Down to Earth

by sheeplady46

Part 2 of 5. Sequel to "A Byte of Time". Paul and Scott are living on a farm in Washington and following leads on the elusive Kelly Simpson. Living close to the land provides further education to the Starman along with a close encounter of the third kind with his nemesis.

2. Part 2

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George Fox sat at his desk in Washington. "I'm bored," he mumbled to himself. "These past two months in alien apprehension has been slow. So slow, in fact, I can best compare it to entrapment in the Washington transportation gridlock I face coming to and going from this desk each day.

"I've had Wylie monitoring every possible information gathering and analyzing source seeking anything possibly related to an alien presence at work. We've checked out anything weird or unexplainable, as well. Since we came back from the other Washington all leads seem to have dried up. I know the computer will automatically kick any requests regarding Paul Forrester my way, so here I sit, day after endless day, waiting for something that might not come at all."

He heaved a sigh, and then his mouth contorted to one side and he continued his mutterings. "I've been around headquarters so long, articles out of the more common supermarket publications are routinely appearing on my desk again; anything some office clown thinks is weird. I've become the office joke and I hate it. I also hate the confining nature of the office. I'd stay out in the field if it wasn't the computers are here. Far worse than the harassment, though, is the reality of this alien disappearing so completely again. It surely can't be up to anything good. It must be hunkered down again with some unsuspecting citizens."

He gazed over at the map on the wall. "...But where? I wish I could discover some pattern to Its movements. The only thing I know for sure is It's getting more elusive all the time."

He got up and walked to the window. "In addition to the harassment I'm getting from the office staff, Wylie has been getting on my nerves more than usual of late. He insists on pursuing the offered supermarket material and tries rationalizing an actual alien connection. Of course, he also has to share his usual cornucopia of irrational and illogical theories with me. My nerves are stretched to near the breaking point. If something doesn't show up soon, I might just get out of Washington and head out into the field alone. Anything has to be better than this."

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Saturday evening, before Scott and Amy left for a teen dance, Roy called a family conference about the pending mountain trip. "First off, I have talked to number one son. Frank is definitely planning on the trip this year. Now, am I right, you are all going?" He received confirmation from all the family members. "And you, Paul?"

"Yes, we would love to go," Paul confirmed as he thought of the preparations already underway. The Fosters have gone out of their way to get equipment for us. They even agreed to let us use two of their heavy sleeping bags and some lightweight rainwear. Roy said hiking boots were a must and June helped us find some at a local thrift store. This trip sounds like fun and it's another new experience with camping that I'm really looking forward to.

"Okay," Roy confirmed. "June and I talked the other night and if everybody is going, it looks like we'll have to divide and go in two units, each for a week. The horses are shod and in good shape after having been ridden all summer, so we'll draw up groups. The first will leave this coming Saturday morning. June said she'll go with the first group and I'll go on both to wrangle the animals. Now what's everyone's pleasure?"

"Why can't we all go together?" Paul asked.

"Because the Forest Service allows no more than twelve in a party, Paul, and that includes the animals. We'll need all five horses so that leaves a maximum of seven people. We have nine already and Frank asked if it was alright to take his dog. That makes a total of fifteen, so we have to divide."

"I understand," Paul replied with a nod.

"I have to go the first trip," Kathy offered. "School is starting the middle of the following week and I don't want to start late this first quarter."

"That's three for the first week," Roy confirmed. "Frank said he prefers to go the second week so Scott ... Paul, you can round off the first."

"Doesn't Cal want to go with Kathy?" Paul inquired. "Scott and I could wait to go the second week."

Cal gave everyone an apologetic look. "I'm definitely on second. I have a Career Opportunities Week Seminar and camp-out at the Lakeside Youth Camp near Wenatchee that I'm obligated to chaperone. The school considers this seminar as part of our school curriculum. I'll be going over the mountains the night before to help with the set-up. I signed up Amy and Sandy for the program some time ago, so it's the second week for them too. The school is closed for annual maintenance the second week so I won't have to take any vacation time off. This seminar is why I originally suggested those two weeks for the trip. It will be okay even if the family isn't together. It will also give Kathy some time to get used to being away from the girls." Cal looked over at Scott. "This seminar might be good for you too. You're getting about the age when you should start thinking about what you want to do with your life. The program covers a great variety of careers and the opportunities available in each."

"It might be good for you, Scott," Paul replied with purpose, "but I'd rather have you with me." Scott didn't respond and Paul looked at him, and then at Amy.

"Why don't you let him decide for himself, Paul," Cal suggested with conviction. "Making decisions is a part of growing up."

Paul knew his son must make choices, but Scott had other considerations to keep in mind before making a decision to separate, even if it was only for a week. Paul sighed, "We'll talk about it."

"Good, but I do want to repeat, Paul, this seminar does have a great deal to offer Scott," Cal said honestly.

Paul considered the arrangements and had a question. "Roy, it does sound good since everybody would be able to ride."

"Not this everybody," Cal quickly stated. "In case you hadn't notice, I'm not a rider. I grew up in the city and never got into horses."

"Actually there are only four horses to ride," June volunteered. "The fifth will be packing groceries and gear. If Scott goes to the seminar somebody will be walking."

"Frank can have the horse," Cal offered. I'll be okay as long as I don't have to carry much more than a sandwich."

"It will all work out," Roy confirmed. "All those who want to ride will have a horse." Roy noticed Amy fidgeting. "Why don't you and Scott take a minute to discuss it, Paul? I think he and Amy need to take off very soon or miss their ride to the dance."

Paul followed Scott outside. "I'd rather we didn't separate, Scott."

"Why? I'd like to spend some more time with Amy and the seminar sounds like fun. Besides, we haven't seen or heard anything of Fox since East Wenatchee."

Paul sighed and looked at his growing son. "I guess I should leave it up to you, shouldn't I? You are fifteen."

"Since we're really going to be leaving after the trip, I'd really like to go to the seminar with Amy," Scott replied.

Paul studied his son's face. It's the same look I saw with Kelly Jordan, except this time I know Scott has accepted the reality that we are leaving when we get back. He took a deep breath and let it go. My son does need room to grow and growing includes the freedom to associate with, and form human attachments with those his age. Paul smiled. "I understand, Scott," Paul agreed, graciously. "I guess you don't always need your father around to protect you. But, I'm disappointed we won't be together. I think Cal might be right, you can gain a great deal from the seminar."

Amy and Scott left as soon as they returned inside. "Scott will go to the seminar," Paul announced, smiling appreciatively. "I know he wants to spend more time with Amy before we have to leave."

"I think he made the right decision," Roy said. "He is almost a man, you know. Don't you agree they make a nice couple?"

"Yes, Scott likes Amy a lot," Paul confessed with a grin, remembering his brief experiences with human sexual attractions.

"I know Amy feels the same way about him." Roy grinned. "I think his decision might have been a conspiracy. Since you said you might go on the trip, I know both Amy and Cal have been trying to talk him into the seminar. Maybe it's Cal's teacher side showing, but I really think he joined in for Amy. Kathy feels Scott has been good for Amy. I just wish we could get you to change your mind about staying permanently."

"We really can't, Roy. After the trip we have to go."

"You know that's not what we wanted to hear," Roy returned sincerely, "but if it's your decision, I guess we have to accept it."

They spent the rest of the evening together finalizing arrangements.

The days passed quickly and two days before departure, June announced at dinner, "Frank called this afternoon. He said something has come up again and he has to spend the next three weeks in New York."

That's a disappointment, Paul thought, I wished to meet Roy's eldest son. Everyone has spoken highly of him. Still I can understand how plans to be somewhere at a particular time can change suddenly.

On Thursday the Dorans came over and after dinner Roy reviewed the plans. "I have arrangements made with the neighbor to check the livestock until June, Kathy and Paul return. Cal, on Friday morning you can drive over to the seminar. You'll be busy and there's no reason for Amy, Sandy and Scott to spend a whole extra day over there as long as we're going to be close. There's not enough room in the truck for all of us, so I'll take Paul with me. June, you and Kathy can take Scott, Amy and Sandy over to the seminar Saturday morning. Cal, June will give you a list of supplies to pick up at the market for the second trip. Bring them with you to the trailhead Saturday and I'll take the second group in. When June and Kathy get back to the trailhead, we'll have lunch then hit the trail. Sound all right, everyone?"

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George Fox was at home attempting to settle down after another degrading day of almost solitary confinement with Wylie. I should have gone to the gym this evening and worked out, he thought. The exercise would have done me good, but here I am getting ready to watch the debut of a new television series. I saw the movie some time ago and it interested me. Under normal circumstances I don't like science fiction. Maybe it's because my life seems surrounded by its reality. Still I find some science fiction gives me an idea of what others figure aliens might be up to here on Earth.

After less than twenty minutes he got up. "This is hopeless," he rebuffed as he firmly poked the off button. "Imagine insinuating such an alien creature could have a benevolent nature." He looked at his watch. It's already too late for the gym. It will be crowded by now. Besides I'd have to get dressed again. I really would like to relax a bit. Maybe there's something else of interest to watch. He picked up the television guidebook and searched through the program listings. As usual, nothing. Maybe I have something here I haven't read. He found a magazine and leafed through the articles. During the past couple of months I've gobbled up all the reading material that accumulated during the Eastern Washington fiasco. Now I'm really scraping the bottom of the barrel. I'm actually desperate enough to start reading articles in the television guide. He shook his head slowly. Incredible. Skimming the stories offered, he selected an article on TV criminal justice versus reality, agreeing only in part; then one on news gathering for network television, finding it likewise unstimulating.

He continued leafing through the remainder. I'm ready to give up on this diversion as well and pull out 'King Lear' for another reading. He turned the next page and found the TV critic of the week's review. "Hmm," he mumbled, "it's a review of the bomb I was just watching. Since the man is unusually caustic in most of his reviews, it might improve my mood." He read the review. "This critic and I do see eye to eye, at least on one point; the movie was okay, but the series is totally unrealistic. Better luck next time to the producers."

In his continued boredom his mind drifted to the alien and his desperate search then back to his almost once in a lifetime agreement with a critic. I did agree with him on his first point, but I think I just skim-read the last part of the review. I don't remember his closing comments. Yes, here it is:

.

'It is my considered opinion this series contains no new or refreshing material whatsoever and deserves the customary place in oblivion. I put it in about the same high excitement category as a documentary on the life cycle of the fruit fly. There just isn't enough action to keep a modern-day audience interested for more than ten uninterrupted minutes. A better subject for a science fiction series might be derived from a human-interest article my son found in a tabloid rag where a five year old related a healing miracle in some mountain wilderness by a doctor with a blue light.'

.

"The life cycle of a fruit fly?" Fox laughed. "What a strange thing for a critic to say about a show. Damn, I'm getting into the habit of talking to, and answering myself again," he chastised. "So what. At work I really don't know whom to confront to halt the annoying articles, so I try to avoid talking to everybody. I guess I need to hear a human voice and mine is as good as any." He chuckled. At least the person I'm talking to knows something more about aliens than the creators of that show."

"I guess I'll go down to the library for some new reading material. Even King Lear doesn't sound interesting right now. Wait a minute, there was something in that article...?" He thumbed through the magazine again. Finding the article he carefully read the words again. "A blue light. Yes, that's it. The article in the Seattle newspaper that drew my attention to Scott Hayden, mentioned the boy being bathed in a blue light. I also saw a blue light in Seattle when It escaped in the monorail." He took a deep breath and frowned deeply. "On a couple of other occasions the alien's presence or activities seemed to be linked to the appearance of blue lights." He shrugged his shoulders and frowned. "Of course healing with a blue light could be some new laser technology." He cocked his head to one side. "Then again, laser technology requires power. This happened in a mountain wilderness. I wonder where and when this incident occurred. I think it's worth the time and effort to check it out, particularly since I have nothing else of interest to do anyway. A call to the Guide's TV critic will provide the source."

A few calls later, his curiosity was aroused. "Very interesting," he mumbled. "The source reference is a small independent news service. I know I don't remember seeing anything like this on the regular wires and I've had Wylie checking pretty carefully. Actually keeping him busy is all I've had to do. Of course, only a 'Wylie', can repeat the same procedures day after day and not end up with mental plonk. I do have to admit Wylie seems to handle it far better than most. I wondered how something as weird as this could ever have slipped by him." With very little urging, another call had the wire service checking their records.

"The original source is a Western Washington weekly," Fox mumbled, his interest was now more than a little aroused as he hung up the telephone. "Since things are still open on the West Coast, that paper is just another inquiry away." He made another call. "I think I might be on to something, he thought. The reporter's story was published only last week, meaning it must be relatively current." After a conversation with the newspaper editor, Fox's eyes were dancing. "Now I have a FAX copy of the original article on its way here, along with the name and address of the contributing reporter." Elation ended abruptly when the editor said the reporter was on assignment and not expected to return for another few days.

Unable to wait for confirmation, Fox was on the telephone again. It rang several times, before someone answered. "Wylie?" he growled impatiently.

"Mr. Fox?"

"Yes, I want you to pick me up at my apartment, packed and ready to go in one hour. We're heading back to Seattle."

Bad luck, Wylie grimaced. In another thirty seconds I would have been out the door to go pick up my date for a Mets game. "Again?" he questioned, his displeasure evident.

"Yes, again!" Fox retorted. "I just got some new information to check out. "One hour. Do you understand?"

Wylie heaved a heavy sigh, and replied slowly. "Yes sir. Your place. One hour. I understand." Wylie hung up the receiver, mumbling, "Uncle Joe, or not, I'm going to have to get out of this racket. It seems every time I have a date, Fox calls and tells me we're heading back to Washington." His face contorted in disgust and he heaved a sigh. Oh well, at least it's the green of Seattle this time, instead of the desert half of the state. We spent enough time there a couple months ago to last me the rest of my life. I sure wish we'd get lucky and catch them soon. He picked up the telephone to break another date.

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Over the past weeks Paul had found Scott spending more and more of his time with Amy. He often found himself working alone, or with Roy on various projects around the farm. With school starting soon the lecture work had finally dropped off, leaving the time necessary to get everything ready for the coming trip.

Roy and Paul thoroughly checked all the saddles and horse gear. They gathered the camping gear and everything was checked against master lists the Fosters kept to avoid forgetting important items. June and Kathy remained busy planning daily meals and gathering the accessory items for their preparation. They dehydrated fruits and vegetables and precooked some meat for the first few days. Roy's instructions were everyone was to have their personal things rolled into their sleeping bag and ready to put on the packhorse. In addition there were items to bring Roy considered mandatory if they were going any distance from camp, including a coat, hat, raincoat, food, matches, pocket knife, sunglasses, a flashlight, a first aid kit, compass and map.

On Friday, Roy, Paul and Scott put the livestock racks on the flatbed truck and loaded the saddles, saddle pads, bridles, a large supply of rope and some hay and grain. They packed two wooden pack boxes with the cooking gear, gasoline stoves and food supplies, making sure they were of equal weight for the comfort of the horse. They were placed into the truck ready to hang on the cross-arms of the packsaddle. The sleeping bags and personal items went into June's trunk. The last thing to do before turning in was prepare lunch for four. Everything was ready for an early morning departure.

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George Fox and Wylie arrived back in Seattle just after midnight, found a hotel near the airport and turned in. They would rent a car first thing in the morning and head north to Whidbey Island. Fox had Cynthia Tuttle's address and phone number as well as the name and address of the child's father, but fully expected, as was usually the case, that neither would be home. I'll make good use of my time by clearing my authority with the local law enforcement. Seeking assistance will get me police support if I need it. If indeed the alien and the boy are hiding out on this island, I want to be ready to take them without drawing any unnecessary attention, but in this case a backup plan is mandatory. It's wonderful being out of D. C. again. This time I feel confident we are going to apprehend the creature. I'm sure Its incarceration will lead us to the rest. It bothers me more than anyone can imagine that these aliens continue to roam free on Earth.

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The mountain travelers were up by six, ate breakfast and had the horses loaded by quarter to seven. The truck pulled out of the driveway with plenty of time to catch the seven-thirty ferry to the mainland. Paul volunteered to drive the first leg of the journey.

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Sitting in a rental car in the long Saturday morning ferry traffic for Whidbey Island, George Fox was more than impatient and grousing silently. We were on our way early enough. Traffic on the freeway was light. Why is this so slow? There goes the second ferry we've missed. George, he chastised. The sun is warm coming in the window. Put your head back and relax. We're half way up the first row now and presumably the next ferry is ours.

I think Mr. Fox is asleep, Wylie thought. The ferry is here and the cars are unloading. Why am I watching the people in the cars getting off the ferry when we're waiting to get on? I guess I just like watching people. Since being assigned to assist Mr. Fox in his search for alien life forms, I try to be alert to everyone I see. I have a good memory for faces, but not always for the names to go with them.

Wylie watched the last vehicle lumber off the ferry dock and reached for the key, to start the car. Suddenly the sound of smoothly meshing, multi-axle gears caught his attention. The key temporarily forgotten, as with all the other vehicles coming off the ferry, he looked at the occupants. Startled he shouted to his superior, "Mr. Fox! There he goes!" Simultaneously he reached for the key and started the car. Jerking the stick down into low drive, he cranked the wheel all the way to the left moving forward until he bumped the car parked in front of them. He pushed the drive lever into reverse and cranked the steering wheel all the way to the right. Rushing back he bumped into the car behind. Jerked the stick back into low, he reversed the wheel for another attack on those unfortunate enough to be around them.

