Choices

by Woodsea8885

It's been over two years since The Crash and Betty finds her own dreams of getting home beginning to fade.

LAND OF THE GIANTS

"Choices"

Betty pushed the wrench upwards with all her strength, but the lodged hex nut on the tip of the bolt thread wasn't budging. Not even a fraction. "Ahhh!" she gasped, pissed off and frustrated. The deficiency of a nourishing diet and proper exercise had left her muscle tone lacking, but Betty wasn't about to give in to the frozen piece of hardware.

In front of her, Mark gritted his teeth during his own combat with the gray, metal plate that was bigger than the two of them put together. His job was to keep the large, heavy rectangle in position against the engine room wall while she employed the bolt and hex nut, in turn securing the shield to the wall. She was determined not to let Mark down, and so closed her eyes and concentrated with all everything she had.

"Okay, Betty, stop," Mark grunted. "I can't hold it up any longer."

Betty dropped her arms and stepped back. Beads of sweat dripped from Mark's red face as he lowered the huge cover to the floor. At that instant, the reluctant fastener popped off, clanging to the floor in mocking superiority.

"I'm sorry, Mark. The nut wasn't moving and I just wasn't strong enough to make it move."

"That's okay." Mark huffed for air, bent-over, hands on his knees. "I thought I'd surprise Steve and Dan by having it on and welded home, but I hadn't anticipated its bulkiness or how hard it would be to keep it raised like that. We have no choice but to wait for Steve and Dan. It'll be worth it though." He gave the plate a respectful tap. "This'll give added strength to the weakened bulkhead. It was also pretty stupid of me—not to mention dangerous—to think we could do this by ourselves."

"Kind gestures are hard come by around here," Betty sympathized with a smile. "And it will be the thought that counts, although a little grease on that bolt might help."

Mark sheepishly nodded. "It probably will at that." He straightened up. "Thanks for your help, Betty."

"Anytime . . . ." Betty watched him leave, regret making her frown. She swiveled, aiming her smoldering disappointment at the abandoned project. Another infuriating, endless delay! It was obstacles like this that had kept them stranded there for over two years. How many needed repairs have gone unfinished because they didn't have, or couldn't forge, the right tools or equipment? How many necessities did they live without because they couldn't make it themselves? Betty had lost count. To make matters worse, it seemed of late that they no sooner got one problem fixed when three more essentials broke. It was irritating, disheartening, and, most of all, this constant battle was bringing them all down—and keeping them there. What really scared Betty, though, was that she didn't see an end, or a solution, to this dilemma any time soon, and no repairs completed meant no going home. Even now, her spirits sat on the edge. Betty blocked out the grim reality from her mind and hurried forward to the main hatch. It was time she did her own chores anyway.

Within minutes, Betty had the wash-station set-up, the acorn bucket filled with their stored supple of boiled water. Albeit, they didn't have hot water for proper sterilization of the eating equipment, but at least they rested assured that what water they did have was germ- and bacteria-free. Scrubbing the dried-on food from the plates, Betty began feeling sadness seep into her already gloomy mood. She tried to brush aside the nagging futility of their forced imprisonment, but couldn't. This wasn't the first time—and it wouldn't be the last—that she had become morose. She didn't want to stay this way, so she turned to the one, tried-and-true trick that always cheered her up—music. She hummed a goofy little ditty, one of several her mom had taught her as a little girl. The problem was the words were too fun not to give them a soft voice, "Ladybug, silver dollar, rabbit's foot, with a four-leaf clover and a horseshoe. Wishbone, shamrocks, got me shook, singing abracadabra in a cat's eye. I wonder,

wonder—"

"BETTY!"

Betty jumped at the sharp yell behind her, spinning toward the caller. It was Steve. He and Valerie were passing into the clearing, carrying a giant slice of peach between them. Valerie was smiling proud and triumphant, whereas Steve looked grim and annoyed.

"Oh! You scared me!" Betty gasped, hand on chest, heart racing. "I didn't hear you."

"My point exactly," Steve said as they deposited the peach under a nearby sapling. He sauntered over, hands on his hips. When Steve did that, Betty knew he meant business. "Betty . . . ," –she could tell by his tense inflection that he wanted to berate her for being careless, yet kept his reaction under control—, "We enjoy your singing, you know that, but your voice carries so you have to quit it before you bring the giants down on us."

Betty frowned bitterly and nodded. She understood all right! she thought as she reined in her annoyance. She felt bad about endangering the camp, but she'd just been coming out of her low mood and now she was back in the dumps again!

"Hey, come see what we found!" Valerie waved at the fruit in an obvious attempt to distract her. "Isn't it terrific?"

"That's quite a find," Betty said, moseying over. She took a strong whiff its sweet aroma.

"It'll be tasty, if not filling," Steve commented while scrutinizing his sleeve. "And I've gotten juice on my jacket. I'd better wash it off before dirt begins to stick to it. Or a bee decides to investigate," he grinned wryly. "Be right back." He trotted to the lean-to, disappearing beyond the other side of the support poles where a water-filled wash bucket was permanently stationed.

Betty eyed the orange chunk. "Can I give you a hand cutting it up?" she asked with hopeful anticipation. "I'm nearly done here." Betty was bored of her monotonous drudge work.

"No, thanks," Valerie grinned. "I can handle it." She was bouncing on her toes, something she often did when she was energized. "It'll give me something to do for the next couple of hours." She shrugged, almost as though an apology. "To keep me from going stir crazy. You know how I am."

Betty's optimism plummeted. She looked at the table-rock where most of the dishes were drying, hiding her fresh disappointment behind a good-natured nod and an understanding smile. She returned to her chores and moments later, was adding the last dish to its cleaned mates when Steve came strolling back.

"All right," Steve enthused, grounding his palms together. "Let's see about cutting this beauty up."

As the two strategized. Betty clenched her teeth to keep her irritation from showing. Of course,

Valerie wouldn't want her help—she had Steve's. Betty grabbed the bucket, dumping its soiled water out at the edge of the glade, targeting the ship's galley, glad for an excuse to escape their eager, exclusive discussion.

Once inside the tiny kitchen, Betty restored the item to its designated location. About-facing, she stepped into the cabin, and stopped dead in her tracks, a brazen realization hitting her like a bucket of ice water. The kitchen was pristine, the cabin was pristine, the entire camp was pristine—there was nothing else for her to do! This would be the core of her life for the rest of her life. Betty's knees went weak. A rush of air escaped her as she dropped into the nearest chair. She gasped, drowning in the bleak future. Betty couldn't pretend any longer. Discarding her cheery, stable façade, she surrendered to the blatant misery compressing her chest in the form of great sobs.

Betty didn't know how long she'd been there, but she was grateful no one had come in. She didn't want to be found like this. There would have been a big to-do about it, full of exaggerated concern and endless questions. She felt embarrassed enough as it was and a detail inquisition would have made it that much worse. She gathered herself together, washing away the evidence via the galley water bucket. If anyone commented on her red eyes, she would tell them that she had flushed dust specks out of them. Betty then pulled on the blithe mask she wore these days and went on the hunt to find, and sharpen, the scissors since Valerie had mentioned that she needed a trim.

=/=/=

Betty tapped the scissors against her folded arms, her patience strained, her irritation rising while Barry fidgeted on the small boulder. His brown, tousled mop had grown inches below his shirt collar and it was time to cut it. How short she'd be allowed was the debate Barry was now enforcing. "But it'll look much better and be easier to keep clean—"

"No!" Barry snapped. "I like it long."

"It'll grow, I promise you," Betty shot back, miffed. This wasn't totally unexpected. She had noticed Barry arguing more and more with the adults, developing a stubborn will the longer they stayed there and the closer he grew to puberty. At this moment, however, she wasn't in the mood to deal with it. "Barry, it'll be the same length I've always cut it to."

"Not this time!" Barry vaulted to his feet, jerking off the rag tucked around his collar to keep the hair off his neck. "Never mind! I'll go talk to the men. They'll understand." He thrust the cloth at her. "Come, Chipper." He slapped his hand against his thigh, stalking away, the littler terrier bolting to his side.

Betty opened her mouth to protest, but before she could, Barry sprinted into the forest. She grinded her teeth, staring at the scissors. Had there been anything else than the sharp instrument in her hand, she gladly would have lobbed it to vent some aggravation. But since she couldn't, her only option was to put the cutters away. Betty turned to Spindrift and stopped. Steve was standing on the rock-step. He must have witnessed the confrontation because he was staring in the direction Barry had taken.

"He's growing up," he said, eyeing her with empathy.

"Aren't we all?"

"I said 'up', not older," he corrected, hopping off the step.

"I know what you said," Betty replied, melancholy washing over her as she slipped past him to the main hatch.

=/=/=

Betty couldn't stopped thinking about the emotional hits everyone had taken over the last few days, and she had to wonder just how much more could they all take? She leaned back in the swivel chair, seeing nothing above her, not even the ceiling, desiring to lose her disjointed thoughts. The compartment had no windows and due to the solid construction of the spacecraft, incoming sounds were filtered to almost nil. When the hatch was shut—like now—the utility room became pitch black. The room was also centered at the back end of Spindrift, between the passenger cabin and engineer cubicle, making this the ideal spot to be alone. To think. Or not. And after the last few roller coaster days, especially and because of the incident with Barry, Betty needed to escape, having holed up there ever since.

She didn't need the lights on to know what was in there because she knew the particulars by heart. During Spindrift's former travel days, this had been her supply closet, holding extra parts, emergency gear, and whatnot. Since their landing, this had become a true utility room. Rectangular in shape, the narrow compartment was crammed with a folding table and a couple of chairs, along with miscellaneous objects and giant pieces of salvaged finds discovered during their endless scavenger hunts with promises of someday being useful. Mark's make-shift tools, too, were stored here. During incumbent weather or if danger was close to by, this was where required tasks were performed.

Betty was doing her upmost to immerse herself in memories of home when the hatch unexpectedly rolled open, drenching the room in muted light.

"Betty?" Mark asked surprised, his imposing statue filling the threshold. "Are you hiding out here?"

There was no way around it. "Yes . . . ." Betty trailed off. "Don't we all from time to time?"

A curious expression flashed across Mark's face and he stepped inside, allowing the room to flood with even more light. At the table, he picked up the abandoned book that was lying open. He looked from the tradeback to her, his eyebrows rising quizzically. "The Stewardess' Handbook?"

Betty shrugged, a little uncomfortable and not really wanting to talk. "I'm trying to remember what it is I'm supposed to be."

"You're our stewardess," Mark said without hesitation.

