Cradle. Part 12

"Where's Troy?" interrupted Nick. gesturing out at the ocean.

Carol took another step up the ladder. It was clear that she was exhausted. Nick took her hand and she came into the boat. She stood up on her wobbly legs.

"Where's Troy?" Nick asked again forcefully. He looked at Carol. "And what happened to all your gear?"

Carol took a deep breath. "I . . . don't know . . . where Troy is," she stammered. "We were sucked down - "

"You don't know!" shouted Nick, now frantically looking around on the ocean surface. "You go on a dive, come up without your gear, and don't know where your partner is. What kind - "

A small wave hit the boat. Carol had raised her hand to protest Nick's diatribe, but the motion of the boat knocked her feet out from under her. She fell hard on her knees and winced at the pain. Nick was hovering over her, still shouting. "Well, Miss Perfect, you better come up with some f.u.c.king answers fast. If we don't find Troy soon, he'll be dead. And if he's dead, it will be your G.o.dd.a.m.n fault."

Carol instinctively cowered at the anger of the large man. Her knees hurt, she was exhausted, and this man was yelling in her face. Suddenly her emotions gave way. "Shut up," she shouted. "Shut up, you a.s.shole. And get away from me." She was flailing with her arms, hitting Nick on the legs and in the stomach. "You don't know anything," she said after taking a quick breath. "You don't know s.h.i.t."

Carol put her head in her hands and began to cry. In that instant, a long-buried memory burst upon her mind Her five-year-old brother was sobbing hysterically and attacking her, pummeling her with his fists. She had her hands up to protect herself. "It's your fault, Carol," he was screaming, "he left because of you." She remembered the hot tears in her eyes. "It's not true, Richie, it's not true. It wasn't my fault."

On the boat Carol glanced up through her tears at Nick. He had backed away and was looking sheepish. She wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. "It was not my fault," Carol said deliberately and emphatically. Nick stuck out his hand to help her up and she smacked it away. He mumbled "I'm sorry" as she rose to her feet. "Now if you'll just shut up and listen," she continued, "I'll tell you what happened. The reef under the boat wasn't a reef at all . . . Oh, my G.o.d . . . It's here."

Nick saw a look of consternation break on Carol's face. She pointed over behind him, on the other side of the boat. He turned around to look. At first he didn't notice anything. Then he saw a strange flat object that looked like a piece of carpet inching along the boat toward the telescope monitor. He screwed up his face and turned back to Carol with a puzzled expression.

While Carol had been talking, the carpet had somehow crawled up the side and then flopped into the boat. By the time she started to explain, it was already standing in front of the television monitor, looking at the images the telescope was taking of the ocean floor beneath the boat. There was no time for lengthy explanations. "What the f.u.c.k?" Nick said, and walked over to apprehend the peculiar visitor. When his hand was about an inch away from touching the carpet, he felt a strong electrical discharge in the end of his fingers. "Ow!" he said, jumping back. He shook his hand and watched with amazement. The carpet continued to stand in front of the screen.

Nick looked at Carol as if he expected some a.s.sistance. But she was finding the whole scene amusing. "That thing is just one of the reasons the dive was strange," she said, making no effort to provide any help. "But I don't think it will hurt you. It probably saved my life."

Nick grabbed a small fishnet hanging on the side of the structure holding up the canopy and slowly approached the carpet. As he drew near, it seemed to turn and look at him. Nick lunged forward with the net. The carpet dodged deftly and Nick lost his balance. He fell against the monitor with his arms akimbo. Carol laughed out loud, remembering the first time they met. The carpet flipped over to the telescope data system and wrapped itself tightly around the entire set of electronic equipment.

From the floor of the boat Nick watched the carpet investigating the data system and shook his head in disbelief. "What the h.e.l.l is that thing anyway?" he shouted to Carol.

She came over and graciously offered a hand to help him up. It was her way of apologizing for her earlier outburst. "I have no earthly idea," Carol replied. "At first I thought it might be a sophisticated Navy robot. But it is much too advanced, too intelligent." She pointed at the sky with her free left hand. "They know," she said with a smile.

