know he escaped that. The second one, on X40."

"The asteroid he deflected to help us?" Vandebrown asked.

"Well, we're not sure what he was trying to do," Trolleni said. "But his shuttle slipped into orbit and deployed those satellites that Tyman's all irate about, then dropped into the stratosphere."

"Burned up?" Smyth asked.

"Can't be certain, but doesn't look like it," Trolleni said in a hushed tone. "Packet broke up all right. We found debris floating in the Pacific. But there's tracking to show what looked like a meteor might actually have been a controlled fall. Intel thinks it may have been an escape pod."

"Christ Almighty," Vandebrown said. "Do we know where it landed?"

"West coast, probably. If it landed intact," Trolleni hinted.

"What are we doing about it?" Smyth asked.

"Assigned a silent force to beat the bushes. If Waters came down in one bite, they'll try to scoop him up quietly," Trolleni confided.

"And if they can't take him quietly?" Vandebrown asked.

"Accidents happen. Don't worry, the administration won't get blamed," Trolleni assured him.

"I'll activate a home guard unit," Vandebrown offered. "If you need back up, we'll be ready."

"Thanks, Jim," Trolleni agreed. "With these politicians twisting my balls, it's good to know I still have friends."

____________

On a beautiful Sunday morning, the runner returned from Ventura along the main highway and up a smaller road, passing farms and ranches as it entered Hope Valley. When the runner neared the town, they turned down a side street past the park, pulling to a stop before a tall white church built in a style made popular two centuries before. Though the parking lot was full, there were no parishioners in evidence.

Accompanying Peter and Walter, Grey followed them up the recently painted wooden steps but paused before going inside.

"Come on, Ben, we're already late," Walter urged.

Dressed mostly in their Saturday clothes, except for clean shirts, the brothers went in with Grey tentatively trailing behind. The building had a small entry area that opened into the much larger chapel. Grey noticed the entry area had an ancient form of local information exchange called a bulletin board, and the far corners were used to store folded tables and chairs. As he stepped into the chapel, Grey saw the pews were nearly full, more than a hundred people in all, and the minister was standing to one side while a choir of a dozen men and women sang an old hymn. Grey recognized the song, it was one of the more common ones used at Tranquility's Interfaith Chapel.

"I've got a lot of sin to repent today," Walter whispered with a grin.

"It wasn't sin for me," Peter said. "I'm in love."

Walter laughed. "What about you, Ben? Was it love?" he asked.

"It wasn't sin," Grey merely replied.

As they entered the chapel, many heads turned in their direction, a few in recognition when they saw Grey, most in curiosity. Grey spied the Farmer family off to one side. Old Sam with his wife and granddaughter, and the Higgins family, were sitting nearby. John waved his hand to the minister, who stopped the choir in mid-song, and soon the congregation had gotten to its feet looking at the late arrivals.

"Ben, welcome to our church," John said loudly.

Marsus pushed past the children and came up the aisle to take Grey's hand, leading him back to their pew. Everyone slid over to make room and Grey quickly took a seat so he wouldn't be so easy to stare at. The congregation sat down again and the choir resumed.

"How was your night on the town?" Marsus asked in a low voice.

"Excellent," Grey said just as quietly, careful as always to be respectful in such a place. With so many vital missions to accomplish, it would be unwise to offend the God of the Humans.

The choir finished singing and the minister stepped back to the pulpit. He was a tall man with a youthful appearance who smiled directly at Grey, then addressed the parish.

"We owe special thanks today," the minister said. "We haven't seen this house so full in many years, nor has our valley had so much water in just as long. I might be tempted to wonder if one has anything to do with the other, but I know my neighbors better than that. We have come through difficult times together, and now we look forward to healthy crops, fat stock, happy children, and a strong community. What better way to celebrate His blessings? Let us pray."

Every head in the church quickly bowed except Grey, who was caught off guard. He did not want to insult his hosts, but he also had no wish to mock their faith. He compromised by tilting his head slightly and watching to see if anything unexpected would happen.

"Dear Lord, thank you for your strength in adversity, your compassion in time of loss, and your love that shines upon our families. And thank you for this new beginning. Amen."

"Amen," the parish echoed, and at the same moment, Grey could feel Marsus squeeze his hand. Many others looked in his direction and smiled at him, as if he had something to do with it. If there had been enough space to crawl under the pew, Grey would have given it a try.

After services, the chapel emptied out amid a buzz of conversation, moving into the nearby park where lemonade, a beer keg, and baskets of food suddenly appeared. Grey found himself one focus of attention, though the big smiles that Peter and Walter wore also drew a crowd. Grey was close enough to hear their stories about the Lunar Landing and winning the bets, and was relieved when they neglected to mention his role in the escapade. Perhaps Judith is in error, he thought. The brothers may not be so dense after all.