Betty let out a bitter guffaw. "Your stewardess, right. I'm landlocked on a place I don't want to be . . . with passengers who no longer need me . . . my stomach growls every day from lack of food . . . I can't take a hot bath—in privacy! I'm not allowed to sing, and anything and everything that there is to possibly do around this camp is DONE!" Betty snatched the book from of his hand. "'What to do in case of an emergency landing: keep the passengers calm and apply immediate medical treatment to the injured. Above all, don't panic!'" Betty shot to her feet, consumed by all-too-long-repressed rage and endless pretense: at Barry, their squalor, the annihilation of her peaceful moment, and most of all, this God-forbidden planet! "Too bad it doesn't say anything on how to survive in a land of giants!" Betty pitched the book at the wall with all her pent up emotions, storming out before the stunned Wilson could respond. Betty didn't feel like explaining herself or apologizing for her actions. Or of making a bigger fool out of herself than she had just done . . . .

=/=/=

Her head propped on her upright hand, Betty hypnotically watched the dancing flames of the evening cook fire, ignoring her camp mates as they continued on around her. She still couldn't believe her reaction to Mark's innocent comment. She had never been that enraged before, never. Was it because of their situation, or because she was changing? And was this change for the better or the worse? From what she had done earlier, she'd say it was for the worst. It left her exhausted, ashamed, and worried. Out of the corner of her miles-away-mind, Betty heard an approaching figure but didn't break her gaze. She didn't want to and found no reason why she should.

"You didn't eat anything," Valerie kindly said, picking up the dinner plate resting by Betty's arm. She and Mark had dishwashing duty that night.

"I wasn't hungry." Not hearing a usual flippant reply, Betty glanced up in time to see Val share a concerned expression with Steve. Betty was too melancholy to care and returned her focus to the fire.

"It's been a long day," said Steve. "And the moon is almost overhead, which means—"

"—bedtime. Yes, Captain, by this time we all know what it means," Fitzhugh groused, rising to his feet.

Betty allowed a crack of an amused smile to break through. Steve was their human-alarm clock and, after so many years, when he said it was time for bed nobody argued with him anymore.

"Good night, Captain. Everyone," said Barry, Chipper clued to his side, strolling in tandem with Fitzhugh.

By the accompanying sounds, Betty could tell everyone was leaving, but she made no action to follow. She could sense Steve's eyes on her and waited for his command, surprised when he didn't give it. Maybe, for once, he could tell that she was in no state to be herded, ordered, or pushed. Much to her astonishment, he retired without saying a single word to her.

=/=/=

Steve had no idea how long he'd been asleep when he felt the tickle at the back of his throat. It started small and a quick swallow took care of it, but the annoyance soon spread until he was outright coughing. Not wanting to keep his lean-to mates awake, he slid from his bunk, targeting the water bucket on the far side of the support pole. As Steve raised the hand-sewn ladle, he glanced at the now-smoldering fire pit, and did a double take. The site lie center in the dirt-portion of the encampment, surrounded by a stout rock barrier, which they covered with leaves when not in use, to hide from accidental discovery. And though there was little danger of setting the forest ablaze (as well as their home), it had become his habit to check. Steve squinted, perceiving Betty's shadowy form illuminated against the dying embers. Still as a statue, he doubted she had moved a muscle since they had left. He gave his watch a peek, again out of habit, and with concern driving him, meandered over. Betty gave no acknowledgement of his presence even as he assumed a perch on the rock near her.

"Why are you still up?" he whispered.

"Trying to remember what it's like to live normally." Her eyes never left the flickering pit, her face stoic. "Steve? You date a lot when we were back home?" she whispered back.

"Average, I guess."

"Have anyone steady?"

Steve grinned, amused, and a little flattered. Outside of Dan, he hadn't talked to the Spindrift strandees about his life on Earth, especially not the women and definitely not about his girlfriends. "No."

"Any one girl you miss in particular?"

Steve had no doubts that he and Betty were friends, close friends, but these odd, out-of-the-blue questions made him wonder—and worry—if she was wanting to take their friendship to a deeper level? "No—why are you asking?" He leaned forward.

Sorrow encompassed Betty's voice. "I'm trying to remind myself what it is I'm so in a rush to get back to." She shook her head. "I can't think of anything." She shrugged. "So I thought I'd borrow someone else's dreams."

Steve felt like a fool and, the truth be told, a little disappointed. He missed a woman's companionship—he was human after all—except the idea of a relationship here was too dangerous, the fallout immeasurable. He had been determined from the start that nothing would develop as long as the seven of them were stuck there. Be that as it may, Betty's unorthodox question sent up a red flag. None of the others had made such comments and for her to do so—the most responsible and uplifting person of their group—it scared him to think that Betty's fortitude might be crumbling. "It's late. You'd better get some sleep." He stood, watched her for a second as she stared into the fading embers, and then left for bed. Steve wasn't gonna nag her, not this time. He'd been there himself, occasions when he had needed to be alone, and understood.

=/=/=

Several evenings had passed since Betty had done an intent observation of the group's emotional status. What she saw frightened her to the core. On the surface, everyone looked like they were coping, but when she had peered closer, there were cracks she hadn't noticed before. This night, Betty lay still, analyzing the sounds in the dark, cool cabin from the passenger chair in which she had been resting. Valerie's gentle snoring above told her the woman was in a sound sleep. Betty angled closer to the window, needing a better view outside. She had waited these past few days—nervous, impatient, hating every minute of it—fearful that her plans would not align. But tonight it had and was well worth it. The night was perfect: clear, bright, the full moon off to her right confirming the lateness of the hour. Betty studied the shelter vicinity for the slightest signs that one of the menfolk—as Valerie fondly called them—might be up and about, but there was no indication of it. Assured, Betty rose and went to her bunkmate. She found Valerie facing outward, luckily, or else the action of making the woman turn over might have woken her to a state where she might have comprehended what Betty was about to tell her.

"Valerie," Betty whispered. The replying silence confirmed that Val was in her usual near-dead repose. "Valerie, it's Betty." She gave the redhead a little shake.

"Ummm?" Miss Scott mumbled. She shifted, her eyes remaining shut.

"You need to tell Steve something for me."

"Tell Steve for you . . . ," she parroted.

"Tell Steve I went to church."

"Church . . . will do," she muttered, turning over with a groggy sigh.

Betty crept through the cabin toward Spindrift's main hatch, having done this so many times in the dark that she could make her way anywhere in the ship with her eyes shut. At the main control panel, she flipped the lever down to full open position. While the shield slid away, she retrieved the razor-hatchet from the corner where it gets housed at night for emergency purposes. Betty paused on the threshold lip, further surveying the resting encampment. Other than the indigenous life making its presence known in the woods, she heard and saw nothing from those in the lean-to, including Chipper. Betty took a long, deep breath. It was now or never. . . .

=/=/=

Steve tucked his shirt in on his way back to camp, his eyes blinking against the rising sun's rays spotlighting through the trees. They'll need to construct a new latrine and wash station here soon, he made a mental note as he neared the lean-to. The project wasn't a priority, but a top consideration all the same. Steve grabbed his jacket off the bunk bed post, shrugging into it, giving his watch a glance. The "menfolk" were handling chores, but he'd yet to see the women. It was possible, and most probable, that Betty was already getting water or something. She always was an early riser. Val, on the other hand, had been and still was a sound sleeper, needing an occasional prodding to get her moving.

Steve felt a devilish whim came over him, one that was too good to resist. An evil grin sprouted as he jogged through the ship into the cabin. Sure enough, Valerie remained blissfully snuggled under the covers. Knowing how much Val hated when he did this, Steve's wicked smile grew. He sucked in air then trumpeted at the top of his lungs, "Time to get up, ladies!" Val groaned in protest, turning over. Steve glanced at Betty's hammock, not too surprised to find it empty, except he had yet to see her, and it was unlike her to leave without telling someone. A spark of alarm began to form. "Valerie, where's Betty?"

"She went to church," Val replied through garbled words, pulling the blanket over her head.

Steve blinked. He must not have heard her right. "What? What did you say?"

Valerie threw off the blanket, her eyes wide as plates, instantly awake. "Church! She said she was going to church."

Steve's stomach dropped to his feet. He shook his head, hands on his hips. "That makes no sense!"

"I know! I know!" Val struggled upright, her face in full panic. "But that's what she said, that was she was going to church! I'm sorry, Steve. If I'd realized what she was saying, I would have stopped her." She dropped from the hammock, wavering on her landing.

Steve put a hand on her shoulder, steadying her while searching for logic in her explanation, but there was none. "Did she say which church, where?"

Val's brow crinkled. "No."

"Son of a—" Steve hit the nearest seat with his palm and spun on his heel, marching out before he berated Val with his fury. At the entrance threshold, he stood, torn between staying and going after Betty, but too much time had passed. He also had no idea in which direction she'd gone, or what church she was referring too. "Damn it!" This time, his hand smacked the wall.

"Steve? What's wrong?" Dan asked. He was sharpening the axe with their homemade whet stone while Barry held the weapon fixed in place over a low rock.

"It's Betty . . . ," Steve sighed.

=/=/=

Steve could feel his jaw aching and rubbed it. Because of the Betty-situation, he'd been clamping it all day and although he had tried to stop, he was so tense and anxious, he found himself unconsciously clenching it. With a continuous swing of the axe, he took his vexation out on the twigs, chopping the slender limbs into fire fuel. He tossed the wood onto the accumulated pile under the foot of a leafy bush, hidden from the eyes of hunting giants. Steve straightened, pausing to watch the balancing act happening at the lean-to. Mark had Barry on his shoulders while the lanky teenager tightened the top support rope of the tarp that formed their improvised dormitory. Spectators Valerie, Fitzhugh, Dan, plus Chipper, stood close by to catch Barry should he fall. Under normal conditions, their performance would have been a rare and much-needed, however brief, moment of distracting "entertainment," but Steve was in no state to enjoy it. He faced the setting sun listening, willing, for sounds signaling Hamilton's return.

"Give her time, Steve," Dan said, sidling beside him. "The nearest church would still take her over four hours round trip, not including hiding time."

"Four hours is a long time for one of us to be alone."

"Betty's an expert at evasion, and . . . ," Dan glimpsed over his shoulder at the shelter, dropping his voice, "and she has the most common sense out of all of them. Plus, she did take a razor-hatchet with her."

"She shouldn't have gone in the first place!" Steve snapped. "She could put all of us in jeopardy, and let's not mention the risk of her getting captured!"

"So what member of this team hasn't been caught?"

Steve looked to him, grim fear behind his thoughts. "And what if something other than that happens to her? We'll never know the truth. We'll be left always wondering, worrying, hoping. . . ."

"We just have to pray that that never happens. I still pray, how 'bout you?"

Steve nodded, reluctant, worried, none the least placated.

"Hey. We have to trust that Betty knows what's she's doing. After all, she has given you the least amount of trouble. Let her have our trust. And her due."

Steve folded his arms, observing the vanishing sun. "Easier said than done."

Dan gave him an assuring slap on the shoulder. "Try anyway. I'm gonna go for more water. You want to join me? Trek off some of that tension?"

Steve pursed his lip and nodded.