The comment reminded Carol of Troy and she became solemn. She walked over to the side of the boat and stared at the ocean. Nick was now standing up next to the monitor within an arm's length of the carpet and the data system. It looked as if the carpet had somehow extended part of itself into the internal electronics. Nick watched for a few seconds, fascinated, as the various digital diagnostic readouts on the top of the data system went crazy. "Hey, Carol," he said. "Come here and look at this. That d.a.m.n thing is plastic or something."

She did not turn around at first. "Nick," Carol asked softly, finally facing him, "what are we going to do about Troy?"

"As soon as we get this d.a.m.n invader out of here," Nick replied from underneath the canopy, where he was now looking through his kitchen implements, "we'll do a systematic search of the area. I may even dive and see if I can find him."

Nick had picked up a large cooking fork with a plastic handle and was about to attempt to pry the carpet off the data system. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," admonished Carol. "He'll leave when he's ready."

But it was too late. Nick stuck the fork into and through the carpet and up against the uppermost rack of electronic parts. There was a popping sound and a tiny blue arc zapped down the fork, driving Nick backward with a powerful kick. Alarms went off, the digital readout from the data system went blank, and the ocean telescope monitor began to smoke. The carpet dropped down on the floor and began making the little waves that it had showed to Carol in the large room with the window on the ocean. A moment later, two alarms from the navigation system sounded, indicating not only that the boat's current location had been lost, but also that the nonvolatile memory, where all the parameters that permitted satellite communication were stored, had been erased.

In the middle of the noise and smoke, Nick stood with a puzzled expression on his face. He was rubbing his right arm from his wrist to his shoulder. "I'm numb," he said in astonishment. "I can't feel anything in my arm."

The carpet continued with its wave patterns on the floor of the boat while Carol picked up a pail, leaned overboard for some water, and doused the monitor. Nick had not moved. He was still standing there, looking helpless and pinching his arm. Carol threw the rest of the water on Nick. "s.h.i.t," he sputtered, backing up involuntarily, "why did you do that?"

"Because we have to find Troy," she said, walking over to the boat's controls. "And we can't wait all day. Ignore the d.a.m.n carpet . . . and your arm. A man's life is at stake."

She increased the speed of the boat. As she did, the carpet stood up again, twisted around, and hustled to the side. Nick tried to stop it but it was out of the boat and into the water in a flash. As Carol steered the boat through circles of larger and larger radius, Nick stood on the side of the Florida Queen and searched for Troy.

An hour later they both agreed there was no reason for them to continue the search. Carol and Nick had been over the entire region of the ocean in the boat several times (with some care and difficulty, because they no longer had a working navigation system) and had found no trace of Troy. After he had convinced himself that his arm was all right. Nick had even donned his diving equipment, as a last resort, and had retraced the path from the fissure to the overhang and back. Still no sign of Troy. Nick had been just slightly tempted to investigate the fissure, but Carol's wild story seemed remotely plausible, and Nick did not like the idea of being sucked into some bizarre underground laboratory. And he knew that if he were to disappear, it would be virtually impossible for Carol to guide the boat back to Key West without an active navigation system.

Carol recounted the whole story of her dive while she and Nick were canva.s.sing the area. He was certain she was liberally embellishing the details, but he could see no over-arching logical flaws in her tale. And he himself had, after all, confronted the carpet on the Florida Queen. So he acknowledged, in his own mind, that Carol and Troy had indeed had hair-raising experiences in an underwater building of some type and that the technology they had encountered was definitely more advanced than anything they had ever seen before But Nick was reluctant to accept Carol's blithe explanation that the trio had met some extraterrestrials. It didn't seem likely to Nick that a first contact would be made under such mundane circ.u.mstances Although he readily admitted that the carpet was a marvel of capability far beyond his ken, he did not think of himself as being technologically sophisticated and therefore he could not state, categorically, that human beings could not have created it.

Infact, Nick thought to himself as he was carefully searching the horizon with his binoculars for reference landmarks before beginning the trip back to Key West, what a perfect deception. Suppose the Russians or even our own Navy wanted to mislead . . . He stopped himself in mid-thought and realized that if he were right, and their encounter had been with a human creation, then they could very well still be in danger. But why was Carol allowed to leave? And why didn't they confiscate my boat? Nick found a small island that he recognized off in the distance and changed the orientation of the boat. He shook his head. It was all very confusing.

"You don't agree with me that we've just met some ETs?" Carol came up beside Nick and slightly teased him with her question.