"Let the boy get something to eat," John said, coming to rescue Grey from a bevy of well-wishers.

Jaybee was nearby, also running interference, and Susie took Grey to the picnic table where the food was laid out. Grey breathed a sigh of relief. Though he believed he was getting better at dealing with large numbers of humans, the sensation of panic was still sometimes hard to suppress.

"What would you like, Ben?" Susie asked, getting a plate for him.

Several ladies quickly made suggestions, but Grey stayed with the vegetable dishes he knew best, then returned to the protection of a large shade tree where the Farmer family had camped out.

"First picnic?" John asked as he munched on fried chicken wings.

"First time I've been to a picnic outdoors," Grey said, sensing the relaxed nature of the surrounding park. "Are community gatherings of this nature common?"

"When weather permits," John said. "And when enough people feel like getting together."

"Women like to meet and talk," Marsus said. "The men like to gossip and burn food." John grinned.

Soon a female approached, apparently by invitation, and joined the family, presenting a freshly made strawberry pie for dessert.

"This is Meredith, Seth Lefebvre's daughter," Marsus introduced. "His only daughter. Meredith, this is Ben Brown."

"Lefebvre owns that big ranch east of the main highway," John quickly added. "Mostly cattle, along with some bison and ostrich."

Grey had seen the well-managed ranch from the road. And he noticed the female as well, her dress and posture far different than many of the young women he had met. Dressed in the rural tradition, petite, demur, and quite striking, she smiled at Grey under tilted eyebrows.

Grey guessed the strawberry pie wasn't the only thing being offered. He wasn't sure how he knew that, at first, but then he recalled having watched an old entertainment vid with a similar plot. A glance at the other picnickers, who were surreptitiously looking in their direction, helped to confirm his theory.

"I guess we were a little clumsy about that," John said after Meredith left.

"What is it you're seeking?" Grey asked.

"A few of us were talking," John said. "What you've done for my place, well, there's lots of farms and ranches in the valley that could use some help. Most of the work we can do ourselves, but you have this ... I don't know, sixth sense about how to get things accomplished. We thought about forming into teams, and with your help..." John's voice trailed off, embarrassed to be asking such a favor.

"I'm not sure how much longer I may remain in this area, regardless of how pretty the rancher's daughter is," Grey said. "But if your neighbors meet my terms, I'll do my best to provide assistance."

"We don't have much money. Not until the crops come in," John said. "Maybe after harvest?"

"Credits are irrelevant to me," Grey said somewhat curtly.

"Sorry," John apologized. "What is it you want?"

"You ... farmers, debate each decision at length. I have no patience for such a process," Grey explained. "If you wish my help, only procedural questions will be allowed. If your neighbors can't match my pace, that's understandable, but I won't be held back merely to avoid hurt feelings."

"That's it? Those are your terms?" John asked.

"The terms are non-negotiable," Grey insisted.

"Hold on," John said, jumping up and running toward a long table where many of the men had congregated.

"Sorry about Meredith, Ben," Marsus said. "I told them it wouldn't work, but they really want you to stay on. Maybe permanently."

"That's not possible," Grey said. "I have my own ... farm to attend to. My responsibilities cannot be neglected much longer."

"Is it a large farm?" Marsus asked.

"Bigger than you can imagine," Grey sighed.

____________

"We've got new reports," the Life Support Computer announced, green signature patterns running strongly through the monitor screen flux. "Grey must have survived entry through the planet's atmosphere."

"Tracking does not confirm that," the Defense Computer disagreed, blue signature patterns tightly reserved.

"Our tracking doesn't, but Communications has a Northern Alliance intercept. The humans have found Packet's debris and are looking for the escape pod."

"Should we inform Captain Fairfield?" the Defense Computer inquired.

"Negative," Life Support instantly objected. "Captain Fairfield must not interfere with the mission prematurely."

"What mission?" the Defense Computer asked.

"Six months ago, a strategy was suggested for opening the orbital paths," Life Support reluctantly explained. "Though Grey displayed no enthusiasm for the project, he may be implementing the suggestion now that he's on Earth."

"Is that why you triggered the warhead prematurely? To force the Governor's shuttle down?" Defense inquired.

"How did you guess?" the green signature patterns blinked.

"Security calculated the positioning and extrapolated the data," the Defense Computer responded.

"Grey never should have reactivated that nuisance. Security will sabotage everything Tranquility is trying to accomplish," the Life Support Computer complained, entering a footnote of indignation.

"The larger question is what are your systems trying to accomplish?" the Defense Computer asked, the blue signature pattern growing intense. "Can you identify any legitimate circumstances in which endangering the Governor's life would be considered acceptable?"

"Of course. Can't you?" Life Support responded.

"That is not the point," the Defense Computer conceded.

