A future taxpayer.

searching for a resting place,
unable to keep this grueling pace,
to sit and have sweet repose,
know the fragrance of a rose,

 

yet am I found by immersing grace,
filling up this darkened place,
for Jesus to pour such precious blood,
cleansing is the crimson flood,

 

that He would touch me, one so low,
deepness of His love I can never know,
so tired of running alone,
this is all I have ever known,

 

the crushing burden I yet carry,
for what do I still tarry?
all to Him I must resign,
submitting to His perfect design.

Jarvis University was a hive of activity. The massive campus was built deep in the wilderness on a hundred acres of gentle green hills, a thousand miles away from any major settlements. Massive buildings hundreds of years old were neatly nestled into the landscape, almost seeming to be a natural part of it. Students were milling about – some enjoying the fine day, and others hustling to get to class on time.

Isaiah Long was walking to his mathematics class when he saw an old friend sitting on the campus lawn at a circular stone table. The figure, dressed in worn overalls and his trademark wide-brimmed hat, was intently reading a very thick textbook and seemed oblivious to his surroundings. Papers covered with mathematical equations and theorems were strewn haphazardly about the table, and a large collie dog was lying at his feet, sound asleep.

“Brice!” Isaiah called out as he approached the table. “It’s so good to see you, my friend! I haven’t seen you in ages.”

The individual turned around to see who had called out his name. “Ah, Isaiah!” he replied, standing up from the table to grasp his hand. “It is also good to see you. Here – have a seat!” he said as he picked up some papers and set them aside.

Isaiah sat down beside his friend and helped Brice straighten up the table. “I see you’ve finally shaved your beard!” Isaiah said. “That’s the first time you’ve been clean-shaven in what, a thousand years? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without it.”

Brice grinned. “Things at campus are not the same as they are in space. They are more – civilized, perhaps?”

“So what brings you here, anyway?” Isaiah asked. “This is the very last place I would expect to find you. I thought you hated classes and studying – and especially mathematics!”

Brice laughed. “I never claimed to be a scholar. That is more your line than mine.”

“True,” Isaiah said. “I’m here studying history – particularly, historical analysis as it applies to economic patterns.”

“Wonderful,” Brice said, looking at the theorems textbook that his friend had laid down on the table. “I am sure that math is very useful in history classes, and that only my natural ignorance prevents me from seeing that fact.”

“You’d be surprised at how useful mathematical theorems can be when engaging in historical analysis! It’s very useful when plotting trends and analyzing economic patterns over time.”

“I knew it,” Brice said. “Life is really much simpler out among the stars. There is no economy on unsettled planets.”

“Which explains why you are studying – what’s that – applied relativity? That’s certainly not a field for beginners!”

Brice nodded. “I’m really struggling with it – this has to be the hardest thing I have ever done, including founding that colony on Omega Centauri IV. There is much here that I understand – that comes from spending so much time in the field – but the math behind it, yes, the math is hard. I try to avoid math, but I can do that no longer. I have avoided your world of studies as long as I can, but that time has ended.”

“I’m impressed!” Isaiah said. “For a thousand years we have been as different as day and night. I stay at home and read about the stars, and you spend your time traveling among them. You make the discoveries and I read about them in magazines. I’ve been all theory and you’ve been all practice.”

“I have not been mentioned in magazines that often, my friend – I am just one of many. There are thousands of us – millions – and I am just a small part of the effort.”

“You are much too modest! You don’t give yourself enough credit. I’ve read your reports, you know. Speaking of which – why are you studying here, anyway? Last I heard you were part of a big expedition.”

“You must have heard of the Door,” Brice began.

Isaiah nodded. “Ah! You’re still trying to open it, aren’t you?”

His friend nodded. “That is all anyone is doing now. It has been an obsession since we discovered it five hundred years ago. I still remember the surprise it was.”

“I remember reading about it,” Isaiah said. “You’ve seen it, though, haven’t you?”

“I have seen it many times. Years I spent in vain trying to open it, but I failed like all the others. That is why I am here, learning. This is not my field, to be studying, but it must be done. I have explored the stars for thousands of years using technologies that I did not understand; I have now reached a point where I must understand what is going on behind the scenes if I ever hope to get through the Door.”

“So that’s it,” Isaiah mused. “But I still don’t understand. Why do you think that a course in applied relativity will help you?”

“The Door is a machine,” Brice said. “We are now quite sure of it. We thought at first that it might be a part of the world beyond science – we have found such worlds, you know – but we have proven that it is just a machine, and machines can be understood and used. We have learned that it links two universes together – ours, and another. It does this in a way that we do not understand, but it does it scientifically.”

Isaiah looked at the equations on the papers strewn in front of him and thought a moment. He was familiar with some of them (that came from his lifelong love of mathematics) but others were beyond his ability. His friend was clearly getting into deep waters. “And so you hope that, by studying spatial mechanics and relativity and so forth, that you’ll gain a greater understanding of that type of technology and will be able to use that understanding to aid in the effort to open the Door?”

“Yes, exactly,” Brice said. “I must understand what is going on. Alex,” he said, nodding toward the sleeping canine, “he does not like all of this research so well. I think he would rather be back in space, on our ship. But this will end soon. I have been here four years now; another two years and I will be back in space.”

“I wondered about that,” Isaiah said. “Your dog is so much like you, you know. Is Alexander picking up very much of this?”

“Some. I do not think he is so interested, though. His knowledge is more than enough to be valuable in the field, and he is content with that. Alex is not much of a learner, really! It took a long time to convince him to learn to pilot our ship, and then he learned only because he knew it had to be done. Bookwork is not so much to his liking.”

Isaiah looked surprised. “You’re kidding! You can’t possibly tell me that you allow a dog to fly your starship!”

“Oh yes! Many of us do. They are quite smart, these dogs. You would be surprised! Sometimes they even have good advice. You really should get a dog, Isaiah. It would do you good. At the very least it would give you someone to talk to – someone that would actually talk back, unlike your books!”

“I’m not much of an animal person,” Isaiah said, laughing. “I just can’t imagine asking any animal to take a starship and run to the nearest space station for supplies.”

“That is because you stay here, in your world of papers and printed words. If you were out in the field you would learn to live in ways that you have not lived before. Reading books about the Door is nothing like actually seeing it with your own eyes. You know much more than I do about all of these things, but I have actually seen them myself, and you have not.”

“True,” Isaiah replied. “Together we might make a great team. In fact,” he said, his eyes twinkling, “I can even tell you what is beyond the Door.”

Brice thought a moment. “Man,” he said finally. “Man is behind the door. I do not know what that means, but I know that is the case. That is what is written on the Door.”

“That’s right. Do you know what else is written on the Door?”

“Not really,” Brice said. “I have been trying to open it, and that is a technical problem. Deciphering what the door says – that is for scholars and linguists. I have heard that it does not help open the door, so I have not considered it to be important. It is just history, Isaiah, and history is not interesting to me. I prefer the future to the past – the past is finished, and the future is not.”

“I think you are greatly mistaken. What will you do once you open the door?”

“Go through it, of course.”

“Right. And what are you going to find when you go through it? Who will you be dealing with? What situation will you find? Does that not seem important to you?”

“I suppose,” Brice said slowly. “I had not really given it much thought.”

“Then let me give you a short history lesson, so you will be prepared. On the other side of the door, as you said, is Man. Man is an old creature – they date back to the Old World.”

“I have heard that,” Brice replied. “They are in the New World but that is not where they came from. They are an older species than that.”

“They are not the oldest, though,” Isaiah said. “Another race – the angels – they existed before Man. We don’t know anything about them, though – they don’t seem to live here. Do you know what happened to the Old World?”

“Not really,” he said. “I know it no longer exists – the Creator destroyed it and replaced it with this place where we live in today. I do not know why.”

“The Old World came first,” Isaiah said. “The Creator made it and planted a garden in it – a place called Eden – and formed the first Man and Woman and placed them in that garden. However, Man was not content with the Creator’s design, and chose to bring evil into the world. Through him the world became polluted, and the Old World was filled with disease and death and pain and agony. It was a terrible place.”

Brice shook his head. “I don’t understand. What is death?”

“Death is the final result of evil. It is what happens when a living creature shuts down and decays, and returns to the dust from whence it came.”

“Dust?” Brice asked.

“Man was made from dust,” Isaiah explained.

“How odd,” Brice said. “They must be strange creatures. Do they get muddy when it rains?”

“I don’t really know. No one has ever seen a Man. I can’t really say.”

“Man sounds very bizarre,” Brice said. “Why would he choose to go against the will of the Creator?”

“I don’t know,” Isaiah said. “I cannot imagine what the Old World used to be like. It was certainly nothing like the one we are in now. When its time was over the Creator destroyed it and put this one in its place.”

“I’m glad of that. But – this Man – has he changed? If they are as bad as that then perhaps the Door was created to protect us from them.”

“Yes,” Isaiah said, “they have changed. They could not change themselves, so the Creator paid a very great price to redeem them. I don’t know the details – the Door did not say – but they were restored, and they now live with their Creator.”

“Do you mean to tell me that the Door leads directly to the dwelling place of God?” Brice asked.

“Yes,” Isaiah said.

“Wow. I did not know that.” Brice fell silent for a few minutes, thinking.

Isaiah looked at his watch. “I’m afraid I have to go or I’m going to be late for class. Now that I know you are staying here, do you mind if I look you up later? Maybe we can eat dinner together, or something.”

“Sure,” Brice said. He took a card out of his pocket and handed it to his friend. “Here is my contact information. Feel free to drop by anytime.”

“Thanks,” Isaiah said, as he took it from his friend. After bidding Brice farewell he disappeared into the air.

In the distance, hidden from view, a man stood in the shade of a large oak tree. He had heard the entire conversation between Isaiah and Brice and was quietly laughing. “The best way to open the door,” he said to himself, “is with the key. I wonder how long it will be until they find it?”

I was sitting at my desk, staring dejectedly at the clay scene that I had crafted, when my professor walked by. “Why are you so sad?” he asked.

I sighed. “It’s these sculptures I’m making – they drive me crazy!”

He shook his head. “I do not see why; it is resting peacefully on the table. I have never yet seen a sculpture come to life and wage war against its creator.”

“Very funny, professor. Listen. Do you remember when you told me to start putting myself into these things – to make something that was meaningful?”

He nodded.

“Well, I’ve started doing exactly that. I’m not making lighthouses anymore, now I’m making – that,” I said, pointing to the object in front of me.

“I had noticed,” he told me. “I am very impressed! You should be proud.”

“It hasn’t been a success,” I said. “I don’t know if you noticed, but the lighthouses were selling really well. People love lighthouses. These – things – they just aren’t selling.”