Fox awoke from his catnap with a start and looked at an almost deranged look on his associate's face. Has the man finally flipped out? he thought. His head spun around looking at the faces of the drivers of the automobiles around them and his eyes got wide. "Wylie, what are you doing!" he shouted, almost in panic.

"I saw him, sir!" Wylie repeated, ecstatically.

"You saw who?"

"The alien, sir! I just saw him driving a big truck off the ferry!" Wylie adjusted the steering wheel for another assault and bumped into the car in front. He shifted again.

"You saw him?" Fox questioned. "You're sure?"

"As sure as I can see you sitting there beside me, sir. It was Forrester. No doubt about it." Their vehicle again bumped the car behind. Wylie cranked the steering wheel as far as he could, finally getting the car into a position adequate to get out of the line. He gunned the engine and the vehicle hit hard against a four-inch concrete barrier used to divide foot traffic from vehicles. He hit a second barrier marking the far side of the footpath and finally clearing the back wheels, lurched out into the street in the direction the truck had gone.

Wylie continued up the highway well in excess of the posted speed limit for the residential area. Before long he realized he should have caught up already. "A truck that big couldn't have gotten this far ahead of us, sir," he told Fox. "It must have turned off." He pulled off onto the side of the road for instructions. Another vehicle with familiar flashing lights pulled off behind him.

%%%

Paul, following June, had turned left off the highway onto a city street. He had not seen Fox and was in a more than happy mood. He and Scott were to be recipients of a Foster horse trip, an offer made to few other than family.

As the congested ferry traffic disbursed, June, not planning to wait for the slower truck went ahead to deliver Amy, Sandy and Scott to the seminar. Cal would be waiting at the registration desk and she wanted to review the arrangements for the rendezvous again with all of them. When she was sure everyone understood the plan, she and Kathy would drive back to the trailhead to rendezvous with Roy, Paul and Scott.

%%%

While Wylie accepted the traffic citation, Fox sat silently staring forward. As the officer drove off Fox could keep himself contained no longer. "Well, if you were right and it was the alien driving the truck, that little stunt of yours cost us a possible easy apprehension!"

Wylie cringed at the attack, but replied with confidence. "What else could I do, Mr. Fox, he was getting away."

"Maybe 'he' wouldn't have gotten away if you hadn't wasted so much time getting out of line. You could have flagged down the next vehicle going the right direction, you dimbo."

Unable to understand his boss's attitude, Wylie said, "They were the last vehicle off the ferry, sir," Wylie stated confidently in self-defense.

"Oh," Fox returned, curtly.

Wylie grimaced. "I'm sorry sir; I did what I thought best."

Fox looked at his associate with a condescending frown. "Why don't you leave the thinking to me?" He paused, expecting a response, but got nothing more than an apologetic look. "Well, what did the truck look like?"

Wylie's enthusiasm returned immediately when he realized Fox needed information only he could provide. "I couldn't see the license number, sir, but it was a long flatbed with high wooden sides. A Ford, I think. Earlier 70's model ... and red."

Surprised his associated remembered so much about the vehicle in his excitement, Fox proceeded with orders he knew the man could understand. "We'll check the Department of Motor Vehicles and get a list of anything registered out on that island fitting your description. Being in a truck, it's obvious they've been living over there, so it's logical to assume they'll be back. These alien's free and easy existence is about to come to an end because we're going to be waiting instead of chasing this time."

Wylie made a U-turn across the highway and started back toward the ferry where he had seen a telephone booth. Suddenly, spotting a 'Washington State Patrol' sign in a building complex, he turned left across the roadway again. Entering the parking area he saw the same familiar lights flashing in the side mirror. Wylie received a second citation for the U-turn and twice crossing yellow highway lines denoting no left turns.

Shaking his head, a grumbling George Fox got out of the car and went into the State Patrol office. He gave them the basic description of the truck and also instructions to detain the occupants. He advised he would call to find out if they managed to find it. He returned to the car with a motor vehicle department printout of possible vehicles owned by island residents.

Wylie drove carefully down to the ferry. The waiting line contained three hundred, or more, cars than when they had bulled out of it and after waiting three additional ferries they finally drove out onto Whidbey Island. Their destination, the county courthouse, was a forty minute drive that took them about two-thirds of the way up the long crescent shaped island. As luck would have it for once, it was also the area where both James Billingsley and Cynthia Tuttle lived. After establishing his authority with the locals, Fox called the both Billingsley and Tuttle and answering machines verified neither had returned early.

Perhaps I'll be lucky this time, Fox thought, and the state police will have stopped the truck by now. He placed his call. This time is no exception, he thought as he hung up the phone. Now, I know why long ago I gave up on anything being easy when it applied to apprehending this creature and Its half-breed offspring. That's why instead of dealing with law enforcement, I much prefer doing my own leg work whenever possible. Besides too many uniforms around its lair will only alert it to danger. He looked at the long list of truck owners. Still I have to admit it's only logical to contact the local law enforcement to obtained assistance in finding addresses. Obtaining the services of a deputy, they began a systematic check of possible vehicles in the immediate area. By day's end the closer possibilities had been eliminated. Tomorrow he would continue with those in the more distant areas.

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Half way over the mountains Roy took over the driving from Paul and they proceeded down the east side of the Cascades toward their destination. Paul, gazing out the window at the passing scenery, recognized many landmarks. This is the same highway Ellen Taylor used to bring us to Seattle, he confirmed. It's strange how our paths seem to overlap. It must confuse Fox as well. I also feel sure Fox will never think to look for Scott in a school in the summer, or me high in the mountains. I will admit, thinking about Fox makes me a little uneasy about separating from Scott, but he is growing up and needs to be with others for his social development. He smiled, I'm sure Scott will be enjoying himself during the coming weeks, but I am going to miss him. An hour later Roy drove into the access road for the trail. He backed up to the unloading ramp and they unloaded the horses and tied them to a railing provided for that purpose. They then unloaded the rest of the gear, fed and watered the horses and moved the truck to the designated parking area. With time remaining they settled down to wait for June and Kathy.

The ladies arrived about eleven and after eating lunch everyone got down to the business of packing. Roy designated Red the packhorse and a crude but functional packsaddle was placed on his back and cinched tight. The two wooden boxes were hung over the saddle cross-arms and sleeping bags and the vast majority of the camping goods were loaded and secured on top. The other horses carried the balance of the gear in saddlebags tied behind the saddle or in paired burlap sacks fastened together and hung across the front of the saddle. They finally mounted and with Red following loose in the rear, started up the trail.

Paul was delighted, for with Duke watching where they were going, he could look around freely. This trail is very different from those around the farm, he observed. It's narrow and seems designed for the use of only one horse or person at a time. It is also very rocky. In about a mile they passed a large sign, 'Alpine Lakes Wilderness Area Boundary, elev. 2,240'.

We have traveled up and down, Paul observed, though it is obvious we are constantly gaining altitude for the wide stream on our left is running opposite the direction we are going. After we passed the sign the level trail has given way to much uphill and little down. I like to close my eyes and listen to the sound of the stream as it flows over large boulders and tumbles into deep pools. I think it reminds me of music from home.

He continued to observe, relating what he saw here to the forests around the farm. This does not qualify as the managed forest Roy described, he confirmed. This area is rough and natural and possesses a raw pristine beauty. Large evergreen trees stand as silent sentinels to time, while littering the forest floor in all directions are those companions who have stood and stand no more. Where they have stood, vast numbers of crowded brushy plants and young trees compete for a share of the light necessary to continue. This demonstrates the interminably slow and relentless ways of nature here on Planet Earth. Those ways do have a beauty of their own, but I doubt they, or the inhabitants of such a place, can prevail for long over man's needs. The miles passed by observant eyes and in tempo to the constant plod of horse's hooves.

An hour up the trail Roy stopped to give the animals a breather. Paul dismounted and walked over to June. "Why do you put the big pack on Red and put him in the back? I hear him always running to catch up."

Over the past couple months I've sometimes wondered where Paul comes up with some of his questions, June pondered. This one, however, is valid for I feel personally involved. I'm sure his knowledge of horses has come from riding around the farm. "The individual characters of the horses on a mountain trail are different than around home, Paul. Up here Red follows well, but walks slowly. If we put him anywhere except the rear he tends to slow us down. If we have somebody riding him, they would either have to keep beating on his sides to make him keep up or tolerate the trotting to catch up." She rolled her eyes. "I can assure you this trip is long enough without either. As you just mentioned, when he's the packhorse and gets behind, he just trots or gallops to catch up. Unlike a person, the pack on his back doesn't feel the pain. With this method we don't have to tie him to another horse. Believe me, he doesn't want to be left behind, so he'll never let us get totally out of sight."

"Oh," Paul acknowledged with a rise of his eyebrows.

June smiled broadly at his so familiar expression. "Monty usually sets a relatively fast pace," she continued. "Typically, Roy rides him in front when we're heading out. Duke may try to nip either Burr or Blackie if he's behind them, so Duke is placed behind Monty, who you already know won't tolerate it. Either Burr or Blackie can be behind Duke. We have found with this arrangement we can work each horse in his best position and avoid problems on the trail."

"But why don't you do it that way at home?"

"At home the people who usually ride the horses, other than Red, are responsible to make their horse mind. Both you and Scott are natural riders and graduated from Red right away. You control your horses and don't allow them to cause problems for someone else."

"It's interesting, June," Paul remarked, "how you've studied the character of each of your horses."

"Thank you, Paul," she replied appreciatively. "It's also interesting that you're interested. Most people would just get on and go along for the ride without paying any attention."

The rest stop ended and they continued riding through the bottom of a U shaped glacial carved valley among a forest of sizeable evergreen trees. As the miles passed, the creek continued to diminish in width and they waded across it several times. The horses never questioned entering its rushing water. Roy moved Monty over to the far side so the other horses needing a drink might do so.

Having started late, Roy knew of a good campsite and today's plan was to go about two-thirds of the way toward their final destination. It was a camping trip and setting up camp was a part of the experience. In addition, everyone would be rested for the long, hard climb to the pass. Hours passed before Roy left the trail and rode down through a large tree dotted clearing toward the creek. There they found an established camp. Roy tied Monty, and then caught Red and tied him. Paul came over to help remove the pack while June and Kathy started unsaddling the rest of the horses. Roy and Paul took the horses down to the creek for water then tied them out to graze the abundant grass.

June and Kathy got the gear separated into eating and sleeping. They prepared the evening meal on the gasoline stoves for the area around the camp contained only limited firewood, evidencing its heavy use. Using this camp many times before, the Fosters had decided to leave the wood for those in need. The day had been beautiful with broken clouds and they agreed, unanimously, to sleep out in the open without putting up a rain shelter. Aware that current weather conditions could be deceiving, June said, "I want to be able to say 'better safe than sorry', everybody. I'm leaving the tarp at the foot of the bed. The first one who hears a drop of rain is responsible for rousing everybody. We'll just have to pull the tarp up over us then we can go back to sleep."

Paul and Roy checked the horses before dark and everyone retired early. Much to Paul's delight, as darkness came the sky cleared and filled with stars. Out of habit, he routinely pinpointed his position and found home by the star maps that would always remain in his memory. After a while of watching celestial entertainment, he rolled onto his side and listened to the cascading creek. Soon he allowed himself to slip comfortably into a relaxed, almost too human sleep. He awoke once during the night and finding it still dark, lay tracking the star paths that had revolved slowly above and calculated it was still a couple of hours until daylight. Deciding to sleep until everyone awoke, he rolled back onto his side.

I believe I will continue to enjoy this birthday present the Fosters gave me. The insulating cushion of my air mattress provides adequate separation from the rough earth under me to allow this body to sleep soundly. With all the times we have slept on the ground this past year, I wish I had considered stopping this body transformation sooner. The ground never seems to bother Scott that much. Though I can understand why I never considered it, being even ten years younger might have made a difference. What was one of the many sayings I heard June use that fit this situation so appropriately. He smiled. Yes, 'Hindsight is always better than foresight'

Everyone awoke very early and after breakfast, packed up for the last leg of the physical journey. Roy outlined the day's travel plan. "From here on we'll do most of the climbing. After we reach the pass at 7,000 feet, it's a long, steep descent into Spanish Camp. The horses will be earning their keep today."

The trail changed rapidly after leaving the night camp and became much steeper and rockier. Paul noticed Duke laboring for air, and then confirmed the others doing likewise "Roy, why are the horses breathing so hard?" he asked with concern.

"In addition to the steepness of this trail," Roy offered, "we're getting higher." He grinned, "Their systems are adjusted to sea level and climbing steeply after 5,000 feet requires a lot more oxygen. There is less available so working becomes harder. They have to stop often to catch up on their oxygen consumption. By the time we're out another day or two, everybody, them and us, will adjust to the altitude."

Roy stopped the procession many times, allowing the animals to rest. Some areas were so steep that Roy got off to walk and everybody followed his example. It feels good to get off and walk for a while, Paul thought. It gives me a chance to stretch my legs. The steep climbing of mountain riding is very different than a gallop on a level trail. Leading Duke up a particularly steep place, he confirmed. I'm breathing hard too. Like Duke, this body needs more oxygen. I appreciate Roy's frequent stops. He glanced back at Kathy and noticed she was holding on to Duke's tail, allowing him to pull her along. She and June were talking and didn't seem to be breathing nearly as hard. He grabbed Monty's tail and after a few minutes concluded, Yes, a definite advantage, but being the leader, one Roy cannot share.

As the trail reached a less steep area everybody got on again and Paul turned his attention back to his surroundings. There are a few trees as we continue to climb, he pondered, and their shape seems evidence to the fragile hold they have on life in this environment. Their branches are very short, making the trees seem very tall. This narrow shape is probably to shed the large amounts of water in solid form they call snow that must fall here. I can see snow up higher on the mountains. I wonder if we will get close enough for me to touch some.

He continued with his sightseeing. I conclude almost nothing in this area seems to be flat. I have seen 'steep' on many of the worlds I have visited, but never felt such a closeness to it. The forces of nature appear evident everywhere I look. Analyzing the rocks I also recognize many of the basic elements and physical forces I've observed throughout the cosmos. The major and most evident difference here is the destructive force that makes this class of planets so unique ... water in its various forms. The erosion resulting from those forces will someday level these mountains. The same forces that cause the leveling here will create pressures that build mountains elsewhere and the process will repeat.

Paul returned from his study when Duke stopped. He saw Roy gazing up toward what must be the pass he sought. Continuing the climb, the horses stopped often to heave. Soon they approached an area where the trail crossed a steep field of snow. This is my chance to experience snow, Paul thought. I'll get off.

"Stay on Paul," June said firmly, but politely. "The snow hasn't had time to soften much yet. It's solid and with their four-wheel drive, the horses can handle it better than you. If you slip you might slide a long way." She pointed down the snow filled gully to where the snow ended several hundred feet down the slope in a mass of large rocks.

Paul complied without hesitation. I have puzzled often over the saying Roy has used about the horses having four-wheel drive. Now I believe I understand. Each foot provided individual power and traction for though I can feel a foot slip occasionally, Duke is crossing the snow with ease.

As they neared the pass Roy dismounted again and everybody walked the rest of the way to the top. There was an incredible view as they reached the low spot between two mountain peaks. Snow clad mountains could be seen in the distance in every direction. Paul got his camera and took several shots of the view. Then he took several group shots of their entire party by steadying the camera on a rock, setting the timer and running to get into it. Roy laughed referring to his effort as 'rock photos by Forrester'.

Paul put the camera back into its bag and everybody mounted. Roy led them over the pass and down the other side. The trail descended steeply along a path notched out of the mountainside and its continuation could be seen far in the distance. Before ascending another mountain pass about a half mile further, Roy turned left, off the main trail and they started down the mountainside toward the bottom of the valley. Paul noticed short brushy plant life abounded on this steep, almost treeless slope.

Twenty minutes of steep downhill that required hard bracing against the front of the saddle brought them back into some trees and open meadows. A short way further they crossed a creek, proceeded through another grove of trees and out into another meadow. "Welcome to Spanish Camp, Paul," June offered. "We'll be calling this home for the next few days."

Looking around, in his mind, Starman mapped the area. This meadow appears to be a depression perched on the side of the mountain; probably carved from the pressures of ice collecting. Across the valley I see a gigantic monolith of grayish rock supporting little plant life and between is a deep valley. I must assume another creek runs down the valley. This grassy meadow looks like the place to camp. I'll see what Roy chooses. Paul watched. Roy is designating a place I would never have considered, he thought. "Why not the nice flat spot in the meadow?" he asked.

They walked back to Paul's site. "It can rain pretty hard in this country, Paul. If it rains very hard the water in the creek will rise and overflow right into a shelter placed here. Even digging a trench wouldn't help. You might find yourself lying in a small lake."

"What about that place over there?" he asked, pointing to a higher location.

"While higher," Roy offered, "if it rains for very long, water from above will run down here," he pointed to a slight depression in the ground, "and again, run right into your shelter. That depression was made by excess running water." They returned to Roy's site. "This, though not entirely level, is on a slight knoll. Water will naturally drain off on all sides. In addition, this," he pointed to a lopsided three foot tall and obviously stunted alpine tree, "will keep the tarp from drooping in the middle and give us more head room inside."

