Author's Notes: Oh my GOSH, I am SO SORRY!!!!! I went waaaay over my scheduled update time. I'll talk to you in the ending Author's Notes!
Miss E.D.
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I
With a bored yawn, Alex Bolton typed the final round of access codes into the beeping computer. Then, as the screen began a long series of blinks and sporadic matrix programs, he leaned far back in his mobile chair, rubbing his hands over his eyes. The sudden sliding of two long-sleeved arms around him startled him back from the horizon of unconsciousness.
"How's your work coming?" a silken-smooth feminine voice asked in a tone which indicated that work was the last thing on her mind.
With a smile, Alex took up her right hand, planting a kiss on its smooth palm. "With money and no interest," he evenly answered her. "And what about you, Amber-is your work occupying you at the moment?"
"Obviously not," she dryly replied, "though one could make the inquiry as to what work in particular you are referring to," she smiled sensually, slowly running her fingers down his chest to his belt.
"Come on, Amber," Alex grinned, breaking from her satin sleeve embrace as he straightened up and spun the chair around. "You know work hour regulations. What do you want to do here, get us fired?"
Amber tilted her head, her rose red lips spreading in a teasing smile. "What do you want to do here, get me desperate?"
With a grin, Alex spun his chair back around. "Never. Tell you what," he said, as the auburn-tinted blonde leaned back down to nuzzle his neck. "Tonight I'll take you out to Michelle's, you know that really ritzy new place just opened up on a Hundred and First? And later on, we'll stop by my apartment. Sound good?"
"Subliminal," the woman sultrily replied. "As long as you wear this same cologne." Then, planting a final kiss, Amber Madison lifted up her head to study the computer screen, draping her arm over the top of the chair. "So what the hell is up in the sky?" she casually inquired.
"Damn if it's anything," Alex dryly returned. "Sometimes I don't know why they even bother to monitor the place. Twenty years, what, this station has been in operation? And not one singular sighted occurrence other than an occasional hurricane. That makes for one boring watch day."
"Hmm," agreed Amber. "But I guess that's what we want, isn't it? An uneventful, predictable Middle Earth?"
"That's certainly what the Feds want," replied Alex absently, typing in another set of codes. "Personally, I think this country, this station not even considered, could use some stirring up."
"What do you mean?" asked Amber, turning to him with a blink.
"I mean that America in general is acquiring an attitude, Amber," said Alex, continuing to type. "For all our blessings, we are becoming an arrogant land. It seems I can't go anywhere now without some smartass getting in my face about something. Like yesterday-these kids at the mall were trying to return some items they'd bought at a music store. The store had a return policy which they were made aware of on the day they purchased the items. But nonetheless, these high school kids came in to return what they'd bought after the deadline for refund. And when the store clerk explained to them that they couldn't return their purchases at that point, they began to pitch a fit. They started insulting the clerk and the store, and demanding to see the store manager. They were holding up the whole line, so I finally said something to them about it-and every one of those little dipshits got in my face with a punkass attitude, not even ever having it once dawn on them that they were the ones in the wrong-everything was all about them. Sometimes I feel like that's how this whole people and country is becoming.
From my point of view, any kind of large crisis in Middle Earth that would stir up media coverage or start dominating people's daily thought lives might make a good impression-maybe if Americans saw someone less fortunate than themselves, it would dawn on them to adopt a more humble and grateful attitude for all the blessings they have in this country. In my opinion, there's plenty of pricks and smartasses in this city alone who need a good glass of cold water thrown in their face."
"Oh, Alex, come on," Amber sighed impatiently. "It was just a bunch of high school kids. We were all immature dickheads at that age. God, don't let yourself get pissed off about that to the point that you have to start preaching."
"Forget it," said Alex. "I figure you're right, it's just-ah, forget it," he brushed off, finishing up his typing.
Amber smiled down at him. "So what kind of life-shattering Middle Earth crisis would you prescribe for our country's salvation, Lord Alex of Wisdom?" she asked.
"What? Oh, Amber, get off it!" Alex replied, playfully slapping her away.
"A great crisis?" she teased. "A terrifying crisis? Look thou yonder, my lord Alex-I see a great change dawning over the fair land of Middle Earth. What can it be? Oh no-is it possible? Yea, it is! The One take my soul but the Midlings have discovered pre-marital sex-but they know nothing of birth control! Ai no, their numbers shall now multiply with speed unchecked until at last their whole land is overrun, and they must seek to journey hither! Oh, Great Lord Alex, America turns to you-what shall we do?"
Erupting into laughter, Alex had to pause his work, while a hysterical Amber sank down on her knees to the level of his chair arm. Finally, Alex regained his composure, reaching over for his coffee cup. "I don't know whether the Midlings really hold to the romantic ideal of pre-marital chastity or not, Amber," he smiled, taking a sip of the steaming black coffee. "We generally didn't in our medieval times, even though it was supposed to be a moral law."
"Pretty difficult law to enforce," Amber grinned, laying her head in her palm. Gazing at the satellite-photographed land on the computer screen, she thoughtfully mused. "God, it must be rough to live in Middle Earth-the smell alone is probably incapacitating."
"The smell?" inquired Alex.
Amber nodded. "Yeah. A documentary of the Middle Ages came on my tv a couple nights ago. You know that people back then only bathed about once a year?"
"Well, maybe their Middle Ages are different from ours," stated Alex.
"Why should they be?" remarked Amber carelessly. "So anyway, what time is it?"
"About noon," Alex replied, checking his watch. "I'm just about ready for lunch-if it was any other institution that gave me my paycheck, I'd be slipping off early."
"But you don't pull that kind of shit with the government," sighed Amber. "No punching out 'till our replacements get here."
"No kidding either, Amber," said Alex seriously. "Just in case something actually did happen-would you like to go down in history as the one who ruined our country by not looking at the screen when the attack came?"
"The attack?" said Amber sarcastically. "The magical attack of doom that we must be ever on guard against-from frightening, predictable little Middle Earth up there?" she spoke, tapping the computer screen.
"Better safe than sorry," stated Alex. "Even if my occasional frustration says otherwise."
"Mood swing," noted Amber. "You said before you didn't even know why they bothered monitoring it."
"Like I said, occasional frustration," returned Alex. "I really do know it's a good idea."
Amber shrugged; then, tilting her head at the screen with its space-view map out of Middle Earth, she smiled. "Seriously though, Alex, even if Americans have gotten a little proud perhaps-you don't honestly think we really need to learn anything from Midlings, do you?"
"No, I wouldn't go that far," agreed Alex. "They are still technologically and socially behind us-I just wonder if maybe seeing some of that would make Americans more appreciative of what they have and less inclined to whine or bitch about things."
Amber pondered. "I guess, though, there's one thing I can think of that I might like to rip off that place," she commented. "Magic-if there even is any. I'm starting to think that's all just a government cook-up too, for whatever reason they'd have."
"I don't know if there's really any magic out there or not," assented Alex, gazing at the land on the screen. "But in either event, the scare of it's still getting us a job."
"A damn boring job," spoke Amber, rubbing her eyes.
"You should try being one of the women out there," stated Alex, taking another sip of coffee.
Amber smiled. "Maybe I would have magic," she teasingly suggested.
Alex grinned. "I don't think so, Amber-but I dare say you and the rest of America's females wouldn't need it anyway, to get your way about things. You're all independently bossy enough without it."
"Hey, I'm not some sheltered Midling maiden waiting for Prince Charming to come and take care of me always," remarked Amber. "So I and American women are independent and aggressive about pursuing the things we want-we often have to look out for ourselves, you know." Seeing Alex smiling, she playfully yanked his hair. "Anyway, anytime you'd like to take a step to change all of that for me, Alex-
"No, no!" cried Alex. "I take it back! You're wonderful, dear, wonderful all by yourself in your awe-inspiring independence-
"Oh, come on, Alex!" laughed Amber. "Rescue me! Save me from my dreary independence, my heart-wrenching denial of maidenhood!" Amid Alex's mock looks of horror, she cracked up under her own humor. "Take my hand henceforth, my Lord-and lead me into the light! The light is to be found in the Dark Ages!"
Suddenly, their laughter was pierced by a shrill beep. Jumping up, Amber composed herself. "Time to go to work," she announced, sitting back down at her computer, from whence the alarm had issued.