=/=/=

Betty came to the edge of their encampment and paused, biting her lip to calm her nervousness. She could see the group clearly, their somber faces highlighted by the wavering cook fire. On their laps were plates, but no one, with the exception of Fitzhugh, was eating. They were tense and alert, an indication that they had heard the crackle of the tree branch she had bumped into not far from there. Betty was "home" and as relieved as she was to be there, she knew there was no way to avoid the furious storm awaiting her. Doesn't matter, Betty iterated. She still would have done what she did, in which case there was no further reason to postpone the inevitable. She squared her shoulders, braced herself for the eruption, and then, with hands clutched behind her back, ambled into the darkened gathering like someone who had taken a simple stroll around the block.

Chipper growled, adding a short bark, at the same time Valerie did a double take, catapulting from the log. "Betty's back!" she shouted, quite happily to Betty's surprise.

"Evening, everyone," Betty said as breezy as possible, moseying to the cook pit and prepping herself for the execution squad to take aim.

"Have a nice trip?" said Mark with blunt sarcasm.

And there was the first shot. Betty swallowed her nervousness, strengthening her resolve. "As a matter of fact, I did."

Steve, his enraged eyes burning into her, hurdled off the log, charging like a bull, just like she had expected. Nevertheless, she took a fearful step backwards.

"Where have you been?" he snarled. "We've been worried sick about you!"

Betty glanced at Valerie. "Church. Like I said," she feigned innocently.

"You never do that again or you're grounded to the ship for a month, you understand?!"

Betty came close to blurting out what she knew, but, instead, forced her knowledge into a faux frown while her voice oozed sincerity. "It won't ever happen again, I promise. I apologize for scaring you, Steve, I'm really sorry." She peered around him. "All of you." She faced Steve. "I had to get away. A mini-vacation of sorts. I was holed up in one of the burrows not far from here. It's always looked like a church to me, so I wasn't in any danger. Again, I apologize." By Steve's taut expression, she knew he wanted to wring her neck, but the softening in his eyes said he was also satisfied with her explanation, and very much relieved she was back.

Steve leaned into her, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Don't ever, EVER do that again!" With that, he turned on his heel, marching back to his seat.

Val sashayed over, taking Steve's place in front of Betty. In her hand, she carried a dinner plate. "He'll get over it," she whispered.

Betty stiffened with annoyance: Val was telling her this when it's been she who's told Valerie this on more occasions than she can remember?!

"You're here and you're safe and that's all that matters." Val held the plate out to her. "Dinner?"

"Thank you, but I'm not hungry. I think I'll go to bed." Betty snuck a last peek at Steve. He was fuming and would be for a while, but she was glad that the explosion hadn't been worse. Except, there was still morning to face . . . .

=/=/=

Betty was staring down at the dishes she was again washing (but hardly seeing), philosophizing about the future, when she heard underbrush rustle not far from camp. Her gaze snapped to that direction, sighting a flash of red. It was Steve, Dan, and Mark returning from a routine scouting mission. It had been four weeks since her own excursion, and the fall-out had been tough. Val and Dan had acted like nothing had happened, whereas Mark, Fitzhugh, and even Barry had given her the cold shoulder. As for Steve, it had taken him almost two weeks before he would look her in the eye again, let alone address her. Betty understood and accepted their wrath. What ultimately displaced their resentment was the discovery of treasure: precious supplies and materials they could use to repair Spindrift, or make what they needed. Their dreams of going home reignited, thus her misconduct had been forgotten.

Betty guessed that this trip had been just as successful, judging by the elation on the men's faces. Jogging to the edge of the lean-to, she called inward, "Val, Barry, the guys are back and they're smiling up a storm!"

The two emerged, Chipper in tow, meeting up with her just in time to welcome the four men home. Fitzhugh cradled a strawberry. Behind him, Dan and Steve carried between them a large piece of silver sheet metal while Mark shouldered a single glass lens, a thick one from what Betty could tell.

"So tell us!" Valerie urged, all smiles herself. "It's obvious you're excited about your findings but why?"

Mark's smile was enormous, a trait rare for him. "This will complete the repair on the hull!"

"Seriously?!" Val grabbed Barry into an exuberant bear-hug, catching the surprised teenager off-guard, who yelled, prompting Chipper into an excited tizzy, dancing and barking about their feet.

Fitzhugh, overjoyed, clapped his hands. "That's fantastic!" He scooped up the agitated terrier. "You hear that, Chipper, ole boy? We're one step closer to leaving this despicable realm!"

"Mark? What else is on Spindrift's to-do list?" Betty knew there weren't many repairs left, but she wanted to keep her optimism in check, nonetheless.

"We need wiring to update some of the electrical systems, but the hull was the most vital. And this," he taped the lens, "should charge up the solar batteries, once and for all." His smile slipped away. "However, we still need fuel to do actual taxiing, which, unfortunately, could take a while. That's it, outside of those things."

"So there's a real chance we could be going home, say, in a couple of months?" Barry guardedly said.

"I'd say there was more than a good chance."

Betty couldn't keep herself from smiling despite her wary doubts. It was a thrill, too, to see the others so ecstatic.

"Of course, we can't get our hopes up too high," cautioned Steve, his purposeful gaze falling on each of them. "We could find the wire next week or six months from now. We don't get excited until Mark gives us the final say-so. We have to continue working as we have been and not get foolish—or careless—understood?" His docked his eyes on Valerie and Fitzhugh. "Understood?" And kept them there until the couple responded.

"Yes, Captain," Valerie exhaled, resigned but accepting.

Fitzhugh frowned, obviously displeased at Steve's insinuation, but answered with a firm, "Understood."

Steve then cast his sights on Betty, crossing his arms in wait.

Betty raised an eyebrow, surprised and saddened that he still didn't trust her. Regardless, she held up her palm and said "Promise" with clear conviction.

=/=/=

Over the course of the week, it was hard for them not to get excited, their emotions straining toward euphoria because every several days someone was bringing home another vital element that aided Spindrift to readiness.

As Betty cut up the giant banana, she smiled, reflecting on, and grateful for, the happiness her companions had exuded since the discoveries. It had been a long time since she'd seen them so energetic and full of life. Especially Barry and Valerie, who were playing ball with Chipper. Barry was a boy, a budding teenager, who needed kids his own age to interact with. Of late, she had noticed he was starting to lose himself here. Betty had grown up with several brothers, older and younger, and recognized the signs. She had tried talking to him, but Barry didn't want to hear it. As for Valerie, it was easy to tell that the reckless, unruly heiress had been beaten down by this ultimate adventure. If their luck held, Betty speculated, then they wouldn't have to endure this planet much longer.

Betty heard muted laughter coming from the forest and turned pausing, watching, listening. It could only be Dan, Steve, and Mark, but they had never acted with such abandonment before, not in all the months they'd been there—too dangerous—so something was up. She could see their jubilant faces even through the spotty openness of the thicket. She exchanged surprised looks with Barry and Valerie, her eyebrows cocked high with curious disbelief. In tandem, they hurried to the tree line. Mark emerged first. On his shoulder, he held secure the front end of a long, brown cylinder. Steve came next, balancing the cylinder's end likewise. To Betty, the thing resembled a lipstick case. What she didn't see was Dan, except the men were too jolly for there to have been trouble. "Where's—" but then she heard the soft pounding of running feet, Dan charging into the glade a second later.

"No one's following us," he announced with an ear-to-ear grin.

"Good to know," Valerie quipped, enfolding her arms and eyeing them like a disapproving parent. "Care to explain yourselves?"

"So what is that thing?" Barry cut in as the men set the canister down under a low hanging brush, Betty noticing the location being a good distance from the ship.

"Well, if I'm not mistaken," happiness encompassed Mark's face, "engine fuel! We're going HOME!" He joyously swept Val into his arms, twirling her around with atypical abandonment. "Fuel was the last thing we needed to get home on!" He returned Valerie to her feet, but she catapulted back into his arms with a delirious shriek of "YES! Hurray! We're going home!"

Betty giggled, watching the overjoyed yet still disbelieving Fitzhugh and Barry (Chipper clutched in his arms) face-to-face with Steve and Dan, repeating, "Are you sure?" and "This is all we need?" to the pilots' gleeful responses and confirming nods. "Mark is quite positive." "We have to re-examine the bulkheads, but otherwise, we'll have everything we need." Betty suddenly felt awash with sadness. They had all adjusted better than she ever dreamed they'd be able to. All the same, they now had to face that their world was about to get flipped over again—they needed to think about and prepare themselves for, the new challenges about to come.

"Betty?" Dan asked, snapping her back to the present. "Aren't you excited? We're close to leaving this place!"

Betty forced a smile. "'Course I am." She gathered Dan into a tight embrace. When she released him, he regarded her with uncertainty, yet said nothing as he stepped away to hurry into the ship.

"So where did you get the fuel?" she heard Fitzhugh ask the Spindrift pilots.

"The cylinder's a cigarette lighter," Steve said, a wide grin prevailing. "What they call lighter fluid here is close to rocket fuel back home. Problem was few giants actual smoked on this planet, which is why it was so difficult finding a full case of it . . . ."

=/=/=

Betty dug her fingers into her crossed arms. Steve, Dan, and Mark were doing the final inspection of Spindrift. This could be it: they day they finally go home! Restless, excited, scared, Betty paced camp to alleviate her edginess. Barry was doing a combination chasing-wrestling game with Chipper, no doubt to hide his own fears. And Valerie was teaching Fitzhugh how to waltz. Both giggled during the effort, but it was strained gaiety. Something made Betty turn to the spaceship at the same instant the three men appeared at the hatch opening, their beaming faces making her heart race.

"Attention, everyone," Steve called. "As captain of this ship, it is my duty to inform you to make sure your seats are in the upright and locked position, seat belts buckled during lift off for our flight home!"

Betty felt light-headed as rapturous cheers and laughter erupted around her. The next thing she knew, she was whisked into the air, embraced so tight it was hard to breathe. It was Mark.

The celebration ritual continued for several minutes until Steve called out, dictating loud and clear "All right, everyone, listen up! We need to prep the ship for take-off tonight!Same routine as before: we get rid of all the excess weight, we leave at dusk to avoid giants, and minimize the risk of detection. You've been through this before, you know what to do, so let's get to it."

For Betty, the next few hours were a blur . . . .

"Is that it?" Valerie asked from her perch on the small mountain of suitcases piled in the shelter. "Is everything out of the ship?" She scanned the area, her hesitant smile growing. She turned to Barry. "I think it is. Let's go tell Steve!" She sprung to her feet, grabbing Barry's hand, dragging the boy with her in her charge to Spindrift, Chipper trotting after them.

Alone by herself, Betty's collage of emotions collided as she surveyed the abandoned luggage and needless equipment, a tear seeping from her eye's corner. Would they see the camp again? They had prepped for take-off before only to have their hopes dashed by circumstances out of their power. Except Betty knew in her bones that this occasion was different. This would be their final hours on this dangerous, oversized planet.