"You think of everything," Paul said with appreciation. "I'll remember the next time we're sleeping out."

"It comes with years of experience and getting wet in these hills," Roy confessed. "Cal and Kathy had the experience of finding themselves in one of those lakes one night. Their sleeping bags got wet. They changed into dry clothes and put rain clothes on just to stay reasonably dry in the sleeping bags. They were very lucky because the next day was sunny and warm so they could dry everything. The mountains don't care what happens to us when we're up here. It's up to us to take care of ourselves."

As the horses were again stripped of their burdens, June moved the saddles under a tree and covered them with the tarpaulin that had covered Red's pack. While Roy led Monty and Duke away and tied them out on long ropes, June turned the rest loose to graze the lush mountain grass. She saw Paul watching Roy with concern. From the look on Paul's face, she knew what his next question would be and beat him to it. "Tomorrow Roy will tie one of the other horses and you can let Duke loose."

"What about Monty?"

"He always stays tied. Roy doesn't trust him. He's always been a loner and took off by himself once when Roy was hunting. Once was enough, because the rest will follow him. We don't want to spend our time chasing horses, and more important," she started to laugh, "I don't think any of us want to carry everything back."

He felt satisfied with their logic, but there was much still to ask. "You said this place is called Spanish Camp?"

"It used to be an old sheepherder's camp," she explained. "The shepherds were Basque's from Spain. I'm sure that's how it got its name. The creek we crossed coming in is called Spanish Camp Creek. The sheep people used this and many other areas for summer pasturing large flocks until forty or so years ago when the demand for wool dropped with the introduction of synthetic fibers. They don't have any sheep in these mountains any longer. Though camping around some of the lakes may be more picturesque, we like it here because not too many people know about it and we can find solitude. It's not officially marked on any of the general mountain maps."

Shortly Paul was watching the horses in the meadow and soon confirmed if any of the three loose horses strayed too far, Monty would nicker demandingly for their return. Being the boss, his demands were never ignored.

Roy began instructing Paul in the building of the lean-to shelter that would provide protection from any bad weather. To his surprise, he found, Paul quite knowledgeable in the construction of crude sheltership. When finished with the lean-to, Roy and Paul helped June and Kathy lay out the plastic ground cover and set up the sleeping quarters. With home secure, everyone spread out to collect the abundant firewood. The fire would provide extra cooking space and other social amenities in this out of the way camp.

Paul delighted in his wilderness adventure. Even though Scott was not with him, it was proving to be even more than he expected. The weather was gracious and at altitude the sky seemed a particularly friendly shade of blue.

After the evening meal Roy stoked a social campfire with extra wood to provide a place for camaraderie and warming bodies, advising it was part of a ritual established over many years. Roy groused to Paul that some family members always insisted on staying up until late, warmed by the fire on one side and cold on the other. This time proved to be no exception. Kathy and June finally came to bed when Roy threatened to get everybody up at daylight.

With the clear sky and altitude, the temperature was definitely colder. By morning the ground was a frosty white. Paul awoke when he heard Roy getting up. Like at home, it appears Roy is almost always the first to roll out of bed in the morning. I am thankful the Fosters insisted I use their sleeping bag rather than the modest blankets we normally carry in the duffle bag. I really should get up. I can sense June is awake but she isn't getting up. I, too, feel content just lying here warm and comfortable. Paul looked out and saw Roy starting the fire. Finally heaving a sigh, he unzipped his haven of warmth and crawled out.

Paul took over some more of the dry wood stored under one edge of the tarp and soon Roy had the fire blazing. Adding more wood, he placed the large cook kettle of water he had brought from the creek on to heat. It was not until Roy announced the water was boiling that June and Kathy began to stir. In a short while everybody had collected around the warmth of the open fire and had a hot drink in hand. Paul mentioned the frost.

"Frost is still common in the high country at this time of year," Roy explained. "We actually welcome it because with its coming, the mosquitoes and biting flies disappear."

June got things moving along by starting to gather the breakfast materials. The Fosters had a standing camping fare breakfast established over many years of packing into the mountains. It consisted of bacon, eggs, and pancakes. Paul volunteered to make the pancake batter. June, remembering Scott's reference to 'his' grandmothers Christmas gift, asked, "Do you normally use your mother's recipe?"

Paul fumbled, momentarily caught off balance by her reference to his mother, and quickly realizing Scott must have told her about 'Stella's Pancakes'. He recovered his composure and replied, "Often. She gave the recipe to Scott last Christmas." Paul knew he could provide little information about Stella Forrester and decided he must make an attempt to avoid the questions he believed might follow. "Why don't you fix the batter for me," Kathy said. Handing him a pan and a box of complete pancake mix, he followed the recipe on the box then returned the mixture to her willing hands. He left the camp under the pretense of needing more firewood. When he returned the pancakes were stacked high on a metal plate.

With breakfast clean up complete, Roy and Paul walked out into the meadow to move the horses. "Tied horses must be moved regularly," he advised, "or they will overgraze the grass in one place. The loose horses followed them and after selecting new sites and replacing the special stakes he had brought, he caught Red. "Paul, you can let Duke loose. I'll tie Red. Now it's time to go fishing."

Distributing the fishing gear among them, Roy led back toward where they had come down the valley to the meadow. Shortly he turned left, picking up another old trail and climbed up the mountain. Part way, they came upon a patch of ripe low mountain blueberries of phenomenal size and June announced they had to stop on the way back to pick some for the next breakfast pancakes. The climb took over a half hour and when they topped a low hill, they were almost standing beside a deep blue alpine lake.

"This is very beautiful," Paul said as he got the camera. He took several pictures of the lake and its setting and several more of the family setting up fishing poles along the lake shore. I cannot keep from marveling at the beauty of this little planet I now think of as home, he thought. What is to be its future? The area around this lake shows the signs of many footsteps. Unlike Spanish Camp, this place must be on maps. He set up his fishing pole and joined the family ritual of catching supper.

Everybody gathered to eat lunch and found together they had caught sufficient fish for their evening meal. Roy put all the fish into a mesh bag he carried in his fishing vest and placed it in the cold water. The fish would remain until their return to camp.

With lunch finished and supper secure, it was still early and they were free to choose whatever struck their fancy. Roy suggested a climb to the top of a nearby mountain peak to enjoy an unobstructed view. With another pocket of melting snow in their path, Roy, June and Kathy began heaving hands full of it at each other while Paul stood quietly watching. I would like to ask Scott about such odd behavior. I'll take some further pictures. He lifted the camera and snapped a picture just as a snowball hit him squarely on the middle of his chest. I determined I wanted to feel snow and this could be fun. He laid the camera aside, beginning another experience at blending in with the local fauna. It is fun, he thought. I wish Scott was here with me so we could be sharing it and glory of this place, he thought, as he heaved a sloppy snowball back at Roy.

The descent down the mountain was much faster than the ascent and when they returned to the lake for the fish, they found another couple eating a meal not far from where they had cached their catch. Roy stopped to chat and his questions revealed they were from Seattle and had a camp nearby. They were on their last full day of a thirty-mile backpack trip and were hiking out the following afternoon to rendezvous with a friend. Roy took out his map and discussed their route and chatted about the areas where they had stayed. They told of seeing many parties on the trail. A discussion followed as they spoke of damage from overuse around the more popular camping places.

The woman asked if anyone had any weather information, to which Roy answered, "When we're up here we just take what comes." Everyone agreed. They talked about a half hour then exchanged best wishes and with June leading, headed for the blueberry patch. June distributed plastic bags from her fishing vest and everyone picked berries, though many disappeared into more direct utilization by hungry bodies.

########################################

Three days of extensive searching for the owner of the elusive truck had taken Fox and Wylie in an extending circle from the home area of the still absent newspaper reporter and teacher. They eliminated the north end of the island and had moved south, checking a diminishing list of possibilities. Only two remained. George Fox looked over at his associate sitting in the seat beside him. I would be willing to bet we've been doing all this for nothing. I think Wylie saw an alien where there was none. The only thing I can say is it has been better to have something to do than just wait. If this truck search fizzles, it will be back to waiting to interrogate the teacher and the reporter.

He looked at the name on the mailbox at the road, checking it against his list. "This Roy Foster owns a 1973 Ford ton and a half flatbed," he confirmed. As Wylie rolled the car down the driveway he continued, "All I see are two pickup trucks, one with a camper. I don't see any red flatbed truck," he said tritely to Wylie.

Wylie got out and knocked on the door. Receiving no answer he returned and confirmed Fox's suspicion. "Another nobody home sir."

"We should have been done with this list yesterday morning," Fox growled, looking around for any other signs of life.

"It's almost the end of summer," the sheriff deputy offered. "People are away on their last fling before school starts."

Fox's face contorted as he ignored the comment. "Let's check the neighbors," he ordered, as he had already done forty-two times. The officer went one direction while he went the other, leaving Wylie waiting at the house.

At the next house Fox felt the elation of success. He had positive identification and information confirming the alien and the boy had been in the area at least two months. He continued questioning the woman. "The entire Foster family and their guests left a few days ago," she advised freely. "They took their five horses and have gone fishing in the mountains. From what I understand, they planned to remain in the back county for the next couple of weeks." Fox saw a flatbed truck going down the Foster driveway and rushed back to the house. Unhappily, he found it to be a neighbor returning some borrowed tools. The man had nothing to offer he didn't already know. "Why me?" he mumbled. "Why should I have believed I would be lucky enough to have them coming right to me? In this particular assignment, nothing comes easy."

Waiting around for the teacher and reporter became a memory. What remained of vacations was far too long for the impatient FSA agent to allow this alien's freedom to continue. Happy now that he had established his authority at the local law enforcement levels he called the Sheriff's Office and arranged to meet with a deputy at the home of a local judge to obtain a proper warrant to search the Fosters home to find something that might suggest some more precise destination other than they had gone fishing in the mountains. He left Wylie to wait at the house.

Returning to the farm, he found Wylie detaining an anxious Cynthia Tuttle. Fox completed the interrogation, receiving additional information, and then had the deputy escort her out the driveway.

While Wylie and the deputy searched the rest of the premises, Fox entered the house. On the table he found several maps, lists and information for a trip into a Wilderness Area. Assuming the maps to be of the area the subject's intended visiting, he contacted Forest Service Headquarters. Providing area names found on the maps, the ranger advised Fox each map covered many square miles of the primitive Cascade Mountains to the east. He was directed to call Ranger Stations in charge of the areas in question. It was five-thirty. Calls to several numbers went unanswered and Fox concluded the offices had closed for the day. Personal contact would have to wait until morning.

Fox and Wylie caught the next ferry leaving the island. It was well past dark by the time they got over the mountains and found a motel. He called the County Sheriff's office requesting they provide backup.

In the morning the two federal agents, identification and maps in hand, intercepted the first duty Ranger as he drove into his parking space. The backup officers arrived five minutes later.

Fox handed Wylie his tranquilizer rifle and supplies to use in subduing the pair if needed. He assigned him charge of the ground forces to liaison between the deputies covering all the district's various trails. The maps found at the Foster home did indicate a logical exit he considered a best bet, but he instructed Wylie to remain where the subject vehicle was found, but directed he wanted everything covered if, for any reason, the fugitives might be planning to exit elsewhere. Fox marked a second map for himself, identifying the placement of all his forces.

As Wylie departed, Fox continued talking to the district ranger. He had already managed to obtain a pair of binoculars and with cooperation seemingly flowing his way for once he wanted to keep it so. He again took out his map, displaying it to the ranger. "I need to get into this area by air. Do you have a chopper available?"

The ranger looked at the map and shook his head. "We have chopper service out of Wenatchee, Mr. Fox, but we can't fly you into that area unless it's a medical emergency."

"It is an emergency," Fox replied.

"Medical?"

"No," Fox returned in frustration, "but isn't this nation's security important enough?"

"The special rules relating to wilderness areas allows only medical or fire control and under very special circumstances. Without prior approval the rules allow no mechanized equipment or travel, whatsoever."

"You're kidding me!" Fox retorted.

The ranger shook his head. "Our maintenance crews can't even take a chain saw in to do the trail work. We are given the saws they used a hundred years ago. Special fire emergencies mean we can airdrop fire fighters, but the fires have to be fought on the ground. We can't even airlift our men out. Can you imagine leaving a guy to hike, sometimes forty miles, through rough country after he puts out, and then mops up after a fire? I don't like it, and it's not rules of my choosing," the man offered. "That's the current word from some eggheads in Washington who have probably never seen a forest on fire. The mopping up is the worst because they have to destroy the burned and injured wildlife. It's ugly work."

Fox looked disgruntled, but still needed the man's cooperation. "I wholly agree with you," Fox offered solicitously. "Washington needs to make some realistic changes," he offered, but thought, why tell me? It's not my agency. We have a far bigger problem of our own right now. Of course, I know if I contact the agency I can get a military chopper for this arrest, but I also know the speed at which they seem to move for me. His nose wrinkled up at the thought. I'll be sitting here in the ranger's office waiting for authority and this alien will be getting grey hair from worrying about where I am.

"I'm really sorry," the ranger replied. "We can take you in on horseback if you want to wait until our trail boss comes in. He should be in by tomorrow afternoon."

"That could be too late," Fox rebuffed. "Any other suggestions."

The ranger shrugged his shoulder, momentarily wanting for a suggestion. Then he thought of another alternate. "There is a private packer up the road about twenty-five miles. I'm sure he could take you in right away."

Fox's mouth contorted into various shapes thinking over this other unacceptable option. I'll first try handling matters myself with regard to the air search I want, he plotted. He looked back at the ranger. "I'll check up the road with the packer. By the way, I had to give my tranquilizer outfit to my associate. Do you know where I might pick one up around here?"

"With your badge and handler's permit numbers, we can issue you one on your official signature," the ranger offered.

Fox pulled out his hard earned handler's card. "I also need the drug."

"The kits come complete. Just hold on and I'll get one from supply." The ranger returned in time to relay a radio message just received from Wylie. "Your associate says he found the truck where you expected. He'll remain there unless he hears from you."

Fox acknowledged receipt of the message, made a notation on his map and signed triplicate requisitions for the tranquilizer kit. Picking it up, he returned to the car. Driving to town he asked directions to the nearest airfield where he might charter a helicopter and was directed back to Pangborn Field in East Wenatchee. He told the owner of a private helicopter service the Forest Service had sent him because their chopper was out of the area. With identification, self-confidence and the copy of his Forest Service requisition he informed the owner he had to pick up some important people for a top secret government project. Fox stressed he had little time to spare, and the owner finally agreed to fly him into the Wilderness Area.

########################################

On their second full day in the mountains, the Foster family and the Starman were walking to a small lake south of camp they had seen from above the day before. Picking blueberries had taken Paul to a view where he had seen the overflow from the upper lake tumbling in a series of cascading waterfalls almost six hundred feet down the mountainside. He was anxious for some additional pictures. They followed a faint but distinguishable fisherman's trail moving up and down the mountainside. Steep cliffs appeared and disappeared from above and below. Between grew dense thickets of alpine trees granted nature's permission to survive the snowplow clearing of many winter avalanches. Sharing the avalanche paths were shrubby bushes, annual grasses and wildflowers. Unless one paid careful attention, losing the trail meant a scramble through the thickets. The Fosters' familiarity with the area made it an easy hike.

The surface of the lake, beautifully nestled in a cup shaped depression, mirrored the color of the sky. In the stillness of the morning, from wherever one looked, they could see the surrounding mountains also reflected in its smooth surface. Paul did not even assist in the fishing ritual this morning, opting instead to navigate slowly around the lake. He scrambled through thick brush, rock, and alpine bushes taking pictures of his companions as they stood in various places along the shore. By lunchtime he had circled back to the group. The fishing had been good and the quota of fish was already set aside in Roy's sack. It was still too early to head back so everyone decided to take Paul's hike. He joined them for a second round, this time in the opposite direction.

They got around by two o'clock, just in time to see a brisk breeze riffle across the water. It's a good thing we always insist everyone take a jacket and rain clothes, Roy thought. He looked at June as another stronger gust hit the water. "There is moisture in the air and it's getting cooler," he offered. Untying his coat from around his waist he put it on. "The weather changes rapidly in the mountains. I think we'd better head back." By the time he picked up the fish and secured them in his fishing vest everyone was wearing coats and ready to start back to camp.

%%%

At George Fox's direction, the helicopter pilot proceeded to crisscross the area of Wilderness delineated on his map. I don't really hold out much hope of finding them in this vast wilderness, he thought, but I just can't wait at a trailhead like 'a Wylie'. I have spotted many parties of various sizes, both afoot and on horseback since taking off this morning, but determined it wasn't them. He shook his head remorsefully. It wasn't until I looked over this terrain that I realized they could be naturally hidden from an air search in the many densely forested areas.

In a large meadow area he spotted horses and directed the pilot to move closer. That's the eighth group of horses we've seen already. He counted the animals. The neighbor said they have five. Of course we've seen two other parties with five. He signaled to the pilot to get lower.

"No can do," the pilot yelled. "I don't see anyone around to take care of the animals. We might spook them." He lifted higher and made a slow circle of the area. "Do you see anyone?"