Alex followed her. "So what's up in your sky?" he asked, leaning over the back of her chair with a smile.
Amber grinned, tilting her head as he began to nuzzle her neck. "Odyssey's coming home," she stated.
"Really?" Alex asked with sudden interest. "I thought she wasn't due for another couple of days."
"Nope-she's here now," said Amber, typing some access codes onto her keyboard. "Coming in at forty-five degrees…right there."
His face filled with wonder, Alex peered at the screen. "God-so she is. I can't believe it."
"She's back," Amber smiled, her gaze shifting back and forth between the keyboard and the screen.
"Eighty-two months in space," breathed Alex. "Over a billion dollars…this is a happy day for Nasa."
"The happiest since mankind walked on the moon," asserted Amber. "God, over its whole voyage, can you think how many photographs that thing took?"
"Wish we had access to them," sighed Alex. "You sure you don't get to even steal a glance?"
"No, I'm not even a main operative," spoke Amber regretfully. "I only supply a few commands prior to re-entry. The real overseers are down there," she said motioning to the large glass window which looked down over a bustling, computer-filled room.
"Still beats overseeing Middle Earth, I'd say," spoke Alex dryly. "At least Odyssey moves across the screen."
Amber laughed. "You know, Alex," she suggested, "seeing as you are the official main overseer of the Middle Earth, I think that maybe we should accordingly decorate this place."
Alex grinned. "Oh yeah?"
"Oh yeah," reiterated Amber jokingly. "We could put up medieval paintings… suits of armor-"
"You could come to work in a Celtic dress…" broke in Alex with a tone of mock contemplation.
"If it would please you, my Lord," teased Amber.
"Oh God, it's getting to us, we're starting to talk like them!" cried Alex tragically. "Staring at Midlings all day, we've cracked!"
"You'll crack," smiled Amber. "Like you said, I'm on Odyssey-speaking of which…" she prepared to type again, her gaze re-focused to the computer screen, "…here she comes. O.K….aligning signal…giving access codes… " With full concentration, she watched the screen, typing a series of codes now and then. "Coming in…there," she concluded, taking her hands off the keyboard. "Now it's their problem."
With a smile, the auburn-tinted blonde swung her chair back around. "So about tonight: what time are you-
A sudden beep interrupted her sentence. With a blink, Amber Madison swiveled her chair back around. Gazing at the screen, her sight was met with an odd sequence of blinking numbers. "Huh?" she breathed. Moving her fingers back to the keyboard, she cleared the screen and re-typed the code sequence for probe re-entry. Then, locking her gaze to the screen, she waited. The desired program began to activate-but then just as suddenly, it aborted, the harsh beep sounding again with the resumed accompaniment of a flashing matrix engaged in a sporadic race across the screen. Amber's eyes widened, the light from the monitor eerily playing off her face in the semi-lit room. Her fingers frozen on the keyboard, her voice lowered to a whisper. "What the hell?"
Blinking in worry, Alex leaned over the chair. "What's wrong?" he inquired.
"I-don't know," Amber started to reply.
Suddenly, a pair of discarded headphones beside the computer began to loudly beep in signal. Quickly, Amber snatched them up and over her ears. "Yes," she spoke evenly. "Yes, I know. Repeating sequence." For one final time, Amber rapidly cleared the computer screen and typed in the probe's initial re-entry code. This time, however, the computer refused to even accept the code. Persisting its harsh beeping, it continued to display the random matrices of flashing numbers across the screen. Her face paling, Amber spoke tensely into her mouthphone. "The onboard probe computer is rejecting the code. Request sequence for automatic override." In a few moments, she was typing again-but before she could even complete entry of the new code, the program froze, and a piercing warning alarm began to sound. Across the screen, a large red message suddenly initiated its periodic flash: MALFUNCTION.
"Oh my God…" breathed Alex.
Sitting stock-still, Amber's hands became rigid in anxiety. "Sir, are you seeing this?" she inquired.
Looking out through the glass pane, Alex could see that the large computer room below had become a frantic maelstrom. Technicians feverishly typed at their computers while officials and overseers ran up and down the various aisles flinging papers and words one at the other. "Amber…" he started.
Amber was desperately typing at her keyboard. "I can't do anything with it," she called into the mouthphone, struggling to maintain an even tone. Across the screen, the warning word began to flash more and more frequently, the racing numbers beginning to violently blink back and forth with sporadic incoherency. More and more insistently, the alarm increased its frequency and volume.
"Amber!" spoke Alex urgently. "Come on, you've got to do something! The error originated in your program, you've got to do something!"
"I can't!" she cried frantically. "It's frozen, I can't get it to respond to anything!" Biting her lip, she glued her eyes to the screen while her fingers moved across the keyboard with feverish panic. "Goddamn piece of shit!" she shouted, slamming her fingers down on the unresponsive keys.
"Amber!" warned Alex, "the probe's moving too far out of assigned orbit-you're 'gonna lose it!"
"I know, dammit!" she shouted, endeavoring to type again. But to no avail were either her or all of her lower-level associates' efforts-with continued increasing speed, the probe maintained its gradual shift toward its set orbit's established boundary. "My God!" yelled Amber. "Sir, there's nothing I can do!"
"Madison, whatever the hell you have to do, at this point I don't care if it damages the program, just stop it!" came a loud voice over her earphones.
One last time, the nervous woman attempted a successful code communication with the probe computer-but as before, her effort was completely ineffectual. Her eyes saucers, she shouted in exasperation. "Shit, the thing's an icebox-I can't stop it!"
Leaning down to the screen, Alex gaped in horror. "Holy shit-a billion dollars, and the thing is 'gonna crash," he croaked.
"Are there any more access codes?!" shouted Amber frantically into her mouthphone. "Second-level, basic matrices-anything?!"
Crossing to the glass pane, Alex looked out over the computer room. Everyone had ceased to type, had ceased to bustle to and fro, and was simply standing and sitting stock-still…watching. Watching the large main screen at the front of the room which showed the space probe Odyssey I drifting closer and closer to its orbit horizon. With a swallow, the brown headed man turned back to where Amber was still punching codes on her keyboard like a maniac. "Amber, it's too late," he called.
Forcefully shaking her head, the woman stubbornly continued to bang on the keys. "If I can just get a single response-
"It will still be too late," emphasized Alex, laying his hands over hers to stop their feverish motion. "There's not enough time left for the probe to correct its path now, even with a registered command prompt. It's over," he somberly stated.
With a pale expression, Amber turned her face to gaze out of the glass pane in the wall, her eyes catching on the malfunctioning probe as it slowly slipped out of its prescribed orbit. Dismally shutting her eyes, she painfully waited for the inevitable. Everything about the room around and the room beneath them was silent-until a long, low beep finally signified the probe's fatal crash landing upon the earth. Opening her eyes, Amber spoke in a low murmur. "Is it a wreck?"
Alex blinked, gazing out the glass panel. Suddenly, he started. "Doesn't look like it!" he cried. "Check it out!"
Raising her eyebrows, Amber looked out the glass window where in the room beneath, the many technicians and officials had broken into a grateful, if not triumphant, applause. "What the hell…" Turning away, she snatched up the discarded headphones. "Sir, what happened?!" she anxiously demanded. Her eyes slowly grew wide as silently she listened. "Yes, Sir," she asserted. Turning to Alex, she let out a breath of relief. "It's a lucky save," she said. "The probe's a crater, but the film's O.K. Its encapsulating shell sheltered it from the impact."
"Thank God," released Alex gratefully. "A billion dollars-we'd have seen that one in our next paycheck."
"They want us down there," stated Amber. "They need all data as to what could have possibly caused the malfunction."
"Goodbye lunch break," sighed Alex, following her out the door.
A few minutes later, the two programmers were standing by their team executive as he hastily concluded a phone conversation. "No-no, we're working on that now, Sir," he spoke. "I'll call as soon as we know something." Hanging up the receiver, he turned to his two charges. "All right, Bolton, Madison, any report?"
"No, Sir," answered Alex with a shake of his head. "My station was off the Odyssey I program altogether for once. No error got transmitted from there."
"What about you, Madison?" the exasperated man inquired. "The error originated at your station. What the hell happened up there?"