"I don't know," he answered slowly. "It seems like quite a leap to make. After all, if there is an extraterrestrial infestation in the waters of the Gulf of Mexico, it should have been found before now. Submarines and other boats with active sonar must cross this region at least once or twice a year." He smiled at her. "You've been reading too much science fiction."

"On the contrary," she responded, fixing him with her gaze, "my experience with state-of-the-art technology is almost certainly more extensive than yours. I have done a series of features on the Miami Oceanographic Inst.i.tute and have seen what kind of ingenious new concepts are being developed. And nothing, absolutely nothing, comes close to the carpet or the giant amoeba thing. The likelihood that there is some nonfantastic explanation for all this is very very small." She paused for a moment. "Besides," she continued, "maybe the laboratory hasn't been there for long. Maybe it was just recently finished or even transported here."

Nick had felt himself bridle when Carol had started her comment. There she goes again, he had thought. So sure of herself. So c.o.c.ky and compet.i.tive. Almost like a man. He admitted to himself that he had also been known to make arguments from authority. And she was certainly right in one respect. She had had much more exposure to high technology than he had. Nick decided not to argue with her. This time.

There was a momentary pause in the conversation. Carol was also becoming more sensitive to the dynamic of their interaction. She had noticed in realtime that Nick's face had tightened when she had suggested that she knew more about technology than he did. Uh oh, had flashed through her mind. Come on, Carol. Be a little more tactful and considerate. She decided to change the subject.

"How long will it take us to reach the marina?" she asked. In her excitement on Thursday afternoon, she had not paid much attention to time during their return trip.

"A little less than two hours," Nick replied. He laughed. "Unless I get lost. I haven't used manual guidance in these waters for over five years."

"And what are you going to say when we get there?"

Nick looked at her. "To whom . . . about what?" he asked.

"You know. About our dive. About Troy."

They stared at each other. Nick finally broke the silence. "My vote would be to say nothing about it . . . until . . . until we know for certain," he said quietly. "Then if Troy shows up, there's no problem."

"And if he doesn't ever show up . . . " Carol's voice trailed off, "then we, Mr. Williams, are both in very deep s.h.i.t." The gravity of their situation was becoming clear to both of them.

"But who do you think will ever believe such an incredible tale?" Nick said after a moment. "Even with your pictures, there's no really hard evidence to corroborate our story. These days people can create any kind of photo they want on a computer. Remember that murder case in Miami last year, where an alibi photograph was produced and admitted as official evidence? And then later that data processor showed up and blew the whistle?" He paused. Carol was listening intently. "And whoever built that place may be dismantling it at this very moment," he continued. "Otherwise. why did they let us get away? No. I say we wait awhile. Twenty-four hours or so anyway. And think carefully about what we're going to do."

Carol nodded her head affirmatively. "I think I agree with you, although not exactly for the same reasons." She was aware there was still a journalistic voice inside her that wanted to guard the information for her sensational scoop. She hoped her ambition wasn't somehow standing in the way of making the right decision for Troy. "But Nick," Carol said reflectively, "you don't think we're endangering Troy in any way by not contacting the authorities?"

"No," Nick replied immediately. "I suspect that if they were going to kill him, they would have done so already. Or will soon."

This part of the conversation was too casual for Carol. She walked over to the edge of the boat and stared out at the sea again. She thought of Troy and their wild adventure after they were sucked into the fissure. He had helped her hang together. No question about it. His humor and wit had kept her from falling apart. And he may have well saved her life by deflecting the attention of that thing.

He was a warm, sensitive man underneath that funny exterior, she thought. Very aware. He also seemed to be covering lots of pain. From somewhere. For a moment Carol convinced herself that Troy was all right. After all, they had helped her to escape. Then she wondered why she had never run into him again down there. A seed of doubt was planted in her mind. She squirmed. d.a.m.nit. We don't really know one way or the other. It's uncertainty again. I hate uncertainty. It's unfair.

A profound sadness, a deep and disturbing feeling from the past, stirred in Carol. She felt helpless, without any control of the situation. Tears filled her eyes. Nick had come up beside her without saying anything. He saw the tears in her eyes but didn't comment. He just put his hand over hers for a moment and then removed it.