Accepting the man's edict, Fox looked around again. "No. Just keep widening the circle and I'll keep looking. The people with the horses must be somewhere nearby. I want to know for sure if this is the party I'm looking for. Concentrate out from the horses, and work the area between the two lakes we saw from up higher." The pilot acknowledged the order and moved off to check a lake to the north. Seeing no one, he turned south and followed a stream that tumbled from it and flowed down the valley.

%%%

With Roy again leading the way, Paul took the end position following June. They skirted along the mountain, backtracking the route they had used coming to the lake. Roy stopped suddenly, hearing a familiar sound in an unlikely place and echoing between the mountains. "I can't see it, but I'm sure that's a chopper. I wonder what it's doing in here." He watched intently for a while then continued walking.

"That's a good question." June said in a voice reflecting her annoyance. "This is a wilderness area and they're not supposed to fly in here unless it's an emergency."

%%%

Fox looked for anybody who might be fishing the banks of the lake, or merely out communing with nature. Flying down into the valley he looked for any movement and saw several deer bounding for cover. He also saw a small herd of elk grazing lower down in the creek bottom. The helicopter lifted out of the valley to look higher up the mountain toward a second lake. Suddenly he spotted what appeared to be people walking along an open slope. They were moving in the direction of the horse camp. He lifted the binoculars, training them on the subjects. "Only four," he mumbled in dismay. Then, focusing the binoculars further, he scanned the people and recognized his alien at the end of the line. He rechecked the other members of the party. Scott isn't with them, he thought, but the missing boy did not keep his eyes from dancing with excitement. He turned to the pilot, pointing and yelling over the sound of the noisy machine. "There they are. Bring me in close."

"I can't get too close, Mr. Fox. That mountainside is too dangerous. A slight wind variation and we won't get up. If you want to talk to them you'll have to use the bullhorn. It's behind your seat."

"Then get in as close as you can before they get back into the trees," Fox retorted, lifting the binoculars again, almost unable to believe what he was seeing.

"Will do. Hold on. We might run into some turbulence as we get in closer."

%%%

Roy saw the helicopter suddenly appeared far down the valley, lower but somewhat from the direction from which they had just come. It was rising upward. "If it comes close enough, I'm going to get its number. When we get out I think I'll check with the Ranger Station and make sure it has authority to be in here."

"Maybe someone is lost ... or hurt," Kathy said with concern. She saw the helicopter suddenly change course. "It's coming our way." Instantly she thought of the couple at the upper lake. "Maybe something has happened to those people we met yesterday."

Roy continued cautiously glancing at the helicopter as he walked, noting it continued approaching at a speed that to him appeared excessive for normal flying in the mountains.

Paul had just crossed through a small group of alpine trees and was emerging out onto a steep part of the open mountainside. Recognizing landmarks, he knew they would shortly be back in camp.

%%%

Throwing the binoculars on the floor, Fox grabbed the leather bag the ranger had given him. He found and opened a sterile packaged injection dart and as he had done so many times before when close enough to possibly down the alien, drew the prescribed drug dosage he had memorized long ago into the syringe. He picked up the tranquilizer rifle from beside his seat and loaded it.

The pilot opened the throttle covering the open valley where he had room to maneuver. He slowed as he approached the steep mountainside and moved the machine closer, struggling amid the variable winds to hold it steady and within hailing range. Fox opened the door and sighted the rifle.

June stopped short as the intrusive machine came in close. To keep from running into her, Paul stopped mid-stride behind her with one foot on a large, loose rock. Unable to go forward and thrown off balance, he maintained his position as everyone else on even ground turned to watch the approaching machine. Finally, regaining his balance, Paul turned to look.

Suddenly, Roy shouted, "Get down everyone! Some guy up there has a rifle and he's got it pointed at us!"

Less than fifty feet away now, George Fox froze on his target and held his breath. "Now," he barked, squeezing the trigger. The rifle recoiled, throwing the barrel upward. He watched his subject and his face reflected instant gratification when he saw the alien react to an impact. "Ah, ha," he proclaimed with pride. "It's in!"

Paul felt an unfamiliar impact as the tranquilizer dart went through the hood of the jacket hanging down his back and injected its contents into his upper shoulder. I believe I've been shot, he suddenly realized. It doesn't seem as painful as I figured it might be. His thoughts raced. Is Fox in the machine? Has he finally just decided to kill me? He spun around and ran back toward the cluster of alpine trees. I don't seem to be badly injured. At least I can get away from the others. I must avoid getting shot again. Running, he reached into his pocket. When I get out of sight in among the trees I'll use the sphere to protect us.

Fox's shout caught the pilot's attention just in time to see the weapon recoil. He looked toward the hiking party and observed the strike. Turning toward his passenger, he pulled the rifle from Fox's hands and threw it back into the storage area. "Mr. Fox, I didn't sign on with Uncle Sam for any shooting." He looked back toward the people on the mountain and saw Paul running. "Are you crazy? If you have injured that man he might fall. If so he'll tumble toward those cliffs below us."

Paul ran about twenty-five feet before he felt a great flush of heat within the body. Things are getting out of focus, he thought. Now everything is spinning like it did on the carnival ride. I must keep running. He took a few more clumsy strides. I can't go on. He collapsed. I'm falling. Hitting the ground he tumbled down the slope, completely out of control.

Fox cringed as he saw the alien rolling down the mountain. The pilot's right, he confirmed. I haven't used very good judgment. I shouldn't have downed It here. This slope is obviously much steeper than it appears from the air. He grimaced, as his prize tumbled toward the precipice below. "Please stop rolling!" he shouted, as though remorse at his action could somehow change what seemed inevitable.

"I certainly hope he stops soon," the pilot rebuffed harshly as he moved the machine back to a safer position. "What in the world ever possessed you to shoot someone here?"

I'm doing my best to stop my fall, Paul thought, but the arms and legs will not respond to my demands. With the fate that protects the innocent he rebounded from one tumble and landed with arms and legs outstretched and almost flat on his back. His fall broken he rolled only a little before coming to rest in some slightly taller alpine bushes. The air has been forced from my lungs, he thought. I must get more. He was staring back toward where he had first started running, lying partly on his back with his head down the hill. I see June coming this way. Though I have finally taken another breath, try as I might, I can no longer command this body.

Fox breathed a sigh of relief when the alien stopped tumbling. He estimated about another ten feet to the cliff. His concern became almost uncontrollable as he watched Its companions running toward It. Turning to the pilot he yelled, "Get me on the ground!"

"You've got to be joking," the pilot rebuffed. "It's impossible to land here."

"Don't you have a cable?"

"Yes, but you can't use it here," the pilot shouted. "It's too dangerous with this changeable wind." He pointed up the mountain. "These winds are coming out of the west, mister. This east slope is certain to catch the down drafts. If one hits us while you're on the cable, this bird is going to drop suddenly," he motioned down below. "You could go right into those cliffs. I can't risk you being kil..."

Fox, in his impatience, interrupted. "Enough talk. Just get me down on the ground, and make it fast. I'll get myself back here."

"Yes sir," the pilot replied as he noted clouds rolling down and beginning to obliterate the summits of many of the peaks to the west. "Weather's closing in!"

"Right," Fox retorted, his face assuming a look of acceptance. "That's my luck."

The pilot glanced upward and saw violent motion in the trees a short way above them and moved rapidly back away from the slope. From knowledge and foresight grown from experience, he announced: "Lock your door and hold on tight." Momentarily the wind violently buffeted the chopper. He held the controls tightly as the machine lurched suddenly and lost considerable altitude. Only skill and foresight prevented them from going down. "Pretty bad one," he remarked. He noticed the government agent was holding onto the seat firmly. "I understand you wanting to get down there to help that man, Mr. Fox, but I sure can't set down here," the pilot offered firmly. "I also can't take the chance of lowering you on the cable. May I offer you a safer option?"

"Just get me on the ground ... safely," Fox replied in a conciliatory tone of voice.

"When we came over this way, I saw a decent spot up top where I still might be able to set us down. It's about a half mile from here." The pilot frowned. "You'll have to walk back and some of it might be a little rough, but it's better than ..." He looked back toward the cliffs.

"Up top will be fine," Fox confirmed, as another minor gust dropped the machine further.

"Will do," the pilot confirmed, backing off further. "It should still be all right up there. I'm really getting worried about this weather though. The last long range mountain forecast I just heard calls for a deteriorating weather pattern with a series of Pacific storms over the next couple of days. If I put you down and the weather continues to deteriorate, I might have to take off without you. It's highly possible I might not be able to come back for you until it breaks."

George Fox's thoughts were of nothing except his downed alien. He could see It lying on the ground surrounded by Its companions. One was looking his way and shaking his fist. "Just get me down and let me worry about getting out," he shouted.

The pilot spun the chopper a quarter turn and gave it plenty of throttle for the steep ascent. He watched the terrain on the way to the top looking for any familiar features he might point out to his highly anxious passenger. At a closer glance he knew it would be quite a walk back down this part of the mountainside. He topped the cliffs and spotted a good landing area. First hovering to test the wind, during a lull he brought his machine down gently in a clearing. He kept the rotors throttled up to maintain control for he knew the winds could do strange things in the mountains. He reached down into a box beside his seat. "You better take this radio with you so we can communicate," he shouted, handing it over as Fox opened the door. "It's set to my base frequency." Fox grabbed for the radio and anxiously stuck it in his pocket. "And take the first aid supplies. You might need something for the injured man," he yelled as another gust of wind hit. "I can't stay down here waiting for you, but I do have some outdoor gear in back you can use in case I can't get back. I suggest you head up and then veer to the right. I spotted what looks like a fisherman's trail heading down toward where we saw the horses. It might be longer, but the going will be much easier."

Fox, his tranquilizer rifle and supply pouch in hand, and without even a 'thank you', jumped from the cabin and bolted low and away from the rotors back toward his unconscious prize. Is that the pilot still trying to direct me, he thought. I need to hurry and I don't intend to return for information on how to go the long way. In his haste, George Fox started down the mountain, unable to hear anything except the voice in his head that said, 'You got It, George, and now you just have to go claim It.'

The pilot grimaced as he watched his passenger race off toward a low spot marking the drainage from the upper lake. He shook his head and spoke softly, "I might as well have been talking to one of these rocks. The man hasn't considered that he's going into a high mountain wilderness in September and deteriorating weather. He hasn't got a coat, a hat, rainwear or proper footwear. He hasn't taken anything to eat or any emergency equipment except a radio with limited range. He even left his binoculars, though the way he's headed they might be more hindrance than help. He's what the guys at Mountain Rescue Services jokingly refer to as a 'babe in the woods'." He watched helplessly. "It's too late now. Didn't this guy even take a look around as we came up? Didn't he see the waterfalls?" He saw a box still sitting beside his passenger's seat and heaved a sigh. "He didn't even take the first aid equipment. I sure hope that guy he shot is all right. What a super stupid thing to do, shoot someone on a mountainside." Taking another deep breath he let it out, and then again shook his head slowly. "I certainly hope those people have some first aid supplies and can take care of that guy. I wonder if they'll even let Mr. Fox join them."

The pilot noticed heavy clouds rolling down from the upper slopes were about to engulf the flat spot he occupied. I have to take off, now or leave my chopper to the elements and join the group. He opened the throttle and lifted off as another wind-driven cloud rolled down the mountainside after the man from the government.

########################################

"Paul!" June screamed as she started down the mountain. Getting to him she momentarily watched his quivering body lying in the bushes before scrambling to get into a support position below.

Relieved, at seeing her, Paul tried to rise. June grabbed hold of him when his effort caused several violent muscle contractions that threatened to dislodge them from the safety of their perch. "Paul, it's all right," she offered in a voice as calm as she could muster. "I'm here. Everything is going to be all right."

At her comforting voice, Paul tried to rise again. June saw his eyes following her, and then additional contractions. This time she braced herself in time to hold him. "You need to lie still." Now, Paul realized his efforts were threatening to dislodge them both from a haven of safety.

Looking around June saw Roy and Kathy almost down to them and expecting additional contractions, shouted, "Roy, Kathy, help me! I can't hold him much longer! From his movements I'm certain he hasn't broken anything and his arms and legs were working a moment ago, but he seems totally out of control. We have to get him to some level ground." She pointed up the hill about ten feet to the right. "That looks like a better spot than here. Roy quickly took over her position below.

"What happened?" Kathy asked as she joined the effort.

"I don't know," June replied. "I'm sure the tumble down the hill didn't do this.

The alien, within the disabled body of Paul Forrester, tried to evaluate his experience. The visual receptors still blink and I can swallow, but sensations of the body are disappearing. I can feel almost nothing now. I don't understand what is happening. I do know from the conversation and my changing view, they're moving me.

Roy, June and Kathy, awkwardly half sliding and half carrying, moved Paul to the small almost level area where an obviously large boulder had been dislodged by the prior winter snow. They gathered, kneeling down.

"Just hold on Paul, everything will be all right," June crooned softly.

Roy got up. As the helicopter moved away and hovered he shook his fist at it. "What the hell is going on!" he shouted. "Are you some idiots out joy-riding?"

Joyriding? the Starman questioned inwardly. What is joyriding?

Roy watched the helicopter begin rising. "I wonder where it's going now," he said with contempt as it gained lift. "They take a pot-shot at someone in a place like this then leave." June and Kathy only glanced up then returned to examining Paul. "Well they won't get away with it," Roy exclaimed. He pulled a pen and paper from his pocket and started writing. "I've got the chopper's number." He watched until the helicopter disappeared over the ridge then noted the darkening clouds rolling down from above. "It's going to be raining soon," he advised. "We need to get Paul back to camp."

"Maybe he's been shot," Kathy offered excitedly as she looked down at Paul. "You said you saw a gun?"

"Definitely," Roy confirmed.

"I haven't seen any obvious injury or bleeding from a wound," June said. "Will you help me roll him over so I can check again?"

Yes, he has been shot, the Starman replied as another field of vision change told him he was being rolled sideways. The movement has ceased and I'm lying somewhat on my right side facing the valley, Starman observed. I can see them clearly. They are looking at me and I can see they're worried. Now I find the receptors will not respond and I can't do anything but stiffly follow the motion. It couldn't be Fox in the helicopter, he pondered. How could he have found me here? I also can't believe he would just shoot me. Of course the government might have changed its mind about wanting me alive? He paused. Maybe it is what Roy called joy-riding, but how could anyone obtain joy from this? Fox is the only possibility that makes any sense.

As they rolled Paul over one direction then the other, June found the tranquilizer dart wedged between folds in the hood of Paul's jacket. "I think someone has used a tranquilizer," she announced, removing the dart and displaying it.

Is that tranquilizer? the Starman questioned, as he briefly saw the object. He observed another movement. I'm lying on my back and can see only grey sky and their faces looking at me. What is going on? The blinking reaction of the visual receptors has stopped and I can't complete the impulse to swallow I felt a moment ago.

"Why would someone want to do that to Paul?" a puzzled Kathy asked. They looked at each other, but no one volunteered a guess.

Paul's spasms had diminished to a constant quivering, and then the movements ceased and his body relaxed. "Oh, no," June cried as she rolled Paul onto his back.

Roy turned back toward his wife and saw her eyes widening in alarm. "What's the matter?"

"I don't think he's breathing!" she announced in alarm. She checked for a pulse at the carotid artery in his neck then laid her ear down flat on his chest. "Oh, my God," she cried in anguish, "he's in cardiac arrest! Whatever they shot into him with has stopped his heart."

The faces disappeared again and from June's words the Starman became aware of a new reality. The inward and outward rush of air providing this form the necessary oxygen to sustain life is not functioning and I sense no heartbeat? Without the pump this body will die? Focusing his attention within the body he made his own diagnosis. The only life force I sense remaining is the central nervous system of the brain ... and mewith no apparent ability to command. I must find a remedy quickly.

My sphere. If I can see it I'll be able to command the necessary power to restart the pump. I remember reaching for it before I fell. I wonder what happened to it. After a few brief moments of review, he reached an obvious conclusion. Thinking about using the sphere is also a waste of time. I am unable to move or speak so I can't look or ask for it anyway. The only other option is a ship to do a separation. No ships are nearby. Even if one was, if they have to rescue me again it will almost surely be decided I must leave … forever. I think I would rather die here than just leave Scott. I'm sure someone will inform him I have ceased to exist and he will not be left to wonder if I deserted him again. What am I going to do now? He paused momentarily. The truth is I am out of options. It's logical I must accept the inevitable. In my own world I would have lived for many human lifetimes. Now this body is dying and locked within its outside limitations of form, I will follow. When I felt the signal emitting from the sphere I had left for Scott, I had them bring me back. I resumed human form again to determine who possessed it. Against all my friends' logic, I decided to stay with Scott. When they left, I knew this could happen. Now, I must accept it. This body I created is now as much a prison as any George Fox could have created for me … but I think my life force will not survive for very long.

########################################

Scott sat with twenty other students in a lecture on opportunities in the computer sciences. He heaved a sigh. Except for the fact that Amy is sitting right in front of me and knowing there will be a class break shortly, I'm totally bored. I know the computer field is mine if I want it as a career and I took this class only because Amy did. Now I wish I had taken the building trades lecture. I might impress Dad by knowing the difference between more than pliers and a hammer. I might have learned how to use some basic tools in case we ever get a chance to be a family and want to build a house.