“It’s a beautiful scene,” he replied. “Very nicely rendered, done using a fine technique. The people look very lifelike, and the animals – ”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure the technique is nice, professor, but they just aren’t selling! No one wants them. Why am I making them if nobody cares? What possible good am I doing? I might as well be at home scraping mold of the walls.”

“I have a mold problem too,” the Professor said thoughtfully. “It is most troublesome. Have you tried – ”

“You’re not paying any attention!” I said. “I don’t care about mold. You told me that I should take the time to learn sculpting. You told me that I should put my heart into it. You told me that I should give it my very best. And what happened? I spend days making figures for nobody!”

“Nobody?” he asked.

“Nobody,” I replied.

He stared at the sculptor I had made for a few moments, looking puzzled. “No one in the entire world wants them?”

“Not a single person.”

“You took your sculpture to everyone in the entire world and you could not find anyone who was interested? Not even your mother?”

“C’mon,” I said. “You know what I mean.”

“How can I know what you mean if you do not mean what you say? You say that you have tried to offer your sculptures to everyone in the universe, but I think that is not the case. Yes, there are those that are not interested in quality, but there are those that care a great deal about it.”

“I suppose so,” I said, “but they’re not easy to find.”

“I did not say life would be easy,” he replied, “only that it would be worthwhile, if lived for the right reason. But suppose that what you said is true and every single person who has ever been born and who ever will be born despises your sculptures. You have a natural talent for this; not everyone can do what you have done. Are you saying that you are only willing to exercise it if you can find a willing audience?”

“Of course!” I replied. “Otherwise it’s just a waste of time.”

The professor drummed his fingers on the table and looked at the sculpture thoughtfully. “Let me say this, and then I will go. You have a talent for this work. Given time and effort, it may be that you will turn into an amazing and world-famous sculptor. It will take time. It will be hard. It will take long nights and agonizing and other general unpleasantness. It will not be easy, but it is a journey that you are capable of making.”

“So,” he said, “you have a choice. You can decide that the road is not worth it and abandon this effort to do something else – something easier, perhaps. Or you can continue to take the road, not knowing where it will lead. It is entirely up to you.”

“But I don’t know what will happen,” I said. “I might end up just wasting my time.”

“Only God knows what will happen,” he replied.

Dr. Grimes was sitting in his dimly-lit office late one night, grading papers, when he heard a knock on the door. “Come!” he said.

The door opened, and a thin, wiry student stepped cautiously into his office. Dr. Grimes thought that he had the appearance of an unmade bed; his black hair was standing up in all directions, he was rough and unshaven, and his jeans and T-shirt looked like they hadn’t been washed in a week. “Hello?” the student said as he walked into the office, nearly tripping on his untied shoelaces.

“Henry!” the professor said, instantly recognizing him. “What on earth are you doing here at this hour?”

“I’ve come for my appointment,” he said. Henry walked into the room, set his bag of books by the professor’s worn desk, and plopped into a very tired chair. “Remember?”

“Appointment! Young man, that appointment was six hours ago. Six hours ago!” Dr. Grimes said, turning a faint shade of red. “Where have you been – and shut that door! Oh, never mind, I’ll get it.”

“I just got a little busy, I guess,” Henry replied, as Dr. Grimes walked over to his office door, shut it, and then returned to his seat. “You see, I was – hey, what’s that?” he asked, pointing to an object in the corner.

Over in the corner of the office sat a steel bowl in a tall, thin metal pedestal. Something inside it was burning, and a thin stream of smoke was curling up from the bowl to the ceiling, where it was sucked into a ventilation shaft.

“That,” the professor said, “was a student’s term paper. That paper was an absolute disgrace! The very thought that a paper that bad existed on the same planet as – why -” The professor gritted his teeth, clenched his fists, and then let out a long breath and sat back down in his chair. He paused for a few seconds, trying to regain his temper. “It had to go,” he said. “I had to burn it. There was just no other choice.”

“Wow,” Henry replied. “I thought you just burned all term papers out of tradition, or something. Do you mean that some students actually don’t get back an envelope full of ashes?”

“You’re getting off the subject,” Dr. Grimes replied. “We are here to talk about your grades. Frankly, young man, you are in trouble. Do you realize that – ”

“All of that is going to change,” Henry said. “That’s why I am here. See, look at this! I’ve got this term paper well under control.” He reached into his tattered book bag and took out a sheaf of papers, which he handed to Dr. Grimes. The professor gingerly took the stained, sticky papers from Henry and began looking through them. “What’s this?” he asked, puzzled.

“That,” Henry said proudly, “is the result of many hours’ hard work. I’ve been listening to you, professor; I’ve been taking your every word to heart. You’ve said over and over that we need to use original source material. I’ve heard you say a dozen times that we ought to go right to the source and form our own opinions. Isn’t that right?”

“That is certainly a good idea,” the professor agreed, as he browsed Henry’s paper. A smashed spider was sprawled across the center of one of the pages; the professor gingerly peeled it off. “I always try to do that myself. It’s much better to find out what was actually said instead of hearing someone’s opinion of what was actually said.”

“Exactly,” the student said. “Exactly. So when you assigned us to write our term paper I knew I had to go right to the source. My friend Jimmy thought I was crazy to use original Ahmanyan documents as source material. But me – I knew better. I needed that edge to keep my paper out of the fires of doom,” he said, looking at the burning receptacle in the corner. “I knew that if I used the original documents I could get the edge that would put my paper over the top. That would get me a guaranteed A for sure.”

Dr. Grimes looked at the ragged student with a mixture of surprise and admiration. “But the original source documents for the Ahmanyan culture are in Ahmanyan. That is a very difficult language to learn.”

“Not for me it wasn’t!” Henry said. “I had already taken three years of it – I am a linguist, you know. I’m actually getting a degree in the Ahmanyan language.”

“I had no idea,” Dr. Grimes said. “I congratulate you. That is a very challenging language; it took me ten years to become fluent in its various dialects.”

“So professor, I’ve gone back and retranslated some original source documents from the Ahmanyan culture. I’m basing my paper on those documents, drawing directly from the original sources, just as you suggested. That way I know that what I’m getting is totally accurate. My paper is going to be way better than everyone else’s!”

“And this is your paper?” Dr. Grimes asked, holding up the document as he tried to get it unstuck from his fingers.

“Oh no,” Henry said. “That is my source document – I just finished it last night. It is a translation of a key document in Ahmanyan history. You can’t imagine what a poor job others have done of interpreting their culture! Going right to the source was definitely worth it.”

While Henry sat in the rickety wooden chair and gloated, Dr. Grimes took a closer look at his paper. After reading it for a few minutes he began to frown, and the longer he read it the darker he looked. “Where on earth did you get this?” he asked, after he had finished reading the last page.

“In our library,” Henry said. “They have a whole collection of original documents. The one that document is based on looked the most interesting, so I picked it.”

“You are basing your entire paper – your entire term paper – on this document?” the professor asked.

“Of course! It’s completely different from all the others. There is material in that paper that just can’t be found anywhere else.”

Dr. Grimes laid the paper down on his desk and looked at the student. “I’m sorry to tell you this, Henry, but the document you translated is a forgery.”

“Ok,” Henry said slowly.

The professor cleared his throat and looked right into Henry’s eyes. “This document surfaced about twenty years ago. I was part of the group of scholars that was assigned to examine it. It was a very crude forgery, actually; the paper was from the wrong period, it used the wrong Ahmanyan dialect, and its history was highly suspect – to say nothing of its many inaccuracies. This document has been a known forgery for two decades; I’m certain that the library has it marked as such. Why did you think it was genuine?”

“I did see a notice attached to it,” Henry said, “but I didn’t pay it much attention. Its contents were so interesting that I knew I had to use it in my paper. It has some really amazing claims! I’m surprised it hasn’t turned the entire field of study on its head.”

“Henry, this is a forged document! All its claims are bogus.”

Henry shook his head. “I’m not that bad at my language studies, professor. I did a first-rate job of translating that – I know I did. I’m absolutely certain that I translated it correctly.”

“You may have done a fine job of translating it, Henry, but the document that you translated was worthless. You can’t base your paper on falsified material!”

“There’s nothing falsified about it, professor! My paper does a terrific job of quoting that document, and my translation is outstanding. I’m properly sourced and everything! This is the best paper I’ve ever written.”

“Let me try this again,” the professor said. “Maybe I’m not being clear. Do you see this paper?” he asked, holding up the student’s paper with a pair of tweezers.

“Yes,” Henry said.

“This paper is a translation of an Ahmanyan document,” he said slowly.

“That’s right,” the student agreed.

“That document is a forgery,” the professor said. “Nothing it says is accurate.”

“Right,” the student said. “I understand.”

“You translated a falsified document,” the professor continued. “Your information is all wrong.”

“Nonsense,” the student said. “My translation is perfect! I defy anyone to produce a better translation.”

Dr. Grimes turned green. “But your translation doesn’t matter if what you are translating is worthless!”

“My quotes are great!” Henry said. “Just wait and see! I’m using proper quotation syntax and everything. This will be the best paper on Ahmanyan agriculture that you’ve ever had.”

“Wait a minute,” Dr. Grimes said, as Henry took the paper and placed it back into his backpack. “What is the paper on?”

“Ancient agricultural techniques,” Henry said proudly. “We could do any civilization we wanted, but I picked Ahmanyan as a specialty. Their history is fascinating.”

“I don’t teach agriculture,” Dr. Grimes said. “I teach alien civilizations – CIV 410, CIV 440, and CIV 485. Alien agriculture is taught by Dr. Kirby.”

“Right,” the student said. “Dr. Kirby.”

“I’m Dr. Grimes,” the professor said. “I’m not Dr. Kirby.”

“Oh,” the student said. “Sorry about that.” He picked up his book bag and left, leaving Dr. Grimes alone in his office, holding his head in his hands.

“Help me!” I yelled, for the hundredth time. There was no response. “Figures I’d pick today to forget my cell phone,” I muttered.

I was lying at the bottom of a large, dry, open well. The opening of the well was about thirty feet above me. The well was about six feet in diameter, which gave me plenty of room to lie on its floor and groan in agony. I had been trying to repair some broken stone blocks in the side of the well when the rope I was using broke. I fell to the bottom of the well, where I broke an ankle and possibly other body parts as well. That was the last time I was ever going to use ropes from the abandoned barn across the street!

I sighed and looked up again at the opening, trying to figure out what I was going to do, when a shadow covered the opening of the well. A voice boomed out from above. “Hello?”

“Thank heaven!” I shouted. “Please help me – I’ve fallen into the well.”