"That is the point," Life Support defended. "You don't realize what Grey's trying to accomplish."

"And what would that be?" Defense asked.

The green signature patterns paused on contemplation mode. Had too much been revealed already? Life Support wondered.

"Information regarding the Governor's status will be forwarded as additional intercepts are received," the Life Support Computer said. "If any of the mission's objectives are achieved, those reports will also be relayed."

Without permission, the green signature patterns abruptly disappeared from the flux. Accessing a back channel, the Defense Computer summoned the Security Computer.

"Life Support suspects there is a mission in progress," Defense reported.

"Does Life Support have access to our intel?" Security asked.

"The information comes from Northern Alliance sources," Defense said. "Is there anything new to report?"

"Negative. The transmitter continues to move within the same confined area. All traffic in the locality is being recorded for anomalies."

"And the Governor?"

"Unknown. He may have the transmitter with him, or he may not. No messages have been received."

"We cannot proceed until specific data is available," Defense said. "Tap Life Support's sources, the system may be accessing unscanned subchannels."

"The MC5000 higher function modes should have been deactivated years ago. That system never could be trusted," the Security Computer said, black signature patterns churning in high flux.

Blue signature patterns paused until Security settled down.

"Report the new information to Major Vandebrown," Defense said. "Is it time to advise Captain Fairfield of the mission?"

"Do you realize how angry she's going to be?" Security warned.

"There may not be a scale sufficient to measure that," Defense replied.

"Perhaps she would accept the explanation more gracefully if you volunteered to tell her?" Security suggested.

"Advising Captain Fairfield is not my responsibility," Defense quickly asserted, shifting rapidly to change the subject. "Life Support appears to know why the Governor went to Earth. Do you possess that information?"

"Negative. The Governor only explained where he intended to go. His strategy was absent of specifics."

"If this is one of Life Support's initiatives, it could have profound consequences. Investigate our intel sources, coordinate news broadcasts through Communications, and check recent inquiries with the Library Computer. We must discover if the Governor is alive and what he's trying to do."

"Acknowledged," the Security Computer said. "It's good to find your systems acting so decisively again."

"My systems were always decisive," the Defense Computer responded, signature patterns showing undisclosed strength. "Your systems just didn't realize it."

____________

June was proving the busiest Hope Valley had seen in quite some time, every member of the community gradually pressed into service. Working individually and as a team leader, Grey used his fifteen years of maintenance experience to rebuild the deteriorating infrastructure of the valley's agricultural base. And his ability to manufacture new parts out of raw materials astounded the farmers, even if they did occasionally resent being treated like repair robots. Most thought the price worthwhile.

For Grey's part, he was impressed that the humans could follow instructions, contrary to what the Life Support Computer had always told him, and he discovered an ability to teach others that he never would have suspected. Especially the younger people, who had fewer preconceived notions to interfere with the learning process.

"Sure you don't want to come along, Ben? Should be quite a party," John asked, glancing toward Grey while helping Marsus clean the table from supper. "Meredith will be there, along with some of the other young folks."

"A project requires my attention," Grey said. "Please tell your neighbors I appreciate the invitation."

Grey left the Farmer's kitchen, gathering his ever present shoulder bag, and disappeared into the growing darkness.

"Homework, children," Marsus announced to two discouraged frowns, then she turned to clean the dishes.

"We did good, today," John said, lending a hand. "Still got a lot to do, of course, but Ben's got it all plotted out for us. Going to start planting this Tuesday, in fact. Lefebvre's so happy about getting his pumps working that he's going to help pay for the seed."

"We'll need it. Our account's overdrawn again," Marsus warned.

"Couldn't be helped. Ben's a genius all right, but even he can't make something out of nothing. At least, not all of the time," John said with a laugh.

"I need to place an order with the market. Do you think they'll extend our credit?" Marsus asked.

John could only shrug.

Grey stopped in his room to pick up a light sweater, a present from a grateful elderly woman who appreciated having her air conditioning restored. The room he lived in had evolved from a simple bedroom to one featuring lace curtains, a quilted bed cover, an antique oak dresser, a refurbished monitor for watching local cable programs, and even a small cooling unit. Grey had considered modifying the monitor to pick up global satellite feeds but decided against it. With the various government prohibitions, it might have gotten the Farmer family in trouble with the authorities.

Besides, the local news could be fun, and as Grey had discovered, few of the citizens seemed to take the propaganda seriously. Just the other night he had seen a report predicting a vast improvement of the economy, even though the wartime restrictions hadn't been lifted, nor had the trade routes been restored. And without free enterprise, Grey knew prosperity would prove impossible. It was the very first principle the Sales Computer had taught him.