Scott looked up. Is the teacher looking at me? Maybe it just seems like he's looking at me. He looked down, avoiding the teacher's look. Suddenly, for some reason he could not understand, he felt a need to take his sphere from his pocket. Puzzled, he looked at it cupped in one hand in his lap. It's glowing, but at less than I know is a normal working mode. Confused, he continued to gaze at it then covered it with his other hand. I don't think I'm doing anything. He opened his hands just enough to see the remaining dull glow. It's reacting to something else, but what? Suddenly an ominous feeling came over him, one he could never explain to anybody. He jumped to his feet and ran away from the teacher; from Amy; from everybody. He felt a need to be alone to try to sort things out. Moments later a worried Amy followed, but Scott had vanished.

########################################

Only a moment passed before June took a deep breath. "We have to do CPR. I'll start the compressions. Roy, you start the mouth to mouth."

Roy's eyes widened as a distraught look appeared on his face. "What?" he questioned.

"Mouth to mouth," she replied anxiously. "Remember the classes we took a few years ago at the firehouse?"

Logic dictated the Starman return his attention from the body functions to the sounds of the world outside his prison. He listened intently to the conversation going on between his friends. Is this a new riddle for me to solve? he thought as he looked outward. Many words I hear, I do not know. The item June had apparently was not tranquilizer for I think she threw it away. Pot-shot? What is pot-shot? he questioned. I wish I could ask somebody. I wonder if they'd smile at me this time. Could tranquilizer be from the word 'tranquil'? I heard it used once, but in the context of quiet and calm. …This is not calm and quiet. Paul Forrester is dead. And this other strange word, SeePeR. What is SeePeR? Another acronym? What does it mean? … Compressions? Mouth to mouth? Cardiac arrest? Cardiac I know refers to the heart. That I remember from the time I was in the hospital and Ralph Woolery died during a heart test. Arrest, from experience I know means to be locked away. Used together the two words do not make any sense. It is apparent, however, my friends are planning to do something … to me?... For me? … But what?

The level spot the four occupied wasn't large, but would make Cardio Pulmonary Resuscitation easier on those doing the procedure and they already had Paul in a satisfactory position. June unzipped his jacket and located the sternum in the middle of his chest. Using three fingers she measured up from the little point at the bottom of the rib cage. There she placed the heel of her hand and almost automatically placed the other hand on top of the first. Giving the first compression was given she glanced up toward Roy, currently trying to remember the position needed to give the mouth to mouth when she noticed Paul's eyes still open. "Roy, close his eyes. We don't want them to get dry."

Please don't close my eyes, the Starman shouted from within. If I'm going to die, I want to see until I can't see any longer. He saw Roy's face appear in his now static visual range again. Right now I'm looking out through the visual receptors for what might be the last time. The last thing I see may be Roy's confusion before my spirit begins to merge with the cosmos.

Roy looked directly into Paul's eyes then shook his head. His nose and forehead wrinkled in surprise and he announced with alarm: "June, Kathy ... look at his eyes!"

Kathy's eyes got wide and her mouth dropped open. "They're the most beautiful blue I've ever seen," she remarked with surprise. "They're almost incandescent. I've never seen anything like it, even when the direct sunlight hits them."

"Look again. ... His pupils are brighter, not darker." Roy added, "Almost like the light is coming from inside."

The Starman saw Roy and Kathy continuing to look directly in at him, seemingly mesmerized. Contemplating momentarily, he concluded, They're seeing blue coming from inside? They are seeing me in Paul Forrester's eyes? While I still energize the area of the brain, my essence must be distressed and is concentrating in the only living part of this body. I'm searching the nerve pathways to the outside seeking a way of escaping, he thought in wonderment. I am trying to survive! Interesting, for in reality I know it's not possible for me to leave this body, but illogically, I seem unable to keep myself from trying. He paused briefly analyzing the phenomena that seemed so strange to his being. Over the past months I think I have almost become human. Occupying this form for so long I have become accustomed to its crude life support systems, not often thinking of the various biological functions involved. Hmm, he mused. I wonder what my friends on the ship would think of that.

His being gave what in human terms might have been construed as a sigh as he continued contemplating his fate. I wonder how long it will require for my life energy to be exhausted. I guess I should be glad Scott isn't here to see this. I should have taught him what to do. If he were here he would feel irresponsible for not knowing. I wonder if he's mature enough to consult his sphere. Maybe … But…? Visualizing his son's face, he paused. No matter, Scott isn't here.

June, glancing quickly, made little attempt to justify the unworldly appearance of the Paul's eyes. "It has to be the light playing tricks on us," she offered. She saw Roy and Kathy gazing intently and silently transfixed. I must break them away because another more pressing matter needs attention. I've counted ten compressions already. While continuing a single handed compression, she reached over and purposefully lowered Paul's eyelids to break their stare. "If you ever want to hear him ask another question with those raising eyebrows of his, or see him look at you with that bewildered look, we need to be dealing with the emergency at hand."

Almost in tears, Kathy looked back at June. "He's going to die, isn't he?"

"Yes," she replied sharply, "If we don't get moving. If we do CPR, he has a chance, but we have to get going with this everybody. We'll have to take turns or we won't be able to keep it up." She bumped Roy's leg with her knee. "Roy, breathe for him!" she insisted, "Now!"

Breathe for me, the Starman puzzled. How can they breathe for me?

It amazed Roy that he remembered the information from the First Aid class. He lifted Paul's shoulders enough to move his head back to open the air passages and pinched off Paul nose. Positioning his mouth, he took a deep breath. Suddenly he remembered a high point of the CPR instructor's lecture. 'Breathe normally unless you want the victim to throw-up' and gave the first conservative breath.

"On my five count," June advised.

Five more compressions and Roy gave a second breath. Five to one, establishing the rhythm they would have to continue until their friend recovered. Between breaths Roy mentally reviewed the first aid course regarding CPR: Fifteen beats, two breaths, if you're alone. Five beats to one breath if you have June beside you.

Kathy looked back at Paul and then at June. "What do you want me to do?"

June continued the compressions almost automatically, now. "Can you make sure we're getting a pulse?" Kathy placed three fingers on a carotid artery. She waited a few moments then nodded. "Good", June replied. "Now, will you go back to camp and get his sleeping bag. If we're successful, we'll still have to deal with the possibility of shock. The weather's getting colder and we need to maintain his body temperature. You might also bring your dad's wool stocking cap to stop any further heat loss from his head and neck. It's in the top of his sleeping bag."

Kathy nodded her understanding and headed back to camp.

########################################

After leaving class, Scott left the areas where everybody seemed to congregate. He was standing completely out of sight in a grove of pine trees and gazing at the still glowing orb in his hand. All efforts, so far, at trying to turn it off had been unsuccessful and he felt totally inadequate with this object that was his heritage. It's you, isn't it, Dad? he guessed. I don't understand. Are you in trouble? Tears began flowing down his cheeks. Something has happened. An accident? I know it isn't pain I'm feeling. It's more like ... what ... afraid. His face contorted. ... What's wrong? All I know for sure is I have to find you. Shortly, Scott saw people disappearing and he knew classes were resuming. He went looking for Cal.

########################################

Amazing the Starman reflected. I sense the heart beating again, but all is not normal. It's a forced beat, not the two beat rhythm I'm accustomed to, but I can hear the sound of air going in and out again. He turned his attention back within the body again. Oxygen is being supplied to the brain and I surmise, to the body, but the amount of free oxygen is lower than it should be for the normal waste exchanges. The air exchange is also not the natural rhythm. It's rhythmic, but I hear no smooth change from inward to outward. He puzzled over his new discovery. It's almost like the air is just … flowing out rather than being expelled by contractions of the chest muscles.

He pondered his earlier questions. Humans seem to have devised a method of sustaining life within these fragile bodies. It must be for a limited time, perhaps until needed assistance can be obtained. I think they're doing this for me. He searched the biological systems again. Still, I detect nothing within the body to lead me to believe it is capable of functioning any longer.

Kathy put the stocking cap on her head and roughly rolled a sleeping bag, tying it with a long rope she found on a packsaddle. She grabbed a saddle and rushed over to Red. Securing the saddle she doubled the lead-rope for reins and returned to the hillside as fast as she could over the rough ground. She was back on the mountainside in less than twenty minutes. She tied Red to a stout tree along the trail about forty feet away and rushed back to where Roy and June were working on Paul. She placed the cap on Paul's head then wrapped the sleeping bag around what she could of his exposed body. June and Roy never missed a beat.

"Kathy, as soon as you feel able, will you take over for your father?" June asked, in rhythm to the chest compressions.

"I haven't taken a class for a long time. I'm not sure I remember."

"Just watch for a minute. It'll come back."

Watching her father she soon remembered the instructions and picking up on the rhythm, took over. In another five minutes, Roy took over for June. Five minutes later June took Kathy's place.

While resting, June picked up one of Paul's hands. She shook her head. "Your hands are so cold," she said. Searching for a pulse, she felt only the weak artificial one Roy was presently providing. Curiously, she lifted Paul's eyelids. The Starman again saw light and diverted his attention to the outside. For the first time June saw fully the strange, almost negative, sky blue glow Roy and Kathy had described.

I know you see me, the Starman thought. I can tell by the startled look on your face. I'll try projecting my appreciation for whatever you're doing for me. I hope you'll understand.

June looked deeply into Paul's eyes this time, but it was more than just the color or the strangeness that attracted her. Suddenly her hand felt very warm and the warmth spread throughout her body. She looked at Paul pensively. I know your hands were cold, she thought. Still I feel like I just picked up a warm hand when mine is cold. Her attention returned to Paul's eyes. You seem to be ... looking back at me, almost like your eyes possess a life of their own. A deep frown appeared. I feel like you're trying to say something. She looked away as Kathy nudged her aside to apply the life sustaining breath then withdrew for the five count.

The Starman saw June disappear and Kathy's face appeared and retreated again in rhythm to the movement of air. June reappeared momentarily and closed his eyes again. Right now Kathy's movements are linked to the continuation of the oxygen exchange. … Of course, breathe for me, mouth to mouth, he deduced. He now turned his activity toward trying to identify his mentors. There is a pleasant, but distinctive odor about Kathy. I never paid attention to it on the farm because of the simplicity of visual recognition. Now I can identify her even with the visual receptors closed. June appeared again. Did she understand me? Her eyes reflected no shock or fear, merely a compelling curiosity, the Starman pondered. I might never know. Please do not go until I can identify you also. If one pays close attention it seems everybody is distinctive. Yes, now I'll be able to recognize you also. Roy, you are easy … horse, smoke and fish. This gives me a feeling of closeness even though I may never see any of you again. Time passed.

June felt Kathy pushing her aside again, but after delivering the breath, she could not keep from opening one of Paul's eyes again. She closed it again when Roy reminded her of her duty. She shook her head, as though trying to break a spell. What is it I saw? What was it I felt? She looked at Paul's expressionless features. Somehow ... I believe you were thanking me ... but you're... She frowned. How? She grimaced over the strange feeling that had engulfed her. She shook her head again, trying to throw off a web of confusion. She let go of Paul's hand in preparation of taking over from Roy. If anyone ever asks me about this, all I can say is it was ... spooky. Can it be the light, or maybe my desire for some sign of life? I do so want him to live.

As the light disappeared again, the Starman returned to his limited world of contemplation. Did June understand I was trying to relay my gratitude for their efforts? Will what they're doing give me the chance to thank them personally, or is theirs just a ritual attempt to sustain life. I still sense no life force within this body. Paul Forrester is as dead as when I found him on Mount Hawthorne.

########################################

Cal was in the cafeteria when he saw Scott approach. "Where have you been?" he demanded emphatically. "Amy was worried sick when you ran out like that. She's still out looking for you."

Scott walked over to face Cal. "I'm sorry, but I have to leave," he offered decisively.

"You what?"

"I have to go to Dad."

"You can't."

"Cal, I have to."

Cal gave Scott a worried and apologetic look. "You know I can't just let you do that. They're way back in the mountains, Scott. Without help, your chances of ever finding them are almost nil. I still have trouble finding Spanish Camp and I've been there before."

"I have to go," Scott stated confidently. "Don't worry, I'll find them."

"How?" Cal asked bluntly. "You don't even know where the trail begins."

"I'll find them!" Scott stated confidently.

"Well I can't let you go. Your father is depending on me to take care of you." Cal looked questioningly at the concerned look on Scott's face. "Just what makes you think you have to find him?"

"I can't explain it," Scott said bluntly. "I just know."

"That's a poor reason." Cal returned. Immediately he saw a growing look of desperation in the boy's eyes. "You're aware we're meeting them Saturday. Can't it wait?"

"No, it can't," Scott replied decisively.

"Well, you have to wait!" Cal advised with an air of authority born of experience with classrooms of troubled teens.

Scott looked Cal right in the eye and unable to stifle the tears forming, he pleaded, "Cal, please help me."

"I can't let you go!" Cal returned. "You have to wait."

Scott studied Cal's look for a long moment. If he won't help me I'll use my sphere to find Dad, myself, he decided. With a look of determination, he turned and walked away.

########################################

Never thinking of giving up hope, Roy, June and Kathy desperately carried on. Changing positions at five-minute intervals allowed one to be resting and thus they continued their efforts.

I wonder how much time has passed and how long they will continue. Starman questioned. How long can a human body live without damage at this reduced oxygen level?

"Tranquilizers usually wear off quicker than this," June offered during her rest period. "Perhaps the effects remain longer if the body is not functioning normally? It has to start wearing off soon." She took over the breathing duty from Kathy.

If the Starman could have raised Paul Forrester's eyebrows, he would have at the revelations in her words. Whatever tranquilizer is, with time it wears off! Perhaps I need to stop trying to preserve energy while I wait to die. I don't have to lay here and accept it! I need to continue to help Scott and I must struggle to live for all of us, Scott, Paul Forrester and myself It is not near this body's time to 'go out'. If I am to be part of this world, giving up is not its way. Maybe I can direct personal energy to restart the pump. … I must try. He concentrated. I have my energy resources gathered. Here goes … no response. Perhaps I have insufficient resources available. I had to reduce my energy level during the transformation or burn out this body as I was doing sixteen years ago to Scott's father. I guess I must accept what is coming. Suddenly the decision became clear. No, I shall not give up! If tranquilizer wears off, perhaps the lack of response is because the body of Paul Forrester is not yet physically able to accept my help. Nothing will be lost if I keep trying.

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In his haste to get to the alien, George Fox left the helicopter and pushed on toward the shortest route to the alien. In minutes he encountered impassable cliffs. He tried skirting the cliffs by moving to his right along the hill and came out onto a dirt slope. As he tried to cross, the dirt continually gave way and he moved downward with it, struggling to maintain his balance. He realized quickly how poorly prepared he was to handle the terrain.

He found a tumbling stream and remembered the old timer's tale to 'follow it down'. He soon discovered the rocks were wet and slippery and his feet continually slipped from under him in his smooth soled city shoes. Within the first five minutes he found himself sitting on his rear more than standing on his feet and the descent was getting steeper. He stopped and looked around and found he wasn't more than a hundred feet from where he started down. He decided to abandon the water course for almost anything else.

He heard the pilot's voice on the radio. "Mr. Fox, don't go down there. There's a trail a little way up and to the left of where I left you. It would be longer, but..."

"Thanks," Fox replied, "but I'm going to take the shortest route." The mere thought of climbing back up over what I just came down, makes that an easy decision, he thought. After all, what's a half-mile?

"Suit yourself, Fox," the pilot replied. "I do want to tell you the weather's closed in solid. I had to take off when the wind started working my bird over. I'm returning to base. The radio is set to my frequency, but with the mountains between here and there you're going to be without communications. Weather permitting, I'll try to come in for you again about noon tomorrow. You're on your own at least until then."

"That's not what I wanted to hear, but what can I do," he offered and they signed off. "Oh well," Fox moaned. "I don't believe the alien will be able to navigate very well for at least an hour and I didn't want to climb back up there today anyway. I'll have the horses removed tomorrow, and then he can pick me up down below." He continued cautiously downward.

The easy going of earlier didn't last as the terrain changed rapidly. Falling was frequent as he encountered a tangle of often shoulder high brush literally covering the damp slopes around the drainage from the upper lake. The dense brush grew out horizontally from the mountainside toward the valley, the result of the heavy burden of snow it lay under much of the year. With only the limber growing tops turning upward, he literally walked on the tangle of their small bouncy, horizontal trunks. His legs fell through several times, leaving him almost unable to move and uncomfortably suspended by the bouncy brush above nothing but empty air. Escape took great care and much exertion. He had to pull himself out with his arms to get his legs out, and then slide himself back on his stomach to a place with something underneath.

Fearful of losing his only communication with the returning rescuer, he had taken the all-important radio out of his pocket and finally stuffed it into the leather tranquilizer kit bag. Even at that, keeping track of the rifle and the bag presented enough problems. After a fall, his struggles required he lay them down or gently toss them to a safe place and many times they would fall to the ground underneath. He expended a great amount of time and energy, knowing he must retrieve them.

His efforts to find an easier route led him away from his original landmarks and shortly he was becoming disoriented. He started talking to himself freely. "I should have paid more attention as we flew up top. Now I'm not sure of where I am. Every rock and tree is beginning to look like every other. I wonder if I'll ever find the alien in this jungle. George, you might as well acknowledge it. You're lost."