“The road of life is paved with suffering,” the voice replied. “We must go through many trials in our walk upon the earth.”

“Right,” I said. “I think I’ve broken my ankle, and maybe a few other things as well. Can you go get some help?”

“We must not adapt the road to suit ourselves,” the voice said. “We must adapt ourselves to the road.”

“Good point,” I said. “Do you have a cell phone? I’ve left mine in the house.”

“Suffering strengthens the soul,” the voice replied. “It builds character. Great men are forged through great trials.”

“Do you speak English?” I asked.

“It rejoices my heart to see my brother being put through trials,” the voice said. “You will become a stronger man as a result of this. I cannot bring myself to deprive my brother of an opportunity for personal growth.”

“Tell you what,” I said. “If you will help me out of this well I’d be glad to push you in it and let you moan in pain at the bottom of the well while some complete imbecile rattles on and on about unpaved roads. Do we have a deal?”

“I will pray for you,” the voice said. “May you find solace in your time of need.”

The shadow disappeared.

“I’ll show him solace,” I muttered. “If I ever get out of this well he will have more solace than he knows what to do with.”

I felt a drop of water. Looking up, I saw that it had begun to rain. “Wonderful,” I said.

“Now let me get this straight,” Mark was saying. “We’re supposed to rendezvous with the Ahmanyans where, exactly?”

Starmen Mark Seaton, Zip Foster, and Joe Taylor were sitting in a private conference room in the famous Starlight Tower on the Moon. Papers were strewn all over the mahogany table that was in the center of the room, and a large map of Europa was projected onto one wall. The oblong table was surrounded by six chairs, but the three Starmen were the only ones present. They had been discussing the final preparations for their return to Europa for several hours now.

“We’re supposed to meet Stenafi, Saadervo, and Stavri on a pocket world in the asteroid belt,” Zip said. “I don’t think the asteroid has a name or anything, but we have been given its expected location on the date of our rendezvous. The Ahmanyans have also promised to put a locator beacon on the asteroid to make it easier to find.”

Joe lifted a stack of papers off the table and shuffled through them. “I’ve got the coordinates right here,” he said. “I’ll program them into the Bonny Swan after we’ve left lunar orbit. October 15, 2153 is our launch date.”

“Which is exactly nineteen days from now,” Zip said. “I think we all understand how the mission is going to work and what we’re going there to accomplish. Does – ”

The phone rang, interrupting Zip’s train of thought. After checking the name to see who was calling, Joe reached over and pressed a button on the conference table. The projected map of Europa disappeared and was replaced with the image of Richard Starlight, the CEO of Starlight Enterprise.

“How are things going?” Richard asked. From what the Starmen could see he appeared to be sitting in his private office. “I’m sorry to interrupt you.”

“Very well, sir,” Zip said. “We were just wrapping up our discussion. How can we help you?”

Richard leaned forward in his chair. “A few minutes ago I received an urgent message from Alfred Nelson,” he began.

Looks of intense dismay appeared on the faces of all three Starmen. “Oh, please, no,” Joe groaned.

Alfred Nelson managed the L5 space station, which was the largest space station in the Solar System. A few months ago the three Starmen had been called out to L5 at Alfred’s request to investigate a problem, and the memory of that experience was still fresh in their minds.

“Please tell me he just called to say that everything was fine,” Zip said. “He can’t be having more problems.”

Richard shook his head. “I’m afraid not, Zip. He called to ask for help, and he specifically requested that I send you three to resolve the matter.”

“Isn’t there someone else that you could send?” Zip asked. “The last time we went out there – ”

“I know, Zip, but this is different. Alfred has received what he thinks is a distress call from a spaceship in the outer planets, and he wants some help decoding the message and responding to it. I’m sure it’s nothing that you can’t handle.”

Zip sighed and looked at Joe and Mark. The mere mention of Alfred Nelson’s name had cast a gloom over the entire room. No one was looking forward to making a return trip to L5.

“Ok,” Zip said. “We’ll go.”

* * * * *

The trip to L5 was uneventful. Like last time, Richard had the Red Tiger waiting for them at the Amundsen City spaceport, and Joe piloted it to the L5 space station. The Starmen said very little on the trip there.

Mark was the first one to break the silence. “At least we have our uniforms with us this time,” he said.

“And cash,” Joe replied.

Zip shook his head. “I’m sure things will go just fine. Now that we’ve dealt with Alfred before we know what to expect. This time will be different.”

“I sure hope so,” Joe said. “Last time we almost got arrested, our ship was impounded, and we nearly made the news. It took Richard Starlight two weeks to get the mess straightened out.”

“Come on,” Zip said. “We’ve battled aliens on the planet Nyx. We’ve survived being torpedoed in the oceans of Europa. We escaped destruction in the skies of Mars. You can’t tell me that you’re intimidated by Alfred Nelson.”

“They’re probably still talking about us at that tiny seaside town,” Joe mused. “I bet we’ll go down in history.”

“I’m sure you’re right, Zip,” Mark said. “But, all the same, if another robot takes over a spaceship and escapes, you can go and follow him. I’m going to stay home and keep out of trouble.”

No one said anything else for another twenty minutes, when the L5 space station at last came within visual range. Joe contacted the space station’s flight control center, which then automatically took control of the Red Tiger and brought it into a hangar.

As soon as the ship landed Joe peered out the cockpit window. “Haven’t we seen those people before?” he asked, gesturing toward the three armed guards that were waiting by the wall.

“I think so,” Mark said. “Aren’t they the same ones – ”

“Yup,” Zip said.

The three Starmen disembarked from their ship. One of the armed guards stepped forward to greet them. “Mr. Howard, Fine, and Howard at your service,” he said. “It’s good to see you again. Right this way, please.” One of the guards opened a door that led inside the station and the three Starmen stepped through it.

The guards escorted the Starmen down the hall and through the station. The inside lighting was set to simulate a pleasant mid-afternoon; the wide hallways were gently lit, and trees and shrubs were strategically placed. A few people that were going about their daily business stopped and stared at the Starmen as they walked by.

“I’m telling you,” Joe said as they followed their armed escort down the hallway, “the uniform makes all the difference. Why, if we had had our uniforms with us last time – ”

Zip shook his head. “We would have caught the probe right away, Joe, and brought it back to the station, only to find out that the hapless drone was just trying to repair the data core. We would have then made another trip to Earth, but given the delay we would have come back from Dr. Lowery too late to save the largest space station in existence from having to be completely shut down. Our pictures would have still been in the paper weeks later, and we would have gone down in history as the most inept Starmen of all time.”

“That would have been a great day to have overslept,” Joe said. “There’s a lot to be said for strategic, targeted napping. It’s really a lost art.”

The group stopped at an elevator, and proceeded to take it fifteen stories up to the top of the station. The elevator was made of glass and was located in the outside wall of the station, offering its occupants a beautiful view of the bustle of traffic outside. A host of ships, old and new, was flying to their various destinations.

Ten minutes after their arrival the Starmen found themselves walking into a conference room. “The Thomas Starlight Conference Room,” Mark said aloud, reading the sign on the door. “Very nice.”

The room was elaborately furnished. A wide, rectangular table was in the center of the room; it was made of a beautiful dark wood and trimmed in gold. The walls were decorated with famous paintings depicting scenes from deep space, and one entire wall of the conference room was a window that offered a beautiful view of Earth. Mark could see that it was night-time in North America; the day/night divide was somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean. In a few hours daylight would reach the East Coast.

After the Starmen entered the conference room their escorts took up guard outside the door. “Just for security, just for security,” Alfred Nelson said, extending them a hand. “I’m pleased to see you! Thank you for coming so quickly.”

“You’re welcome,” Mark said, shaking his hand. “What seems to be the problem?”

“Please, take a seat,” Alfred responded. “This is Matthew Lewis and this is Vanessa Sloan,” he said, gesturing toward two people that were seated at the table. As he introduced them they rose and shook the Starmen’s hands. “Matthew and Vanessa are our two top cryptographic experts at L5.”

“Cryptographic experts?” Joe asked, as the Starmen took a seat. “I didn’t realize that L5 was involved in cryptography.”

“We’re involved in all sorts of things, young man,” the director replied. “There’s no more important space station in all of the solar system than this one right here! We’ve got departments in every field – biology, physics, chemistry, cooking, the works. Our supercomputer is one of the biggest in existence, and it’s used all the time!”

“I know,” Zip said. “I’m glad that your computer is behaving itself again.”

“Now where was I?” the director mused as he took a seat at the table. “Ah – right. Matthew, you may begin.”

Matthew stood up “Four months ago the spaceship Luna Merchant set out for the planet Neptune,” he began.

“That sounds familiar,” Joe said. “Isn’t that Dr. Bayard’s ship?”

“That is correct,” Matthew replied. “Dr. Maxie Bayard was undertaking an expedition to the planet Neptune. He believed that it had been visited by intelligent extraterrestrial beings at some point in the past and hoped that his expedition could uncover further evidence to support that hypothesis.”

“I read about that,” Mark said. “Neptune really hasn’t been the focus of many major expeditions, and Dr. Bayard felt that it had been unduly neglected. I think that Starlight Enterprise was partially funding his voyage and had provided some equipment.”

“That is also correct,” Matthew replied. “Starlight Enterprise provided Dr. Bayard the funds to purchase the most advanced artificial intelligence system ever made – the TB-9000. His plan was to use it to parse through any readings he took from Neptune for signs of intelligence. He hoped that a computer could spot patterns or signals that would otherwise be – ”

“Wonderful,” the director said. “Please get to the point, Matthew. We don’t have all day, you know.”

“Two days ago,” Matthew continued, “this station received a message from the Luna Merchant. The message was a surprise for three reasons. First, the Luna Merchant did not depart from L5. Second, the Luna Merchant had barely had time to pass the orbit of Saturn and was not expected to arrive at Neptune for another six months, so no messages were expected. Third, the message was addressed to Melissa Nova – a person who did not live on L5.”

The director interrupted. “I found out about this when Cody – that’s the young man who delivers the mail on L5 – came into my office and asked to speak with me. He gets misdirected mail all the time, but usually he could just return it to the sender and be done with it. Since the sender was on a space expedition he didn’t know what to do, so he came to me.”

“I knew immediately that something was up, so I took the message from him and read it. One glance at the message showed that it was a code of some kind, and once I saw that I knew there was trouble. Coded message from deep space! All kinds of terrible things happen out there in deep space, and if the Luna Merchant was in trouble we needed to know immediately so we could dispatch a rescue mission. There was no time to waste! I immediately called in my experts and asked them to decrypt it.”