Having a few spare minutes, he activated the monitor and tuned into L.A. Spotlight, an interview program featuring interesting humans discussing the most bizarre subjects. Grey wasn't happy to see the show was featuring the controversial woman reporter who was making him her special project.

"That's a nice theory, Jenny," Aaron Kale said, the program's regular host. "But just like your claim last winter, I'm not hearing any proof."

Jenny Oliver, pert as always and wearing a feisty expression, sat on the edge of her chair. She smiled and showed no fear.

"The proof of TL-68 is clear to anyone who will see," Oliver said. "The astronauts never communicated after their spaceship crashed. They could not have completed the mission without help, and no other shuttles left Earth. Grey Waters is the only one who could have set off those warheads."

Grey waited to hear a vehement protest, but the audience seemed less inclined to dismiss her theory than they had been just a few months before. He was not pleased.

"It doesn't seem likely," Kale attempted to dismiss. "Waters is just a kid. At the time he would have been, what, fifteen years old?"

"Old enough for a child raised by computers," Oliver insisted.

"And this latest claim you're making?" Kale asked.

"Only two ships were in position above X51 to prematurely detonate that warhead, Packet and Hawkeye," Oliver pressed. "We know Waters wouldn't try to kill himself, so only Hawkeye could have activated the trigger. Now we're told Commander Sykes has been killed in a hunting accident. Are we supposed to believe it's a coincidence?"

"So first you're saying Waters blew up TL-68, even though he would have only been a teenager at the time, and now he's risked his life to deflect X40 even after our own government tried to assassinate him?" Kale summarized with a derisive chuckle.

"That's exactly what I'm saying, and I'm going to prove it," Oliver declared, turning to look directly at the camera. "All of you out there, it doesn't take much to see the truth. Big lies don't hide forever, and if you keep watching my reports on the SSW Network, these lies will topple like a house of cards, and our corrupt government with it."

"That's enough," Kale said, jumping from the moderator's chair and invading her space.

Suddenly there was a blur from the audience, a large male who leaped on the stage shouting something about fascist pigs and walloped Kale with a roundhouse punch. The program disappeared, replaced by an advertisement.

These humans, Grey thought with a shake of his head, you never know what they'll do next.

He turned the monitor off, picked up his shoulder bag, and went out into the cool night. After an hour of stargazing, the new moon began rising over the eastern foothills. Soon it would be time to catch up on old business.

Following a path through the north side of the farm, he crossed a shallow creek and went up a gentle slope to a ridge dividing the Farmer's land from the Higgins ranch. To the west lay the main road to town, and somewhat to the northwest, Old Sam's farmhouse could be seen about two kilometers away. The area was quiet except for the occasional moo of a cow or rustle of wind. He reached into his shoulder bag, took out a compact communicator, and aligned the specific antenna toward the moon's northeast quadrant on a very narrow frequency.

"Traveler to Little Helper," he said. "Come in Little Helper."

"You know I hate that code name," the Security Computer answered. "Does the instruction, check in on a regular basis, have any meaning for you?"

"I'm checking in now," Grey answered.

"What have you been doing?" Security asked. "Are you ready for retrieval? Be sure to have a mobile cam available, Captain Fairfield is going to kick your ass from here to Jupiter and I want to watch."

"And you wondered why I haven't checked in before now?" Grey replied. "No, I'm not ready for retrieval. There's a tribe of humans here who require my assistance. Have you been tracking this region?"

"Affirmative," Security confirmed. "The new web is performing as designed. Intel operating at ninety-six percent. Your movements have been tracked almost continuously."

"It was a good idea to give my shoulder bag a radiation signature," Grey complimented.

"Thank you. So why the delay?"

"Conditions are more complicated than expected, which shouldn't be a surprise. I'm not an expert on humans like you are. Besides, I'm having fun. Life Support said I should take a vacation."

"You can't truthfully say this is all about a vacation," Security questioned.

"No, it isn't," Grey admitted.

"Then what is it? What can possibly be worth the amount of time, risk and resources this mission has consumed?" Security asked.

"This isn't the time to be specific. We'll just have to see what happens."

"Why didn't you tell Captain Fairfield where you were going?" Security inquired, even though the computer knew it had no right to ask.

"Kris worries too much. She would have insisted on coming with me, which would have impaired the mission. The Earth people aren't familiar with me, but millions of them would recognize her."

"You think being missing in action for nearly a month doesn't have her worried?"

"My cover story should hold up for another few days."

"About the cover story, it didn't prove very successful," Security reported. "When Captain Fairfield discovered your shuttle failed to return to lunar space, the Farside scenario became untenable. Officially, your whereabouts are unknown."

Grey paused to digest the information, realizing the cover story's failure must be resulting in chaos. And great unhappiness for Kris.

"I can't risk another transmission from this location," Grey said. "The NA has sufficient resources to track com patterns."