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As he walked away from Cal, Scott sought encouragement from his father's gift. He opened his hand. It was still glowing. He stopped walking and concentrated on the orb. I don't feel distress anymore. I feel... What? He puzzled momentarily. A thank you? His question was expressed openly on his face as feeling flowed to him from the sphere. He frowned over the strange signals as he continued concentrating on the sphere. I feel a strange, questioning curiosity now. I know it's you Dad, but somehow I think things are better. Suddenly he became aware that Cal was calling to him.

"Scott, please wait!" Cal called anxiously. "I can't lock you up so I'll see what I can do. I do have an obligation to the seminar, but maybe we can take off a little early. I'm almost certain, though, it won't be at least for a day or two."

I feel a little better now, Scott thought, but not enough to give up going to find Dad. Cal knows where to go and having his cooperation will save time because I won't have to hide from him. I know he'll have to try to stop me and I don't want him to call the police. Scott turned to face Cal. "As soon as possible ... please? I really need to go to him."

"Okay." Cal put a comforting arm around Scott's shoulders and guided him out of the cafeteria. "Come with me and I'll check with administration right now."

"Thanks," Scott offered now that the wheels were in motion.

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To the Starman there was no way of judging the passage of time as his three friends continued in their efforts to revive the body. I will continue to fight for my life by periodically directing energy to the pump until my life force become exhausted.

Totally unaware of the life within the body of Paul Forrester struggling for its existence, June turned compressions over to Roy to take her break. She looked at her watch and tears began to fill her eyes. Someone is going to have to suggest the obvious, she thought. With tears flowing down her face, she spoke brokenly, "I hate to bring this up, but how much longer do you think we should keep at this?"

Kathy was just straightening after completing a breath. "If we quit," she replied in anguish, "what are we going to tell Scott?"

June gathered herself again as Kathy provided a breath and straightened. "I know how you feel, Kath. I'm sure we all feel the same, but it's been almost an hour. We can't go on forever. We'll just have to tell Scott the truth." She wiped away the rivulets running down her cheeks and sniffled, "We did our best. That's all anyone can do. We have to accept there is a limit to how long life can be sustained like this. It could have been a highly allergic reaction to whatever tranquilizer they used. We have to accept the fact it might have been hopeless from the start."

This is it, Starman concluded. They're ready to give up. I hope I have enough energy rebound for another try so soon after the last. I'll have to gather every last ion I can find. He concentrated on gathering and directed the electrical impulse into the body's pump. Please go! he urged vigorously.

Kathy had her hand behind Paul's head in exchange position. Ready to administer another breath she despondently watched Paul's chest, praying to herself for some sign of life. A chill ran through her body, but she followed through with her CPR responsibility as though programmed to perform. When she straightened again a fleeting smile appeared on her face, and then vanishing just as quickly. At the five count she applied another breath and watched, determined the plug would not be pulled on her watch. Her smile returned then bloomed into a broad grin. Now, breathing hard with excitement she announced: "Life can be sustained this long. June ... Dad, I think he just started breathing."

June motioned to Roy to stop compressions for a moment. She laid her ear down on Paul's chest and a tremor coursed through her body. A grin and fresh tears appeared simultaneously as she straightened. Closing her eyes, she gasped with relief. "I think we've done it."

It worked, the Starman acknowledged with a human happiness for continuation as he heard their words and felt the resumption of the two beat pulse within his region of occupation. Now, he reviewed his observations of the past hour with a growing interest. It's strange, I wasn't even aware of my panic and appearance until I heard them. I never thought about continuing as any human would, to fight for my own life until I understood that is what they were doing for me. As my need for knowledge drives me to understand, is my own being just as driven to survive. Are these drives so thoroughly locked within my genetics … in the genetics of all my kind, that we're not even aware they still exist? Do we merely need a reminder? It would be interesting to find out if they can be revived so all may experience again the wonder and joy of … feelings.

For a few moments Roy, June and Kathy watched the rhythmic rising and falling of Paul's chest with a growing pride. Then Roy zipped up Paul's jacket, folded his arms across over his body and pulled the sleeping bag completely over him. He rolled him slightly from side to side to tuck the open edges underneath. As they all sat on the level spot, physical and emotional exhaustion caught up with them. It had been misting for almost twenty minutes, but no one had noticed.

Roy looked up at the lead grey color of the sky. He knew rest was not yet to be theirs as the misty drizzle fell upon on his face. "It's going to be raining soon. We need to get him back to camp." He got up. "The last thing we need right now," he said with a smile, "are four soaking wet people."

Kathy started to get up. "I was thinking about getting Paul to camp when I went for the sleeping bag, Dad," she announced proudly. "I knew it would be hard for us to carry him from here, so I rode Red back." She started walking up the hill to where the horse stood. Roy followed. "I figured we can use him to move Paul. I even grabbed some rope so you could tie him to the saddle."

While Roy and Kathy got the horse, June checked Paul's eyes again. Surprisingly they seemed normal. "It's gone," she mumbled. "It had to be the light. What else could have made your yes look like that?" She looked deeper, and then shook her head. And how could that light say thank you?

The Starman again saw light. He saw June looking directly into his eyes and heard her words. This time her face does not have the startled look of earlier. I must have disbursed again; possibly when my heart started. He saw June's finger again then the light disappeared. This time, for the Starman, there was no remorse at its passing as he reveled in his thought, I'm alive.

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Waiting on a bench in front of the Administrator's office for Cal to return, Scott continued to watch the sphere. I have felt many strange sensations, he pondered; a brief feeling of relief and a strange curiosity over things he couldn't understand. When a strong joyous feeling flowed through him, the sphere's glow finally disappeared and for some reason he breathed a sigh of relief. He knew whatever waiting he must endure, though difficult, would now be bearable.

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Having just saved himself from another fall through the limbs, Fox mumbled loudly, "I have always considered myself to be in good condition. I exercise religiously and have good endurance, but now my body is also tired from lack of sleep and this constant struggling is beginning to take its toll. Anytime I'm chasing these aliens, I'm always uptight and sleep doesn't come easily. Sometimes I just have to use sleeping pills, but I hate the feeling of having to depend on anything or anybody. Last night I waited too long before taking something because I felt it might have left me groggy this morning. I knew this chase was going to require my full attention. Now, to further add to my problems, it's drizzling. Everything is wet and I can feel it soaking through my clothes as well."

Carefully watching his footing, he skirted around a large area of tall wet brush. In these shoes, it's easier traveling over coarse rock than dealing with the steep open slopes. Still, if I wasn't in good condition there are a number of times I might have fallen. It's too easy to step on something loose or have a handhold fail. Several times I've had to go through areas of cliffs and large fallen rocks. Everything seems to make my downward progress less than slow. I have to lay my equipment in a safe place and hold on with both hands while pressing against a rock wall to move any direction. I found myself seeking help from the small trees or mountain brush that grows sparsely wherever it can find sufficient soil to set root.

It amazed me to find the confidence I have developed to wholly place my safety upon such meager looking plants. At first I felt I had no choice, but soon discovered them to be well-rooted or growing firmly between rocks. All the stuff growing around here seems to have a real tenacity for life. While holding one, I can swing confidently away from the rock walls to catch another. In this manner I have been able to move around many otherwise impassable obstacles. Then I have to retrieve and safely secure my equipment before proceeding another couple feet. For over a half hour downward progress is in feet, not half miles. One failure of foot or handhold means becoming a missing person. The pilot's estimate of a half mile seems more like ten.

Once in frustration, I even cursed the man for choosing the landing site. Then I remember him telling me it might be rough. He even directed me to a trail. If only I had listened. A short way back up the hill and a longer walk on a trail would have been both faster and easier than even a hundred feet of this. He frowned, muttering self-accusingly, "I was the one who had to rush off." He heaved a sigh. It's too late now. I have to take what comes. I know the alien is somewhere below me. I'm also sure the tranquilizer must have worn off long ago. Just the thought of chasing after it through more of this makes me shudder.

His reward came when he saw a clearing that seemed familiar. This could be the place where I first spotted It. In another moment his ordeal was forgotten. There they are, down the mountain and over to the left. Good, it seems the alien is still down and they have It covered with some kind of blanket. I hope It's okay. He quickened his pace around another rock outcropping and into an area where he saw tracks evidencing the passage of rough soled shoes. This must be the trail they were following. I think I'll take advantage of it, but the last part I know will be slipping and sliding again. I never thought twice about the danger of taking It down here. It's a great deal steeper than it looked while hovering in the safety of the helicopter. If the alien had tumbled much further, there wouldn't have been any need to hurry. I shudder at the thought of having to face General Wade with only a body. His funding was based on my promise to deliver a live specimen.

Kathy and Roy were leading Red over toward Paul when the horse stopped suddenly, snorted and pulled back on the lead rope. He gazed up the hill, his ears pricked sharply forward and eyes wide with alarm. Fox was no more than fifty feet away when Roy saw him and if not for the horse, his approach might have gone completely unnoticed. Roy stood watching a stranger coming from the general direction of the lake at which they had been fishing and hoping for a helping hand, was eager to greet a fellow mountain traveler with open arms.

Fox, a wide grin covering his face, continued down toward the group. He looked over at Paul. Good he's still down. He looked up at the man extending a hand and ignoring it, announced with pride, "George Fox, FSA. I'll take over now."

Fox! the Starman thought. They have saved me only to hand me over to him.

Roy frowned in confusion. "Who?" he asked, recognizing arrogance in the man's attitude. "Take over what?"

"My prisoner of course," Fox returned with authority.

Roy's mouth dropped open as he looked at the man facing him. This mountain traveler is wearing a business suit. "You must be the guy from the helicopter! You're the one who did this to Paul!"

"Paul Forrester is a fugitive and my instructions are to bring him in at all costs. I will state right now, I expect full cooperation."

Roy looked at Fox in disbelief. "A fugitive? You've got to be kidding!"

Fox laid down his equipment, "This is certainly no joke," he offered matter of factly as he leaned over and pulled back the sleeping bag. "In fact, he's a highly sought after Federal fugitive." Fox proceeded to empty the Starman's pockets then replaced the cover. Grabbing his leather bag as he stood up, he stuffed Paul's things in it.

June's response to the words that Paul was in trouble did not change the facts she knew about this arrogant man's methods of capture. "Fugitive or not, isn't the issue," she said forcefully. "Whatever possessed you to shoot at him here." She looked down toward the precipice below. "He could have been killed!"

I'm already aware my action was a judgment error, Fox thought, but Lady Luck has been kind to me for once. He defensively cut her short. "Well he didn't get killed now, did he?"

"Not from the fall, but I want you to know you did kill him," she said glaring straight into his face.

"Bull," Fox retorted as he looked down at the alien. "He isn't dead. I just used a tranquilizer."

"You just used a tranquilizer..." Roy returned caustically. "And we've just spent the past hour giving him CPR."

They're arguing over me, the Starman thought, and there are those words again, tranquilizer … SeePeR. I wish I could ask what they're talking about.

"You what?" Fox asked in disbelief.

"We've been giving him life support," June confirmed. "The drug stopped his heart. It just started beating a few minutes ago. What did you shoot him with?"

Life support, the Starman acknowledged, so that's another way of saying it. That's what they were doing. It must be some temporary measure to preserve the flow of oxygen to the body. Amazing how creative these primitive humans can be at times. If given the chance, I will ask them to explain further.

Fox shrugged his shoulders at the woman's accusation and replied in conciliation. "An ordinary tranquilizer."

"What was it for ... elephants?" she returned caustically.

Fox picked up his leather bag, took the vial out of the pouch and handed it to her. "This ... an ordinary tranquilizer, I got it from the Forest Service."

June looked at the label and gasped. "This says it's for veterinary use only. No wonder that injector dart I found seemed rather large. What in the world do you think the Forest Service uses tranquilizer for ... their employees?"

"It was the best I could do on short notice," Fox stated defensively. "I had to give my partner my regular outfit."

June's mouth dropped open momentarily and her eyes widened in surprise. "Regular?" she asked and her surprise melted into an angry glare. "You mean you do this regularly!" She paused before her next logical question would even come. "How much, may I ask, did you use?"

Fox now felt obliged to defend himself. He took out another darting syringe from the bag and put his thumbnail on the fourth bold line marked on the side. He looked at the reading, "Four cc's. That's the line the department lab technician told me to use for the estimated weight of this subject. He said it was a conservative amount, taking into consideration any adverse reactions that might be experienced."

"Did you ever consider you might be using a different drug," she asked, her voice now rising noticeably. "I assume you read the instructions? This stuff is probably for large animals and could be much stronger." She looked at the label and quickly converted the dosage. "You idiot! You used enough to put 300 pounds of angry bear to sleep for at least a half hour." She glared at the man standing in front of her. "Now, I understand why Paul's heart stopped!"

Ah, ha, the Starman concluded. Now I understand. Tranquilizer normally puts the body to sleep. The definition of tranquil is to calm. That does seem to fit. So Fox didn't want to kill me. He just made a mistake and used more of the drug than he should. For me it would have been a fatal mistake if my friends hadn't known what to do.

Fox looked at June, seemingly bewildered. "Why are you so excited," he said softly, "after all he isn't dead." He shrugged his shoulders, and trying to think of something further to say, mumbled under his breath: "It probably won't make a difference, anyway. In the long run, he might wish he were."

Roy, had been ready to verbally defend his family against this interloper who had almost caused the death of his friend, but standing right next to Fox he overheard the statement. "That's it!" he announced belligerently. He handed Red's lead rope to Kathy and turned himself to face Fox's now blank expression. "You G** damned Son of a B*****! Your carelessness just about killed a friend of ours and that's all you have to say ... 'It won't make a difference!'" Without further hesitation, he caught Fox with a solid right cross in the mouth.

The punch sent Fox flying backward and yelling as he rolled down the mountainside with arms and legs flailing, and grasping for any hold. He finally managed to spread eagle himself and stopped.

The Starman heard a thud and Fox yell. Whoops, I think Fox made Roy angry. I hope he doesn't do something that will get them all in trouble.

Shaking, Fox got up and wiped the blood from his mouth onto his coat sleeve. This continuing interference isn't going to be tolerated any longer, he thought. He had his wallet out of his pocket by the time he scrambled up the mountain to where his prisoner lay. He displayed his badge and identification card. "You're not dealing with an ordinary bounty hunter," he spouted. "As I've already told you, Paul Forrester is a Federal fugitive and is now in Federal custody."

"Show me some papers giving you legal authority," Roy demanded.

Fox pulled his service piece from its holster; fired a shot into the air then pointed it at his adversary.

The shot sent Red into a frenzy and Kathy ran over to calm the horse that would be carrying Paul back to camp.

Fox's look got cold as ice. "I don't have to show you anything," he returned, trying his best to hold the weapon steady. "I guess this is my authority for the moment. As I said, Forrester is my prisoner and this time neither you nor anyone else is going to get him away from me."

"This time?" June questioned. Receiving no answer except an obstinate glare from the stranger, she turned to watch Roy.

Roy's eye narrowed decisively as he glared at the man and she was fearful of what either might do. Then she knew Roy knew better than to argue with a loaded firearm, particularly with his family close by. She was relieved when she saw him back off.

Fox motioned toward the still nervous horse with another wave of the pistol and spoke with authority. "I am assuming you brought the animal to move my prisoner back to your camp. I would like to suggest you continue with what you planned." Kathy's touch and crooning had calmed Red and she brought him down the mountain below where Paul lay. Taking the lead rope from Kathy, Fox said contritely. "I'll even hold the horse for you."

Fox held the now quiet Red and watched while the three struggled to load his alien's limp body over the saddle. Under his watchful eye they replaced the sleeping bag over Paul and Roy skillfully tied him there.

"I'm kind of glad he's still out," Roy advised. "Being carried like this can't be very comfortable."

June took up a position on the uphill side of the slope and Roy stayed on the downhill to make sure nothing came loose. "He seems to be hanging in there," she said. I think we're ready to go."

Though he could not open his eyes, the Starman felt sure he was moving. Fox told them to take me back to camp. I believe they have me secured on Red and we will soon be on our way.

As Kathy retrieved the lead rope from Fox, she looked at the fishing gear on the ground, and then at Fox. "At least you can carry our things back," she suggested. Kathy started leading the horse diagonally and up along the hillside as Fox picked up his things, the fishing poles and fishing vests. Slowly moving upward Roy and June supported Paul from each side to be prepared in case Paul might start sliding off sideways.

Now there are additional noises, the Starman confirmed. Hard breathing, rolling rocks and Red blowing out his nostrils. We must be on our way back to camp.

As Fox followed behind, he thought, it takes a substantial effort for the man and woman to hold the alien steady while trying to climb the steep hill in brush, loose dirt and rock. In these smooth soled shoes following behind is just fine. I can see the better places to walk. He stopped momentarily, breathing hard as they climbed up toward the trail. I see loose dirt and small rocks tumbling downward toward the cliffs. What a relief it was when the body stopped rolling. Soon he saw the ground leveling off. We've reached the meadow. There's the camp on the other side.

The loose horses had followed Red when Kathy got him and the sleeping bag. Remaining close by, but within calling distance of their leader at camp, the rest of the horses greeted Red with a nicker then fell into line behind Fox.