"Betty." She spun toward Steve's voice. He stood in the threshold of the main hatch wearing the biggest smile she'd ever seen him exhibit. A thousand times she had observed him in that same exact stance, usually stern but always preoccupied about something. Would she see that again, or are his enormous troubles about over?

"Everything's completed," he said. "The sun's going down . . . time to go." He went inside.

Betty took one last look at their pathetic, little homestead. The setting sun was already giving the camp a lonely, deserted feel. It hadn't been the best of places, nor the worst, but they had survived here and because of that this "home" would hold a particular place in her heart.

Betty mounted the stone-step to Spindrift, digging into her memory and resurrecting her flight training. Sorrow filled her. The bare truth was these folks were now seasoned survivors, making her career expertise useless. She sunk her teeth into her lip to hide her feelings as she crossed into the cabin, aiming for her designated seat at the back of the row. On the way, she observed her passengers. Everyone was belted in and gripping the armrests, except for Barry, who held Chipper firmly on his lap. Betty couldn't help but smile. The scene was reminiscent of that first fateful take-off. Back then, influenza had grounded many airport crews while severe storms wreaked havoc upon airport schedules all over the world. The Spindrift strandees were jittery and anxious then too. Everyone except Valerie Ames Scott. She had curled up into her chair and was fast asleep with nary a worry to disturb her. Not this trip, though, Betty observed. The redheaded jetsetter was wide awake, her fingertips drumming rapidly on the armrest, her expression flashing between fearful and elation.

Betty swung into her seat from whence she had a clear view of everyone. She thought of the viewports, but a quick glance confirmed they were already shut. One more item off her checklist, done by someone else. she leaned back in the cushion and let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding. All was ready. She tried to relax, but knew she wouldn't. Not until this trip was over and done with. Betty then did what she always did to calm herself during a rough flight: breathing exercises. The discipline was working fine until she heard the gentle engines kick in and felt the craft's subtle vibration. She replayed over in her mind the routine, listening for any signs of a problem, and, as she had done during previous flights, counting the different stages the spaceship went through during startup. It was the game she had invented to pass those monotonous moments grounded in her chair. At stage three, Betty felt the increased power. This was it! She released the seat strap and bolted for the compartment door.

"What are you doing?" Mark roared behind her.

"Checking the entrance locks!"

Mark flew to his feet. "The locks were—"

"—Mister Wilson, get in your seat and stay there!" Betty ordered with an intensity she had never acted out before. "I have to make sure!" Seeing the stunned look on Wilson's face, she knew he would do what he'd been told. She didn't get mad often, but when she did, nobody argued with her. She sped into the corridor, securing the cabin hatch behind her. Next, initiating the main hatch to open, she pulled a piece of paper from her pocket, dropping it to the floor. Betty exited Spindrift, securing that hatch and locking it down, too, before sprinting to the far border of the clearing. Halting beside the big rock, she intently waited, watched and listened. The jets were on full power now and in any second the ship would start moving. Betty couldn't hold back her tornadic emotions any longer, the tears falling in distraught sobs. She took off into the forest. She didn't need to see the final take-off—she'd hear it.

Betty didn't stop running despite the forming shadows of the fading light, until she knew she was nearing the blast out oak tree, so named because of the lightning burn down its trunk. She slowed, not only to catch her breath, but to call up her resolve and brush the moisture from her face. She saw the giant figure standing ahead, but she remained undaunted. Betty came to a stop. "I'm here, Mr. Akman," she shouted upwards.

The elderly Akman turned at the sound of her voice then dropped to a knee. "Did your friends leave okay?"

"I don't kn-know," she choked out. Betty cleared her throat. "I didn't stay to find out. I-I couldn't. But the engine sounded strong so I'm guessing—"

"—You're doing a very brave thing, Miss Betty, even if your friends don't know it. Exchanging your life for parts so they could return to Earth . . . ," he shook his head, "I don't know any other person who would make such a sacrifice."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Betty frowned, her bravado threatening to desert her.

"I promise you, I won't ever let you regret your decision to stay and help me with my town."

Betty smiled at his kindness. "I knew you wouldn't. That's why I went to you for help."

He reached out his hand and, with utmost care, picked Betty up. Protectively cradling her in his palm, he carried to her new home.

=/=/=

Mark looked from the cabin hatch to his watch, his tension escalating the longer Betty failed to return. Feeling the rumble of the ship revving higher for its final power-up, he knew time had run out. He sprinted to the rear intercom, snatching up the microphone, "Steve!" he yelled into it. No answer. "Dan!" Again, nothing. Mark charged to the front. He gave the control button a single pound, flexing and unflexing his fists while the hatch inched open. When it was wide enough, Mark pushed himself through. In that instant Spindrift jolted hard. Mark went sprawling to the floor, half-in half-out of the cabin.

=/=/=

Steve rounded his station, checking every cockpit instrument, quelling the thrill of the occasion in lieu of professional discipline. It was too early to celebrate. All readings were as they should have been except the engine temperature, which was steadily rising. That and Spindrift wasn't moving in spite of Dan giving her the gas.

"Damn it! She must be caught on something!" Dan sprung from his chair, dodging from one panel to another in pursuit of a cause.

"Like what? We've checked everything!"

"I don't know! A root or something!" Getting a whiff of burnt rubber, Dan spun around to the row of lights behind him, spotting the whist of smoke curling through the fine gap of the panel door. "She's starting to smoke!"

"Shut her down before the burn causes a chain reaction!" Steve ordered, frenetically flipping switches.

Dan dove back into his chair, the two scrambling to implement the shut-down procedure even as several alarms sounded and additional panels signaled distress with their own black smoke.

=/=/=

Mark recognized the sound of the hatch closing in automatic emergency response and reacted like-wise, flinging himself back into the cabin. Landing supine, Mark's next decision was obliterated by Valerie's shrill alarm, "I smell something burning!"

"So do I," exclaimed Fitzhugh, his hands gripped white on the armrests.

"The engines have shut down!" Barry yelled.

"All right . . . ," Mark bounded to his feet. "Everyone, out!"

"My release is stuck!" shouted the panicking Fitzhugh.

"Out I said!" Mark commanded, seeing the boy and woman reverse direction to aid Fitzhugh. "I'll get him!" He sprinted to Fitz, aware of Chipper barking in the background—something the dog didn't ordinarily do—and wondered why. The latch released, he pulled the big man out of his seat when Valerie let out another shriek, "Mark!" Mark hustled forward, but all he could see beyond Val and Barry was blackness in the corridor. That's what Chipper had been warning them about.

"We're gonna burn alive!" Fitzhugh gasped.

"Oh, can it, Fitzhugh!" snapped Val, stepping into the hall just as Mark looked down to stick his hand in his coat pocket; a second later, he jerked her back into the cabin.

"I didn't feel any heat," she quickly relayed.

"STAY here!" Mark ordered, wanting to strangle her. Instead, he clapped his threadbare handkerchief over his mouth and darted through the passage, alert for any danger. He saw nothing and, like Valerie said, there was no heat from fire. A single press to the control panel activated the main hatch. As it rolled open, Mark dodged back to the threesome. "There's no fire. Leave now!"

The trio, Chipper in Barry's arms, sprinted past him and outside to safety.

Mark pivoted to the cockpit hatch control. The thick smoke was bellowing from its air vents. He hit the open lever downward, but nothing happened. "Barry!" The teenager was there in an instant. "Get my tool kit! Fast!" As Barry raced to the Utility Room, Mark tried to force open the protective cover with his fingers, but it was useless. He opened his mouth to again yell for Barry when the young man materialized at his side, screwdriver held ready in one hand, the tool kit in the other. Mark felt sweat slide down his face; he couldn't get the cover off fast enough! Within precious seconds, the loosened plate fell away and the wires were spliced. The hatch opened, Barry dodged inside. Mark followed a split-second later, colliding with Barry who was guiding the stumbling, barely-conscious Dan out of the suffocating room. Steve was prone, immobile on the floor. Mark grabbed the unconscious Burton by the waist, hoisting his upwards onto his shoulders.

Once outside, Mark propped Steve on the ground against the luggage pile, next to the coughing Erickson.

"Is he all right?" the pale Fitzhugh demanded, holding Chipper, his hand rapidly pawing the terrier's back in his distress.

"I-I'm fine," Dan stammered, pushing away Val's arm as she tried to keep him upright. "Tend to St-Steve."

Mark gave Burton's cheeks a gentle pat, yet got no reaction. "Barry—" he said over his shoulder only to discover him already standing there, the water bucket and ladle in hand.

Barry knelt beside them. "Dan, drink this," he urged, holding the handled cup out to Erickson.

Dan forced himself not to cough long enough to take the water. Doing so, his convulsions slacked.

Mark stared at Steve, his alarm growing. "Valerie, can you get me a—" Her slender hand dangled a cloth before his eyes before she dropped down next to him wearing a smug, ear-to-ear grin. Dipping the rag in the water, she swashed Steve's face with it. When the pilot continued to show no reaction, Mark gave him additional smacks. "Come on, Steve, come out of it."

"Where's Betty? Shouldn't she be doing this?" Valerie peered over her shoulder, hunting the grounds.

"Where is Betty?" said Dan, sipping the water.

"She ran out of the cabin, yelling something about the main hatch," Mark said. "But she never came back. I haven't seen her since."

Dan lowered the ladle, gaping at him. "What do you mean never came back? She was with you!"

"She—" Mark started.

Steve erupted into a fit of coughing so hard it sounded like he was about to blow out a lung. In his jerking, he slid over onto his side from whence he rolled, flat out onto his stomach.

"Rub his back, Mark," Valerie commanded, seeing how Wilson was nearer and in better position to do so.

"Why?" asked Mark, indignant.

"Because it helps the muscles relax!" she said, crossing her arms. "Which is what he needs right now."

Mark gave her a stern frown, but did as told. Sure enough, Steve's anguish resided.

"Steve, take some water," Valerie urged.

Steve raised himself to his side, accepting the offered cup. He nodded. "B-better," he hoarsely sputtered.

"All right," said Dan, loud, clear, and no longer in distress. "Now what's this about Betty?"

=/=/=

Betty recognized the area in spite of the depleted light and her elevated height. The boulder was one of the tallest in the park, standing twice the height of Akman. The rock also marked the invisible but electrified perimeter, the "gate" per se, of Akman's ambitious hobby: a detailed miniature village. Miniature to the giants, yet the ideal size for the little people. The gate's unmistakable hum was low but audible. A hobo had been killed here, and Barry almost as well.

Akman carefully set her on the boulder's wide, craggy protrusion, next turning a pointy, metal dial on his arm, the assembly resembling that of a wristwatch. The hum faded away. "As you can see," he explained with pride, "I've refined my rheostat controls. No more having to put down or pick up the clunky box."