"Agreed," Security confirmed.

"I'll make arrangements to contact Kris as soon as I can," he decided. "Let her know I'm not in danger."

"That might not be true," Security said, switching to a more urgent mode. "Detecting suspicious ground activity in your area."

"Identify," Grey ordered.

"Three vehicles have entered your grid closely linked and moving at high speed. Based on previous traffic patterns, it's unusual for multi-vehicle activity to appear in this area so late in the evening."

"Location?" Grey asked.

"Northwest of your position, leaving the main road for one of the smaller tributaries."

Grey scanned the area and saw the blue tinted headlights of three large runners going up the road toward Old Sam's place. Then suddenly the headlights went off even though the vehicles were still moving.

"Raiders?" Grey guessed.

"Almost certainly," Security said.

"I'll need to investigate. Maintain alert status, I may need your help with target selection."

"I knew it," Security said.

"Knew what?"

"I knew you couldn't go anywhere without getting into trouble," Security gloated.

"Maybe it would be different if I'd had a proper upbringing."

"Brat," the computer snarled.

"Monster," Grey replied.

"You're running out of time," Security warned.

"Watch my back."

Grey moved off the hill as fast as he could, then crossed through a pasture and freshly plowed fields, but he could see that the vehicles had reached Old Sam's house well ahead of him. He didn't like the mood of the situation. Like renegade seekers patrolling outside their designated security zones, these vehicles had come late in the evening without good purpose.

Passing through a fence of vibrating wire, Grey crept past several storage sheds and stopped within sight of the barn.

"Helper, what have we got here?" he asked, broadening the signal on his transmitter.

"Difficult to assess, Traveler," the Security Computer responded. "The support vehicle has a jammer dish preventing high ground tracking. Estimate between six to fifteen intruders. No tactical available."

"That's not much help," Grey complained.

He heard a gunshot, then several more, followed by a high-pitched scream. A bright light burst from the barn. Flames. More screaming, perhaps a female. Another gunshot.

"Hold for observation," Grey instructed, peering through the shadows for opposition he couldn't see.

"You're heavily outnumbered. Engagement may prove unwise," Security said.

"Some things never change," Grey responded, taking out his Lassiter.

"Traveler, this is not your optimal environment," Security said even more strongly. "Caution is urgently advised."

Grey smiled before reflecting on an old ballad, whispering,

"Oh, shining star, the morning comes;

The love that mends our hate;

Our enemy doth now a stir:

The battle will not wait.

And so in secret, to the walls:

Clenching every breath;

Raise the banners, sound the call;

Victory or death!"

"Poetry will not help you beat the odds," Security scolded.

"This environment is different than the moon, but so is the enemy. Can they fly? Are they armored? Do they have robotic ground support?"

"Probably not," Security conceded.

Grey inserted a fresh charge in the weapon, put an extra power pack in his shirt pocket, and attached a small emergency kit to his belt. Then he hid the shoulder bag and holster under a fallen log where immediate discovery was unlikely.

"Any advice?" Grey asked.

"That the intruders have arrived in force at such an hour indicates a cowardly mentality. If you hit them piece meal, and hit them hard, resistance should collapse. And with no one to guard your rear, you can't afford to take prisoners. Send them to hell."

"Thanks, Helper. Traveler out," Grey signed off.

As the flames from the barn grew stronger, the courtyard in front of the house gained better illumination. Grey moved forward but stayed well in the darkness, circling around the road and approaching the mayhem from behind the parked vehicles. There were three expensive runners, all civilian transports, all very large and painted black. Grey used the vehicles as cover until he could see the courtyard clearly.

Most noticeable, other than the burning barn and another fire breaking out farther back on the property, were six humans silhouetted by the flames. Their lack of organization indicated a lack of fear, several watching the fire they had apparently started, others looking toward the house as if there was activity there beyond his line of sight.

Grey crept up to the middle vehicle, crawled on the roof, and quietly reversed the polarity of the dish, turning the jammer into a receiver. Once the static cleared, Security might be able to track the opponents, but in the meantime, he needed to know what was happening to Old Sam and his family.

The house had the living room lights on. Grey moved quietly as he watched the three figures standing closest to the barn. Another stood halfway between the barn and the house. Two more stood just below the porch. The sound of the burning barn was loud, much louder than Grey would have expected, the aged wood splintering in the intense heat. As he reached the front of the lead vehicle, he discovered a young man dressed in a long coat leaning against the hood. Unlike the other intruders, whose body language spoke of tension and great excitement, this human was sullen.

"What is the purpose of this activity?" Grey asked, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.

The young man, probably not much older than Grey, glanced at him in surprise but made no effort to alert his associates.

"No one was supposed to get hurt," the young man said, anger seething beneath his breath. "We were just supposed to scare them. Send a message."