"I don't know, Sir," responded Amber a little nervously. "The probe's onboard computer wouldn't accept the transmitted access code. The program froze-I was unable to render control of the probe to the team operatives."
"The program froze-shit, that's great," sighed the wearied man, rubbing his hands over his eyes. "What in the hell-
"Sir!" cried an eager operative rigidly seated at his station. "Receiving generated transmission from the probe camera!"
Immediately, all three people rushed over to a specified station. "Get a lock on it!" ordered the chief executive urgently. "I want that thing traced!"
With rapid compliance, the operative feverishly began to type away. Almost instantly afterward, he eagerly punched a few random buttons to the side of the computer and shot his gaze upward to the large screen at the front of the room. "Sir! The location, it's tracked it!"
As everyone in the room threw their gazes to the massive computer wall, tensely holding their breaths, a satellite-photographed map slowly came up on the large screen. With a gasp, Amber threw her hand over her mouth.
Alex Bolton's eyes widened as his lips parted in disbelief. "No…" he murmured.
His face paling, the lead executive gripped his pen in a vice-hold. Staring at the screen, with all he had in him, he silently prayed for the non-appearance of a fatal, flashing little red pinpoint. "Oh my God-please tell me it didn't…"
II
Twirling her butter knife in her hand, Clarissa Bennett thoughtfully considered the well calculated list of ingredients before her: two eggs, two-and-a-half cups of milk, two tsp. of baking soda, 3 tbsp. of butter, four cups of flour, one-and-a-half cups of sugar, one tsp. of vanilla flavoring, and one packet of white cake mix. With a long breath, the twenty-eight year old woman ran a hand through her frizzy blonde hair. She had put every effort into this cake; and if it turned out anything short of absolutely perfect, she was going to collapse in disappointment. As mentally brilliant as she was, the culinary arts had always proven a subject utterly and completely beyond her comprehension.; yet on this particular day, she had stubbornly forced herself to struggle on against her inherent inability from morning 'til noon to thus create an acceptably good-if not delectable-round, two-layer white cake with vanilla frosting of yellow and blue. For today was a special day. With a smile, Clarissa carefully frosted the last inch of the cake. Today was-
"Bon Matin, moi cherie!"
"AHHH!!!!" shrieked Clarissa, abruptly startled out of her intense spell of concentration by the sudden enwrapping of two arms around her. "Robert! What are you doing here?!"
"It's my birthday, my dear," replied her husband carelessly. "I may go and do whither I will."
"I specifically sent you out of here at eight 'o clock this morning with inviolate instructions not to return until 1:00 P.M.," spoke Clarissa in acute aggravation as she turned to face her spouse. "And you know very well why: I needed this time to make the cake! The cake whose appearance was supposed to be revealed on the dining room table when I had my camera ready for your reaction? Honestly, Robert, do you have to spoil every surprise?"
"You know as well I do that if I had waited to see your cake when you were watching my reaction, you would have been more nervous than a person who's just seen "Jaws" on the beach," returned Robert practically. "I adopted the sacrificial charity of transmuting your anxiety into anger. And you see, it worked-you don't care what I think of that cake now, do you?" he grinned teasingly. "And so now," he opted slightly ducking his head, "if I could just have a husband's standard blow with the rolling pin…"
"Oh, Robert, you jerk!" Clarissa laughed helplessly, giving his cheek a kiss. "I ought to give you a blow with the rolling pin, and see if the lump didn't make you remember to keep away from my surprise next time! But really-what do you think of it? Is it too plain?"
"Not at all, Dear," smiled Robert, kissing the top of her head. "I think it suits me just perfectly. Especially now since today marks the beginning of my lifetime as an old man."
"Oh, Robert, really!" Clarissa spoke impatiently. "Thirty years old is not a tombstone-you speak as if your entire existence were crumbling into pieces!"
"And so it is, and so it is," sighed Robert dramatically. "Today, thirty; tomorrow fifty; and soon-
"And that rolling pin is starting to gain a mysterious appeal again…"
"And all those years still not enough time to spend with you, Darling," he finished quickly with a teasing smile.
Laughing out loud, Clarissa tilted her chin up for a sweet kiss. When they broke away, she warmly smiled, her baby blue eyes glittery pools of teasing affection behind her thin black glasses. "You, Sir, are completely incorrigible," she stated wryly.
"Thank you, Dear," replied Robert cheerfully. "And now, if you don't mind, I propose to cut this extravagantly exquisite cake-
"No, you don't!" cried Clarissa frantically. "Not until I've gotten a picture!" Like a bullet, she shot out of the kitchen, her frizzy hair flying behind her.
While she searched the house for her camera, from the kitchen Robert teased her. "I'm going to cut it, Clarissa," he loudly called.
"Robert, don't you dare!" came the incensed reply.
"I'm going to cut it on the count of three!"
"Robert!"
"One…"
"Wait a sec-
"Two…"
"Robert Bennett-"
"I'm cutting it…"
At that precise moment, Clarissa came tearing into the kitchen, her snapshot camera clasped in her hand. "Don't you even dare!" she yelled. Then, just as immediately, she smiled. "O.K.," she spoke enthusiastically, turning some dials on her camera, "just let me get a quick snapshot-
Just then, the phone on the kitchen wall suddenly began to ring. "I'll get it," said Robert, crossing to the counter. "You just get your picture, Dear," he smiled, rolling his eyes.
"Hey, I worked on this cake for three and a half hours!" protested Clarissa indignantly. "If you had put the amount of time and effort into some-
"I know, it's all right," laughed Robert. Absently, he picked up the phone as it shrilly rang again. "I'm just teasing you, Honey. Hello?" he spoke nonchalantly into the receiver. "Speaking." Amusedly watching his wife as she fidgeted with annoyance at the camera controls, Robert listened with a smile; then suddenly, the carefree grin strangely faded from his face. "What?" he asked.
"God, this thing is useless!" shouted Clarissa in aggravation. "Robert, where did you leave your cam-
His eyes growing tensely alarmed, Robert absently waved his hand and shushed her. "Mmm-hmm," he said, his tone deeply apprehensive. "Mmm-hmm."
With a blink, Clarissa halted her irritated inquiry, her demeanor immediately losing its warm nonchalance for a reserved air of concern. "Who is it?" she asked.
His face clouding over with concern, Robert didn't answer. "How long?" he anxiously inquired. "Are you sure?" As the obscure voice continued its monologue over the phone, Robert listened with a somber countenance and painstaking attentiveness. At last, he closed his eyes and wearily rubbed his fingers over their lids. Then, with a swallow, he dropped his hand from his face and spoke with a wholly resolute tone, his eyes fixed to some obscure point on the wall in front of him. "Yes, Sir-yes, Sir, we'll be there immediately, as soon as we can."
As soon as he hung up the phone, Clarissa anxiously put forth her central question concerning the call's message, already guessing at this point who the call was from. "What did the department want, Robert? What happened?"
Rubbing his hands over his eyes, Robert took a breath. "Odyssey's crashed," he stated somberly.
Her eyes widening, Clarissa gaped in horror. "Crashed?! How can that be?"
"Computer malfunction," said Robert evenly. "It seems the probe's onboard computer spontaneously rejected all of the access codes for orbital alignment procedure prior to re-entry. No one know exactly what caused it, as of yet."
"Oh my God," moaned Clarissa, leaning over the counter to hang her head in her hands. "That probe was worth close to a billion dollars, Robert," she lamented miserably. "All of NASA's 'gonna pipe the tune for this one. And the photographs, oh god-
"They're all right," interjected Robert quickly.
Clarissa snapped her head up. "What?"
"That's the one redeeming factor," stated Robert. "That encapsulating layer we put around the camera in the instance of a worst case scenario-it worked. The film capsule was completely shielded from the impact. It's safely in one piece transmitting the coordinate data of its location."
"Oh, thank God!" breathed Clarissa in relief, running her hand over her eyes. "As long as we salvaged that-where is it? Where'd it land?" she asked anxiously.
Drawing a breath, Robert folded his arms and looked her somberly in the face. "That's the one very serious problem," he stated heavily. "It just so happens, that amid all the vast area of oceans in the world, the Odyssey I probe touched down on the continent of Middle Earth."