The elderly man gathered Betty in another secure handhold, carrying her a few yards across the boundary where he placed her on a new rock. Reactivating the invisible fence, they resumed the trip. In short order, they reached the tree line that marked the beginning of "Midbury," the name Akman had given his beloved town. Not far beyond that, Betty spotted the familiar, white gazebo that had been Akman's work hub the first (and last) time all seven of them had been there. To her surprise, the model-builder strolled past it, following the street coursing through the meticulous city block he had lovingly created over the several decades of his long life.

"I have a surprise for you, Miss Betty. I started it the minute you came to me. Please close your eyes."

Betty obeyed with some hesitation. Giants had lied to them before, but Midbury was Akman's life and he wouldn't do anything to jeopardize it or her. At least, so she hoped. She felt herself lowered and then Akman halted. "You can open them now." Standing before her was a beautiful, white canopy bed with matching pink and white gingham accessories. Glancing around, she found that she and the bed were on a plywood worktable in front of the three-story (miniature) hotel.

"I hope you like it." Akman proudly smiled. "I did what you suggested and scaled the frame against a doll's bed at the department store. When I saw the canopy and bedspread, I knew I had to have that for you, too."

Betty felt her knees go weak. She had always wanted a canopy bed! Akman's childlike enthusiasm was so endearing, she didn't know what to think. As for the bed . . . . "It-it's exquisite!" she said, her throat tightening. "Thank you so much!"

"Would you like to pick out your home now?"

=/=/=

Dan couldn't contain his impatience any longer and got to his feet, one hand playing a furious rhythm on his hip, the other he used to take an occasional sip from the water ladle in his hand. It was just Steve and him, the rest were out searching the area. Steve continued to emit intermittent coughs from his spot on the ground, except now he was sitting up against the luggage, petting Chipper next to him. Not too deep into the forest, they could hear Fitzhugh and Mark calling for Betty.

Valerie flew out of Spindrift, Barry at her heels. "Mark, Fitzhugh, come back to the ship!" she hollered. "We found her!"

"If you found her, then where is she?" snarled Dan.

Valerie eyed him with murderous intent then waved a sheet of paper in the air. "This was on the floor in the corridor."

Mark and Fitzhugh trotted into the glade: Wilson appearing strong, confidant, and healthy while Fitzhugh panted, his face turning a bright red in his struggle to keep up. When they were within hearing distance, she explained, "Betty left us. She's gone."

Steve scrambled to his feet. "What do you mean gone? Where in the hell would she go?!"

Valerie's eyes narrowed. "Gone as in left us, as in she's staying here while all of us return to Earth without her. This is what her note says, 'Happy landing. I will miss you all. Please make the best of your lives on Earth. Betty'."

"Let me see that!" Dan snatched it from her, scanning it.

"When'd she leave the cabin, Mark?" Steve asked.

"Several minutes before that big jolt. I tried to call you, but the intercom wasn't working."

"This is crazy!" Dan fumed, pacing. "WHY?!"

"She had no intention of going back with us," Steve muttered, looking and sounding dazed.

"But why?" Barry demanded. "She was just as excited as the rest of us!"

"No." Dan sharply corrected him, his brow furrowing. "She wasn't. Now it all makes sense."

"Now what are you talking about?" aired Fitzhugh.

"Haven't you noticed the way she's been acting lately?" said Dan.

"Yeah." Valerie shrugged. "But I thought it was just cabin fever."

"No, it was something else." Steve squinted at Dan, trying to put it into words. "Like—"

"—like a condemned man reflecting on his last moments alive," finished Dan.

"Ridiculous!" Fitzhugh shouted. "For what reason would she have for remaining here?"

Steve panned the group. "Off hand, I can think of six. Seven, if you include Chipper," he said, picking up the motely terrier.

"That makes no sense!" Val scoffed, her arms flailing in agitation. "What?! To make sure the spaceship was light enough during our re-entry?"

"I thought it was rather suspicious suddenly finding all the parts we needed," Mark commented somberly.

Barry peered from Mark to Steve and Dan. "You mean, you think she made a deal with someone to exchange herself for our supplies?"

"Again, preposterous!" sputtered Fitzhugh. "No one is that honorable enough to sacrifice themself—" He stopped there, seeing the lethal looks his cohorts were giving him.

"So what do we do about it?" asked Barry.

"Well, we can't do anything right now," said Steve. "It's getting too dark. We'll have to wait until morning to re-start repairs and widen the search area."

"Which leads to the Big Question," frowned Dan, "where do we start? By this time, she could be anywhere."

"We can brainstorm where, since we can't actually go out after her," Barry suggested.

"Excellent plan," grinned Steve.

"People . . . ," Mark proclaimed, tugging off his jacket, "least you all have forgotten, we will need to dig out the bedrolls."

Fitzhugh rolled his eyes and groaned as Valerie, hands on hips, stared at the pile of discarded items and asked, "Any ideas where to start this search?"

"Not a clue," snorted Dan, as he moved to the stack.

Valerie stepped beside him. "How about the flashlights?"

"Nope," he said.

"Okay . . . it's gonna be another long night!" she chortled.

=/=/=

Betty could feel her neck muscles straining as she peered up at Akman past the upper floor's open landing. He had taken the roof off earlier so they could converse. With nightfall descending, the inventor turned on a mini-flashlight, the light casting erratic, dancing shadows on the walls as he placed the device on the lower hallway.

"Again, I apologize, Miss Betty. Your arrival was so unexpected I didn't have time to get an electrical line wired into the structure. I hope this light will prove sufficient. Oh, and, there's an additional one upstairs for you. I've put some clothes in the bedroom for you, too, along with your new bed. Tomorrow we can gather what else you may need or want for your little home. Miss Betty," he gazed down at her with the adoration, "you don't know how happy you've made me by being here."

Betty tried to smile, managing a brief one even though her spirits were spiraling. From what she'd seen so far, the house was bare to the extreme, with nothing present except antiseptically white walls. "I'm glad. There's a lot to tell you, but be warned, I'm not the best at drawing. Or period pieces."

"Just having someone to talk with about my hobby is wonderful enough. Would you care for some dinner?" he suddenly asked.

"No, thank you. I'm not hungry."

"Then I'll let you enjoy your new surroundings. Tomorrow, I'll bring you some paper and a sliver of lead so you can write your ideas." He disappeared from overhead.

Alone with her emotions, Betty dropped her pretense and let the anguished tears come.

"Miss Betty?" Akman called, reappearing.

Betty quickly swiped at her wet cheeks.

"I know you miss your friends, but, in time, you'll grow to love it here, I promise. And maybe, if there are more of your kind stranded on my planet, like you folks were, maybe they'll find my village, too, just like you did," he grinned. With that, Akman again vanished.

"Ak . . . man." Betty frowned; he was already too far gone to hear her. "You forgot to replace the roof . . . ."

Betty slowly panned her new, empty environment. With an enormous sigh, she began wandering the house, all the while trying whole-heartedly to appreciate her circumstances. It was a modest, two-story colonial, built solid as only Akman would make it. The kitchen, dining area, living room, and den were on the first floor. Upstairs was a bathroom and a couple of bedrooms. There being little to see, Betty descended to the lower level. She wanted to sit, but in doing a 180 around the room, she realized, with sinking heart, that there was no place to do so. A shadow passed overhead. Betty stiffened, ready to flee, relaxing when the shadow proved to be Akman hovering above.

"One more thing," he called down with a chuckle. "I almost forgot." He lowered a wooden kitchen table and four matching chairs, along with a doll's cook pot filled with mushed chicken and peas. "I know dinner's not very pretty," he said sincerely, "but I wanted to make it easier for you to eat. And upstairs, I've put a container—a bathtub, you might call it—full of hot water, along with soap and towels, figuring you might want to take a bath. The water should stay hot long enough for you to have dinner."

Betty's voice caught in her throat, again stirred by the man's thoughtfulness. "Thank you," she said with all her heart.

"If there's nothing else you need, I'll leave you for the evening." He gave her a finger-wave good-bye.

Watching him depart, Betty felt loneliness descend. No sooner was he gone when darkness enveloped her due to the replaced roof. Betty wrapped her arms around herself, trying to work her mind through it all. The empty, bland confine . . . at camp they had been surrounded by the multi-colors of the thriving forest, as well as the comforting, familiarity of Spindrift itself—the circumstances made eerier by the shadows exaggerated via the rounded light source. The sudden muted silence . . . indigenous life of the woods never ceased, and even when one was by themself there was the underlying feeling of knowing that one of their ragtag group was somewhere about. Someone to talk to, at least. But not now, not any longer, not ever again. A chill permeated every cell of Betty's being: this is what she had signed up for.

"The rest will get home—are home by now," she iterated aloud, "safe and sound, and that makes all of this worth it." Knowing that alone made her feel better, stronger. This change wasn't going to be easy, she reminded herself. Expect it, deal with it, and, most of all, remain strong.

Betty looked around, the corner of her mouth going up. As most habitats go, it was a nice place, but it was still creepy being there all by herself. Akman had earlier proposed camping in his gazebo to be close in case she became afraid, but she had reassured him that she would be fine. Akman, for his own peace of mind however, had also left her a walkie-talkie. Albeit, the equipment was giant-sized, Akman had made sure the push buttons were easy for her to press on and off. He also let her know that he lived within walking distance and could be there in five minutes if she needed him.

Betty squared her shoulders then turned her attention to the meal. She hadn't been hungry, but after tasting the delicious food, having scooped it up with her fingers (the kindly caretaker had forgotten silverware), she'd finished off the meal in a matter of minutes. Done, she beheld her sticky hand.

"Guess now would be a good time to check out that bathtub."

Betty felt her spirits lifting a bit, but there was a long road yet ahead. She strolled toward the stairs and the more she thought about the wonderful, hot watery bath, the less she could contain her anticipation and sprinted up the staircase, two runners at a time. Rushing into the bathroom, Betty was hit with instant disappointment: no tub, just the sink and toilet. She slapped her forehead. "Idiot!" Of course, the tub wouldn't be in there, the room was too small, as she had discovered earlier during her exploring. The toilet and sink did have running water, although cold only, ingeniously fed by a gravity system from the water tower Akman had installed on the roof.

Entering the master bedroom, Betty paused at the magnificent vision awaiting her. Steam, illuminated by the actuated flashlight, wafted from the large, square vessel resembling a food container from home. Akman had insolated the tub with a thick towel to hold the heat and, more likely, to keep from burning his fingers on the trip over. Since the crash, bathing had commenced a mile from Spindrift in ice cold, stream water captured in a cistern at the base of a rock formation. Because they were more exposed and vulnerable to danger during this time, bathing, as well as dressing and undressing, was a rushed affair and not an act to be done in leisure.

Betty unbuttoned her blouse and, out of habit, glanced at the window, and smiled. No curtains hung there; instead, Akman had put up shutters to give her privacy as well as safety, all three pairs of which he had closed before leaving. She finished stripping down. She couldn't remember when she had last stood naked in a room for any real length of time. It was a strange sensation and it was rapturous! Feeling the balmy air breeze across her skin, to stretch and bend unencumbered by material, to inch her exposed toes along the cool, wooden floor. Being in giant-land, they had kept their clothes and shoes on the majority of the time in case they had to run or hide.