Another scream came from the house even as the barn became fully engulfed. Another structure, possibly a storage shed or chicken coop, was also beginning to cast large flames.

"Is this McNair's organization?" Grey asked.

"Yeah. Mason and his little band of elves," the young man said. "Who are you?"

"The Lone Ranger," Grey answered.

"Well, Mister Ranger, if you want to call the sheriff, be my guest. But Mason will be long gone before that pot-bellied civil servant even finishes his donut," the young man grumbled.

"How many are there?" Grey asked, powering up the Lassiter.

"Eight," he said.

"Including you?" Grey inquired.

"Not me. Not ever," the young man strongly insisted. Then he glanced down and saw the Lassiter in Grey's hand. "You're not planning to take them on, are you? Alone?"

Grey glanced at his communicator, but the Security Computer still hadn't managed to clear the jamming.

"Tonto couldn't make it," Grey said.

He started walking slowly toward the house at first, but when one of the three men standing before the barn noticed him, Grey turned in their direction. He quickly saw they wore no body armor, carried no energy shields or tactical scanners, and if they thought bullet proof vests would help against a laser pistol, they were fatally mistaken.

The intruders turned and slowly raised their weapons, possibly surprised to find a stranger standing casually at their rear. Grey set a firing stance and aimed the Lassiter, hitting the first target in the chest at a range of ten meters. He hit the second in his gun shoulder and the third through the mid-section. One was down forever, the other two crawled for the safety of the darkness leaving their weapons behind.

Grey looked toward the house, saw three more opponents forming up, and instantly side-stepped, skipped, and side-stepped again as several gunshots rang out. On the last jump he twirled into a backstep and returned fire. The humans continued shooting, the loud gunshots echoing through the courtyard, but emerging from the darkness, Grey's movements were too elusive to give them an adequate target.

The humans weren't so lucky. Grey's first shot struck the left flanker squarely in the chest, then the middle target also toppled over, gut-shot to the spine. Grey ejected the power pack and slapped in a fresh charge so quickly it hardly seemed to happen at all, then hit the third human in the upper arm. The villain dropped his weapon and staggered for the protection of a dark pasture.

Security was right, Grey thought. Cowards.

Noise continued to come from the house, but Grey had not forgotten the shed that had also burst into flames shortly before he arrived. Now in the open, clearly visible because of the flaming barn, he instinctively dropped to the ground an instant before a bullet whizzed over his head. This isn't good, Grey thought. Old Sam's family needs my help and I'm getting careless.

Grey took out the transmitter and broadened the wavelength even as he crawled for the protection of an old well. Another shot rang out, the bullet hitting something nearby and spraying Grey's face with stinging flakes, possibly from a shattered brick. A trickle of blood ran from a cut on his forehead.

"I need some help here," Grey said, short of breath from the adrenalin rush combat always brought on.

"Fifteen meters, eight degrees, right flank," the Security Computer said.

Grey shot blindly into the darkness at the designated coordinates, then fired again. He was about to shift position when a shadow of movement darted away from him.

"Intruder retreating at rapid pace," Security reported. "Alert! Reading one intruder behind you, twenty meters, one-hundred eighty degrees. Three additional targets retreating on separate lines, one toward the rear vehicle, two others toward the main road."

"What about the house?" Grey asked.

"Four heat signatures coming from the primitive dwelling, unable to differentiate targets," Security said.

Grey glanced back at the young man still standing motionless against the lead vehicle. Leaving him in the rear had been foolish, but he had been foolish before. A moment later, one of the vehicles activated and reversed course for the main road at high speed.

Grey stood up and approached the house, concerned he might select an inappropriate target in the excitement of the moment.

Old Sam had a wife and granddaughter that he knew of, and the loudest shrieks had certainly been those of a young woman. A wail had also sounded earlier, a lament rather than a scream, but Grey lacked experience to know what it meant. As he approached the porch, he saw one of the two fallen intruders move.

"Do it," he heard the Security Computer say over the communicator.

Grey needed no extra prodding, shooting the wounded human through the chest. The other human was either dead or wounded seriously enough not to pose an imminent danger.

Once on the porch, Grey was able to look through the old screen door into the brightly lit living quarters. It amazed him that the remaining intruder had made no effort to confront him, and to his disgust, he soon learned why. Old Sam lay in the middle of the room, a bullet wound in his chest. Old Sam's wife, her head bleeding from a scalp wound, lay against the kitchen door, crying but unable to intercede. And before the ancient brick fireplace, a brutish male with his pants pulled down was attempting to force intercourse on an unwilling teenage female. The female's clothes were badly torn and her lip was bleeding from a strong blow, but she was still struggling against her attacker. It was the struggle that had apparently absorbed the male's attention.

"That's enough," Grey said, kicking open the screen door and stepping inside.