"Troy was becoming a good friend," Carol said, starting to hide what she was really feeling. All of a sudden her need to share her true emotions overcame her normal protection mechanisms. She looked down at the water. "But that's not really why I'm upset just now. I'm crying because of the uncertainty. I can't stand not knowing." Carol paused and wiped her eyes.

Nick was quiet. He did not understand exactly what she was saying, but he sensed that something special was about to happen between them. The gentle waves lapped against the side of the boat. "It reminds me of my childhood, right after my father left," she continued softly. "I kept believing that he would be coming back. All three of us, Richie, my mom, and I, would tell each other that it was just a temporary separation, that someday he would walk through the door and say 'I'm home.' At night I would lie in my bed and listen for the sound of his car in the driveway."

The tears were flowing now, big drops cascading down her cheeks and falling into the vast ocean. "When he would come to pick us up for dinner, or on a Sat.u.r.day, I would help Mom fix herself up, choose her clothes for her, brush her hair." Carol choked up for a moment. "After I hugged him at the door, I would always take him to Mother and say, 'Isn't she beautiful?'

"For six months this went on. I never knew what I was going to feel from day to day. The uncertainty destroyed me, made me sick. I begged my father to give my mom one more chance. Richie even suggested that he could buy the house next door if he and Mother couldn't get along. So we could at least all be close together." Carol smiled grimly and took a huge breath.

"Then my father took my mother to San Francisco for the weekend. I was so excited. For thirty-six hours my heart soared, my future was a.s.sured. I was the happiest ten-year-old girl in the San Fernando Valley. But when they came home un Sunday night my mother was very drunk. Her eyes were swollen, her mascara was running, she was a mess. She marched right past Richie and me and went to her room. My dad, Richie, and I stood in the living room, all hugging, and wept together. In that instant I knew it was all over."

Carol was calming down now but the tears were still there. She looked at Nick, her eyes entreating. "It would have been so much easier if I could have cried one time and been done with it. But no. There was uncertainty, so there was still hope. So every day, every G.o.dd.a.m.n day, my little heart was broken again." Carol wiped her eyes one more time. Then she looked out at the ocean and shouted with all her might, "I want to know now, or at least soon, what happened to Troy! Don't make me wait forever. I can't take it."

She turned to Nick. He opened his arms. Without a word she put the side of her face against his chest. He closed his arms around her.

6.

NICK reached above the door to Troy's duplex and found the key on the ledge. He knocked on the door again and opened it cautiously. "h.e.l.lo," he called out, "is anybody there?"

Carol followed him into the living room. "I didn't know you two were such close friends," she said, after she glanced with amus.e.m.e.nt at Troy's motley collection of furniture. "I don't think I've ever told anyone where I keep my key."

What Nick was looking for was not in the living room. He walked down the hallway, past the large bedroom with its storehouse of equipment, and into the smaller bedroom where Troy slept. "Actually," Nick yelled at Carol, who had stopped behind him in the hall opposite the first bedroom and was gawking at the jumble of electronics filling every conceivable cranny, "it was only yesterday that I came over here for the first time. So I don't really know where . . . oh, good, I think I've found something." He picked up a sheet of computer printout that was underneath a paperweight on the end table beside Troy's bed. It was dated January 15, 1994, and contained about twenty names, addresses, and phone numbers.

Nick met Carol in the hallway. He read quickly through the page and showed it to her. "There's not much here. Phone numbers and addresses for electronics and software supply houses. A bunch of numbers for Angie Leatherwood, probably while she was still on tour." He pointed at one entry. "This must be his mother, Kathryn Jefferson, in Coral Gables, Florida. But there's no phone number listed with the address."

Carol took the sheet from Nick and checked it herself. "I never heard him mention anyone but Angie, his mother, and his brother Jamie. No other friends or family. And I somehow have the impression that he hasn't seen much of his mother recently. Did you ever hear him say anything about any other family?"

"No," Nick replied. They had wandered together into the game room and Nick was idly turning k.n.o.bs and switches as he walked past the arrays of equipment. He stopped and thought for a moment. "So that means Angie is the one. We'll tell her right away and then wait - "

Carol and Nick both froze as they distinctly heard the front door open and close. After about a second, Nick called out in a loud but uncertain voice, "h.e.l.lo, whoever it is, we're back here in the bedroom." There was no answer. They could hear soft footsteps in the hallway. Nick instinctively moved over to protect Carol. A moment later Troy came around the corner and into the room.