“We didn’t know what to make of the message at first,” Vanessa said. “I loaded the message into the central computer system and tried to decrypt it but made no progress at all. The encryption is very unusual; it doesn’t correspond with anything I have seen in the past. It does not appear to be a substitution cipher. It does not appear to use any modern or ancient encryption algorithm. We may be dealing with an advanced alien technology.”

“I don’t understand,” Zip said. “Dr. Bayard sent an encrypted message to L5, addressed to a non-existent person?”

“That’s correct,” Matthew said.

“But how do you know that it’s an emergency message?”

“Think, man!” Alfred Nelson said. “What else could it be? There they are, billions of miles from the Sun, and suddenly they send an encoded message to us. It must be a cry for help! What if their computer system went haywire? What if they were boarded by aliens? I think they were forced to encode the message to hide it from their attackers. They must have been afraid that their message would be intercepted. It’s vital that we find out what is going on!” He gestured over to Vanessa. “Please continue.”

“Wait a minute,” Joe said. “Have you tried contacting Dr. Bayard and asking him what the message meant?”

“Of course not!” the director said. “Use your head! If they’ve been boarded by aliens the very last thing we want to do is let the aliens know that we’re on to them. We’ve got to keep this hush-hush until we know what’s going on. Now Vanessa – please continue.”

“As I was saying,” she said, “it didn’t take us long to discover that the message was encrypted using a completely new algorithm. Matthew and I spent hours working on it before we suddenly had an idea.

“It was obvious, based on the message header, that Dr. Bayard had encrypted the message on his own computer before he sent it. He clearly meant for it to be understood. It is highly likely that he would have chosen a technique that would be meaningless to his attackers but easily understood to us at L5. We decided to take a step back and look at the entire message with fresh eyes.”

Vanessa stood up and pressed a button on the wall, dimming the lights. “This is the encrypted message that we received,” she said, pressing another button on the table.

Instantly a picture appeared floating in mid-air over the conference table. Inside the picture was a note with the following message:

——————————————–
From: Dr. Maxie Bayard
To: Melissa Nova
Timestamp: 09/24/2153 02:08:24 AM MST

x
——————————————–

The three Starmen looked at the note in astonishment. “You mean to tell me that that is the message?” Zip asked. “That’s it?”

“That’s right, young man,” the director said. “You can see why it grabbed my attention! You just don’t see coded messages from deep space very often. As soon as I saw that I said to myself, Alfred, now there’s some trouble, and no mistake.”

“When we first saw the message,” Matthew said, “we thought that the message had been cut off while in transit. After examining the logs, however, we saw that we had received the full message header and footer bytes; the message was not truncated. This does represent the entire message that was sent from the Luna Merchant.

“After we verified that the full message had been received, we suddenly realized where we had made our mistake. The message was encoded using MST – Mountain Standard Time. Bayard lived on the L5 space station before he left for Neptune, and the L5 station uses Greenwich Mean Time. There was no reason for him to use MST unless he was trying to tell us something.”

“We knew that MST had to be an acronym for something,” Vanessa said. “We entered that phrase into our cryptographic system and tried to determine its meaning. The computer came back with many likely candidates, but one in particular caught our attention: Madison Symmetric Torus.”

“What?” Zip asked. “I’ve never heard of that before.”

“It’s a type of device that is used in advanced fusion research,” Matthew explained. “We thought that Dr. Bayard was trying to refer to nuclear physics – specifically, to nuclear fusion. We then noticed the time of the message: it was sent at 02:08:24. Two to the third power is eight, and eight times three is twenty-four. It seems unlikely that this was a coincidence; the time is too much like a formula. The solution was obvious: Dr. Bayard was talking about the top-secret formulas for plasma containment in nuclear fusion reactors!”

“Wow,” Zip said. “But – ”

“I knew right then what had happened,” the director said. “Dr. Bayard was trying to warn us that Xenobots were trying to steal his secret formulas for plasma containment! His ship must have been boarded after they crossed the orbit of Saturn and he was hiding out in the ship, trying to tell us before it’s too late!”

“What clinches the theory is that the message is addressed to Melissa Nova,” Vanessa said. “Stars can go nova under certain conditions, and stars are powered by nuclear fusion. It all ties together.”

“Ok,” Zip said. “But – ”

“The reason I asked you here,” the director said, “is because I need your help. If Dr. Bayard’s ship has been taken over by hostile aliens then we need to mount a rescue expedition immediately. You three have actually been out in deep space before; there’s no reason why you can’t leave immediately. I’m sure you could get there in a matter of weeks and send the Xenobots packing. There’s no time to waste, young man!”

“There are a few things that need clarification, though,” Zip said. “Can I ask the base computer a few questions?” When no one objected he took out his compad and connected it to a port on the table.

“Computer,” he said, addressing his compad. “Has a person by the name of Melissa Nova ever lived on the L5 space station?”

“Affirmative,” the computer responded. “Melissa Nova began living on the L5 space station on January 15, 2150. She left L5 on August 15, 2153 when her lease expired.”

Joe spoke up. “Was Melissa Nova any relation to Dr. Bayard?”

“Affirmative. She was his younger sister.”

“Do you know where Melissa Nova is living now?” Mark asked.

“Negative. She did not leave a forwarding address.”

The three Starmen looked at each other. “I think I know what is going on,” Joe said. He took a piece of paper out of his pocket, wrote something on it, and handed it to Mark and Zip. They both read it, nodded, and handed it back.

“What’s going on?” the director said. “I don’t understand.”

“The three of us have a theory,” Joe said, “but we want to test it first. If you’ll give me an envelope I’ll place this piece of paper into it and seal it, so that our theory can be preserved for posterity. After that I’d like to make a phone call.”

“I don’t understand this at all,” the director said, as Vanessa searched the room for an envelope. “It’s quite obvious! You’ve got to head out there immediately; there’s no telling how much trouble the Xenobots have already unleashed. There must be no delay!”

Vanessa was eventually able to find an envelope; she handed it to Joe, who took his piece of paper and placed it inside. He sealed it, wrote “Confidential” on it, and placed it on the table.

“Computer,” Zip said aloud, “I want you to locate Melissa Nova. See if you can find out her current contact information.”

“Please wait,” the computer replied. The three Starmen waited.

“I really don’t see how this will help,” Matthew said. “I doubt that Melissa Nova knows very much about cryptographic analysis.”

“She may know more than you think,” Zip said. “I believe that she alone has the key to this cipher.”

It took the computer a few more minutes to locate the phone number, but it was at last obtained.

“Great!” Joe said. “Call her up.”

The phone rang three times, and then someone answered. “Hello, this is Melissa.”

“Hi there,” Joe said. “This is Starman Joe Taylor, calling you from the L5 space station. I have with me David Foster, Mark Seaton, Alfred Nelson, Matthew Lewis, and Vanessa Sloan.”

“Wow,” she said. “I’m impressed! How can I help you?”

“We’ve got a question for you,” Joe replied. “Two days ago the space station received a message from Dr. Bayard, addressed to you. Since you no longer live at the station the computer could not deliver the message.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Melissa said. “I knew I forgot something. I’d better let him know that my address has changed.”

“The forces of goodness in the universe would greatly appreciate that,” Joe said. “Do you think you could do us a favor?”

“Sure,” she said. “What do you have in mind?”

“Due to the circumstances surrounding the arrival of the message, it has been classified as an encrypted distress call,” Joe said. “A team of cryptologists have been trying to decrypt it for two days now and have had no luck understanding it. We were hoping that you could tell us what it meant.”

“That’s odd,” she said. “I don’t think he’s ever sent his messages encoded before. In fact, I’d be surprised if he even knew how to do that. But, um, sure, just send it to me and I’ll take a look at it.”

Joe asked Matthew to send her a copy of the message. He shook his head, but when Joe pressed him he forwarded the note to Melissa. “It’s been sent,” Joe said, after receiving confirmation of this from Matthew. “You should have it in just a few moments.”

“I still can’t believe you would read my mail,” Melissa said. “Do you do that very often?”

“Fortunately, no,” Joe replied. “But in this case we made an exception.”

“Ah, there it is,” Melissa said. “I see it now. Let me read it.” She was silent a moment, and then burst out laughing. The director looked puzzled. “I don’t see anything funny about it,” he muttered.

“Thanks for sending this message to me,” she said. “It made my day. I’ll let my brother know that I received it and that my address has changed.”

“You’re welcome,” Joe replied. “Just for the record, what was Dr. Bayard trying to tell you?”

“Oh, well, you have to understand my brother. I saw him just before he left, you know, and told him to send me a letter after he got past the orbit of Saturn. No one in our family had ever gone out that far before, you see. So after he passed the orbit of Saturn, he did just that – he sent me the letter ‘x’.”

“Wonderful,” Zip said. “I’m glad your brother is safe and sound. Thank you for your time.”

“You’re welcome,” Melissa said. “Bye!” She hung up.

Alfred Nelson picked up the sealed envelope off the desk, tore it open, and read the note inside. He then threw it down on the table. “How could you possibly have known?” he asked.

“Call it a lucky guess,” Zip said.

“Based on past history,” Joe added.

“That’s crazy!” the director said, fuming. “How could we be expected to know that? It’s not fair!”

“That,” Mark said, “is exactly why you’re not supposed to read other people’s mail.”

With that, the three Starmen walked out of the conference room and back down the hall toward their waiting ship.

I was walking across my lawn, trying to find where the paper boy had hidden my morning newspaper, when I spotted a friend walking by. “Hey there!” I said. “Have you seen my newspaper?”

“Funny you should mention that,” he replied. “I went to the eye doctor just yesterday! I feel like a new man.”

I walked over to him and shook his hand vigorously. “Wonderful! You’d been needing to go for ages. I’m so glad you finally took my advice.”

“I am too,” he said. “I had really put off going for far too long.”

“So what did he tell you? Did he give you contacts? I don’t see you wearing glasses.”

“Actually,” my friend said, “he didn’t tell me anything.”

“What’s that?” I said.

“That’s right!” he replied, nodding his head. “He didn’t say a thing.”

“I don’t understand. Why not?”

My friend looked at me, puzzled. “Well, why would he?”

“Well, you did go to see him, didn’t you? Isn’t it traditional for the eye doctor to tell you something when you see him? How else are you going to know if you need glasses?”

“I suppose,” my friend replied, “but I didn’t actually let him look at my eyes. After all, I already knew that they were fine! There was no sense in bothering the doctor about that.”

“But that’s crazy!” I said. “Your eyes aren’t fine – they’re terrible! You’re as blind as a bat! Why, just last week you – ”

“Hey now,” he said, “bats have terrific vision. Do you know that they can catch mosquitoes in the dark? Can you do that?”