Her face frozen in disbelief, Clarissa's mouth dropped open. "You're not joking?" she finally faltered. "…It really landed on Middle Earth?"
"Just about smack dab in the middle of one of its shorelines," embellished Robert negatively.
Letting her eyes widen to the size of saucers, Clarissa absently crossed to the kitchen table and sank down in one of its high-backed wooden chairs. "Oh my God," she breathed worriedly.
Walking toward the doorway, Robert snatched his car keys off the counter. "They want us to report down there immediately," he said.
"That's a given," sighed Clarissa, rising up from the table. "What do you think they're 'gonna do about this?"
"I don't know," spoke Robert sincerely. "This is sure something that nobody ever planned on. God, what are the chances?"
"No kidding," breathed Clarissa, forlornly shaking her head. "Of all calculated outcomes, this certainly isn't the one that I envisioned when we handed in those design formats to the department."
"It's a load of shit," moaned Robert. "And guess who they're 'gonna try to nail it on? None other, than you and I, Dear, the incompetent heads of the negligent constructional design team."
"Is that what they said?" Clarissa gasped anxiously, snapping her head over to his gaze.
"No," replied Robert. "But I'm full aware that's what's coming."
"Great," sighed Clarissa, starting with him for the door. "Just great." Pausing at the door, however, she turned to him with one quick sarcastic smile. "Well," she spoke with a wry tone of humor—"Happy Birthday."
III
As she was escorted down the long dim hallway, the only sound that Clarissa Bennett could distinctly make out was the smart click of her high heel shoes on the slick tile floor. Glancing over at her husband, the frizzy blonde had her gaze met with an equally apprehensive one whose intensity increased the nearer they came to the door at the end of the hall. With a sigh, the young woman looked away and resolutely pushed her thin black glasses up the bridge of her nose. This wasn't going to be pleasant.
Reaching the end of the hall, one of their uniformed escorts silently opened the door and ushered them both inside. As the door was closed behind them, they were greeted by a man who immediately rose from his place at the head of a long table seating several government and NASA officials. "Dr. Bennett," he said respectfully, shaking Robert's hand. "And Dr. Bennett," he added, nodding at Clarissa with the hint of a smile. "Daniel Goldin," he introduced himself. "Gentlemen," he then spoke, turning to address the seated company. "This is Drs. Robert and Clarissa Bennett, the heads of the design crew." At some polite nods from his colleagues, he continued, glancing back at the Bennetts. "We all appreciate you coming on such short notice."
"Sir," nodded Robert a little nervously to the head of NASA. "No inconvenience at all."
"As you know," spoke Goldin, "The Odyssey I probe crashed at eleven hundred forty-five hours in the southeastern region of Middle Earth." Crossing to a large screen on the wall, he pointed to a flashing red dot on a detailed satellite map. "Right around this area." Pausing, he turned to the two engineers. "Any thoughts on that?"
"Sir, I can't say off hand that I have any theory for what the cause of the crash was," spoke Robert. "But if I and my associate will be permitted to look at the details involved in the crash, the computer print-outs, electronic databases, we might have a chance of getting to the bottom of it."
"You're not going to have to worry about your data, Bennett," returned Goldin. "You'll be getting all you need to analyze the cause of the crash. That's the purpose of this meeting."
Clarissa blinked in confusion. "Sir?" she asked.
Turning back to the screen, the NASA chief raised a small remote control and changed the view from space perspective to an extreme zoom-in on the terrain. "This," he said, brushing his hand over a portion of the screen, "is the estimated zone of the crash site. About a mile-and-a-half diameter. Our Middle Earth Observation Department scanned the area and reported it to be a woodland, from all appearances uninhabited. Which brings me to the crux of this matter." Turning to the confused couple, he crossed his arms in a stance of utter seriousness. "The information you are about to receive is first-class confidential. In light of Odyssey I's unprecedented scientific and government-backed financial enormity, a special committee held in Washington, with the President's consent, has authorized NASA to organize a recovery team to land at the crash site and retrieve the probe's film, known to be still intact, and whatever part or parts of the vessel might have escaped incineration."
If the head of NASA had informed Robert and Clarissa Bennett that a committee in Washington had just authorized NASA to organize a team to embark on a trek outside the Milky Way Galaxy, they could not have been more stunned. "Sir?" inquired Robert slowly. "The Department of NASA has been granted permission by the United States government to land in Middle Earth?"
"Affirmative," spoke a uniformed officer, rising from the table. "The government recognizes the importance of the Odyssey I probe as significant enough to allow a deviation from federal policy. I'm Major Williams, and I'll be commanding the defense unit for the recovery team which NASA Administrator Goldin has informed you of."
"The defense unit?" queried Clarissa, her gaze turning to the somber black man in uniform.
"Major Williams will be heading a Green Baret company of five," expounded Goldin. "Their presence is to ensure the safety of the research team that NASA officials have selected to retrieve the Odyssey unit. All movement and projective decisions of the retrieval mission will be subject to the authority of the NASA specialists excepting if a matter of defense should arise, in which case an appropriate measure of authority will be delegated to the major and his unit."
Robert's eyes widened. "May we be allowed to inquire what individuals NASA has appointed to make up the recovery unit?" he inquired.
"Certainly," spoke Goldin evenly. "The main programmer for the Odyssey I onboard computer Dr. Felton, chief radioactive specialist Dr. Geer, and the two of you."
"What?!" Clarissa abruptly started, her face going white in shock.
"Dr. Bennett, you and your husband are the heads of the design team for the Odyssey I unit," stated the NASA administrator calmly. "Your presence on this endeavor is essentially required if any knowledge as to what factors could have ostensibly precipitated the probe's malfunction is to be gained from evidence directly involving the crash site. We don't want something like this happening ever again."
"Sir?" breathed Robert incredulously, still skeptical as to whether he had heard right, "…my wife and I-are being sent to Middle Earth?"
"That's right," affirmed Goldin evenly. "The two of you have been officially assigned to this mission by the administration board of NASA. You may, however, choose to decline."
"At what expense?" asked Clarissa wryly.
"The Odyssey I probe is your primary project. It was assigned to you based on your exemplary qualifications and performance in previous endeavors. Being selected to work on the Odyssey program was the highest honor an engineer of your department could receive, but with that honor and position came responsibilities," explained the NASA chief. "If you choose to waive official responsibility for the Odyssey I probe, it follows that your replacement on the recovery endeavor will assume all further administration over the program."
You're fired, the couple translated sarcastically.
"Well," spoke Robert, adopting a conciliatory tone, "that is reasonable, I suppose. When do we leave?"
"You'll report to Department Head John Byrd at o'eight hundred hours tomorrow to be briefed on the mission," answered Goldin. "You will also receive preliminary training at that time to be continued at a fixed schedule up until October nineteenth: Go-Day."
The young couple nodded respectfully. It was either go or let someone else get their job. Turning to the satellite screen, they let their eyes drift over the wide land mass criss-crossed with numerous zoning lines and technically-devised travel routes. Drawing a breath, they swallowed. Somewhere on that vast, unexplored, medieval continent was a space-age American satellite-and it was up to them, of all people, to find it.
IV
"We must not go!" Mirathil shrilly insisted, clinging to her mother's dress as she was drug along the floor behind her.
"Mirathil, in the name of the Valar!" exclaimed Ilweth in exasperation. "If you do not let go of my gown this instant, I will fetch a switch!"
Blinking her violet eyes fearfully, Mirathil released the bottom folds of her mother's garment. "But, Mama-
"No words, Mirathil," Ilweth cut her off in irritation. "No harm or ill is going to befall us on this journey."
"But, Mama-
"Mirathil, sit down and keep silent for once," ordered Ilweth sternly. "Eldoran!" she called into the next room, "will you bring me my comb? I seem to have forgotten it."
Her face growing white with panic, Mirathil sat down on the floor and loudly burst into tears. "Pl-ease!" she choked brokenly. "Please-we can not go…"
"Oh, Mirathil," sighed Ilweth, kneeling down to stroke her daughter's hair. "For the Valar's sake, do not cry so! It is only a brief journey-we will go hither and return all in three weeks."
"We will not!" sobbed Mirathil uncontrollably. "Evil will happen!"
"It will not, Mirathil," stated Ilweth, taking her young daughter's hand. "I promise you, no evil will come upon any of us in this journey."