"Well, well," he said, grinning broadly, "as I live and breathe. I have found a pair of burglars in my home."

Carol ran up to Troy and threw her arms around his neck. "Troy," she said, her comments coming in quick staccato bursts, "is it ever good to see you. Where have you been? You scared the s.h.i.t out of us. We thought you were dead."

Troy returned Carol's hug and winked at Nick. "My, my. Such a reception. I should have vanished before." He extended a hand to shake the one that Nick was offering him. For a moment his face became serious. "On second thought, one experience like that is definitely enough."

Carol backed away and Troy saw the computer sheet in her hand. "We were going to try to notify your family . . ." she started. Troy reached out to take the page and Carol noticed a bracelet on Troy's right wrist that she had never seen before. It was wide, almost an inch and a half, and looked as if its twenty or so links had been made from flattened gold nuggets. "Where did you get this?" Carol asked, holding his wrist up so that she could see the bracelet more clearly.

Nick was unable to restrain himself any longer. Before Troy could answer Carol's question, he jumped into the conversation. "According to Carol," he said, "you were last seen disappearing down a corridor in an underwater laboratory. With a six-foot amoeba in hot pursuit. How the h.e.l.l did you escape? We searched all over the area . . ."

Troy held up his hands. He was enjoying being the center of attention. "Friends, friends. Wait a minute, will you? I will tell you the story as soon as I take care of the necessities of life." He turned and walked into the bathroom. Nick and Carol heard a familiar sound. "Get some beer out of the refrigerator and go into the living room," Troy shouted from behind the closed door. "We might as well enjoy this part of it."

Two minutes later Nick and Carol were sitting together on the large couch in the living room. Troy plopped into the chair opposite them just as Nick took a huge swig from his beer. "Once upon a time," Troy began with a mischievous grin, "there was a young black named Troy Jefferson, who, while diving with his friends, vanished for almost two hours in a strange building underneath the ocean. When he emerged from his underwater adventure, he was rescued by divers from the United States Navy, who just happened to be in the area at the time. Soon thereafter young Troy was flown in a military helicopter back to Key West. There he was interrogated at length about why he was swimming in the Gulf of Mexico, all by himself, ten miles from the nearest island. An hour later he was released without anyone believing any part of his story." Troy looked back and forth from Nick to Carol. "Of course," he added, now more serious, "I didn't tell them anything that really happened. There's no way they would have believed the truth."

Carol was leaning forward on the couch. "So the Navy picked you up. Just after we left." She turned to Nick. "They must have been following us for some reason." The missile must have been there after all, she thought to herself. But where did it go? Did the Navy find it? And how are they involved with this crazy laboratory? Nothing makes sense . . .

"We spent over an hour looking for you." Nick was saying. He was feeling remorseful because they had abandoned the search for Troy so quickly. "It didn't occur to me that you might still be down in that place, whatever it was, and of course we couldn't hang around forever. All of our electronics were zapped by this funny carpet thing that came out of the sea. So we lost all nav - " He stopped in mid-sentence and looked at Troy. "I'm sorry, friend."

"Don't worry about it," Troy replied with a shrug, "I would have done the same thing. At least I now know that you have met one of the bizarre characters in my story. You didn't, by any chance, also meet one of the wardens did you? Great big globs of clear jelly, amoebalike, with little boxes in the middle and removable rods hanging out all over the top?"

Nick shook his head. "Warden?" Carol asked quickly, her brow knitted. "Why do you call that thing a warden?"

Warden, sentinel, whatever," Troy answered. "They told me the warden things protect the princ.i.p.al cargo of the ship." Troy stared into the blank gazes of his friends. "Which leads me back to the first question," he continued. "They gave me this bracelet. It is some kind of two-way communications device. I couldn't begin to explain how it works, but I know that they are listening and watching as well as transmitting messages to me. Only a few of which I understand."

Carol was starting to feel overwhelmed again. In her mind this already complex situation had added a new dimension. Hundreds of questions were crowding into her brain and she could not decide which one to ask first.