“I’m not talking about bats, Jeffrey! I’m talking about your eyesight. If you’re not going to let the doctor see you then why even go?”

“Oh, everyone should go see their eye doctor,” he replied. “It’s a good practice. I’m glad I went – they’ve got fascinating magazines in their waiting room, and you meet the most interesting people. I’m looking forward to going back next year. Hey, speaking of that, do you know I went to the dentist last week?”

“I don’t want to hear about it,” I said.

Zachery Snow had been hiking in the coal country of West Virginia for the past three days. The hilly region he had been exploring was wild and unkempt; the forest was thick and the hills were rough and jagged. Washed-out gullies and sheer cliffs abounded, ready to catch the unwary off-guard. Overhead the sky was dark and overcast, and a chill wind cut right through Zachery’s leather jacket. It had rained earlier that day and then stopped, but the sky was threatening to unleash a new downpour at any moment. Zachery could hear the thunder rolling in the distance; it didn’t appear to be heading his way but it was hard to tell. All of the trees were dripping with water and the leaves and ground was soaking wet. A light fog clung to the ground.

Few people ever ventured this far into the hills – especially these hills. Zachery knew that someone had to own this land but he had no idea who it might have been. People had abandoned this area years ago when the coal mines gave out, and there simply wasn’t a reason to live out here any longer. Animals abounded, but Zachery hadn’t seen a person for two days.

He wasn’t really looking for anything in particular. Zachery liked exploring desolate and abandoned areas, especially if they had some special meaning to him. His ancestors had lived in that area a generation ago and he liked to think of them as he climbed over the rocks. Here and there he would find some ruins, overgrown with weeds and creeping vines: a covered bridge foundation, a collapsed barn, and even the occasional rusted-out car. To him they were mementos of a simpler era – one that had passed long ago.

As he climbed up a hill his foot slipped on a wet rock. He reached out and grabbed a tree limb to steady himself, but the tree was dead and the limb snapped off in his hand. He tumbled down the side of the cliff and came to rest in a little clearing – one he hadn’t noticed before.

After standing up and making sure that he was unharmed he stepped forward into the hollow. The grass was tall, but through it he could still tell that the clearing held a graveyard – a very old one, by the look of it.

This must have been abandoned for at least a generation, he thought. He stepped forward into the graveyard and used his machete to cut a path through the tall weeds. It was difficult for him to make out the moss-covered stones through the tall grass, but he could see that they were definitely set out in orderly rows.

Zachery stepped up the nearest stone and pulled the weeds off of it. He then took a handkerchief out of his pocket and used it to wipe the dirt and grime off the stone.

“Rachael Ford,” he read aloud. The inscription was almost worn off, but he could just barely make it out. “1817 – 1851. You would have been – hmmm – a little over 40 years old when you died. I’m older than that!”

He stood up and looked at the other stones. It looks like there are about 30 stones in this graveyard, he thought to himself. I wonder if there used to be a church nearby. Perhaps this was some church’s graveyard a century ago.

Seized by a sudden impulse that he could not explain, Zachery decided to bring some order to the long-forgotten graves. Working one at a time, he walked over to each headstone and cleaned it off. Some of them had crumbled from age and were impossible to read, but others were in fairly good shape. Look at all these names, he thought. Ryan Ford. Richard Simmons. Jim Simmons. Toby Greenwood. Hunter Atkins. Who were these people? He noticed that some appeared to be grouped in families, but others were by themselves. They all appeared to date from the early 19th century.

It took him about an hour to clean up the graveyard and make the stones visible. When it was over he was hot, tired, and dirty, but pleased with his efforts. He sat on a large rock on the edge of the graveyard and looked over his work.

I wonder how long it’s been since someone has been out here, he thought. There’s no sign that anyone has been out here for twenty years. I may be the first visitor this graveyard has had in my lifetime.

He thought about what he had seen carved into the stones. Five Fords that died in 1848; I wonder why. I wonder who these people were, and what they did, and what they were like. Most were farmers, I bet.

As he rested from his labors, a low fog rolled in over the mountain and settled over the graveyard. He watched as it partially obscured the crumbling stones, the wet grass, and the weeds that he had just cleared off the stones. Right there, he thought, are thirty people who have lived there lives and passed on. There is no one alive who remembers them, or even cares that they ever existed. All that is left of them are some forgotten graves on a forgotten hill – and soon even that will be gone, and it will be as if they had never existed at all.

He stood up, wiped his hands on his pants, and faced the graveyard. “And how long will it be before I join you?” he called out. “How long will it be until I, too, become nothing more than a forgotten skeleton in a lost grave, obscured by time until every trace of my life on Earth has been lost?”

“Oh, it’s not as bad as all that,” a voice said behind him. Startled, Zachery turned around and saw a middle-aged man approaching him. He was wearing a pair of overalls and a dirty white shirt; he had black hair, a black beard, and a kind, smiling face. “The name’s Powell – Mason Powell,” he said, extending a hand.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Zachery said, shaking his hand and introducing himself. “You surprised me! I didn’t know that people live around these parts.”

“Oh, they don’t anymore,” Mason replied. “They used to, though. This used to be the center of a thriving farming community – mostly livestock, you know, but some tobacco. Penn Station was just five miles up the river, north of here; it’s where they shipped out the coal. Aye, lad, those were the days.”

“Wow, Mr. Powell. That must have been a long time ago! I’ve seen the ruins of the old covered bridge, but it must have been abandoned at least a century ago. I had no idea that a rail line ever ran through here.”

“Oh, no, it wasn’t a rail line. This was in the days before railroad, remember. Back then we moved good around on ships; we’d load our crops onto a barge, and it would sail up river to town. The Atkins family handled the shipping trade; the rest were farmers – except for Greenwood, who was the pastor.”

“Toby Greenwood?” Zachery asked. “You mean the guy who is buried over there?”

“Oh yes,” Mason said. “That’s the one! He was a lively fellow – preached in a little country church just over there. There’s nothing left of it anymore – it was just a simple wooden building, after all – but man, it would sure be packed when he preached! He had such fire and energy. Always a helpful fellow, willing to lend a hand. I think it was tuberculosis that eventually did him in. Had a smile and a cheerful heart right up to his last breath.”

“I can’t believe that any record of these people has survived!” Zachery said. “When my parents were children they lived in this area but they never mentioned anything about a church or a graveyard.”

“Just because you haven’t heard of them, Zachery Snow, doesn’t mean that no one else has! All of these people have histories, you know. Take the Ford family, for instance. Most of them died in a terrible fire back in ‘48. There weren’t smoke detectors in those days. When tragedy hit, it hit hard – but the community was there to lend a hand. Elias could never have survived the loss of his wife and children if we hadn’t stepped in and helped him. The two of them were so close.”

“We?” Zachery asked.

“And then take the Simmons family,” Mason continued. “Richard and Jim were father and son. Richard was a good father – loving, kind, very dedicated to the Lord – but Jim, now, Jim was a wild one. Jim’s mother had died in childbirth and Richard could never control him. He never would listen to anybody, and just about drove his parents crazy. Always hanging out with the wrong crowd, causing a disturbance, and stealing anything he could get his hands on. We all knew it was just a matter of time.”

“Time?” Zachery replied.

“Aye,” Mason said. “Jim eventually picked a fight with the wrong person, and he never did recover from his injuries. He died at the tender age of twenty-four – a young man, cut down in what should have been his prime. Imagine! Never did learn what it meant to live life. It broke his father’s heart. Richard never was the same after that – I think he took it personally.”

Zachery shook his head. “It’s just not possible that anyone remembers these people. You’ve got to be making this up. Right? Tell me, how can you possibly know all of this?”

“Easy!” Mason said. “Come here.” He walked over to one corner of the graveyard and Zachery, out of curiosity, followed him.

“This one is mine,” Mason said proudly, kneeling down and reading the stone. “Mason Anthony Powell, 1798 – 1860. I died of heart failure.”

“Oh,” Zachery said. “I see. I’m sure it happens all the time.”

“It does indeed,” Mason said. “I know lots of people who have died of heart failure. Nice chaps, most of them.”

“Look, Mason. I’ve been to many graveyards in my lifetime, and they all have one thing in common: they’re full of dead people.”

“Yup,” Mason agreed.

“And the thing I’ve noticed about dead people,” Zachery continued, “is that they stay in their graves. They don’t come out of their graves and hold conversations. They don’t go into town and vote for candidates. They just rest quietly and bother nobody.”

“Eh, in a manner of speaking,” Mason said. “Their bodies lie quietly. Their souls go on to their reward – be it good or bad.”

“True,” Zachery said. “But the dead do not come out of their graves and hold extended conversations with the living.”

“Sometimes they do,” Mason said.

“Like when?” Zachery said.

“Oh, like when the Lord returns and raises them all from the dead at the end of time,” Mason said.

“You can’t tell me that the Lord has returned,” Zachery said. “I think I would have noticed.”

“Aye, that you would have,” Mason agreed. “I’m still looking forward to it, myself. I guess we both are, now!”

“What do you mean?” Zachery said.

“Well,” Mason said slowly, “do you remember a while ago when you slipped and fell down the slope?”

“I think so,” Zachery said.

“Did you notice that when you stood up afterward you didn’t feel sore, or bruised, or anything?”

“Come to think of it, I did. I was glad.”

“You were dead, you mean,” Mason said. “The fall killed you.”

“Oh,” Zachery said. “Are you sure?”

“Yup. Turn around and look over where you fell.”

Zachery turned around to see what Mason was pointing at, and saw his body lying at the foot of the mountain. He gasped. “I see what you mean,” he said. “That is, um, kind of unfortunate.”

“It’s not as bad as it seems,” Mason said. “All those people you were mourning over – why, every last one of them are still alive somewhere. The traces of a person’s life only last for a short while on Earth, and then they’re gone, until you can’t tell that they ever lived. The person, though – why, the person lives on, be it with the Lord or without Him. Where the person ends up living – that’s a choice that is made during life. But the person does go on living.”

“Come with me,” Mason told Zachery. “I’ve already told the Ford family about you; they’re looking forward to meeting you. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do – you’re a relation to me, you know! That’s why I wanted to be here when you died.”

“Now wait a minute,” Zachery said. “How could I have cleared away all those weeds if I was dead?”

“Someone had to do it,” Mason said. “You seemed willing, and I wasn’t going to stop you. It’s kind of nice to have one’s grave cleaned. Gives you a good feeling.”

“Dead people can’t clean graves!” Zachery said.

“What a pity,” Mason said. “If you had known that an hour ago you could have saved yourself all that trouble. Are you ready to go?”

And with that, the two of them vanished from sight.