"Ilweth, your comb is not here!" Eldoran answered from the bed chamber. "Look again, you must have laid it in among your things!"
Sighing, Ilweth arose and crossed the room to rummage through a large brown leather sack. What a week this past one had been! The day after her husband had returned from the house of the Steward with his privileged assignment, Mirathil had come down with a horrible illness which had required constant attentive care. Between encouraging Eldoran in his work on the royal funeral shroud and endeavoring to prepare some meal which Mirathil could keep down, Ilweth had scarcely had a single moment to herself; and to crown the whole ordeal, she had been forced to stay home the day of the Lady Finduilas's funeral to care for her yet sick child. A necessity but a bitter disappointment nonetheless.
It was thus fairly natural that after the miserable affair of the past week, Ilweth would be all the more greatly looking forward to the pleasant diversion planned for the new one. Every year or two, Eldoran made a special trek with his wife to Ithilien, where she had been born and raised, to visit her parents. It had not been since Mirathil's infancy that the journey had been made, and doubtless, Ilweth's parents were eager to see not only their daughter but also their growing granddaughter.
Unfortunately, Mirathil did not seem equally delighted at the prospect of seeing them. We can not go! she had irrationally and emphatically began to cry when they had first just informed her of the journey. It is evil! Evil will happen! The entire morning had seen her consumed in a wild, tearful fit. Despite their attempts to calm her, all that the child could do was run after her parents as they endeavored to pack their belongings and supplies screaming in terror for them not to go. Shaking her head, Ilweth wondered if some shadow of sickness still lay over the girl, inciting her outlandish behavior.
"Please, Mama," she heard her young daughter whisper from behind her once more. "Please, do not go. If we do not go, everything will be all right," she strove to convince her.
Turning around, Ilweth smiled at Mirathil gently. "Mirathil," she soothed, "everything will be all right on the journey. We have made it many times, many times 'ere you were even born. We know how to arrive safely. Trust us-do not be afraid."
Silent tears continued to slip down Mirathil's cheeks. "I am afraid," she whimpered. "I saw it."
"Mirathil, you saw nothing," Ilweth sighed hopelessly, turning back around. Searching the bag, she suddenly smiled as her hand lighted on a familiar wooden object. "Here it is," she said with satisfaction. "Eldoran, I have found my comb!" she called. "Are you readied?"
"Yea," said her husband, emerging from the bed chamber with a few last articles in his arms. "Are you, Ilweth?"
"Yes," she replied, hoisting the leather sack off the table. Crossing the room to her husband, she held the bag open while he dropped his bundle inside. Then, she tightly pulled the drawstrings, turning her head in exasperation as Mirathil gave a loud, mournful cry. "Mirathil, that is enough. You are behaving in an ill manner. Cease your crying, and come outside."
Rising to her feet, Mirathil slowly crossed the room to where her parents stood. She had been desperate to make them understand, but they had refused to. What could she do? Never before had she felt more lost, more helpless. She wished Faramir were here, he would know what to do, what to say. Faramir-she wished she could see him again. But her parents would ruin everything! "Please," she begged desperately as she reached her parents. Looking up at them, she focused her tearful violet gaze directly into theirs. "Please…do not go. You will wish you had not gone. We will all wish you had not gone. Do not go."
Gazing down at their daughter, Eldoran and Ilweth were suddenly struck with a strange sort of feeling; their young daughter, peering up at them, almost seemed to be more than a child, her words more than a baby's prattle. It was nearly as though she were speaking…beyond herself somehow. And for half a moment, it touched them…
But in the next moment, they were returned to the realm of practical reality. "Mirathil," sighed Eldoran, "Behind the gauze of those tears, your eyes never did appear so purple or so unsettling; but come now! Let us be off. And no more of this foolishness from your mouth." Taking her hand, he led her, together with his wife, toward the door.
Looking back, Mirathil blinked tearfully. She beheld the table she had always eaten at, the spot on the floor where she had always played, the hearth by the fireplace where her mother was wont to brush her curly hair, even the corner where she was always sent to sit when she had done ill. With a confused swallow, she shut her violet eyes. Something was coming-something was changing…changing forever with every step she took, she could feel it. What? What was it?
As she stepped outside the house, she turned her eyes to the ground while the sound of the door being shut penetrated her hearing. Assuming a tone which exceeded the dejectedness of even her appearance, Mirathil spoke. "I never went back. Faramir wanted me to."
Patting her head, Ilweth sighed. "Mirathil," she said gently, "Faramir is the son of the Steward. He may not remember you. But if he does, he may call for you when we return. Please, do not raise your hopes so though, my little one." Leaning down to kiss her cheek, Ilweth then picked her up and began to walk with her husband down the ivory street on a march to the city gates.
From over her mother's shoulder, Mirathil looked back at their little ivory house, set amid several others of identical appearance. Until her parents turned a corner and the familiar home vanished from view, she kept her violet eyes locked upon it with unwavering steadfastness. Then, she cast her gaze back down to the white cobble street, watching as it steadily drew backwards with the brisk pace of her parents' walking. She swallowed. Her mother did not know. Faramir would not forget her; he had given her the clip, the beautiful, sparkling clip that even now, she kept secretly tucked within the folds of her baggy pocket. But her mother did not know. No one knew.
Closing her eyes, Mirathil clutched the folds of her mother's dress more tightly. They did not understand, they would not listen. But perhaps, she could be wrong, perhaps no evil would come as she expected. Rubbing her eyes, Mirathil kissed her mother's cheek. She hoped she was wrong-no, she was wrong! With tearful resolve, the little girl hugged her mother in a death grip. "Go away," she whispered fiercely. "I do not believe you. Nothing will happen to my mama-nothing will happen to my mama or my father or me! There is no evil, and I will not say anything! Nothing will happen…"
V
Like long dark fingers, the mists and shadows rose and fell around the partially reconstructed architecture. Now and then, the gloomy clouds would part with a dry wind, revealing for just a moment a tall, foreboding tower, stretching its cruel top to the very sky it seemed. Around the enormous fortress-tower, hundreds of hideous creatures, Orcs and Trolls together, were hard at work laboring to repair and build up the grim structure-while within, an ominous storm was brewing.
With a burning intensity, Sauron brooded over his palantir. Only but one week ago, he had beheld it, the rarest and most deadly treasure which ages ago his master had told him of-a seer. Still, seven days later, he could scarcely believe his luck-that a seer, just born into the world, would somehow find their way to a palantir and by chance reveal themselves to his person. What a fortuitous occurrence!
And yet, Sauron had cause to doubt-if the child had been within the Lord Denethor's halls, was such indicative of the possibility that the Steward as well knew her for what she was and had drawn her into his protection? More importantly, it was still a blow to Sauron's mind how the child had managed to repel his influence; in complete rebellion, she had broken free of his power and escaped the realm of the palantir. What did that mean? Playing the scene over and over in his mind, Sauron recalled her words:
You lie…
Eru Iluvatar is great…
He is the Lord of All!
Drawing a breath, Sauron's mind was suddenly filled with understanding-
I judge they will be noble people, with exceeding strength of these virtues: humility before the One, truthfulness of speech, and caring for the people of this world…
Thou speakest lies!
"Truthfulness of speech…" murmured Sauron slowly.
I HATE lies!
"So that is how…" realized Sauron in amazement.
I will not listen to them!
It will be a long battle between our will and theirs…
NO!!!
"My will and yours…" murmured Sauron thoughtfully.
"My Lord?"
With a snap, Sauron whirled around. "Who enters my presence?" he thundered.
Breaking into a tremble, the darkly clad man involuntarily took a step backwards. "My Lord, it is thy messenger," he hastily explained. "I bring word that those whom you requested have arrived."
Relaxing his offended stance, Sauron recognized his servant. "Very good," he spoke smoothly. "Draw closer-I will show you something."
A bit hesitantly, the man approached his dark lord; as of yet, his master had no physical form and the great aura of darkness which served as his embodiment struck fear into even the hearts of those who were safe in his favor. But when the man saw that his master purposed to allow him a look into the palantir, he quickened his pace, eager, as a learned sorcerer, to experience its power. Waving his hand over the dim Seeing Stone, Sauron suddenly illuminated it into a searing red sphere, its interior swirling with a mass of formless cloud and shadow as it sought out its commanded target.