The odors and sounds are becoming many and confusing, the Starman thought. I will keep attempting to sort them out. He listened, intently. I hear Duke and the other horses, so we must near camp.

Kathy led Red and his crudely packaged and secured celestial burden into camp. She removed the sleeping bag and placed it on Paul's air mattress in the middle of the lean-to while Roy and June untied and brought Paul inside and laid him in the open bag. "I think I'll elevate his head a little," June offered. "He's still so totally out of it I don't see him swallowing much. I don't want him to choke." She unzipped Paul's jacket. Seeing her intention, Roy moved in and held Paul up while she removed it. June folded Paul's arms over his body. "This might help maintain some body heat," she said, as she zipped the sleeping bag to the top and closed it tightly around his neck and shoulders. The jacket she stuffed in the Paul's worn duffel bag and placed it under his head.

We must be in the lean-to, the Starman figured. I can smell the dead campfire and the freshly cut wood stacked just under the edge. I just heard a zipper and since I know they wanted me to stay warm, they must have me in my sleeping bag.

The rain began coming down in generous quantities as Roy came back from tying Red to his tether. Happy for the protection of the shelter, everybody sat quietly pondering the day's strange turn of events. Anxious to talk to Paul, June continued monitoring his condition, watching for any sign the tranquilizer might be wearing off. She was sure he would willingly shed some light on what had become a very distressing afternoon.

His gun still in hand, George Fox sat near the open edge of the shelter at Paul's feet. I chose this place carefully, he thought. It's advantageous for watching everybody at one time. I must size up each person's potential threat to my success in returning this initially identified alien to the anxiously waiting government authorities. The two women have remained with the alien. Let me recheck my authority. He made a directional gesture with his weapon. One withdrew, but the second did not. I could enforce it, but I think it best to let her continue to monitor Its life signs. He watched the other woman retreat. She's sitting on the ground to one side and behind the first, next to the belligerent man I have to assume is Roy Foster. Fox saw each of them glare intently at him, but he managed to stare them down. With shelter now available, he felt more secure in his position of authority. If there is another firearm around, I feel sure it would have appeared by now. I don't consider my benefactors friendly, but they do appear coercible. I will prevail.

Roy watched Fox intently. I've never had anybody hold a weapon on me before. It really bothers me. I'll continue to study this adversary carefully.

As they continued to eye one another the silence began to tell on everybody and Fox finally asked. "Where's the boy?"

"What boy?" Roy replied, a hard look covering any reaction.

"I think you know who I'm talking about!" Fox stated emphatically, nodding his head toward Paul. "His son, ... Scott. I know they have been living with you. Tell me where he is!"

"Are you planning to arrest him too?" June asked.

"Correct," Fox shot back.

Roy motioned toward Paul. "Like that?" He asked caustically.

"If necessary," Fox replied with equal determination.

Roy gave Fox a set jaw look. "Since you wouldn't show me any warrant, I don't believe you have any legal authority to be arresting Paul, or Scott. I have no intention of telling you anything."

After a couple prior incidents while I chased paperwork, some bumbling police force allowed the alien to escape, I obtained and now carry documentation at all times. "If I confirm to you this is all for real," he offered, "Will you cooperate?" He took papers out of a folder in his inside suit coat pocket, carefully unfolded and handed them to Roy. "Read! These are official Federal warrants for Paul Forrester and for Scott Hayden ... also known as Scott Forrester."

Roy looked the documents over carefully, noticing immediately what he considered an irregularity. "Neither of these warrants states any specific charge or penal code violation. I understand enough about the law to know you must have a charge, or at least a reasonable suspicion, before you can get an arrest warrant for somebody. Personal observation or proximity to a crime scene might be considered probable cause to arrest without warrant, but I know Paul hasn't committed any crime while we've been here."

"The government wants to question him regarding a sensitive security matter," Fox returned.

Roy reviewed the warrants. "This is an arrest warrant. It doesn't say anything about questioning."

Fox looked critically at the man questioning his authority to arrest this creature and knew he must think about his response carefully. The man is correct about the irregularity. The director did some fast manipulation to get it. He couldn't have me approach a Federal Judge for a warrant stating I suspected Forrester to be otherworldly. I think it best to try avoiding the question. "Let's just call it illegal immigration," he offered tritely.

"A charge or reason to arrest isn't for you to decide whenever the notion strikes you," Roy stated with confidence. "This Judge," Roy looked again at the warrant, "Harriman, shouldn't have signed such incomplete documents. I consider these unenforceable."

"Believe me, they are enforceable," Fox barked angrily. "Their authority comes from a much higher source in the government."

"Bull twangy!" Roy retorted. "Legal is legal!"

"Believe what you want to, Mr. Foster. The Federal Government will support these documents and by the time the federal authorities are through, this matter will be out of the hands of the courts and forgotten by anybody with enough authority to make a difference. Forrester and the boy will be guests of the government."

Roy frowned deeply. "How do you happen to know my name?"

"I know your name is Roy Foster, your wife's name is June, step-mother to a son, Frank, living in Portland and two daughters. One, Mae, is married and lives back east. A second, Kathleen, married one Calvin Doran and they live on your farm." Fox watched the two women as he mentioned names and observing their responses, finally separating the wife from the daughter without having to ask. He looked at Kathy sitting beside Roy. "Mrs. Doran, you have two children, would you like me to give you their names and ages?" Observing a negative response from Kathy, Fox looked toward June. "Your people, I understand, live in Southern California. Is there anything else you'd like to know?"

Roy, taken aback by the government investigating his entire family, responded argumentatively. "What right do you have to pry into our affairs?"

Fox reached into his pocket again for his badge and ID, but receiving a glowering gesture to forget it, continued, "Since you left home I've searched your entire farm. I even have copies of your driving records."

"You've searched our home?" June questioned angrily.

"Thoroughly," Fox replied smugly, "and believe me, a proper search warrant is on record. I've also taken statements from several of your neighbors and friends. I might say I found your neighbors very cooperative. They even said they thought very highly of Forrester." Fox smiled, "One even told me she could have fallen for him except he reminded her too much of her brother." He looked Roy in the eye with an equally determined glare. "Now, with that out of the way, I would suggest you all forget Forrester and tell me where to find the boy."

"We won't forget either of them," Roy shouted. "As I said, legal is legal. I also know you must have substantial justification before the use of any lethal force. You never gave Paul a chance to respond."

"He's run before," Fox said smugly, "and lethal was never my intention. I can only take your word that what you told me actually occurred."

This is becoming quite an argument, the Starman concluded, almost with amusement. Fox is good, but I think Roy and June are just as good as far as their arguments go. If I could wake up this body now, I wonder if I would argue with all of them about trying to sit quietly to talk about this?

"You better believe it occurred," Roy countered. "Why do you think we were still out there on a mountainside in the rain? I also can guarantee you I will file a detailed report about the incident," he said in words only interpretable as a threat. "The courts have turned real criminals loose on less than an improper warrant. They also frown at the use of any unnecessary force by police or government authorities."

As though legal arguments could improve his chances of remaining free, the Starman cheered for his team. You're right Roy. It did happen and Fox was totally responsible.

"I guess we'll have to argue it out in court then, won't we!" Fox retorted in kind, his voice raising, one on one, in tempo and volume. "Right now, I'm in charge whether you like it or not!"

Hmm, Fox has got one there, the Starman conceded. With word from the government, I don't think the courts will turn me loose just because Fox had an improper paper. In fact, with his agency, I don't think I'll have a chance to defend myself in any court.

"Bull****!" Roy proclaimed even louder. "I can still challenge your legal authority!"

Fox waved his pistol again as he spoke with a renewed air of calm and total determination. "Then, for now I guess Smith and Wesson will remain my authority." He looked around the shelter providing the barrier from the elements and noticed the small tree Roy included under the lean-to to support the rear of the structure. I tested a lot of trees coming down the mountain, he thought, and I know this one is sturdy enough for my needs. He moved behind his prisoner, opposite where the woman sat caring for It. He unzipped the top of the sleeping bag and rolled Paul onto his side.

June cringed as she watched Paul's arms flopped limply in front of him. He's just been moved and there is no response at all, she thought. No movement, not even a change in breathing pattern. This doesn't look very good.

Something is happening again, the Starman concluded. I heard the zipper and sound is coming in from only one direction. I believe I'm laying on my right side. I wonder what's going on.

Fox stretched Paul's arms up and forward, laying them around the base of the tree. He pulled handcuffs from his pocket and awkwardly secured Paul's wrists around the base of the trunk.

June, aghast at such treatment of her unconscious charge, protested. "My God, we treat our animals more humanely than you're treating our friend."

"Don't worry about him," Fox retorted. "After we're picked up tomorrow, he'll think of this treatment as wonderful. Now, he has some friends. Where he's going I'm guessing he won't."

June zipped the sleeping bag then pulled it up until it cover Paul's arms, but try as she might, she couldn't get it over his hands. She looked over at Roy in despair. Realizing her expression was not hard to understand; she observed the look on his face and cringed. I've never seen him so angry in our twelve years of marriage. He's seething inside and looks about ready to strike out at this man. It's only slightly relieving to see Roy is maintaining a certain amount of respect for the pistol often being waved in his direction. I can only wonder for how long. Is he just waiting for an opening?

Fox returned to his favorable position at Paul's feet. He pulled his suit jacket tightly around himself and glared from one to the other. The silence resounded through their shared shelter.

Time passed slowly. June pulled the sleeping bag down enough to check Paul's pulse. I think he's warm enough, she thought, but it disturbs me that the only other sign of life I see is a periodic swallowing impulse. It's weak, but at least I know there's something there. I'll feel much better when he wakes up and I know he's out of danger.

Continuing to watch for some sign of returning consciousness, June didn't take her eyes from her patient. It's been so long and I'm really getting a very uneasy feeling. She tried to shake the foreboding, but finally turned from Paul to address the government agent. "I've never seen any tranquilizer work so completely or for so long. You put a lot of powerful drug into his system and I'm afraid there's a very real possibility he might be in a coma. He may never wake up at all or if he does, there might be permanent brain damage." For the first time since the man had joined them she noted a look of concern, but he remained like a statue, saying nothing.

Brain damage? the Starman questioned. He returned his attention to within the confines of the body his energy occupied and carefully analyzed the cortex and related nerve fibers. There's no damage I can detect, June, he offered as though she expected confirmation. Your efforts and mine have preserved all nervous system functions.

After having said it, June realized how afraid she was to find out the truth. Another ten minutes passed to her vigil and growing apprehension. She straightened suddenly. Was that a twitch in his cheek? she questioned. Maybe it's just wishful thinking. I can't be sure and I don't think I'll say anything yet. She gazed intently at Paul watching for anything further. Minutes passed. Is his breathing rhythm increasing? I think so. Moments passed. I'm sure I just saw another twitch. ... Now I see quivering. I'm so glad to see something happening. She continued watching.

I think feeling is returning to the body, the Starman confirmed. I can feel it trembling. I know George Fox is here and soon I must be prepared to face him and defend my friends. I must resume full control.

June saw a more extensive and undeniable reaction. "I think he's coming around," she said. It's been so long, she thought, and consciously she felt unable to fight off an impulse to cross her fingers.

I order the body to move, but there seems to be no response. the Starman observed. Arms, push me up into a sitting position, he directed. Legs… get under me and get me up. Moments passed. I can detect no response. He returned his attention within the body to check further. What can be restricting its responses.?

June observed several tremors and saw Paul's body become rigid. His breathing quickened noticeably and she watched his legs slowly drawing up under him. During veterinary visits, I've watched animals under heavy sedation move like this, she thought. She glanced at her watch then reached again to take a pulse. Since I've never seen somebody in this condition, I can only guess about possible reactions. I'll deal with them as best I can. At least this time he won't be in danger of rolling down the mountain.

Fox sat at Paul's feet keeping a wary eye on everyone. Noticing his prisoner beginning to move, he crawled in closer and sat again, mentally preparing for a demand that everybody move away.

Why can't I take control? the Starman thought with growing frustration. I'll just give it all I've got. He directed all his resources toward, Body, get up!

June saw Fox move and recognized his poor choice of position, "Look out!" she barked loudly at the man. She reached out to restrain Paul as what she anticipated, began.

The Starman's frustrated call for movement finally brought a reaction. The body of Paul Forrester lurched violently as all prior commands of the guiding force within received attention, simultaneously. Large muscles reacted, straightening legs and sending Paul Forrester's feet plowing into Fox. The force propelled Fox out of the lean-to, toppling him into a large puddle of water that had gathered beside the fire pit. With Fox becoming something solid to push against, an opposite and equal reaction propelled the Starman's body forward toward the tree. At the same time arm muscles contracted and restrained by the handcuffs his body torpedoed into the tree. Paul's head and shoulder disappeared under the branches and a sharp broken twig scraped across his forehead until the bridge of his nose came hard up against the trunk.

Fox scrambled to his feet, his face reflecting first surprise, and then fear as thoughts raced through his mind. This time It did try to get me! Releasing the safety, he lifted his weapon and aimed point blank.

Still hoping there was something inside June started talking as calmly as she could. "Paul, if you can hear me lie still. Don't try to fight it. You'll only hurt yourself. ... Just lie still." Hearing her, the Starman physically commanded relaxation, but delayed responses continued to allow the still uncontrollable movements of his adopted form to continue.

Roy watched Fox jump to his feet and saw him release the safety on the weapon. The man is terrified, he thought, and that's an unprotected trigger. I think he's going to shoot. Without further thought Roy made a hasty grab for Fox's arm. As he made his move, Fox stepped back and now slightly further away than anticipated, Roy missed. He grimaced. I wonder if he saw me?

Fox felt lucky to see Foster's move in time. In self-defense, he now turned his weapon toward the more immediate threat.

Roy saw the gun coming his way. Yep ... he saw me. Now I have to try to smooth this over so no one gets hurt. His look fixed on the distance he could see down the round hole in the gun barrel and he offered as calmly as he could muster, "Put the gun down."

"Forrester tried to disarm me!" Fox shouted loudly.

Roy stepped back, raising his hands submissively as he tried unsuccessfully to calm himself while he continued looking down the hole of a loaded high caliber pistol with the safety off. "His kick wasn't directed at you, you fool," he stammered.

"Don't you believe it!" Fox shouted back.

"I don't think he could help it," Roy returned. "Don't you understand; he's fighting himself? You just happened to get in the way."

"And you tried to help him!"

"I was afraid you were going to kill somebody," Roy returned shakily.

June heard the verbal exchange begin between Roy and the intruder. She saw the weapon pointed at her husband and with her head going between conflicts, she continued talking calmly to Paul as he lay entwined in the lower branches of the bushy tree. She sighed with relief when she finally saw Paul's body relax completely. At least that's encouraging. He may be listening, she thought. On the other hand he might have just slipped back into never-never land again.

Paul Forrester's body continued to move toward a greater degree of consciousness and the Starman began to merge with it, reveling in its sensations. My hands are almost in my face and being held firmly, he thought. Is this Fox's work?

Roy backed further away from his adversary, lowering his voice in an attempt to quiet the obviously agitated man. "I think he's trying to take control of himself, not you. Maybe Paul has never experienced being drugged like this before." Seeing no change in his adversary, Roy continued his appeal. "Would you know what to expect? His reaction is like that of animals I've seen awakening from heavy sedation." He glanced toward June and Paul then withdrew another step. "Did it ever occur to you that perhaps he's quiet now because he's listening to my wife?"

His heart still pounding as the threatening man retreated to what he considered a safe distance, Fox glanced toward the alien. It is quiet ... and the woman is talking to It. There might be truth in what the he's saying. Slowly he lowered the weapon.

The Starman now felt something strange. I believe I have something in my mouth. It tastes like... He worked it around with a half numb tongue. What? …I don't know this taste. Sensations continue to come and he rolled the object again. It's prickly, he acknowledged as he spit it out. I'm guessing it is a piece of the tree Roy left in the shelter.

When the weapon lowered, June breathed a deep sigh of relief. Now her attention was on Paul. She pushed aside the tree branches and rolled him back as far as the handcuffs would allow, and then gasped. "Now what?" she muttered when she saw blood all over his face.

I'm moving,. Starman thought, his concentration broken. Somebody is rolling me onto my back. It must be June. She is very near. I wonder where Kathy is? The handcuffs pulled. Oh, oh, I'm not rolling all the way; my arms are stopping me. He spit out more evergreen needles. I think Fox has me fastened to the tree.

June took her handkerchief from her pocket and mopped at the blood. When she finally found the major source of the bleeding she pressed the handkerchief firmly on it with the heel of her hand. Paul tried to pull away from the pressure. "It's me, Paul," she crooned. "It's all right. Hold still." As Paul lay quietly again, she turned to glare at Fox. Her dislike for their unwelcome guest heightened dramatically and her face openly expressed both her fear and anger. After a few more tense minutes she lifted the handkerchief. It's just a deep gouge, not as bad as it first looked. The bleeding has almost stopped. She put the handkerchief back and pressed lightly.

The first aid kit is on the other side of the lean-to in a box, she thought. With a gun and all this tension, I don't want to ask anybody to go too near that man. What have I got handy to dress this? She saw her fishing vest in the stack of goods behind her, grabbed it and slowly handed it to Kathy. "There's a plastic bag of Band-Aids in the top pocket. Will you get me three of the large ones?" Under Fox's watchful eye Kathy got and readied each strip and June placed them firmly across the still seeping wound.