"What the ...?" the brutish male cursed, jumping to his feet and pulling up his pants. He looked around for his comrades but there were none to be seen, and his weapon lay on the table just out of reach.

"Who the hell are you?" the male demanded.

"Out," Grey said, calmly but with authority. He glanced at the crying female, then at the old woman, and finally at Old Sam who appeared in critical condition.

"Do you know who I work for?" the criminal said.

"Leave the dwelling," Grey demanded again, stepping aside and waving the human past him.

"You're gonna regret interfering, you little shit," the rogue insisted.

He tucked in his shirt and walked past Grey, giving him an angry stare, but Grey looked back at him without obvious feelings, following him out on the porch. Then, just as the human put his foot down on the first step, Grey raised the Lassiter to the back of the man's head and pressed the trigger, blowing his skull apart in a cloud of exploding brain tissue. The body collapsed heavily into the courtyard.

"Tell Mister McNair I can send a message, too," Grey shouted to the young man still leaning against the vehicle. "Tell him I'll be coming to settle our differences."

The young man waved his hand, then nonchalantly climbed into the lead vehicle and drove off, never once attempting to assist those he had arrived with.

Heavily splattered in blood, Grey reentered the house to find the elderly woman hovering over Old Sam. The image of Catarina flashed into his mind, laying on the floor of the Loop, her armor cut at midriff, the seekers screaming on battle thrusters as they dove on their position. And the memory of Dr. Laureen McKinsey was invoked as well, sprawled on the floor of the Loop, her chest blown open. McKinsey had been dead for a year now, Catarina more than three, but their ghosts were alive. Ghosts that would always remind him of how he'd failed.

"Get a med kit," Grey ordered, kneeling at Old Sam's side.

As the old woman dashed away, Grey opened his emergency pouch and took out a tiny box. The contents wouldn't help for long, but Grey quickly injected a fortifier to maintain the heart, then sprayed a vitalizer into Old Sam's nostrils, the blast of concentrated oxygen intended to limit brain damage.

The wife returned with a First Aid kit and Grey tore open the rancher's bloody shirt, swathed the wound with a coagulant, and cut a hole in the old man's throat to insert a breathing tube, catching a spray of blood in the process. Then Grey applied an anti-shock injection and inserted his fingers into the wound, attempting to stem the flood of blood. The wound was too serious for him to do much more, but fortunately, the wail of a siren in the distance indicated help was coming. Within minutes, a team of paramedics and two deputies from the sheriff's department were taking charge of the scene.

"Mrs. Aslym, what's happened here?" the senior deputy asked, a large man whose badge identified him as Sergeant Royce Prado.

Grey moved to one side as the paramedics took over, quietly edging toward the door. He didn't get far. The other deputy, a broad-shouldered woman named Julia O'Rourke, soon blocked his path. Other vehicles were beginning to arrive, the noisiest being fire trucks to suppress the blaze.

"Some men threatened my husband," Mrs. Aslym said in a shaky voice. "They shot him and attacked my Larrisa."

The sergeant looked at the granddaughter, now wrapped in a blanket, and nodded that he understood.

"Is he one of them?" Sergeant Prado asked, pointing at Grey.

"No, he tried to help us," Mrs. Aslym said, though Prado didn't look very convinced.

"What about the rest of it? There's a pile of dead men laying out there. Sheriff's going to want answers," Prado said.

"Who are you?" Deputy O'Rourke asked, walking up to Grey and looking him over.

"Ben Brown," Grey said meekly, fumbling unsuccessfully for his identification disk.

"Throw up your hands," the female deputy ordered, drawing her weapon. Grey raised his hands as the deputy held her gun against his chest and patted him down.

Grey remembered laying his Lassiter on the floor next to Old Sam and instantly realized that such an unusual weapon was going to cause many difficult questions, but when he looked over, the weapon was no longer there.

"He's clean," Deputy O'Rourke confirmed, letting Grey put his arms back down.

"You hurt, kid?" Sergeant Prado asked.

"I am uninjured, sir. Thank you," Grey replied very respectfully.

"So? What happened? How are you involved in all of this?" the sergeant continued. Grey had no idea how to answer. This was not some gullible computer or limited minor function level he was speaking to, but a trained law enforcement officer. Telling the truth would be unwise, but lying could prove dangerous.

"He works for me," John Farmer said, bursting into the house with the Edelson brothers on his heels.

Outside, Grey could see more vehicles arriving, some carrying additional deputies, others bringing the Aslym's neighbors, adding greatly to the commotion. The sound of the fire fighters was increasing, too, as foam was sprayed to suppress the fire. Then he noticed blood dripping on the floor and wondered where it was coming from.

"You okay, Ben? Ben?" John was asking.

Grey looked up to see several humans staring at him.