All at once, within the stone, there appeared a man of humble face and apparel. With a carefree gait, he made his way along an overgrown, woodland trail. By his side was a woman, also plainly garbed and modest in demeanor. Slung over his shoulder, the man carried a large brown leather sack. In her gentle arms, the woman carried a small little bundle, nestled close against her…
"Look upon the child," Sauron instructed his servant.
As if on cue, the young girl in the mother's arms lifted up her head and turned it around in an effort to see the road ahead. The man blinked, a trifle startled-two enormous violet eyes, set in a creamy little face met his view. With a yawn, the little girl brushed back a stray curl from her golden head and looked back up at her mother. "A fair child she be, Master," remarked the man sincerely. "Of what import is she?"
"She is for what my servants have been summoned," replied Sauron. "You will describe this child to their number. Tell them of the road she travels upon-a little used path through the southeastern portion of Ithilien. Their command from me is to intercept her in her journey and lay hold of her-they will slay her sires and any others who may be in her company. Then, they will bring her before me."
Although the man was not a little confused as to what purpose the capture of a young child could hold for the Dark Lord of Middle Earth, he reverently bowed without question at his master's wave of dismissal and exited the chamber with his orders. Walking through a labyrinth of obsidian halls and chambers, he finally came to two high iron doors. Pushing them open, he stepped into a half-lit chamber which held the company of four, exotically garbed men.
Upon his entry, the four men immediately bowed in respect, strands of their long dark hair falling out of their hoods. Crossing his arms, the man spoke in a tone grim and somber. "I am the Mouth of Sauron. Men of the East, Sauron has summoned you for the skill and success with which you have proven yourself in his service. Now, the Great Eye commands that you steal your way to Ithilien. Upon an old path of the Southeast, there travels a couple of Gondor-a man and woman and with them, a young child. This child bears hair of gold and eyes of amaranthine. When you find her, you are to take her and slay her sires. Slay as well any who may witness your deed or seek to hinder it. Then, return and bring her forth to me. Go."
At his wave of dismissal, the four men again bowed low, making a sign of allegiance on their chests with their half-gloved hands. "Yes, my Lord," their leader answered. Then, rising up, they turned to depart.
VI
Under the light of the moon, the waves crashed upon the shore with a steady rhythm. At various points along the dim beach, tiny hermit crabs, preceded by their long, distorted shadows, madly scurried to and fro. No one was there to see the small orange raft as against the night sky, it silently was rowed up to the shoreline.
As the bizarre little vessel struck ground, a tall, uniformed man eagerly jumped out of it. "So," he said with a cowboy smile, "this is Middle Earth."
"Cool it, Sharpe," spoke another man firmly, stepping out of the raft. "Radar said this area was quiet, but you never know. No shit, this is Middle Earth-and I want no horsing around. Got that?"
"Yes, Sir," spoke the soldier respectfully.
Turning back around, the commanding officer waited while everyone climbed out of the inflatable raft. Four more soldiers, their faces eager and curious; three male scientists, their faces interested but apprehensive; and one female scientist, her face fearful but resolute. When they were all out, he ordered the raft drawn in. "O.K.," he said, "deflate it. Sir?" he then asked respectfully, turning to Dr. Bennett, "what's your plan from here?"
"We're 'gonna track the probe with this," the chief scientist answered, holding up a small rectangular silver gadget. "This screen shows a satellite map-out of the surrounding area," he explained with a point of his finger. "And this little dot," he said, switching the mechanism on, "corresponds to the location of the probe."
"A homing device," assessed Major Williams.
"More or less," asserted Dr. Bennett absently, adjusting the settings of the hand-held tracking machine.
"All right, excellent," said the major turning away. Addressing his squadron of Green Barets, he spoke in an authoritative tone. "Let's get this job done, Gentlemen. We want to find this probe and get back out of here as quick as possible. Copy?"
"Copy that, Sir," answered the soldiers, folding up the deflated water raft.
Turning back to Dr. Bennett, Major Williams assumed a deferential posture. "When do we begin the search, Sir?"
"Immediately," ordered the scientist. "It's probably less likely that we would run into anyone at this hour. If we're lucky, we might be able to pinpoint the probe's location by sunrise."
"Affirmative," asserted the major. "O.K., Men," he said, addressing his troops again. "You heard Dr. Bennett's orders, let's go. We're 'gonna help the scientists cut a way through this forest. Maintain a watch for Midlings, but excepting a matter of direct defense, defer all authority to the NASA officials. When you're ready, Dr. Bennett," he said, turning his head to the scientist.
Finalizing the settings on the tracking device, Dr. Bennett glanced up. "O.K.," he breathed. "That way, at forty-five degrees southeast."
"Move out," ordered the major. Silent as mice, the five Green Baret soldiers set off after the chief scientist and his team at a brisk pace. Walking ahead, the major stayed at the side of the NASA mission commander as the party moved up the beach toward the overlaying forest. Thus, stealthily crossing the tree line beneath the light of the moon, for a priceless treasure of their realm, the first troupe of the Lost since the days of Morgoth entered into the lands of Middle Earth-four servants of science and six servants of battle.
VII
"Ilweth, awaken," spoke Eldoran gently, shaking his wife's shoulder. "The sun has risen-it is time to continue."
With a soft yawn, Ilweth stretched her limbs and smiled at her husband. "Good morning," she whispered.
"Good morning," smiled Eldoran in return. "Come now, we must be on our way. If we make good time, we may reach your father's house by evening."
Reaching over, Ilweth gently prodded Mirathil. "Mirathil," she spoke, "arise. It is time to go." But the little girl only briefly stirred before she turned her face into her mother's dress and remained in sleepy oblivion. With a smile, Ilweth gingerly lifted Mirathil into her arms and stood up onto her feet. "She is still so weary," she spoke, cradling her against her chest. "Let us not rouse her until later."
With a smile, Eldoran patted his daughter's fluffy golden head. "Sleep well, Little One," he whispered. Then, hoisting the leather sack onto his back, he took a step away from the gnarled tree they had rested the night under back toward the overgrown woodland path. "Come," he called to Ilweth. "The day has already broken."
Stroking Mirathil's hair, Ilweth followed after her husband. About half an hour later, they were proceeding at a comfortable rate down the shady forest trail. As they walked, Eldoran and Ilweth talked to each other of what merriment they would make upon arriving at their destination. "How pleased will my parents be when they see what a sweet little girl their granddaughter has grown into," smiled Ilweth with pride.
"Yes, indeed," agreed Eldoran cheerfully. In the next moment, however, his face was drawn with soberness. "Let us only hope though, that she does not spin one of her tales, my Lady," he remarked.
"Oh, yes," Ilweth remembered sadly. "That does not do very well, to have a child that weaves lies-but, my Lord, do you think we grow closer to understanding wherefore she does it with such determination?"
"I do not know, Ilweth," sighed Eldoran. For a moment, he was despondent; immediately after, however, he brightened his countenance. "Oh, come now," he spoke with a smile. "This is not a time for woe and worry, my Lady-we are in the course of a merry journey, and merry should our speech and faces be."
Breaking into a smile, Ilweth kissed the top of her daughter's head. "Yea," she agreed. "Let us not speak of griefs now. The day is early, and the road is yet long." Nestling her daughter close against her, she quickened her pace. With carefree spirit, the couple continued to traverse the woodland trail in merry speech and enjoyment; but neither noticed the cloud of worry which had slowly come over their daughter's face in her sleep or the subtle way in which she had begun to stir and murmur.
VIII
As she ducked to avoid a low tree branch which had rudely thrust itself into her path, Clarissa sighed. As ill at home as she was in the kitchen, the wilds of nature suited her even less. The last thing she had ever pictured herself doing was traipsing through an untamed area of Middle Earth with nine tireless men, her husband not the least of them. It wasn't as though she was any less anxious about the downed probe as the rest of them; it was just that she would have preferred someone else be sent to the wilderness of Middle Earth to actually look for it. But at the prospect of losing her job, here she was playing Nature Woman.
