Chapter 13

Contact

"...and so we'd really prefer not to get mixed up in this." Mark nodded. He was hardly likely to disagree, anyway-- he'd expected to be let go when Jerry had to leave, but the company had been so much more than understanding he realized they were desperately trying to win the crew's good graces. They'd also given a substantial monetary recompense to every passenger, something they were hardly obliged to do. And now they'd come on out and said why.

Jerry had found the article first. Good thing, too, since he was only a handsbreadth away from being fired, and when he showed it to Mark they agreed: the UFO was their dear old Ferry No. 9. Mark idly wondered how long Nick had kept working. The company had clearly reached the same conclusion, and didn't wanting to be associated with UFOs and the accompanying hysteria... so now, of course, they needed to curry both his and Jerry's favor. Mark pulled away from thoughts of blackmail and listened again to the representative.

"...understand you would probably like to release what you know," she was saying. "But I must make this clear to you. If you release details of the story, above all your positions and bearing, you will be let go." They nodded as one.

"Thank you for being so frank with us," Jerry told her as he stood. "We suspected that was what you were doing, but it's nice to hear it confirmed." The rep raised an eyebrow.

"Don't push it." Then she grinned. "I know you two aren't really interested in getting the company involved in anything of this sort, so we're not really worried. Just taking some basic precautions. Have a good day!" Mark followed Jerry out with a nod and a smile to the rep.

"So, no surprises," Jerry muttered, striding down the hall. Mark just nodded. "Weren't you actually planning to release some details?"

"Nothing important," Mark replied, "and nothing that would incriminate the company; more of a story of the landing on the island and how we got off, in all its gruesome depth." He grinned. "But the company might not take that so well, so I won't do it." Jerry nodded.

"Better safe than sorry." Mark couldn't help but agree with that.

"So what is our job, exactly?" Jerry shrugged.

"According to the description, I've been bumped up to quality control; I think that means I'll take occasional trips on random ferries to make sure they're doing things right. Otherwise, pencil pushing."

"And I am...?"

"Mmmm..." Jerry responded thoughtfully, switching to Mark's dossier. His eyebrows rose in surprise. "PR. I would've thought you'd go to captain, take over from Art when he retires."

"PR's good," replied Mark. "Really, anything's good, as long as we don't need to go looking for new jobs."

"Mmmm," responded Jerry again, noncommital this time. Mark cut his eyes over to his friend.

"You're not keen on being a pencil pusher?" Jerry sighed.

"What do you think?"

"You can just be sure those occasional trips aren't so occasional!" Mark answered brightly. "As to PR, I'm going to make sure we get some more Americans on these ferries. Almost all Europeans seems a bit... strange." Jerry nodded.

"Well, your new office is down that way," he finished, handing Mark his dossier and pointing down the hallway to the left. "Mine is a bit farther on, in 11-D. Later." Mark nodded and headed to his office.

What he found required him to pull his jaw back up. The company had outfitted one of the biggest offices in the place for him, with a brand-spanking new computer, an integrated surround sound system, and even a formidable bookshelf. Two desks, three chairs, a window... this was Office Paradise.

He quit gawking and switched on the computer, with no little trepidation. He'd had plenty of important stuff on his old one, not to mention all the setting just the way he liked them, but this self-proclaimed Ultimate Computer would be a new slate... but no, the company had moved everything over. Mark goggled at the frightening speed for a few minutes, then settled down to business.

It was quite a change. No more double-clicking, then going to get a cup of coffee before the program started. Select, click, and there was his e-mail.

Hmmmm... "Welcome to your new position!" from the company, a couple eBay messages, the usual hordes of spam, and one update from Mom. He set about deleting the spam, but found one message from a MalfyMaiden@yahoo.com. If it were not for the odd subject line he would have deleted it along with the rest, but it said, "Mark Lewis life&death please please ple..." He frowned and set Norton's loose on the message. Nothing, and no attachments; he feared a virus, but his curiosity was piqued. He hesitantly opened the message.

Dear Mark Lewis:

This message is being sent to you by a group of friends who heard of your unfortunate incident in the Caribbean. We think you may have found something very important to us, and would like a more detailed description of what happened. We would most rather meet you, but have no desire to frighten you or harm anyone; we know you would not be amenable to a meeting.

Would you be so kind as to call me at (828) 579-0134? I am available any time Wednesday or after 5 all other days. Sincerely, and in hopes that you will not fear us,

Malfinien

He stared at the message in confusion. Was this a prank? It didn't seem like it. A group of UFO afficionados? That seemed far more likely; he had no interest in talking to those kind of people, especially since that would probably violate what the company asked him earlier.

And yet... he decided to save the other messages for later, and did a search on this address. After sorting through masses of information, he found it listed in the teachers section at a women's college up in South Carolina. A woman was listed there, with this address, although her name was shown as Elizabeth. He frowned. Her home number was listed, and yes, it was the same... so this message was from the leader of a group of UFO believers, who also taught harp at a women's college.

Something didn't add up. Maybe it was a stereotype, but he just couldn't see a harp teacher-- or any professor, really-- believing in UFOs that much. He switched windows and re-read the message, then glanced at his calendar. Well, it was Wednesday, and the telephone could hardly give him away or even catch a virus. He picked up the slick new cordless and dialed the number.

Ring, ring, then, "Hello, this is Liz."

"Elizabeth-" he peered at the computer screen "-Smith?"

A pause, then, "Yes?"

He hesitated, then decided to jump right in. "Should I call you Malfinien?"

"Mark Lewis?"

"Yes, I got your message and must confess I was confu-"

"I'm sure you were," she replied briskly. "But we're not dangerous, and we don't believe in UFOs. We'd like to explain everything, and like to thank you for what you found, but we can't do that-- too risky. So instead, could you just give us co-ordinates and bearings and whatever you can find for where the ferry disappeared? We really, really need to find that place."

"No, I am not at liberty to divulge that information," he replied, grinning as he found a place to use that hackneyed line. Then, remembering he was in PR, he continued, "Do you have any plans to come to the Caribbean, ma'am?"

She apparently misunderstood him, though. "Would you accept a personal meeting, then?" she asked, after a moment.

"I just meant, if you were coming, I would offer you our newest package for our ferry line."

The other end stayed silent for a moment. Then, "I might, I might. But only if you would agree to talk with me, not about business."

Mark pondered that for a moment. "Well, I repeat, I cannot tell you what you want to know, but I see nothing wrong with a meeting just to talk. I can tell you about other aspects of the incident, but my company has specifically clamped down on all information pertaining to co-ordinates and bearings."

"But you would agree to a meeting?" she clarified.

"Yes." Decisive, this time.

"Very well. I and my colleagues could use a trip to the Isles. Thank you." She hung up, and Mark sat holding the phone for a few moments, thinking. This was most curious; but if she showed up here, he could handle her. He'd just reiterate what he'd already said and placate her with other things; he imagined he could lead the conversation well enough. The phone reminded him he needed to hang up with the busy signal; he switched it off, then decided to go have a chat with Jerry.