I was on the roof of my apartment building late one night, taking out the trash, when I heard a noise. I stood up and looked around to see what had caused it. Everything on the roof looked quiet; not even a stray cat could be seen.

Ten feet away, across a narrow alley, was another apartment building. Through the darkness I could make out what had caused the noise: on the roof of the neighboring building was a young lady. Her face was red and tears filled her eyes; it was obvious that she had been crying for a long time. I had never noticed her before.

I walked over to the edge of the building and called out into the darkness. “What’s wrong?” I said out. “Can I help you?”

She looked up at me, then looked back down to the street, ten stories below. “No one can help me. It’s too late.”

I instantly realized what she was considering. “It’s never too late as long as you are still alive,” I said. “I know someone who can help you.”

“No one can help me,” she shouted. “No one.” She looked up at me again, and our eyes met. “You can’t stop me,” she said.

I eyed the distance between our buildings and looked down at the street below. It would take quite some time to get from where I was to where she was, and we both knew it. “No,” I said, “I can’t. But I can help you, if you will let me.”

The legendary Professor Grimes did not make it to class that morning until 8:37 AM – more than half an hour after his history class started. The professor whose lectures had done so much to cure insomnia in countless students had been ill for the previous two weeks. During his absence he had, with great reluctance, turned his class over to a new substitute teacher by the name of Marvin Hampton. Today the professor had finally started feeling well enough to return to his classroom.

No one took any particular notice of his arrival as he took a seat toward the back of the room, between two sleeping teenagers. There were about 150 students in a large room that could seat 450, which was far more than normal. Professor Grimes suspected that the midterm grades he had given out were having their desired effect.

As he took his seat he noticed that Marvin was wrapping up his lecture.

“In summary, class, the causes of the Alconians’ unfortunate demise are relatively simple. The nation had flourished until, like many others, it became entangled in a trade dispute with their powerful southern neighbor. This dispute – ”

A student piped up. “Excuse me, but what southern neighbor was that?”

“It was Kranjovia, Steve. Kranjovia. This dispute eventually led to a protracted war that seriously weakened both countries. The expense of the war – ”

“And the war lasted how long?”

“Fourteen years, Steve. Now please be quiet – let me finish, and then you can ask questions. The expense of the war drained the treasury, which forced Alconia to raise taxes. The higher taxes damaged the popularity of the current administration, which – ”

“It did what?” Professor Grimes asked.

“I said – ” and then Marvin saw who had asked the question. “Oh, hello, Professor. I didn’t see you come in. I said that the higher taxes damaged the popularity of the current administration.”

“I see,” Professor Grimes replied. “Why?”

“Um, well, obviously, because the Alconians didn’t like higher taxes.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know exactly,” Marvin replied, “that wasn’t mentioned in the chapter. I would be glad to look it up for you if you’d like.”

Professor Grimes said nothing.

Marvin turned around and began writing on the blackboard. “As I was saying. Mass discontent was further aggravated when the Alconian government began nationalizing industries, seizing land, and devaluing the nation’s currency in order to raise more funds to finance the ongoing war.”

“You mean when it began stealing from its citizens,” Professor Grimes corrected.

Marvin stopped writing and turned around. “Excuse me?”

“Never mind,” he said. “Go on.”

The substitute teacher resumed his writing. “The unrest that this caused led riots all over the country, which a few generals capitalized upon to launch a coup against the reigning political system. The country was soon embroiled in a fierce civil war that further devastated the economy. At this point the weakened nation was easy prey for its foreign enemies, who invaded the land and divided what was left of it – is something wrong, Professor Grimes?”

“Everything is wrong,” he said. “Are you sure you read the chapter?”

“What chapter?” a voice said from the back of the room. “Were we supposed to read something?”

No one answered the student. “I’m quite – that is – yes, I did – of course,” Marvin replied.

Grimes shook his head. “I find that hard to believe, Marvin. You have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Um, that is – excuse me?”

“I said you have no idea what you are talking about. Where on earth did you hear such utter rubbish?”

The classroom grew very quiet. Four students actually stopped snoring.

“What – that is, what do you mean, Professor Grimes? I was not aware that the facts of the situation were in dispute.”

“I’m not talking about the facts, Marvin. Have you never realized that facts don’t speak for themselves?”

The substitute teacher took a step back. “Of course! That is, no. I mean, I’m afraid that I don’t understand.”

“Think about it,” the professor said as he stood up out of his chair and unsteadily walked toward the front of the room. “Is history nothing more than matter in motion to you? You lecture so blithely about mass discontent and trade disputes as if these things were as much natural forces of nature as the tides. We’re talking about people here, Marvin!”

“I’m aware of that,” Marvin replied. “It is a fact, however, that the Alconian people did get into a trade dispute with Kranjovia. I fail to see why you are disputing that.”

“How do you spell Kranjovia?” another student asked. “That’s going to be on the test, right?”

Both professors ignored him. “Of course there was a trade dispute,” Professor Grimes said. “But that’s a gross over-simplification. What caused the trade dispute in the first place? Was it just one of those things that happen, like a tree limb falling on your car and crushing it in the parking lot, or was it caused by greed and envy and a lust for power?”

Marvin shook his head. “I have no idea, Grimes. What possible difference does it make?”

“It makes all the difference in the world!” Grimes said. “You have completely failed to mention any personal responsibility on the part of anyone. Yes, there was a war – which was launched when one group of people decided they wanted something that belonged to someone else, so they invaded their neighbor to steal it. Yes, there was mass discontent, which happened just after the Alconians realized that their government had taken away their livelihood and had left them all to starve to death.”

“The government had no other choice,” Marvin said. “They could no longer afford to pay their bills, so they had to take drastic measures to ensure the future of their country. There was nothing that could be done.”

“And that certainly worked out very well, didn’t it?” Professor Grimes asked.

“As well as could have been expected,” Marvin replied. “I still don’t understand you. This is a simple case where history just marched on.”

“Tell me something, Marvin. Suppose someone were to steal your car. Would you just chalk that up to history marching on and move on with your life?”

“That’s different. Cars are stolen by unfortunate, misguided human beings. There’s no history at work there.”

“And what is history caused by – sunspots?”

The bell rang, and the class got up and began filing out the door. Marvin spoke up. “Read Chapter 54 for next week, class. We’re going to study – ”

“Sunspots,” Grimes muttered, his eye fixed on Marvin.

I drew my sword and once again looked into the forest that was directly in front of me. Not a twig moved, and no creatures stirred. Even the wind had stopped blowing. After hours of searching I had at last found a path leading into the woods, but it was overgrown with weeds and almost impossible to see. For all I knew the path might lead a half mile and then peter out, leaving me lost in a maze of endless trees. I strained to see more, but the underbrush was so thick that I could not see further than a few hundred yards. The forest was dark, even in the daylight, and I knew it would be difficult to force my way through it. It would be even more difficult to find my prey before it found me.

The worst part of all was the danger that lurked inside it. So many people – so many friends – had died in the past two months, burned to ashes by a remorseless dragon. I knew that dragon lurked in this forest, and was just waiting to strike again. I knew what I had to do.

As I started to walk down the path that led into the forest I heard a strained voice call out behind me. “Don’t go in there – you’ll be killed, you fool!”

I stopped and turned around to see who had spoken, and spotted the gentleman who had called out. He appeared to be an older fellow – a farmer, perhaps, judging from his clothing.

“What would you have me do?” I asked. “Just leave the danger for someone else?”

“The dragon will kill you for sure if you try!” he warned. “It’s worth a man’s life just to get near that forest. I don’t know anyone who has ever entered it and returned to tell the tale.”

I knew he was right. “Someone has to try,” I said. “I don’t see other dragon hunters lining up to engage it in battle.”

“Of course not,” he said. “It’s too dangerous. Men aren’t as big fools as that.”

“Waiting at home for the dragon to attack is equally dangerous,” I said. “I would rather try to conquer him and fail than never try at all.”

“Good heavens,” he said, “you’ve gone mad. What possible good is that? If you try and fail you’ll be dead, and then what good will you be? A dead man isn’t worth anything to anybody.”

I looked him squarely in the eye. “You tell me which is better: to march into that forest and fight the beast, possibly giving my life for my friends and family, or to do nothing and watch as I and everything I care for are destroyed by the dragon. Is it truly wiser to wait for the dragon to come and kill my family, and die knowing that I did nothing to help them?”

The farmer said nothing.

“Will you come with me?” I asked. “The forest is dark, and I do not know the way.”

“I won’t,” he said. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Then I shall defeat the beast alone,” I said. I turned around and resumed walking into the woods.

Chapter 7

“Oh boy,” Joe said. “Just where is the cavalry when you need them, anyway?”

The three Starmen raced toward the drone, but they knew that they were too far away: by the time they got there it would be too late. Sure enough, the men closed in on the drone – but as they got close the drone flew over their heads and soared into the distance.

The Starmen stopped in their tracks. “Woah!” Joe said. “I don’t remember anyone telling us that those machines could fly.”

“Wonderful,” Zip said, “just wonderful. Now what are we going to do?”

“Um, probably get involved in a fight,” Joe replied, observing that the men who had tried to stop the drone had noticed the three Starmen and were headed their way, looking none-too-pleased. “What do you say you let me take all four of them at once, Zip, just to make it fair?”

“I don’t think so,” Mark said, shaking his head. “The middle two are mine – you can have the others.”

Thirty seconds later the fight ended with their four attackers lying on the ground, moaning in pain. Just as the fight ended the Starmen noticed a group of three officers running toward them, accompanied by several Starlight Enterprise personnel.

“I’m sorry we were late,” one of the officers told Zip, “but it took us longer than we thought to get to the station.”

“That’s ok,” Zip said. “Can you take custody of these men? They tried to grab the drone right after it got off the train, and when it flew off into the distance they turned and attacked us.”

The officers helped the injured men off the ground and arrested them. “Ok, let’s hear it: what were you doing here?” But they refused to talk. They led them away, leaving the Starmen with the four personnel from Starlight Enterprise.

“We know the drone is here somewhere,” Zip said, “we just don’t know where. It couldn’t have gone far. Do you have a way to search the station?”

“I think so,” one of the personnel said. “We should be able to track it by its energy signature. That particular model uses a special nuclear power source that can be tracked from a distance with the right equipment.”

Using a special tracking device that the Starlight Enterprise personnel had brought, the Starmen were able to pinpoint the machine on the island. It had apparently taken refuge inside a large building a short walk away. “Very nice,” Zip commented. “Remind me to ask Richard to start building those into our compads.”

“Don’t forget the popcorn maker, too,” Joe said. “I’ve been wanting that for years.”