The water calling her name, Betty slid into the container. Its dimensions deep enough to submerge in, that's just what she did, savoring the hot, soothing moisture as it completely enveloped her. Betty soaked until the water became tepid then scrubbed every inch of her skin using the chip of soap and bit of terry cloth Akman had provided.

Drying off, Betty giggled at her reflection in the full length mirror, another surprise Akman had left her, along with an old fashioned, modest-to-the-extreme, flannel nightgown. Betty pulled up the hem to peer down at her toes. Giving them a playful wiggle, she giggled some more. It seemed like forever since she'd seen her clean,bare feet.

At this point, Betty couldn't keep her eyes open any longer. She leaned on the flashlight button till it clicked off then crawled between the bed sheets. The linen smelled fresh and airy as though Akman had just laundered them and the blanket was perfect: not too light or heavy. Betty snuggled into the mattress, relishing the simple yet marvelous act of laying full-out in any direction she wanted, without her arm or leg hitting a barrier. Back at camp, she had slept either folded up in the improvised cabin hammock or curled into a cabin chair, both very uncomfortable positions. She'd also slept, on rare occasion, outside in the shelter on one of the homemade cots, but hadn't slept well there either because of the constant fear of giants.

Here, in this house, though, Betty was enclosed and protected from foes and weather. She felt oddly . . . safe. She set her head on the pillow, awash with fatigue, physical and mental exhaustion taking its toll. As she drifted off, Betty wished those on Spindrift a wonderful life.

=/=/=

Mark came Spindrift's main entrance, wiping his greasy hands on a used rag, and hoped down over the stone-steps. It was a little after dawn. The branch-fragmented sun played on the ground as he made his way to the water bucket in the lean-to. Hearing shuffling off his right, he swung around in time to witness the jacketless Steve get pulled out from underneath the fuselage, and then helped upright by Dan and Fitzhugh.

"Mark!" Steve called, dusting himself off. "What's the update?"

"We were lucky. It's only wiring that's been fried. You?"

"Not so lucky," Steve frowned. "The lower exhaust pipes are sunk into dried mud. That's why she couldn't take off. How long to fix the wire damage?"

"About six hours. Eight at the most and that's without any surprises. How long to dig out the exhaust?"

"If Fitzhugh gets started right now," Steve turned to the con man, "about three to four hours."

Fitzhugh's jaw hit the ground, gaping from one man to the other. "Me! Why me?"

Steve locked eyes with him and said in no-nonsense terms, "Because Valerie will be helping Mark and Barry will be with us. That is, if he wants to come."

"Sure, I do!" Barry answered, faster than a heartbeat.

Dan folded his arms, assessing the teenager with parental scrutiny. "Did you gather all the gear I asked you to find?"

"Yes, sir," Barry replied, firm and respectful. He pointed to his left. "Sitting right here next to the stump, including the radios all charged and ready."

"Then we have everything we need." Dan turned askance. "Steve?"

"Let's go. I want to be back before night."

Steve took point. Swinging downward, he snatched up the razor-hatchet without breaking stride. Behind him, Dan, like-wise, grabbed the hand-sets, and Barry, following suite, whisked up to the safety pin-hook.

=/=/=

Sleep hadn't come as easy as Betty had expected. She would no sooner drift off only to be startled awake by an unexpected sound. Her heart racing, fears rocketing, it took a few moments to reconcile where she was. Her thoughts then jumped to her friends, wondering how they were doing her first night at home. The room had lightened by the time she had fallen asleep, yet it continued to be a fitful slumber, plagued by replays of their more terrifying situations on the planet, and even worse, images of Spindrift crashing on their home planet. Betty attributed her nightmares to the fact that she'll never know if her friends got back safe or not, subconsciously fearful that they hadn't.

When Betty finally awoke, she felt lost and confused. At camp, she had had a morning ritual: where things were, what she needed for washing up, what to do first after that, etcetera—all that was gone now. Yielding to habit, she put on the outfit she'd worn the day before, the beige shirt and green tunic. Washing up using the cooled water from the tub, she realized she'd have to figure out something for a toothbrush. When Betty opened the shutters, she spotted Akman nearby, examining the street for whatever his next project was. Her new life had begun. She sniffed the air, her forehead crinkling. Something smells like . . . bacon! Betty charged down the stairs—to breakfast!

Thirty minutes later, Betty slouched back in the kitchen chair, swallowing the final forkful of scrambled eggs, rolling her eyes in exaltation and appreciation. Her last actual breakfast—with toast, orange juice, and a glass of milk—was a far, faded memory. The bit of bacon had been just as delicious even though she hardly touched it; the one slice alone could have fed the seven of them for a week. Her relaxed, wandering gaze landed on a dimple on the kitchen wall, from there traveling to the many imperfections in the plaster. A little spackle and paint will fix that right up, she ruminated. Or maybe even wallpaper to add some interesting contrast. Then it hit Betty: her house, the first place that was hers and hers alone. On Earth, she had lived in a dorm-style apartment with three other women. But this was hers and she had a free hand to decorate it any way she wanted, and she didn't have to spend one dime for it! Betty grinned, thrilled by the prospects.

Lying at the table's corner was a thick, decorating book from Earth, recovered from another spaceship that had crashed there a few years ago, and given to Akman from a scientist friend of his. Except, Akman sadly reported, there had been no survivors. From this book the talented builder had assimilated his building and furniture designs. Alongside it was a lead-stick—from a giant mechanical pencil, Betty believed—and sheaves of lined paper, cut to the near-size of a notepad similar to one back home. Pushing aside the breakfast plate, Betty drew the book to her and began leafing through the ten-year-old publication. Her good mood slipped away. She had no job, no family, no friends, and this book was as close to her home planet as she was ever going to get.

"Stop it, woman!" Betty shouted, irritated at herself. "You have the safety of a home, food, clothing, and you're being taken care of!" Her shoulders dropped. "Prisons take care of people, too; this is just a different type of one." She shot to her feet, dragging the chair around to the paper and lead. "I have decorating work to do and it's time I got to it!"

=/=/=

Hearing rustling in the undergrowth, Valerie's attention snapped from the cook pot to the sound, her mind and body on full alert. Squinting, she shaded her eyes, sharpening them against the shadows of the setting sun, thereupon, spotting a familiar red flash amongst the greenery. Valerie waited until she saw more of Steve's distinct uniform to be sure, before dashing to the ship's main hatch. Balancing on the rock-step, she yelled inside, "Mark! Steve's back!" She dashed back to the pot and resumed stirring, forever mindful to keep the contents from burning.

Fitzhugh, responding to Val's shout, meandered from the lean-to, Chipper at his heels. He no sooner reached Val when Mark joined them from the ship, right before the three hunters emerged from trees.

"Betty isn't with you!" Fitzhugh gasped.

"We couldn't find her," Steve growled, pitching the hatchet next to Spindrift's steps. He began massaging his temples with the heel of his hands.

Barry and Dan, their expressions taut and dejected, silently took seats around the fire. Chipper, with a graceful trot and wagging tail, homed in on his master, who cuddled him on his lap.

"Give it time, it's only been the first day," Mark consoled, "and you didn't know where to look to begin with."

"What do you propose to do now?" said Fitzhugh, his gaze shifting between his fellow strandees. "We can't stay here forever searching for her!"

"Well, we can't leave her either!" snapped Valerie. She watched Steve like a hawk trying to read his next move. He was paused, thoughtful, as if considering different options. A moment later, his face collapsed, his shoulders drooping. "Mark?" It sounded more like a plea for help than a request for an opinion.

"The repairs are done. We can take off whenever you say."

Steve raised his chin, his expression one of decisive confirmation of the verdict. He then pointedly looked at each of them. Dan, his stern eyes narrowing, folded his arms to show he was digging in his heels; Valerie put her hands on hips, her legs splayed, telegraphing her refusal to leave; Barry gave a slow shake of his head; Mark, his finger tapping his chin, hesitated the longest before going rigid and voicing a firm, "no". Even Chipper sat down, letting out one sharp bark as if giving Steve his vote.

Val watched Steve square his shoulders, shifting to full height, his eyes going steely, and knew what was coming. She was pleased about it, albeit disappointed.

"What I say is we keep trying until we find her."

"But that's ridiculous!" Fitzhugh blustered. "We have our chance to escape! When we get back to Earth we can tell the authorities. They'll send a rescue ship for her!"

"A rescue ship, right!" Dan guffawed.

Mark's eyes narrowed at Fitzhugh. "I agree with Steve."

"So I do," said Dan in no uncertain terms.

"Me, too," Valerie and Barry chorused.

"B-but that could take the rest of our lives!" Fitzhugh pleaded, turning to each one.

"You have anything important waiting for you back on Earth?" Steve asked.

Fitzhugh snapped his mouth shut, cocking an eyebrow in rumination. "Well, not particularly, but—"

"—then we stay!" Steve commanded. Marching up to the cook pot, he grabbed a bowl and spoon and ladled in some stew. "Anybody have any ideas where she might have gone?" he asked, in between chewing.

"Given the parts and supplies we've received, Betty must have gotten help from a giant, or giants," asserted Barry.

"My thoughts exactly," said Valerie.

"But which one?" asked Dan.

"If we figure in the time-length for her to leave and return," Barry reasoned, "that will, at least, give us a rough proximity as to where she went and whom she might have approached."

All the adults turned to him, impressed by his insightful suggestion.

"Spoken like a true engineer," Mark praised with a proud, amused grin.

"Barry . . . ," Fitzhugh gave him a pat on the shoulder, "once we get home, you'll make an excellent police detective."

Barry sat more regal, grinning from ear-to-ear.

"But, as Barry said, which giant?" Valerie asked.

"Well, we know it wouldn't be Kobick," offered Dan, also helping himself to the stew.

"Nuh." Steve lowered onto a stump, taking another spoonful. "She wouldn't have trusted him." Chewing, he considered their next choices. Minutes went by before he broke the silence with an exacerbated sigh. "Did she say anything to any of you? A slip of the tongue maybe?"

Barry shook his head. "No."

Valerie flung up her arms. "That's the trouble . . . she didn't say much of anything lately. Especially since that night she went to church."

Steve turned to Dan as Dan turned to him, their faces rapturous.

"Who better to trust than a minister?" Dan grinned.

Steve nodded. "We continue the search at dawn."

=/=/=

Betty's second night alone had been much better. She had slept more soundly, yet still jerked awake on occasion due to the unfamiliar sounds. Breakfast, however, tasted just as amazing as the day before.

While she ate, Akman added to her bedroom a simple, narrow table that he had hand-hewed overnight, along with a miniaturized pitcher and bowl, adorned with a floral pattern, the size perfect for her. "A wash stand the book called it. I don't understand why a person needed one when they have a bathroom, but I'm certain you'll explain it to me sometime," he whimsically grinned.