Oh well-at least the sun was up now. It had been a long, hard night making a way through a dense, interminable forest. The entire party had grown weary, though the soldiers rigidly refrained from showing it. She had a feeling that the civilian division of the team was, by this point, in a rather snappish mood, having walked all night through the brush and the thickets without ever stopping for even so much as a five-minute rest or a quick bite to eat. She was sure as hell getting fairly bent out of shape anyway. The next time I design a space probe, she thought irritably, I'm building in an automatic self-destruct mechanism that takes anything like this field day off the drawing board.
Coming up beside her husband, however, Clarissa Bennett's spirits were suddenly lifted; within the little screen of his hand-held homing device, the small red dot was beginning to all at once go crazy. "Robert!" she cried ecstatically, "it's-
"We're within one-hundred feet!" announced the chief scientist in excitement. "The readings are going berserk-the probe should be…" he paused, punching some buttons on the tracking unit, "…just up there somewhere!" he called, pointing a quick finger a little to the east of their current direction of travel. "C'mon!"
Breaking into a jog, all ten members of the recovery team eagerly took off in the designated direction. As Clarissa breathlessly ran along the tangled forest floor, careful to avoid overhanging branches and brush-concealed tree roots, she let a thankful smile cross her face. At last, they would find what they had come for and go home. It would still be a fair journey back to the beach, but it was all downhill from here.
Reaching a point a few meters ahead, however, the happy troupe suddenly stopped short. Before their eyes, the thickly set trees all at once fell away to reveal a narrow little trail, overgrown but definitely perceivable, even to a city dweller's eyes. "Shit," whispered Major Williams. "Looks like we are in inhabited territory. That thing is definitely in use. All right, raise your levels of alertness from here on out," he addressed his men.
"Look!" exclaimed Clarissa in a careful whisper. "There's the probe's film capsule!"
And sure enough it was-lying dead in the middle of the little woodland highway. Scattered around it were evidences of its crash landing. The spot where it had landed was impressed into a moderate crater, while the grass which once have must encircled it had been burned away from the impact. In the course of its plunge to the ground, it appeared also to have struck a tree, splitting it in half and knocking the top portion across the trail, while the lower half was left standing nearby as a partially blackened stump.
"All right, People, enough gawking," initiated Clarissa's husband. "Let's go get it."
He proceeded to take a step onto the path; one of the soldiers, however, suddenly reached out and gripped his arm, pulling him back. "Sir!" he tensely whispered.
Confused, the scientist turned his gaze out onto the trail; and with a gasp, he beheld a medievally garbed man and woman coming up its length, bearing a sleeping child in tow. Their faces paling, everyone immediately threw themselves to the ground, hiding from view beneath the forest brush. Dropping her head in her hands, Clarissa suppressed a moan. What the hell kind of luck was this?
As they came along the path, Eldoran suddenly halted in amazement. "Ilweth!" he cried, "look yonder-what be that?"
Blinking, his wife peered ahead. "A fallen tree?" she sighed. "I gather it must have been ill inside-unusual for the trees of Ithilien. No matter though, my Lord, it is easily overstepped."
"Nay, Ilweth!" her husband cried. "There is something else I see-hurry along, I will show you!"
With a confused tilt of her head, Ilweth sped up after Eldoran. In her haste, she did not notice how Mirathil, nestled close in her arms, had suddenly begun to toss and turn.
No…no, don't come…Mama, Father, be safe. Within Mirathil's head, dreams and visions were violently pounding. Squirming in her sleep, she grew more and more restless the nearer her parents drew to the fallen tree.
Upon reaching the sundered tree trunk, both Eldoran and Ilweth gasped in shock. Lying at their feet was a small metal object-round as a ball but bearing nothing of the appearance of a plaything. It was blackened as if from heat and set in the center of a gaping crater, around of which naught of green was left. "What is it, my Lord?" breathed Ilweth in amazement.
Shaking his head in astoundment, Eldoran hesitated to reply. "I do not know," he spoke slowly.
No…the images came louder and louder in Mirathil's mind. No-Mama, Father, do not go, do not leave me!
Within the brush, all the Americans had raised their eyebrows in mild surprise at the Midlings' use of readily understandable English-in the back of their minds, they had always rather pictured the Celtic-like people of Middle Earth as speaking in some strange Gallic or Saxon Age language. The fact that they had just spoken in a highly formal version of their own language was certainly unexpected and perhaps, even a bit unsettling.
But at the Midlings' sudden, curious observance of the downed probe film, the members of the Green Baret were wont to move their fingers to the triggers of their weapons. Upon their precaution, however, Clarissa immediately whirled around in alarm. "What are you doing?!" she whispered frantically. "They've got a kid with them. This is just an innocent family! Robert!" she softly pleaded, turning to her husband.
"Don't fire," the chief scientist quietly ordered. "Let's maintain a watch. If they just move on and leave it, we'll have no problem. What we don't want to do is make any unnecessary trouble. Everybody understand?"
"Yes, Sir," came the collective answer.
No! screamed Mirathil inside her head. No! Mama! Father! No, no, no!
Maintaining a tense watch on the Midling couple, the American recovery team silently bided their time, praying that the idea would not come into the curious duo's mind to take the film and necessitate action. As they watched, however, they idly noticed the small little girl cradled gently in the woman's arms, moan in her sleep and with a sudden quick start, open up her eyes.
Drawing in a breath, Mirathil tightly clutched the front of her mother's dress. "Mama?" she whispered uneasily. Then, she realized her reality-safe and secure. Releasing a sigh of relief, she snuggled against her mother and laid her head on her shoulder, happily closing her eyes. It was only a dream. Silly dream.
Opening her sleepy eyes, Mirathil smiled; as soon as it had formed, however, the smile froze on her face. As the breeze softly rustled her hair, the hopeful contentment in her face slowly faded away into a look of perturbed apprehension. Staring in front of her, the little girl numbly blinked as a crinkled green leaf was gently carried by the wind across the path. Her young eyes widening, she shifted her gaze expectantly toward her father; sure enough, she beheld him inquisitively leaning down to the ground to pick something up. In an instant, her face went white with horror. It was real, it was happening! Gripping her mother's shoulder with her tiny hands, she threw her gaze back to the woods that bordered the trail and let out a shrill scream. "NOOO!!!!!"
Just at that moment, a long black arrow suddenly shot with a deadly swiftness from the woods beyond the shaded path. Closing her eyes, Mirathil screamed. In the next moment, her small hands were immersed in something warm and sticky. Cracking her eyelids open, she timidly peered down with a frightened swallow-gripping her mother's shoulder blades, she saw her fingers, drenched in a torrent of blood.
Her face going dead white in horror, Mirathil screamed at the top of her lungs, yanking her crimson-stained hands away in terror. In the next moment, she felt her mother slump forward onto her knees, dropping her from her arms. As she fell to the ground, Mirathil heard her father's pained cry as another black arrow, fired from the thick set woods, flew through the air to savagely pierce his flesh. Tears of heartbroken horror flooding her eyes, Mirathil opened her mouth to let out another scream-but it was silenced ere it was released by a sudden plunge into unconsciousness as with her harsh landing, her little head struck against a lodged stone on the ground.
In the next instant, four darkly garbed men rapidly emerged from the shady forest. As Mirathil's father hunched over onto his knees, however, Clarissa Bennett, in the shock and horror of the moment, involuntarily released a piercing scream. Wheeling around in surprise, the four hooded men swiftly reached for the arrows slung over their shoulders to fire them in the direction of the sound.
Immediately, however, Major Williams reacted. "Fire!" he shouted to his squadron of Green Barets. Hoisting up their automatic weapons, the five American soldiers instantly did so-all of a sudden, a deafening series of what sounded to the archers' ears rather like strange explosions violently pierced the air. Before the four archers even had time to start in surprise, however, they had all fallen like laden sacks face forward onto the ground, dead in a pool of blood.
Throwing her hands over her mouth, Clarissa gasped, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
"Shh," ordered the major. "It's all right-everybody keep quiet."
Her face paling in horror, Clarissa moved to jump up. "The little girl!" she cried.
Grabbing her arm, the major pulled her back down. "You can't go out there," he warned. "There might be more of them in the woods. You could be shot."
"But the little girl!" Clarissa shrilly protested, starting to tear up.
"Quiet," spoke the major sternly. "I'm sorry."