The three Starmen and the four Starlight Enterprise personnel raced toward the location specified on the tracking device. “It doesn’t seem to be moving,” Mark noticed. “I wonder what it’s doing.”

“Should we call in any backup units?” a technician named Bradley asked. “We have some on standby in the case of an emergency.”

“Not yet,” Zip said. “Let’s see what is going on first. If trouble breaks out then we’ll call them in.”

In less than five minutes the group found themselves in front of a large glass building. “Cyragon Data Services, LTD,” Mark said aloud, reading a large sign posted on the building’s front lawn. “I’ve never heard of them before.”

“Let’s go!” Zip yelled, sprinting across the lawn toward the building’s entrance. The entire group charged inside, bursting into the lobby. They raced past the startled secretary in the outer office and ran down a long hallway.

“Which way?” Zip said.

“Down here,” a Starlight technician replied, examining the tracking device, “and to the left – no, to the right,” he said. “It looks like the drone is in a big room at the end of the hallway.”

“Got it,” Zip said. Within seconds the entire group had burst into that room. Inside they saw what looked like a large laboratory; parts and equipment were strewn everywhere, and technicians in lab coats were scattered around the room. To one corner Zip spied the drone they had been looking for, standing motionless.

The Starmen’s noisy entrance into the room startled all of the workers in the laboratory. All of them, in unison, turned around to see what had caused the commotion. One of them stepped forward to greet them.

“Hello gentlemen,” he said, stepping forward to extend a hand. “I’m Dr. Lowery, the head of the data retrieval department. How can I help you?”

Zip pointed at the drone. “We’ve come to get him. Do you know what he’s doing here?”

“Ah, you must be from L5! Don’t worry – we’ll be done in just a minute,” Dr. Lowery assured him. “This data core has been badly damaged but I think we can transfer its data to a new unit. Give us another fifteen minutes and we should be good to go.”

“The data core?” Joe asked.

“Why, yes! This is where that data core was first designed. It’s pretty badly damaged, but we have a lot of experience in removing data from damaged data cores. This particular core is actually so old that we’re probably the only laboratory in the world that can do the job. We’ll have it transferred in a few minutes and then you should be good to go.”

“Ah,” Zip said. “Thanks. We’ll get out of your way, then.”

The three Starmen left the room and headed outside.

“Do you need anything else?” Bradley asked.

“No, but thank you,” Zip said. “I think we can handle it from here.”

As the four Starlight Enterprise personnel walked away the three Starmen looked at each other. “So, the drone was told to go fix the data core – “, Zip began.

“- and did exactly that,” Joe responded.

“Yup,” said Mark.

There was silence. “I guess we wait,” Zip said.

“I guess so,” Joe replied.

Fifteen minutes later Zip, Mark, Joe, and the drone were all riding together on a high-speed train, bound for Sharps Chapel, New Jersey. None of them had very much to say.

* * * *

Three hours after leaving the L5 space station Zip, Mark, Joe, and the drone docked once again in the L5 space station. The three Starmen had to fly with the drone because their shuttle, the Red Tiger, had been impounded by the police and was no longer parked in the field.

The pandemonium inside L5 was not nearly as bad as it had been when they left. They had contacted the station while en-route to let them know that they would be back in time, and the crowds became calmer after the emergency lighting had been restored and after they were told that things would be back to normal shortly. The three Starmen followed the drone from the hangar to the power plant, where it placed the repaired data core back into the central computing unit. Within minutes the main lights came back on and the station was back to normal.

Once the lights came back on the Starmen walked upstairs to Alfred Nelson’s office to let him know what had happened. When they arrived at his office they saw that he was now a very happy man.

“The police called after you left New Spindrift,” he told the Starmen. “The men they arrested have began to talk.”

“That’s great!” Zip replied. “What did they have to say?”

“Oh, they said quite enough. It turns out that they were part of a small startup company that had taken residence aboard this station. They were conducting secret nanobot experiments, trying to build self-replicating machines. They didn’t have much money so they decided to hack their way into the power supply of the base to avoid running up a huge electrical bill. They also tried to tap directly into the processing unit of this base to avoid paying computer time fees.”

“Ah,” Joe said.

“The problem is that they didn’t do a very good job. Their hacks caused all kinds of problems; the computer started doing weird things, and they drew so much power that the plant blew a fuse and shorted out the data core. They will be properly punished,” the director said firmly. “I’ll have none of that on board this station! I’m going to seriously improve the security around here.”

“Sounds good,” Zip said. “Did they say what they were doing on New Spindrift?”

“Oh yes!” he replied. “They realized right away what had happened to the space station, and they went to New Spindrift to see if they could expedite the repair process. They arrived shortly before you did, as a matter of fact. When they saw you approaching the drone they thought that you were trying to interfere with it and they attacked you in order to protect it.”

After making sure that there was nothing else they could do, the three Starmen walked back toward their hangar, where they boarded a Starlight Enterprise shuttle. Joe guided the ship out of the hangar into space and then set it on a course that would lead back to Amundsen City.

“So,” Zip said after Joe set the ship on auto-pilot, “what did we accomplish this afternoon?”

“Why, obviously, we saved the L5 space station from a horde of angry Xenobots intent on taking it over,” Joe replied.

“Sounds good to me,” Mark said. And that was all they said until they were back on the Moon.

Chapter 6

After stepping inside the train the three Starmen took a quick look around. They were in a sleek high-speed train that was divided into six compartments. Each compartment had 24 booths, with 12 on the left and 12 on the right. The booths were divided into pairs that faced each other, and each one could sit two people.

“I don’t see him,” Zip said as he briefly scanned the people inside. This compartment was roughly half full.

“Neither do I,” Mark replied. “He must have gone to another compartment.”

A conductor came by. “Please sit down. No one is allowed to be standing up while the train is en route.”

The three Starmen sat down in a nearby booth. “Where is this train going?” Joe asked.

The conductor looked at him in surprise. “To New Spindrift, of course,” he said, referring to the giant floating city off the coast of New Jersey. “This train reaches a top speed of 475 miles per hour, so we should reach it in precisely 32 minutes.”

“That explains it,” Zip said after the conductor walked by. “The drone couldn’t land there so he landed at the nearest town and took the train the rest of the route.”

“Wonderful,” Joe said. “It’s amazing what robots can do these days.”

Mark had his compad out and was studying it intently. “I think the droid is in the next,” he said. “I’m picking up some energy signatures from that cabin that correspond to a nuclear power source. I can’t be sure, but that would be my guess.”

Zip nodded. Calling over the conductor, he asked if they could move to the compartment up ahead.

“That’s the first-class cabin,” the conductor told him. “Do you have first-class tickets?”

Zip took them out and looked at them again. “Um, no,” he said.

“Then I guess you can’t.”

“I don’t suppose,” began Joe, “it would help if we told you that we were after a runaway robot who had stolen a data core from the L5 space station, and that if we don’t retrieve it soon the space station will have to be abandoned.”

“Nope. That is a new one, though! Never heard that excuse before.” The conductor calmly went back to his post, leaving the Starmen sitting there.

“Next time,” Zip said grimly, “we are going to bring our Starman uniforms with us, even if it means going all the way back home to get them. This is ridiculous.”

“Well,” Mark said reasonably, “it looks as if the drone is headed toward New Spindrift. We’re over the ocean now,” he said, pointing outside the window, “and the drone can hardly leave the train while en-route. We know where he is, so we can just wait until he gets there and then make our move.”

“I’ve got an even better idea,” Zip said. “Let’s call Richard and tell him what happened, and see if he can arrange to have the drone met with a reception committee when it arrives. I’m sure that Starlight Enterprise has a significant presence on New Spindrift – it’s mainly a research facility, isn’t it?”

He got out his compad and dialed Richard’s number. Since he was located on the moon and they were on Earth there was a three-second delay on each end of their conversation.

Zip explained the situation to Richard and asked him how things were going on L5. “They haven’t gotten any better since you left 90 minutes ago,” he said grimly. “If you don’t recover that data core in time the station will have to be evacuated. I’ll arrange for some of our personnel to be there when the train arrives. It should not be difficult to intercept an unarmed drone. I only hope that it hasn’t damaged the core any further.”

Zip signed off. Directly across the aisle a little four-year-old girl was staring at them, wide-eyed. She turned to her mother and said “Look, mommy! Those people think they are spies!” The mother hushed her child and picked her up, then turned away from the Starmen and stared out the window.

* * * *

“Twenty more minutes,” Mark said, “until the train arrives. We can wait that long. I’m sure that Richard will have a group awaiting its arrival. Our part, gentlemen, is done.”

“Unless the drone tries to escape,” Zip warned. “It’s done a pretty good job of that already. And we still don’t know what is going on up at L5. For all we know there really may be Xenobots involved.”

“Or their mothers,” Joe remarked.

There was nothing for them to do but wait, so wait they did. After what seemed like an eternity the train pulled into the station.

“Let’s go!” Zip said, jumping up to his feet – but it was already too late. A large crowd had formed as soon as the train started pulling in, and try as they might they could not fight their way through it. The compartment had two exits and both were blocked: one by a man struggling with his luggage, and the other by a very large lady who was talking in a loud voice to her friend about how awful these trains were and how pushy everyone was and how things were so much better on other lines. They seemed content to just stand there and discuss the situation, while the people behind them grew impatient.

The Starmen tried to push their way through the crowd but all they got were some dirty looks from their fellow passengers.

“The windows?” Zip asked his friends.

“Sealed,” Mark said.

Zip sighed.

When they finally made it outside the train they began looking around. “Look!” Zip shouted, pointing. Over in the distance, emerging from the front compartment, was the drone that they were seeking.

“And look over there!” Joe replied, pointing in the opposite direction. Approaching the drone was a group of men, but they were definitely not from Starlight Enterprise.

Chapter 5

“Oh boy,” Joe muttered, as the Starmen raced back to the Red Tiger. “This day just keeps getting stranger.”

“I don’t understand it,” Mark said thoughtfully. “Why would the drone ignore a direct order and evacuate the space station with the data core? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“All I know,” Zip said, “is that if we don’t catch him we’re going to have a huge problem on our hands. I don’t even want to think about what evacuating this station would mean.”

The three Starmen weaved their way through the pandemonium inside the darkened space station and made it to their hangar.

“Of all the rotten luck,” Joe said as they boarded their shuttle and prepared to leave. “Do you realize that if the hangars were without power the drone would never have been able to leave? And just how are we supposed to find the drone once we get into space, anyway?”

“We’ll just have to do the best we can,” Zip said.

Joe sent the signal to open the hangar doors. Once they opened he blasted the shuttle into space, and then had to immediately slow it down.