When Betty finished, she and Akman took a leisurely walk around the town, discussing what could be added, or changed for better authenticity. All in all, she found it to be a most pleasurable distraction. After lunch, Betty began making sketches and listing additional ideas while Akman worked at the gazebo. Upon his return, their conference continued.

Betty held up a page to the looming giant. On it were illustrations of various American streets. ". . . and here are some signs that might be posted: stop signs, traffic signs, pedestrian crossings. . . . We, too, have lines running down the middle of the street, similar to the ones you have here."

Akman took the sheet from her, smiling with delight. "I guess our worlds aren't so different after all."

"Only in size," Betty answered wistfully.

"Again, thank you, Miss Betty. This will be a fun addition to Midbury. It's getting late, is there anything in particular you'd like for dinner tonight?"

"I'm not very hungry," she replied, trying to sound upbeat. "You've been doing such a great job, why don't you surprise me?"

"All right," he chuckled. "I shall be back shortly."

Betty frowned, feeling guilty at her returning apathy. She glanced out the window. The sun was setting, rewarding her with a palette of brilliant colors. The difference this time was she could actually see the spectacle, unobstructed by the dense forest. Betty sighed. "Time to write out a to-do list. First thing to make: a deck of cards for solitaire."

=/=/=

Steve jogged along the trail, Dan at his heels, catching a glimpse of camp a few yards ahead through a break in the underbrush. The four remaining strandees were pacing the clearing, all looking dour and anxious. Betty was nowhere in sight, despite two searching parties and a second full day of hunting. Frustrated and tired, Steve held up his palm as he passed the camp's border, announcing before they can ask—"She's not at SID headquarters either, or any of the churches we went to for that matter,"—punctuating his agitation by throwing the grappling hook onto the nearest rock.

"Same here," Barry said, tossing the stick for Chipper, who bounded after it. "Not even the friendly giants we know have seen her."

Fitzhugh slammed his hands together in mock anguish. "She's completely disappeared! Truly there is no hope in finding our lost companion."

"Don't sound so happy about it, Fitzhugh!" Dan warned, appearing on the verge of decking him.

"Well, obviously the woman believed there might have been a remote chance of us discovering her plot, otherwise, she wouldn't have hidden herself so readily. I tell you, it's a sign. She didn't want to be found!"

"I'm almost beginning to agree with him," said Mark, quickly amending it with a staunch, "Almost" as Fitzhugh opened his mouth.

Steve slumped against the sapling next to Dan, who was seated on a rock. "I've no ideas left. If anybody else has, let's hear them now."

"I wish I did," Barry sighed.

Valerie shrugged. "I'm all out."

"Empty," said Mark. "However . . . ," it sounded like a warning, "you need to told, a giant knows our camp's location."

Steve and Dan shot upright in unison.

"How do you know?" Steve demanded.

"On the way back, we saw him skulking around the area," said Barry. "It looked like he was searching for something."

"Us, more than likely," voiced Valerie.

"And he was making his way in this direction," Mark said.

Steve turned to Dan, his expression collapsing. "Then we'll have to leave without her."

"Kobick's men?" Dan asked.

"No," said Valerie. "As a matter of fact it was that nice, old man from 'Midbury'. You know . . ." she crooked her fingers into quotes, "'The biggest little town in the state'. The one with the nasty granddaughter who liked to play with fire."

Steve's brow folded. "Akman?"

"That's him," Fitzhugh said as Val nodded.

"The builder of that miniature village," confirmed Dan, thoughtfully.

"The very same," Val joked.

Dan's face lit up. "Little town! Midbury!" he shouted, panning the group like they should know what he was talking about. "Akman wanted us to go and live there, remember?"

"Of course!" joined Steve. "That had a church in it!"

"With all the comforts of home," Mark wryly grinned.

"And all it needed," Valerie smiled, "was little people to occupy it . . . ."

=/=/=

Betty sat down on the pink gingham bedspread, peering around the room. She hated empty walls, but that was the way it was going to be for a while. Akman could create only so many things at a time, and cheery pictures weren't high on the list. Wanting—needing—to shake off the melancholy that'd been dogging her, Betty's thoughts lit on the wardrobe closet. Originally destined for a little girl's playtime with her dolls, this big, ugly, plastic, burnt orange box was now the keeper of her sparse garments, along with what few doll clothes Akman had added to the collection. Betty hadn't investigated the closet before, there was no reason to since she had snuggled what few belongings she owned off Spindrift when she had decided to stay. Plus, being doll apparel, Betty dreaded what the items would be like. Not retaining much hope, she sighed and strolled over. Pulling open the cheap door with care, she rummaged past her own possessions, now hanging on plastic hangers. Betty frowned. There wasn't much: a few slacks, blouses, dresses, and one navy blue pantsuit. Overall, it was just like Betty had figured. None were stylish and most would have to be altered in some way. At least, she figured, the sewing would give her something to do.

Betty retreated and was about to shut the door when a sparkle on the closet floor caught her eye. Retrieving the fallen article, to her surprise, it was a black-sequined, evening gown, and it was about her size. Betty bit her lip, a devilish grin forming. She peeked out the window to the clock tower. Akman had left a half hour ago to do necessary errands, in which case, he wouldn't be returning any time soon. Her wicked smile grew. Quickly, she changed out of the skirt and tunic.

Betty stood before the full-length mirror, smiling at what she saw. In spite of everything, albeit a little malnourished, she looked great! The pleated material hugged her bodice and waistline revealing the curvy figure she'd forgotten she possessed. Bare-footed, the cabinet lacking high-heels, the long, flowing skirt draped elegantly on the floor. The gown couldn't have fit any better if it had been made for her. Sorrow slammed Betty's chest like a brick: except no one will ever see her in it—Betty froze, her heart pounding. She had caught a flash movement in the reflection by the stairs. She didn't believe it could be an animal because the doors and windows were too narrow. A young animal, perhaps? Doubtful. A big bug, maybe? Betty prayed not because, scanning the room, there weren't any weapons present to defend herself with.

A form in red stepped into the threshold. "You're out of uniform, Betty," Steve Burton said with a smirk. A stern Dan Erickson appeared beside him, his arms crossed tight.

Betty whipped around, her mouth gaping. It can't be them! They're supposed to be on Earth! "You aren't here! You're can't be—" That was all Betty got out when darkness befell her . . . .

Steve and Dan rushed over; Steve lifting her onto the bed, taking a spot next to her, Dan veering to the other side. As Steve gave Betty's cheeks a gentle pat, Dan started to sit also, but abruptly stopped midway, proceeding across the room. Steve glanced over. Erickson was going for a narrow, square table that held a decorative jug and matching bowl and when he gave it a shake, Steve heard water slouching around inside the ceramic pitcher. "Betty? Can you hear me? It's Steve."

Dan sidled beside him placing a wet rag on Betty's forehead, chuckling as he did so.

"What's so funny?" Steve asked gruffly, not amused.

"Betty has faced death in the form of giant people, animals, and insects and yet, at the sight of you, she faints," he playfully grinned.

"After what she did, she damn well better be afraid of me." Steve leaned into her. "Betty, I know you can hear me. It's okay, it's really is Steve and Dan."

Betty's eyelids twitched, blinked, and then opened. Her eyes huge, she clenched Steve's wrist in a vice grip as though to make sure he was of flesh and bone.

"Told you it was us," said Steve.

"You're not—," she struggled to sit up.

Simultaneously, Steve grabbed her wrist and pulled while Dan slid an arm behind her back and pushed, catching the wet cloth as it fell from her cheek.

Betty's eyes cut between the two. "You . . . what . . . how—?"

"Feeling better?" Steve asked.

"NO!" Betty shrieked. "You're not supposed to be here! What are you doing here? Why didn't you take off?"

"We couldn't. We were stuck in mud," Steve frowned.

"Good thing, too," Dan scowled, "or we would have taken off without you."

"That was the IDEA!" Betty roared, pushing at Steve to get off the bed; him complying then he and Dan taking a step back from her fury. "Out! NOW!" she pointed, standing up. "Akman won't be back for a while. You can miss him if you leave now."

Steve's head filled with thoughts and emotions, anger being foremost: bottom line, he was done playing games. "The ship's free now and we're leaving," he commanded, hands on hips. "All of us."

"Well, I'm not going!"

"Not going?!" gapped Dan.

"Are you out of your mind?"

Betty flew off the bed. "NO! I made a deal with Akman. I would stay in exchange for the ship being repaired. I won't go back on my promise."

"Well, I didn't make any kind of promises!" Steve fired back. "You're coming with us!" He seized her hand and walked, but Betty remained firmly planted.

"No! He's a sweet old man. It would hurt him deeply if I left."

Steve crossed his arms to dampen his impatience. "You're willing to stay here for the rest of your life because of a promise?"

"YES!"

Steve peered at Dan, the silent decision passing between them. "All right," he said casually, arms dropping to his side. "That's your choice." He turned, took one step, and spun, his fist connecting with her jaw, Betty falling unconscious before the pain could register. Steve ducked, catching her unconscious form on his shoulder. "Sorry, Betty. I've never hit a woman before in my life, but in this case, I had no choice." He followed Dan down the stairs and if Steve could have run the rest of the way he would have!

Dan remained in point, keeping watch for any giant foes, two- or four-footed, that might cross their paths during their flight through the village. It didn't take them long to reach Midbury's border, where the rest of the strandees waited for them on the exterior side of the electric force field.

"You found her!" Valerie exclaimed joyously.

"What's the matter with her?" Barry asked, brow furrowed in concern, watching Steve settle Betty against a rock, Dan crouching beside her.

"Ahhh . . . ," Dan glanced at Steve, ". . . slight difference of opinion."

Steve pointed to Mark and then to the contraption sitting at the rock base. "Can you hurry up and move that thing, please? I want to get out of here before Akman catches us."

The contraption was simple: a structure of metal scaffolding tied to the matchbox wagon holding two mirrors aimed in opposite directions. Steve paced, glancing between Mark and Fitzhugh (as they positioned themselves on the narrow end of the wagon), and Dan who was attending to Betty, and the trees in the direction of Midbury, for any signs of the aged builder.

"Remember," Mark cautioned, "we push in sync or the ray from one side will destroy the mirror, sending shards of glass everywhere, including into us!"

"I haven't forgotten," grumbled Fitzhugh.

"Ready? . . . Push!" yelled Mark.

The wagon moved a foot when Ackman's voice boomed, "STOP!"

The six reacted simultaneously: several jumped, the rest froze in terror, but all stared up in unison at the source.

Steve cursed himself: Akman stood behind the large boulder outside of the fence, not inside, where he had expected him to be.

"Please, wait!" Akman pleaded, flustered and shaking. "Until I can turn off the beam. I'd never forgive myself if harm came to any of you."

Steve exchanged surprised, dubious looks with Dan and the group. Around them they heard the hum die off as the elderly giant killed the electric circuit.

At the same moment, Betty groaned.

"She's coming around!" Dan announced.