Meanwhile Nick stood up. "Hold it a minute," he said, looking dubious and just a little confused. "Did I hear you right? Did you say you were given a communications bracelet by some extraterrestrials and then released into the ocean? And then the Navy picked you up and brought you back to Key West? Christ, Jefferson, you do have an imagination. Save your creativity for that computer game. Please just tell us the truth."

"I am," replied Troy. "Really - "

"What did they look like?" Carol interrupted, her journalistic training taking over. She had pulled a small tape recorder, the size of a fountain pen, out of her purse. Troy reached over and switched it off." For now, angel, " he said, "this is strictly between us . . . I don't think I saw any of them anyway. Just the wardens and the carpets. And my guess is that they're just robots, machines of some type. Intelligent, yes, but controlled by something else - "

"Jesus," Nick interrupted, "you're serious." He was becoming exasperated. "This is turning into the most amazing s.h.a.ggy dog story that I have ever heard. Wardens, carpets, robots. I am lost. Who are they? What are they doing in the ocean? And why have they given you a bracelet?" He picked up one of the little pillows on the couch and threw it across the room.

Carol laughed nervously. "Nick's not the only one feeling frustrated, Troy. I was with you down there and I must admit that I'm having a hard time tracking your story. Maybe we should stop interrupting and let you talk. I've told Nick what happened in that solar system room up until you ran out and the thing or warden followed. Start from there, if you would, and tell the story in logical sequence."

"I'm not sure there is such a thing as a logical sequence, angel," Troy replied, echoing Carol's laugh. "The whole episode defies logic altogether. The warden thing eventually trapped me in a blind alley and sort of anesthetized me with one of its rods. It was like I was dreaming, but the dreams were real. I remember a similar feeling, after a fistfight when I was a teenager. I had a small concussion then. I knew that I was alive, but I was very very slow to react. Reality seemed toned down, out there in the distance somewhere.

"Anyway, another warden character showed up, same kind of body but different fixtures sticking in the jelly, and carried me to what I think was an examination room. I don't know exactly how long I was there. I was stretched out on the floor and touched by all kinds of instruments. My brain felt as if it were in superfast motion, but I don't recall any specific thoughts. Some images I do remember. I relived my brother, Jamie, breaking through the line on a trap play and going forty-five yards for a touchdown in the Florida state championship. Then the bracelet was put on my wrist and I had the distinct impression that someone was talking to me. Very quietly, perhaps even in a foreign language, but every now and then I understood what was being said.

"What they told me," Troy continued with an intense and distant expression on his face, "was that what we call the laboratory is really a s.p.a.ce vehicle from another world. And that it has crash-landed, in a sense, on the Earth to allow time for some difficult repairs. They, that is, whoever built the ship, need help from us, from me and you, to obtain some of the specific items necessary for the repairs. Then they can continue on their journey."

Nick was now sitting on the floor just opposite Troy. Both Carol and he were hanging on every word. They sat in silence for almost thirty seconds after Troy had finished. "If this story is true," Nick finally spoke, "then we are - "

There was a loud knock at the door. All three of them jumped. Several seconds later the knock repeated. Troy went to the door and partially opened it.

"There you are, you little s.h.i.t," Carol and Nick heard a gruff, angry voice say. Captain Homer Ashford pushed through the door. He didn't see Nick and Carol at first. "We had a deal and you've welshed on it. You have been back two hours already . . ."

Out of the corner of his eye, Captain Homer saw that there were other people in the room. He turned around to talk to Greta, who had not yet entered the house. "Guess what?" he said. "Nick Williams and Miss Dawson are also here. No wonder we couldn't find her at the hotel."

Greta followed Homer into the living room. Her clear, expressionless eyes spent no more than one second staring at each of the trio. Carol thought she saw just a trace of disdain in Greta's look, but she wasn't certain. Homer turned to Carol, the tone in his voice markedly more civil. "We saw you two return from your excursion around two o'clock," he said with a fake smile. "But somehow we missed Troy." He winked at Carol and turned to Nick. "Find any more exciting trinkets today, Williams?"

Nick had never made any attempt to hide the fact that he did not like Captain Homer. "Why of course, Captain," he answered, sneering the epithet, "would you believe we found a veritable mountain of gold and silver bars? Looked like that Santa Rosa stack we had on the boat one afternoon, must be about eight years ago. Remember? That was before Jake and I let you and Greta unload it."