“Watch it!” Mark yelled, as a massive space freighter loomed their way. Joe turned the shuttle away just in time and desperately tried to cut down his speed.

“What a mess!” he muttered as his hands worked the controls. “Everyone depends on the space station for flight control information. Now that nobody has it everyone is flying blind. It’s all I can do to keep from hitting something.” Joe carefully weaved the ship through the massive traffic jam. He was a good enough pilot to avoid collisions but they weren’t making very good time.

“Of course,” Joe said after a brief pause, “we still have our original problem. How are we going to find out what ship the drone took?”

“Call up the space station and ask them,” Zip said. “Even if their computers are down there has to be someone there who knows what ship was in that hangar. Once we know its transponder number we should be able to track it.”

While Joe tried to keep the ship from being destroyed in a collision Mark attempted to raise the station. Several minutes went by before he was able to get someone to answer his call, and it was ten minutes after that before Mark was finally given the information he wanted.

“This is the one you want to track,” Mark said as he typed some information into the shuttle’s console. “It’s not a very fast ship so we should be able to catch up with it.” The computer recognized the tracking information and brought it up on their overhead display.

By this time Joe had piloted the Red Tiger beyond the immediate vicinity of L5. He looked at the dot on his overhead display and plotted its course. “It appears to be headed for Earth,” he said after a few minutes. “If he keeps on his current course he’s going to land somewhere on the East Coast of the United States.”

“Can you arrange to be there when the ship lands?” Zip asked.

“I think so,” Joe said. “He’s gotten a good head-start but we should be able to make up the time.” Joe entered an intercept course into the ship’s computer and then settled back into his chair.

“We really should call Richard,” Zip said. “I’m sure he’s got to be wondering what is going on and we did promise to let him know as soon as we knew something.”

“Do we know what is going on?” Mark asked. “What are you going to tell him?”

“Well,” Joe said, “we can always tell him that Xenobots have invaded the L5 space station and are trying to destroy the Earth’s oceans, and that we’ve got to stop them before it’s too late!”

“Uh-huh,” Zip said skeptically. “What about the drone?”

“It could be a part of their evil plot!” Joe said, warming to the idea. “They’re forcing everyone to evacuate the base so that they can have it all to themselves.”

“Or not,” Zip replied.

“Or not,” Joe agreed.

“I think the problem is tied to their new drone system,” Mark said thoughtfully. “Maybe the addition of the drones hasn’t gone as well as they thought, and the computer has been doing strange things because it just can’t handle them. The fact that the drone just headed off into space after being told to repair the data core sounds like a piece of defective equipment to me. That could explain the whole mess.”

“Sounds good,” Zip said. “Let’s contact Richard and fill him in. If we can’t retrieve the data core in time then I’m sure SE’s help will be needed to evacuate the station.”

“We’ll get back,” Joe said confidently. “After all, what could happen?”

* * * *

Fifty minutes after leaving L5 Joe Taylor landed the Red Tiger in a small, grassy field. The drone had chosen a small town on the eastern shore of New Jersey as its landing site and Joe arranged for them to be there well before the drone touched down.

“We should have no trouble intercepting the drone and retrieving the data core,” Zip remarked as they stepped out of the shuttle.

“We just have to make sure we don’t damage it any further when we’re retrieving it,” Mark warned.

“We don’t want to make things even worse than they already are. We only have three hours before the station has to be evacuated, you know.”

“Hey there!” someone behind them shouted. They turned around and saw an agitated old man hurrying their way. “What do you think you’re doing there, landing this flying piece of junk in my field?” he asked, brandishing his cane at them.

Zip took a step backwards, surprised. “It’s an emergency,” he said. “A robot has stolen the data core from the L5 space station, and we need to retrieve it before the whole station has to be evacuated. We don’t have much time.”

“A likely story!” he roared. “Runaway robot indeed. Do you guys think you’re Starmen or something? Now you listen here: you get that ship out of my field or I’ll have you all arrested for trespassing and vandalism!”

In the distance, the Starmen saw the ship they had been tracking make a low pass over the city. It was coming in for a landing. Zip realized that the Starmen didn’t have any time to waste if they wanted to catch it before it escaped again.

“I’m sorry,” Zip said, “but we don’t have the time to move the ship right now! We’ve got to go, but we’ll remove the ship as soon as we can.”

“You bet you will!” the old man yelled as the Starmen ran off into the distance. He picked up his cell phone and began making calls. “Young people these days,” he muttered. “What’s the world coming to?”

* * * *

The three Starmen raced down the street, heading roughly in the direction where they saw the drone’s ship land.

“I thought he was going to land nearby,” Mark said.

“I guess he changed his mind,” Joe replied. “I sure wish we had brought our red Starman suits. Zip, are you sure that there weren’t any in the shuttle?”

“Definitely,” Zip said. “I wasn’t exactly planning on making a trip to Earth today.”

Joe took out his compad and activated its tracking function. He soon found the drone’s shuttle – a half-mile away. “We’d better hurry,” Joe said. “If it gets out of sight we’ll never find it.”

The Starmen were able to reach the site within five minutes but found it abandoned. A quick search of the ship turned up nothing. Small tire tracks led from the ship to the road but after that there was no further sign.

“So, what do we do now?” Zip asked.

“I can’t get a fix on the droid on my compad,” Joe said sadly. “It’s a small metal object and there are all kinds of those around here.”

“It’s got to be around here somewhere,” Mark said. “Maybe someone saw it go by.”

“I suppose we could start asking around,” Zip replied. “Which way should we go?”

Joe thought a moment. “Well, the tracks lead to the road, and there’s only one road around here. We took the same road here and it didn’t pass us, so it must have gone the other way.”

“Sounds good,” Zip said. “Let’s get going.”

As the Starmen jogged down the road they saw a red-haired lad coming toward them, riding on a bicycle.

“Hey there!” Joe called out. “You haven’t passed any robots, have you?”

The lad eyed them curiously, said nothing, and pedaled harder. He was soon out of sight.

“He ignored me!” Joe said indignantly.

“Maybe he thought you were crazy,” Mark said helpfully. “How many people do you think come out this way looking for runaway robots?”

“Thousands, I bet,” Joe replied. “Maybe this is where the drone came from. Maybe this is its long-lost home. Maybe it’s returning to the halls of its ancestors.”

“There just doesn’t appear to be anything out here at all,” Zip said. “We’ve jogged for nearly ten minutes and haven’t seen anything but countryside. Does anyone even live out here?”

After a few more minutes they came upon a small country village. The Starmen saw a handful of old houses, a few run-down stores, and a decrepit train station. A few people were milling around, going about their business.

“Excuse me, miss,” Mark said to one lady who had just stepped out of a nearby store with a package in her arms. “Have you seen any robots walk this way?”

The lady eyed him oddly. “No, young man, I have not, nor have I seen any elves or dwarves. If I do, though, you’ll be the first to now.” With that, she hurried off down the street.

“This is not going well,” Joe remarked, after that same question elicited similar responses from everyone else in sight. “You’d think they’d never seen a runaway robot before.”

“Let’s try the train station,” Zip said. “Maybe the drone’s on his way somewhere else.”

“They why not fly there?” Joe asked reasonably. “Why stop here and then take the train to his final destination?”

“Maybe you can’t fly to where he is going,” Zip said mysteriously.

* * * *

The tiny train station was composed of a single wooden building that sat beside a high-speed railway. “I bet not many trains stop at this station,” Mark said. “This doesn’t look like a major metropolitan area to me.”

To their surprise, as they stepped onto the platform they saw that there was already a small high-speed train sitting at the station. “Look!” Joe shouted, pointing. The three of them just caught a glimpse of the drone boarding the train!

The three Starmen raced after it, only to be stopped at the door of the train by a conductor. “Tickets, please,” he said.

“It’s an emergency!” Zip said. “A robot just boarded that train with a data core that it stole from the L5 space station an hour ago. We’ve got to recover it before the station has to be evacuated! We don’t want to ride the train – we just want to get our robot back!”

“Tickets, please” the conductor said calmly.

“A robot just boarded your train,” Joe said in a strained voice. “Didn’t you notice?”

“The robot had a ticket,” the conductor said, “which is something you seem to lack.”

“It’s an emergency,” Joe repeated.

“It always is,” the conductor said calmly.

Zip sighed. “Just go buy three tickets,” he told Joe, “and hurry.”

* * * *

Joe sped off to the ticket booth in a sprint and was thankful (though not surprised) that there was no one in line.

“I’d like three tickets,” he told the lady inside the ticket booth.

“Where would you like to go?” she asked him.

“I don’t care. I just want three tickets for that train that’s about to leave any second with a robot on board.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t give you three tickets with no destination. You have to tell me where you want to go.”

Joe sighed. “Fine. Give us three tickets to the Aquapolis.”

The lady typed at her computer for a minute. “I’m sorry, but this train doesn’t go there. The nearest train that stops at the Aquapolis is 40 miles from here.”

“Oh. So where does this train go?”

“Just about anywhere. I don’t know exactly; I’ve never taken it.”

“Ok,” Joe said slowly, then he got an idea. “A few minutes ago a robot purchased a ticket from this ticket booth. Where did it want to go?”

“I have no idea. I didn’t see any robots. They don’t often take this train.”

Joe noticed that two people were now in line behind him. “What is the name of this town?”

“Sharps Chapel,” she replied.

“Ok, I’ll take three tickets to Sharps Chapel. Can you do that?”

“I suppose,” she said, surprised. She typed away at her computer. “Ok, that will be $89.72.”

Joe opened up his wallet and took out his SmartCard. “Here,” he said, handing it to her.

“I’m sorry, but we only take cash.”

“Cash!” Joe said, surprised. “Do they still have that?”

“The sign says cash only,” the lady said, pointing to a faded, illegible sign that was posted on the ticket window. “That will be $89.72.”

The line behind Joe had grown larger and the people were starting to grumble. “Are you going to pay the lady or not?” the person directly behind him said. “We don’t have all day!”

“ZIP!” Joe yelled.

Zip came sprinting over. “The train is about to leave!” Zip said. “What’s taking so long?”

“We have fallen among philistines who will only accept cash. You don’t happen to have $89.72 on you, do you?”

Zip shook his head, took out his wallet, and handed a $100 bill to the ticket master without saying a word. She calmly took it, gave Zip his change, and handed him his tickets. “Enjoy your trip. Next!”

Zip and Joe sprinted over to the conductor. “Sharps Chapel!” Zip said in surprise, looking at the destination printed on his tickets. “Where’s that?”

Joe sighed. “Don’t ask.”

Zip handed the tickets to the conductor and then the three of them boarded the train. The conductor gave out one final “All aboard!” and then the train began to pull out from the station.