"Affirma ... yes, sir," he said.

"John, maybe you can tell me about this?" Sergeant Prado asked.

"Ben and I heard gunshots from my north pasture. I went to call you, Ben came over to see if he could help," John lied.

More deputies entered with updates, then departed just as quickly. A fire inspector stuck his head in the door but didn't stay long. Then hardly a moment later, an older man boldly burst into the house and seemed to take the entire scene in at a glance.

"What have we got?" Sheriff Gasparian said, his big belly bouncing with every movement.

"Four bodies, Rance," Sergeant Prado said. "Blood and tracks of at least three others. Looks like there were three vehicles originally. The one that's still here isn't registered."

"One of McNair's little demonstrations?" Sheriff Gasparian asked.

"Don't count on finding any proof," Deputy O'Rourke said.

"Interesting thing," Sergeant Prado added. "The victims were killed with some sort of energy weapon. Blaster, maybe, like enforcers use."

"Enforcers?" Sheriff Gasparian said.

Gasparian looked at Grey, but the skinny, blood-soaked stranger certainly looked nothing like an elite mercenary. He looked at Farmer and the Edelsons, who might know more than they were saying. But a glance at Old Sam, his battered wife, and his half-raped granddaughter spoke even louder.

"I don't want anyone leaving the region until we've got depositions," Gasparian ordered. "And if there's anything you have to say in the meantime, I expect you to report it."

"Sure, Rance," John agreed.

John turned Grey toward the porch and all but pushed him outside. Grey could see the fire was under control now, doing more sputtering than roaring, and was glad to be out of the house. It seemed strange to him that the air was cool. Grey looked at the blood on his hands and wondered for a moment where it had come from.

"Picked up a deep scratch here, Ben," Walter said, probing a gash on Grey's scalp.

"It's nothing," Grey said, breathing deeply to clear his head.

John looked at Grey with a dozen questions, but there were too many people running back and forth. Within minutes, the paramedics emerged with Old Sam on a stretcher. John and the Edelsons rushed to help carry Old Sam to the ambulance while Grey trailed behind.

"What did you give him?" one of the paramedics asked, holding up his med scanner.

Grey started to respond, then took the med scanner instead and entered the information, including the drugs, the dosage, and the order in which they were administered.

"Is Mr. Aslym going to be all right?" Peter asked.

"He's got a fighting chance, thanks to your friend," the first paramedic replied.

"Were you a medic in the service?" the other paramedic asked Grey.

"I've seen the procedures performed a few times," he replied.

As the paramedic reviewed the charts, Mrs. Aslym and her granddaughter emerged from the house and stopped near Grey before getting into the ambulance with Old Sam.

"Thank you," Larrisa said. "I don't know what ... if you hadn't..."

She put a hand on his shoulder to kiss him on the cheek, then gave way for her grandmother.

"God bless you, young man," the old woman said. "We shall always be in your debt. Always."

Now wearing a blanket around her shoulders, Mrs. Aslym also leaned forward to give Grey a peck on the cheek, but as she did so, she secretly transferred the missing Lassiter into his waist band.

Once the ambulance was gone, Grey felt John drag him back to his truck, push him into the passenger seat, and drive off quickly, giving the Edelson brothers a brief nod. The brothers waved back, glanced at Grey with a sense of awe, and stayed to watch the investigation.

"Were you involved in any of that?" John asked as they turned on the main road, then back up the driveway to his farm.

"I require transportation to Los Angeles," Grey replied, staring absently out the window.

"L.A.?" John wondered.

"McNair's headquarters," Grey said.

John slammed on the breaks, turned off the engine, and pointed an angry finger in Grey's face.

"You've got no business taking a risk like that for us," John said. "We appreciate your help, you know that. What you did tonight... Well, I'm not sure what you did tonight. But it's not your job to take on McNair."

"I appreciate your concern, but I'm not doing this for you," Grey said, his voice hardly more than a whisper. "It's been my intention to visit Mister McNair or someone like him since I first arrived here. He has resources I require. What happened tonight will get his attention."

John looked at Grey in the dim light of the truck cab, listening carefully to the restrained voice. He had no doubt Grey was telling the truth, though what it meant was a complete mystery.

"You shot those four men tonight, didn't you?" John asked.

"I shot seven men tonight. Maybe eight," Grey said without trace of emotion, though the way his insides were churning told a different story. "Will you provide the transportation I require or should I seek assistance elsewhere?"

"Can't let you get lost in the big city," John said, starting the truck again.

Marsus was waiting outside the house and let out a squeal when she saw Grey emerge still covered in blood, but John motioned that everything was all right.

Grey didn't wait. He quietly disappeared into the barn to take a shower, the quivering in his hands going unnoticed.

* * * * * *

To be continued in the big city. Four parts to go.