"Ahhh," she mumbled, her hand rising to her jaw where Steve could see a purple patch beginning to form.

Akman nodded at the foursome near his feet with a reassuring smile. "It's safe. We can go in now."

Barry charged; Mark, Valerie, and Fitzhugh close behind, wasting no time reuniting with their three companions

"Betty?" Dan asked.

The woman opened her eyes, her expression shooting from groggy confusion to pure fury, her anger centering on one person. "You had no right!" Betty glared at Steve, her hand massaging the bruise.

"Doesn't matter now," Steve frowned. He pointed up at Akman then presented her his hand. Betty ignored it, taking Dan's outreached one instead.

As soon as Betty was on her feet, Valerie seized her in a bear hug. "You did this?" she whispered.

"Yeah," Betty quietly replied.

"What are you going to do with us?" asked Steve, causing everyone to turn from Betty to Akman.

"Please, let them go! You have me," beseeched Betty. "Steve didn't understand what was going on."

Akman smiled. "That's so very kind of you, Miss Betty, but I can't keep you. I can't keep any of you."

Fitzhugh stumbled backwards in terror, "You're turning us over to S.I.D.!"

Ackman laughed outright. "On the contrary, I'm letting you all go. I want you to return home where you belong."

"But I made you a promise," said Betty.

Dan stepped forward. "Including Betty?"

"Of course. She's been so miserable without you. Oh, she tried not to show it, but I could tell."

"We made a deal! I don't break my—"

"You have a lot of courage, my dear," the caretaker fondly grinned. "More courage than everyone I've ever met. But I won't keep you here. And seeing how your friends risked their lives to come get you, I realize now that they would never have purposely taken off without you. So . . . ," he pointed in the direction of camp, "go now with your companions. Go home to Earth, to your family, and your loved ones."

"Thank you!" Betty gasped, the words mingled with tearful appreciation to the point where Steve doubted Akman had heard her.

Steve caught Mark's eye and indicated the trail. Wilson gave a single nod then began leading the way, Fitzhugh, Barry, Valerie going next.

Betty lifted the gown train with one hand and, with the other, gave a farewell wave to the gentle Akman, and then followed the other four, Steve and Dan trailing behind as lookouts.

With Betty rescued, Steve now concentrated on the mental checklist for that night's take-off. Except, no matter how preoccupied with Spindrift's preparationSteve was, his eyes and thoughts kept straying back to Hamilton walking a few feet in front of him. Several facts nudged in, clouding his thinking: they were finally (if nothing else happened) going back to Earth . . . how good she looked in that dress . . . and, most importantly, it was Betty who had made this final trip possible. Guilt needled him: everything had transpired so lightning quick he hadn't had time to appreciate all that she had done, and to thank her for it.

"Ow!" Betty stumbled, her free arm wind-milling.

Steve rushed forward, grasping her elbow, halting her teetering. "You all right?"

Betty jerked her arm free. "Yeah. Thanks." She raised her foot, brushing off the micro pebble.

Steve's jaw dropped. "You're not wearing any shoes."

"No kidding! If I'd been given the chance—"

"—Look. I'm sorry I hit you, but it had to be done."

"Moot point, don't you think?" she sniped. "I'm free and we're going home."

"You have any shoes back at the ship—never mind," Steve quickly answered to her steely eyed glare. "Val should be able to hunt a pair down for you. What about clothes to change into?"

Betty sifted, her eyes narrowing, arms crossing.

Oops, wrong again.

"Yes, why?" she demanded with sweet sarcasm. "Don't want to get docked by the company for me being out of the mandated uniform?"

Steve opened his mouth—this conversation was not going as planned—and chose his next words carefully. "I only thought you'd want to be in something more comfortable for the flight."

"Don't you think I've already thought of that?" Betty rolled her eyes.

And this, Steve iterated, is why I put my foot down as to no relationships while we're stranded here. "Yes, you probably did. My apologies, again. All that aside, and despite everything we've been through, and before all the chaos starts, I wanted to say thank you . . . for getting us out of here.

"You're welcome," she said sourly, dropping her arms and making to pass him, but Steve cut her off.

"And . . . if you have any doubts, I thought you should know that you look wonderful in that dress."

"Great! We can go dancing when we get back to Earth!"

"I'm sorry! I did what was necessary. You were being pig-headed."

"I was being honorable!"

"Honorable, yes. Stupid, absolutely! You—"

"Drop it, Burton!" Betty snapped. She pushed past him, linking up with Valerie further on ahead.

Steve looked down at his feet. Yup, that didn't go well at all.

"A little out of practice talking to women there, Steve?" snickered Dan, coming alongside him.

"Looks like it," Steve frowned, falling into step with him. Both became silent, lost in their thoughts. Steve tried to look anywhere but at Hamilton, yet always found himself drawn back to her. After several minutes, he noticed a smile tugging at the Dan's mouth. "What?"

"Betty sure is a fabulous surprise in that getup, isn't she?"

Steve felt the heat rising on his face. He'd tried to be discreet, but not much got past Dan Erickson. He dropped his voice, regardless of the bit of distance between him and the others. "Oh, Dan . . . it's a good thing we're going home. I couldn't have taken much more of this forced celibacy."

"You, me, and Mark, ole buddy. One advantage to if we crash on reentry—we will all then be out of our misery."

Steve laughed in spite of himself. "So true, my friend, so true . . . ."

They reached camp as the onset of dusk filled the forest with lengthening shadows. With departure close at hand, everyone went into high gear prepping for take-off. Because there wasn't a lot to be done, what little remained was accomplished by the time Betty managed to dig out an outfit of Val's from under the pile of luggage and change into it.

The camp was drenched in a charcoal blanket of evening, devoid of a fire this night to cook their food or keep the ebony world at bay, as the seven strandees strapped themselves in, Chipper again settled on his master's lap, for what they hoped would be the last time. In the cabin, although nothing was said there was a collective sigh of, "This could be it"; everyone next losing themselves in their fears, prayers, and dreams.

In the cockpit, Steve and Dan were too busy running through the checklist to let their worries interfere with the escape. When Steve set down the clipboard, he peered at Dan to his right in the flight navigator seat and—trying to keep the fear out of his voice and anxiety off his face—said, "Ready?"

Dan in- and exhaled an exaggerated breath. "As ready as we're ever gonna be . . . again."

Steve cleared his throat and picked up the inter-cabin telephone, pressing the intercom key. "Everyone, make sure your chairs are buckled—and say prayers—this is it." He replaced the receiver, taking in his own long, deep breath, and then started the take-off procedure.

The engines purred, the craft shook but held together, and nothing caught fire as Spindrift first tugged at the ground, pulling free a moment later to rise gracefully into the air.

To Steve's right, he heard Dan blow out a satisfied whoosh of air and chuckled because he realized he'd been unknowingly holding his breath, too. After giving the instrument panel in front of him a quick survey, Steve looked to his copilot. Dan's expression was happy, but guarded. Dan looked at him, both men breaking into enormous grins: they were off the ground and heading for space!

"So far so good," Steve said.

"Let's keep it that way," Dan replied.

They directed the struggling spaceship higher, the lights of the giant city shrinking until they were nothing but twinkling specs below. Blackness enveloped Spindrift. Steve glanced at the altimeter. They were reaching the level he knew to be the mesosphere on Earth, but he had no idea—and didn't care—what its term was here. Steve blinked and in that split second the color outside changed from pitch to a bluish-teal fog. Every muscle in his body went taut.

"Deja vu," Dan said with a shaky smile.

Steve wiped the sweat from his face with his sleeve. "At least we know we're on track," he grinned briefly.

A second later, the teal turned royal blue at the same time a high-pitched whine filled the cabin.

"Steve . . . !"

"I think we're nearing the gate or whatever the hell that gas ball was. Get ready . . . ." Steve swept up the inter-cabin receiver. "Everyone, hold tight!" He no sooner said it when the ship lurched violently. The nightmare he had never forgotten played out the same now as it had then: the controls became useless as the force field drew them in, its turbulence rocking Spindrift to the point where Steve feared the ship would break apart. And then they hit it—rather surged into it—the strange glowing mass of roiling green gasses that made up whatever the orb was, its dust blowing pass the front portal like a car speeding through tall grass. Steve kept his hands on the yoke. He peered at Erickson. Dan was clutching the handle so tight his knuckles were pale.

The entry and exit lasted less than a minute, Spindrift emerging without any warning, Steve and Dan were greeted by bright stars and open space. A ray of the bizarre lightening shot past their bow. Lightening wasn't supposed to happen in space, but there it was, and Steve had no time to speculate. The sound from the bolt boomed, making the small spacecraft shake. Two more bolts and then the jarring ceased, the "storm" created by the green mass ending just as fast as it had started.

"We've got control!" Dan shouted. He flung off the seat buckle, bolting from his seat to the previously damaged panel behind him.

Steve tested the yoke and felt familiar resistance. He swallowed hard. Had the green orb transported them back to their system? Or elsewhere?

"She's working fine!" Dan announced, Steve hearing the happiness in his voice. "No one evidence of smoke or fire."

Dan returned to his chair, checking his instrumentations. "And I'd recognize these coordinates anyway."

"So we are on track?" Steve was too scared to hope.

"This is the right zone, so we're exactly where we ought to be!" He re-confirmed the rest of the navigation elements, relaying them to Steve, who adjusted their course appropriately.

Steve rolled his shoulders, trying to relax then checked his watch. It had seemed like hours since they had been space-bound when it'd only been about thirty minutes. "Steve!" Dan's surprise-filled yell made Steve snap to attention and rake the view. It took a couple of tries, but then he saw it and went rigid. He blinked several times to make sure he wasn't seeing things: blue and green and round, and getting closer by the second.

"—is it?" Steve swallowed.

"It most definitely is!" Dan pushed a button on the panel centered between them. Immediately the cabin filled with squealing, intermittent static. He tuned the knob and when he did, harsh squawks of fragmented speech cascaded through, becoming stronger and clearer by the every passing second.

Steve and Dan caught one word that made them gape at each other: "Los Angeles." Dan's expression jubilant; Steve smiling so wide his jaw hurt.

Steve picked up the inter-cabin phone. "Everyone . . . the fun isn't over yet. We are heading for a planet, in which case we still need to accomplish re-entry through its spheres. We can't guarantee where we are," he mischievously peered at Dan, exchanging amused, lopsided grins, "but we seem to be pointed at some city named Los Angles." Even from where he and Dan sat, yards from the cabin, they could hear the celebratory whooping and hollering from aft.

At that moment, Steve felt like he was moving in slow motion. He pulled out the little silver, retractable microphone and heard his heart pounding as he spoke into it. "LA tower, this is Suborbital Flight 612, original flight plan from LA to London; dated June 12, 1983. We have returned . . . ."

=/=/=/=

"Lucky Ladybug" written by the amazing Bob Crew and Frank C. Slay Jr., and recorded by Frankie Valle and the Four Seasons.