Homer's voice had a nasty edge to it. "I should have sued you for slander, Williams. That would have shut your loud mouth once and for all. You had your day in court. Now knock off the c.r.a.p, or one day you'll have more trouble than you can handle."

While Nick and Homer were trading insults and threats, Greta was strutting around the living room as if she were in her own house. She seemed to be oblivious to the conversation and even to the presence of the other people in the room. She was wearing a tight white muscle shirt and a pair of navy blue shorts. When Greta walked, she carried her arms high, her back straight, and her b.r.e.a.s.t.s erect. Carol was intrigued by her behavior. She watched Greta stop and sort through Troy's compact discs. Greta pulled out the disc with the cover picture of Angie Leatherwood and licked her lips. This pair belongs in a kinky novel, Carol thought, as she overheard Troy tell Captain Homer that he was busy this afternoon but would get back to him later. What's their story? wondered Carol. And where does fat Ellen fit in? Carol remembered that she was scheduled to interview the three of them later in the evening. But I'm not sure that I really want to find out.

"We were calling to tell you to bring your swimming suit tonight," Captain Homer was addressing Carol. She had missed the first part of his statement while she was watching Greta parade around the room.

"Pardon me," she said politely. "Could you repeat what you just said? I'm afraid I had drifted away for a few seconds."

"I said that you should come early, about eight o'clock." Homer replied. "And bring your suit. We have a most interesting and unusual pool."

During this exchange, Greta walked up behind Nick and quickly reached both arms around him. With everyone else in the room watching, she lightly twisted his nipples through his polo shirt and laughed when he jumped. "You always did like that, ya, Nikki," she said, releasing him after an instant. Carol saw anger flash in Homer's eyes. Nick started to say something but Greta had already walked out the front door before he could register a protest.

"Be sure to call me when you're through here, Homer said to Troy after an embarra.s.sing silence. "We need to straighten out a few things." The older man turned around, awkwardly, and without additional comment followed Greta toward his Mercedes parked in front of Troy's house.

"Now where were we?" said Troy abstractedly, as he closed the door behind Homer and Greta.

"You," said Nick with emphasis, "were telling us an amazing story and had almost reached the punch line, where you were going to tell us what we could do to help some aliens who landed here on Earth to repair their s.p.a.ce vehicle. But first I, for one, would like some explanations. I don't know if I believe any of this wild fairy tale you're telling us, but I will admit that it is extremely creative. What concerns me at this minute, however, is not the issue of creatures from another world. It's those two real-life sleazebag human beings who just left. What did they want? And are they somehow involved in our current adventure?"

"Just a minute, Nick," Carol intervened. "Before we become sidetracked, I would like to know what kind of help these ETs of Troy's want from us. A telephone? A new s.p.a.ceship? Let's find this out now and talk about Homer and your girlfriend Greta later." Her reference to Greta was light and playful. Nick accepted it with good humor and feigned a wound. Then he nodded his a.s.sent to Carol's suggestion. Troy pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket and took a deep breath.

"Now you guys must understand that I'm not yet absolutely certain that I am properly receiving all their messages. But this particular transmission, where they list the things they need from us, is repeated every half hour. My interpretation of it hasn't changed for the last ninety minutes, so I'm fairly certain that I have it right. It's a long list and of course I don't pretend to comprehend why they want all this stuff. But I am certain you will both find it very interesting."

Troy started reading from his handwritten list. "They want an English dictionary and grammar, plus the same thing for four other major languages; an encyclopedia of plant and animal life; a compact world history; a statistical tract defining the current political and economic status of the world; a comparative study of the world's major existing religions; complete issues covering the last two years of at least three significant daily newspapers; summary journals of science and technology, including surveys of weapon systems both deployed and under development; an encyclopedia of the arts, preferably including video and sound where appropriate; forty-seven pounds of lead; and fifty-eight pounds of gold."

Nick whistled when Troy was finished. At Carol's request, Troy handed the sheet to her and Nick read it another time over her shoulder, absorbing every item. Neither of them said anything. "Believe it or not," Troy added as an afterthought about a minute later, "the first eight items are not too difficult to obtain. I stopped by the Key West Public Library on the way home from the marina and, for a fee, they are preparing for me a set of compact discs that contain virtually all of the requested information. The difficult items are at the end of the list. That's where your help is needed."