Quivering from head to toe, Clarissa sank in horror back to the ground, not even noticing as her husband laid a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. The poor little girl-was she alive? Was she killed like the rest? Was she hurt? Taking off her thin black glasses, the young American woman worriedly rubbed her eyes. Those poor people, she thought in anguish. That poor, poor little girl.
As the minutes crept by like hours, they waited in the brush, silent and still as the forest. When a literal hour had gone by, the major slowly stood up. Signaling to his soldiers, he cautiously ventured out onto the path. Scanning the other side of the path, out of whose murky woods the arrows had proceeded, he nodded to one of his men to retrieve the probe's film.
As the young soldier warily crossed the distance to where the spherical film capsule lay upon the ground, he glanced down and sighed. Beside the capsule lay the body of the shot Midling man, the long shaft of a cruel black arrow protruding out of his chest cavity. "Poor guy," murmured the soldier regretfully. Reaching down, he carefully took up the metal film capsule.
At that moment, however, the still Midling suddenly opened his eyes. Jerking away in surprise, the soldier waved to his commander. "Sir!" he softly called. "This guy's alive!"
Blinking in surprise, the major and two other soldiers quickly stepped over to the body of the Midling man. Gazing down, Major Williams shook his head. "I'll be damned," he spoke softly. Kneeling down, he looked into the man's eyes. "Can you hear me?" he asked.
His throat tightening in a mixture of shock and alarm, the man faintly nodded his head. Who in the name of the Valar the strangely dressed people with the bizarre metal objects in their hands standing over him were was unimportant in this fatal moment of need. Mirathil's shrilly given scream had warned him just in time of the impending danger. Jumping to the side, he had managed to avoid getting hit in the heart; instead, the arrow had lodged itself deep into his stomach area. It was unbearably painful, but it had given him just enough time-enough time to tell someone.
"Sir?" asked one of the soldiers. "Should we render aid?"
Scratching his head, the major sighed. "I don't know how much longer he's 'gonna last with a wound like that," he spoke honestly, surveying the impaled arrow.
Squeezing his eyes shut, the Midling man suddenly lifted up his hand and clutched the major's sleeve. Straining in agony, he rasped through his teeth. "My daughter," he tried brokenly.
"We'll see," spoke the major. "Reeves," he ordered, nodding his head. With a pitying countenance, the soldier turned away.
Slightly shaking his head, the Midling man tried again. "My daughter," he weakly repeated. "She-she is-separate…from us."
Coming back up to the others, Reeves knelt down to the dying Midling, a small little bundle curled up in his arms. "She's alive," he told him kindly. "It's O.K.-she's alive."
For a moment, the man's breath caught in his throat. "Mirathil!" he rasped. Straining in agony, he tried to stretch out his hand to stroke her golden hair; but then, he all at once turned back to the major, remembering his desperate message. He was nearly out of time.
"She has a-gift," he struggled to get out. "I see now-the things she saw…the stories-she warned us-I see."
Thinking the man delirious, the major sympathetically clasped the man's hand. "Don't worry," he said. "She'll be all right."
Swallowing, the man's eyes started to flutter closed. "She is-one of them…
"It'll be all right," repeated the major, seeing that the man was on Death's Doorstep. "You just rest now."
The man choked on the blood beginning to leak up from his wounded abdomen. "Rest, I will," he rasped brokenly. Slightly turning his head, he spoke one last time. "You-you must-keep her safe…keep her-from him." Opening his brown eyes, he beheld through blurry vision, the bloodied body of his wife lying a short distance away. His sight growing dark, Eldoran kept his gaze locked upon her still pale face. "Ilweth?" he weakly whispered. Then, the light evaporated from his eyes.
Releasing a sigh of remorse, Major Williams gently laid the man's stiff hand onto his chest. "Poor people," he spoke sadly. Glancing over at the slaughtered archers, he rose to his feet. "That's livin' in this place for you. C'mon, enough gawking," he ordered to his men. "Let's get off of this road."
"Sir?" asked Reeves, standing up with the little girl in his arms. "What about the kid?"
"She really alive?" queried Williams.
"Yes, Sir," answered the soldier.
The major breathed out thoughtfully. "Then bring her along for now," he replied.
"Sir," nodded Reeves.
Crossing the narrow trail, the major and his company reentered the brush hideaway where anxiously awaited the group of civilian scientists. "Sir," spoke Major Williams to Dr. Bennett, "we've retrieved the film."
With a sigh of relief, the chief scientist received the small metal ball from one of the soldiers. "Thank you, Major," he answered.
"What about the little girl?" inquired Clarissa Bennett worriedly. "Was she alive?"
"Alive and right here," answered Reeves, kneeling down and handing her unconscious little form into the woman's arms.
"Oh my god!" cried Clarissa, cradling her against her chest. Biting her lip, she gently brushed back a stray curl from her forehead to reveal a nasty red gash. "The poor little thing! Her parents, are they-
"Dead," confirmed Major Williams, sincerely regretful. "Hit like that, they never had a chance."
"Bastards!" hissed Clarissa though clenched teeth. "What the hell was that even about?"
"They were bandits, most likely," surmised the major. "Waiting for somebody to come along what apparently must be a commonly used road. I don't think they had anyone else stationed back in the woods-either that or they were scared off. They sure weren't expecting us to come along into their business territory." Watching the distraught young woman tenderly brush the unconscious child's hair with her dirt-stained fingers, the major sighed, his eyes softening. "Terrible thing," he said. "But in a way, lucky-if we'd come out onto that road first, we'd have been the ones shot."
Clarissa numbly blinked, releasing a little stream of tears from behind her thin black frames. She knew the major was not being insensitive-he was truly regretful about the horrible incident that had befallen the innocent Midling couple but practical enough to realize the warning and safety it had afforded them.
Tenderly stroking the unconscious little girl's light blonde hair, Clarissa Bennett sadly closed her eyes. Who was this poor child? Who had her parents been? Where had she been going? What would happen when she woke up?
Laying a sympathetic hand on her shoulder, her husband glanced with her down at the unconscious girl cradled in her arms. Releasing a sad sigh, he lifted up a finger and gently brushed it along the child's tiny, dirt-stained cheek. "Who are you, Little Girl?" he whispered.
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O.K., I am SO SORRY about the wait for this chapter. I don't blame you if you are very ticked off with me right now. The only thing I can say is that I had four papers due in college on the same day, and I've been crazy busy, but I'll try to get the next chapter up within 1, maybe 2, weeks. Give me a break, though, my chapters are pretty generous in length.
Also, unless anybody cares, I have stopped writing previews for the upcoming chapters. I don't think anyone was reading them anyway. If you were and you want them back, let me know.
O.K., now to my reviewers, if they were patient enough to still be here:
Almost Funny: I guess you are gone-I'll miss you!
Lil' layah: I don't know what happened to you-your review disappeared from the reviews page. Are you still there? I hope so, you write very in-depth reviews.
Crow: I fixed the chapter problem-sorry about that. The preface and prologue chapter is different now. I'm glad you think I have talent and that you like Mirathil.
lil kawaii doom: I fixed the chapters-Chapter 1 is different now, you better read it or you will probably get confused later on. Perfect? (blushes) I don't know about that, but thank you.
Aztec Raven: Thank you for the compliments on my writing style. I'm glad you think the plot is well developed-that was one of my major concerns.
GitaMerah: I like long stories too. Thank you for complimenting the preface. Your observation of Mirathil is very keen; she does seem like a Mary Sue at first, but then you start to realize that that quality is not necessarily an enjoyable one to have. As she grows up, I'm going to bring out in this story how having the gifts that she does, not in a fairytale but in the real world, would in actuality carry some very troubling problems with them-being an outcast is just the beginning. Being normal, in many instances, would really be the gift and the fairytale. I am glad you caught onto that. True, she is pretty eloquent for her age-but actually, I based her speech off this two year old girl I know who really speaks that grown up! She really creeps people out some times with her intelligence, and that quality seemed to fit well with Mirathil. But I will play it down some. However, she wasn't able to reach the palantir-I said that she shook the pillar it was sitting on until it fell off. As to where America comes in: if you've read this chapter, maybe you can start to figure out where I'm going with this!
d: Thanks for complimenting my story. I will try to keep it coming at a quicker pace.
I will try to see you in 1-2 weeks (hopefully 1).
Bye,
Eureka