Continuing to follow June's instructions, the Starman lay quietly. Trying to determine if the final effects of the drug had worn off, he finally forced his eyes to open, but found he couldn't focus. After a brief moment he could not keep them open. Many minutes passed before he tried again and found himself looking directly at June through an evergreen branch. He smiled weakly.

June pushed the branch aside and returned a smile of encouragement. "He's back with us," she announced openly. Her smile quickly faded when his eyes close again and she saw constant swallowing and heard labored breathing. "I don't think he's feeling good." She looked at Kathy and Roy, and then with deep concern, at Paul. "Paul, it will be all right, just be patient," she crooned, as she pushed a lock of blood-stiffened hair out of his face. "Let yourself go back to sleep. Don't try staying awake until you're ready." She saw Roy and Kathy moving in closer to crouch down beside her. "Roy, will you help me get him back onto his air mattress?" Roy lifted Paul sufficiently to move him from under the branches and June rearranged the mattress and sleeping bag underneath him.

While June fussed to get Paul settled and covered, Roy and Kathy saw Paul's eyes open again. Looking directly into them, they moved their heads slightly from one side to the other, as though searching.

June realized what they were looking for. "It disappeared while we were still out on the mountain," she offered as Paul's eyes fluttered closed again.

Roy shook his head, "I know there was something there. We all saw it."

Scowling, Fox looking suspiciously at Roy. "You saw what?"

Roy glared back and his jaw firmly set. Mister, he thought, I decided a long time ago I am not going to cooperate with you. I'm sure June and Kathy must feel the same. "Nothing. Nothing at all," he offered with contempt. Still his questioned remained unresolved. What was it?

"I asked you a question and I expect an answer," Fox returned with authority. His demand brought three narrowing pairs of eyes and set jaws and a look denoting finality.

Aware he was still not fully in control, the Starman rested quietly for another ten minutes. When he finally felt capable, he opened his eyes to the friends who had refused to leave his side. "Hello," he offered weakly. They smiled sympathetically.

June held up four fingers. "How many?"

He looked at her inquisitively, before responding. "Four."

"What's your name?"

Paul looked at her with concern. You know my name, he thought. When he saw she truly expected an answer, he smiled. "Paul Edward Forrester," he said, and he saw an immediate grin.

"Can you tell me what day it is?"

Now I understand, he confirmed inwardly. You're checking for any potential damage to the nervous system. "I'll have to think about that a moment," he replied. "We left Saturday; we were on the trail for two days; we went to the upper lake one day; and today is Tuesday, sometime in the afternoon I would guess. We are in the lean-to at camp." He smiled, reassuringly. "June, I am okay."

She closed her eyes briefly then heaving a deep sigh of relief, she smiled broadly. "Thank God ... it seems you are."

"Paul, can we get you anything?" Kathy offered.

"A drink of water, please. My mouth is very dry."

Eyeing Fox, Kathy moved cautiously over to the water container beside the fire pit. As she poured a cup of water, June threw her blood soaked handkerchief toward her. "Will you rinse this so we can clean him up?"

When Kathy returned, Roy lifted Paul sufficiently and Kathy helped him drink the water. When he finished, June washed his face and announced the remaining scratches would heal better with air getting to them. Now, her curiosity could no longer be contained. "Paul, will you tell us what this is all about?"

Though his eyes still wanted to close, Paul swallowed hard. "First, I want to thank you all for what you did for me."

Knowing Paul had earlier responded to June's voice, Roy knew he must have heard the confrontation with Fox. With no thought to Fox sitting no more than five feet away, he replied, "The idiot didn't understand, Paul. I don't think he has ever seen someone tranquilized."

"For that too," Paul corrected, "but most important to me, thank you for not telling Fox where he might find Scott."

"No thanks are necessary," Roy returned.

"I would also like to thank you for what you did after I fell," Paul added.

"You were aware of what we were doing?" June asked uncertainly.

"Not exactly what you were doing," he said softly, "but why you were doing it," he confirmed softly.

"But you were..." A deep frown covered her face. "Dead."

"This body no longer functioned, but I could see, and hear ... and understand. While keeping my heart beating, you provided the oxygen to continue life within this body. What was it you were doing?"

"Just CPR," she acknowledged quickly.

Paul's eyebrows raised in a questioning arch. "May I ask ... what is jusSeePeR?"

Under the uncertain circumstances, June gave him another sympathetic smile. His question seems so utterly strange, she thought. I figured everyone must know about CPR. She thought of the many discussions among the family the past months. Because of the unusual questions he always seemed to ask, the family had all agreed Paul had to be a foreigner and that he must have led a very sheltered life. CPR, being an acronym, could easily be misunderstood or lost in translation. This question is no different than many of the others. She explained.

Paul returned her smile as he listened. "It was very strange. But feeling a heartbeat from within is very comforting, even if it has been missing for only a short while." He closed his still heavy eyelids with a sigh as he thought of his other major problem. I know George Fox is also listening and in my situation, other than being alive, I really have little to smile about. His eyes remained closed as he addressed them. "Thank you again for not telling Mr. Fox about Scott."

"Again, no thanks are necessary, Paul. We wouldn't give that man the time of day," Roy replied, "but I think we do need to know from you what this is all about. What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself involved in?"

"I haven't gotten myself into any trouble that I am aware of," Paul replied, opening his eyes again to look at them. "The only thing I might have done is to continue running from Mr. Fox". Paul sighed. "My trouble is Mr. Fox. I think he believes I might provide some valuable information to your government."

"Then what do they want with Scott?" Kathy asked.

"He's my son."

Fox listened to the exchange. George, he thought, I think you can rest assured from these people's questions and the alien's answers, they have no idea of what they've been sheltering. You know, unless unavoidable, those who will assume final authority over this creature do not want to rely on even a debriefing by government professionals to keep the lid on this. If you want to forget these people when you leave here with the alien, your best course of action is to separate from them before the alien says anything else.

Puzzling momentarily over Paul's response, Roy said, "I don't understand..."

Fox glanced at the three. You can also wager they are not to be trusted for it appears they have developed some kind of attachment to this creature. Besides, they have already provided all the services you need of them. It's definitely time to intervene. He moved in to take charge, his eyes narrowed in anticipation of another engagement.

"...what kind of information could the Feds want so badly it would justify allowing that turkey to..."

With his face reflecting confidence, George Fox approached the family with flair, style and the tact of a runaway railroad locomotive. "I've had about enough of you three. You have to leave."

Though aware Fox was nearby, Paul's head turned with a nervous jerk and he unconsciously pulled hard at the handcuffs when he saw him. As their eyes met, he cringed. Momentarily he regained his perspective. Now what made me react so to seeing Fox? he questioned. He saw Fox urging Roy to move back with a flip of his pistol.

"What do you mean, leave?" Roy questioned as they backed away from the weapon threatening them.

"You can put up another shelter away from here," Fox demanded. Waving his pistol again, he motioned them outside. "From here I see another tarpaulin hung over some of your camp goods. You can use that."

"Why?" Roy returned with disdain. "This one is large enough for all of us."

"Because Forrester and I are going to use this one, that's why," Fox demanded.

"The smaller tarp is hardly adequate for three of us," Roy sneered.

"It's surely better than nothing," Fox retorted with authority. "I'd suggest you get with it, because as of now you're out of here."

"Using the other tarp means we'll have to move all the saddles and gear in here," Roy countered. "That's going to be a lot of work out in this rain."

"The sooner you get it done and set up your shelter, the sooner you'll have a place to sit out of the rain." Fox suggested smugly.

Roy, June and Kathy, grudgingly, proceeded to put on their rain clothes. They moved all the saddles, pack boxes, saddlebags, stoves, and cooking and eating equipment along one side of the lean-to, and then took down the other tarp.

Fox objected when they got ready to place their camp in a small group of trees a little way from the lean-to. "Further," he demanded forcefully and with a quick gesture of his arm, "Much further."

The three looked critically at the man continuing to cause them such aggravation, but had to concede to the loaded weapon he held. This time they moved a considerable distance into a grove of trees near the creek. They pitched the tarp, a-frame fashion, over a single central rope tied between two trees. When secured they returned to pick up their things and retreated toward their new cramped home.

"And don't come back," Fox ordered explicitly. Shortly after they left, he looked around the shelter and his face contorted. It seems the only sleeping bag left, happens to be occupied. I guess it's just as well. I don't think I'm going to sleep much with them around. He moaned as he sought to justify his lack of forethought. Relaxing from now on is not advisable anyway. My only consolation is the helicopter will be back tomorrow. I just have to remain on top of things until then. When I have the alien safely aboard the chopper, these people will become another alien related memory. Now it's time to get things straight with this creature. Fox turned to Paul. "I've sent your friends away, not only for my safety, but for theirs. If you insist on exposing yourself for what you are, you will be guaranteeing them an extended stay with our government debriefing experts. Your silence could save them and their families unnecessary grief and worry."

Fox just confirmed what I suspected, Paul thought. The government is trying to keep my existence a secret. These people have befriended Scott and me. Now they have saved my life. The last thing I want is to cause them harm. Paul nodded his understanding. "Good," Fox acknowledged. I guess we can agree on something." When George Fox saw his prisoner turn away and close Its eyes, he settled in for the duration of an unplanned camping ordeal with his captive prize.

Many times during the next hour the Starman felt the total oblivion of deep human sleep. While in a brief wakeful period, he thought about this new experience. I have not imposed this sleep, but seem unable to prevent it. Could it be because my struggle for life lowered my energy level to critical today? Now it seems my activity is as low as this body's was when I had the cold virus. Resting in this human form seems to relieve my stress as well. It is very interesting.

Fox continued to maintain his vigil at Paul's feet. Noticing his charge awaken, he decided to break what had become a wall of silence. "You've been very quiet," he offered.

Paul rolled over as far as the handcuffs would allow and turning his head, looked toward where he knew Fox was sitting. Barely able to see him, he looked sadly toward his captor. "Mr. Fox, you have drugged me, and though it might have been accidental, today, you killed this body. You now have me chained like a criminal. After your accusations the last time we spoke, I really can't think of anything constructive to say."

With the verbal ice broken and words finally being exchanged, Fox decided to press on with his inquisition. "Can I ask you about something that's going to be an issue by tomorrow?"

"Would it make a difference if I said no?"

"No," Fox returned bluntly, "I intend to ask anyway."

Paul turned away. "I figured when we met again, you might ask me something requiring an intelligent answer. I was hoping it might be something that might lead to meaningful conversation."

A grim, determined look appeared on Fox's face. "What will it take to convince you to tell me where to find your son? It would save us both a lot of worry and him the further danger of having to be apprehended. I feel almost certain he will not come to me unless you cooperate."

Paul turned back far enough to strain hard against the handcuffs. He glared at Fox and responded in a voice heavy in a very human belligerence. "You would ask me to betray my son?" His look intensified. "In Los Angeles, when I believed you might have found him, I had to ask. Now, I know you do not. At this moment I would say you have about as much chance of me telling you where he is, as I have of you volunteering to let me go. I would judge the chances of either, nonexistent."

Fox rose to his knees to look directly at his captive. "You know I have to find him, and I will," he retorted.

"Then you will have to find him, because I certainly will not offer him to you."

Fox glared back. "You know we have other methods of finding out what we want to know," he threatened.

Paul returned Fox's glare in kind. "I will say it again, so you are sure to understand. No method you have will make me give him to you."

"Then I'm to assume you will not cooperate," Fox confirmed.

"If I were you, I would conclude that to be a reasonable assumption."

For a brief second their eyes met. "I guess we do understand each other, after all, don't we," Fox said.

Turning away again, Paul replied succinctly, "Mr. Fox, we don't understand each other at all."

"Well, I think I understand you," Fox returned assuredly.

"Congratulations," Paul offered.

Fox glared back at Paul. "I guess there are at least some things we can agree on, now. I guess that's better than before."

"I can safely say we have one," Paul confirmed.

There was a long silence while Fox's mouth contorted from a broad smirk to a determined set of his jaw. Paul turned again to look at him and his belligerence disappeared, replaced by a look of deep sadness. It was a look most anyone would have found little difficulty understanding. He continued to look directly at Fox out of the corner of his eye until Fox turned away. Paul turned back toward the handcuffs confining him to the tree and shook his head slowly. His part of this attempt at conversation was at an end.

The rain continued to fall in a non-ending deluge with everybody thankful for the roofs over their heads. The small stream that had meandered through the meadow filled to overflowing as the ground became unable to absorb the water descending from all parts of the mountain above. The meadow was a landscape of entrapped and running water. The creek, earlier used for the water supply, could be heard roaring over the sound of the rain and occasional wind gusts.

George Fox had been decisive in his demands they all leave and not come back, but June, Roy and Kathy had purposely left many things at the lean-to. They had taken the food, but left the equipment needed to prepare it. Dividing things, they knew would mean the supplies would have to be brought together before day's end. Preparing meals would give them a chance to see Paul and be sure he was all right. The least they could do was make sure he remained as comfortable as possible. Though an imposition, they had already accepted they would have to feed the government man for it was beyond their ethical standards to refuse food to anyone.

Dinner was now, unless they wanted to prepare it by flashlight. Not wanting to press the man with numbers it was decided June would go over alone. She walked up to the lean-to, openly announcing her approach, but she still saw Fox jump nervously. Equally on edge, she responded in kind and stepped back. I know I must stay this first time, she thought. Stopping to regain her composure, she announced: "We'd like to start fixing dinner. With our place being so small, we had to leave the cooking supplies here. With this rain, we need to set up inside. We will prepare enough for everybody if that's okay. We would also appreciated doing it all at once and have everybody eat here."

Fox saw a sincere expression on her face. After confronting the alien, I don't believe It desires to cause these people further grief by exposing Itself. It is not in my best interests to cause any more tension than already exists. I guess I really should have thanked them for keeping Forrester alive for me. Besides I am getting hungry. With a nod and "Okay," the deal was made.

June stood up and gestured for Kathy and Roy to bring the food boxes. She was apprehensive again when she saw Fox take out his weapon when Roy arrived. It's obvious this man doesn't trust Roy, she confirmed. That is understandable since Roy was openly opposing him until our eviction. When Roy brought in the first box, she heard Fox tell him to keep his distance and felt relieved when she saw him doing so.

The three seasoned campers started dinner on the two single burner gasoline stoves. The meal consisted of rice, the fish they had caught at the lake and dehydrated vegetables.

George Fox gratefully accepted an offered plate of food, but bluntly refused to release Paul. He watched as the two women helped the alien sit up among the branches of the tree and fed him. Their actions still tell me there's no great love lost between us, he confirmed. They wear their feelings openly. It would be stupid not to take advantage even if they are feeding me only because of the alien. The alternative is to voluntarily go hungry. That makes no sense.

"Use this to clean your plate," Roy said as he handed Fox a slice of bread. "Up here we don't have much hot water available for washing messy dishes." When Fox complied without protest, Roy asked, "Do you want something to drink? We have coffee, tea, cocoa or water."

Fox responded eagerly, "Coffee, please." When Kathy handed him the cup, he held it in his hands. The heat from my coffee is penetrating my cold hands, he thought and giving me a rush of warmth. I'm going to hold it even though I know the coffee will get cold faster. He finally drank the coffee with unusual relish. I'm sure glad they carry coffee for I have to admit I'm addicted to caffeine. I had to get some good strong coffee soon or have one of those horrible withdrawal headaches I detest.

Roy, June and Kathy washed, dried and set the dishes ready for morning. June crawled behind the tree and with a length of cord from her pocket, ran it around the lower branches and tied them around the trunk. "There, now we can see you," she said as she moved to Paul's side. "Is there anything you need?"

"I'm all right," he replied.

She checked the bandage on his head. "Good, a hard lump of clotted blood has formed in the bandage. That will keep the wound protected from further contamination. Now I think it's time you tell us what's going on, Paul. What does the government want with you?"

"It's all very complicated," Paul replied.

"There has to be more," she offered. "Why does he treat you like you're public enemy number one?"

"Because he's afraid," Paul returned. He glanced at Fox and caught a determined glare as their eyes met.

"Afraid of what?" June questioned sincerely.

Acceding to Fox's glare, Paul looked back at June. "I really don't know."

June frowned deeply. "Will you please tell us something?"

Satisfied with his prisoner's apparent desire to save Its friends, by remaining quiet, Fox resumed authority. "Mrs. Foster, I think it's time you all return to your camp."

Their curiosity still unsatisfied, the three left. They had much to discuss.

Surrounded by a thick fog and the sound of an unceasing downpour, two hours passed. It seems unreal out there, Fox thought. He looked back at the alien. I think It's still sleeping. In fact that's about all It seems to do. He got up and stepped out into the rain. Seeing no visitors, he walked a few feet, stopped, and hastily returned.

Paul, awakened by Fox's movements, rolled as Fox returned. "I also have to go out," he announced.

"What?" Fox asked, surprised by his prisoner's almost demanding tone of voice.

"Free me. I need to go," Paul restated with increasing urgency.

Fox looked at Paul with disbelief. "Fat chance," he replied forcefully.

"You can't keep me confined to this tree forever," Paul offered. "Whether you believe it or not, there are certain basic biological functions you and I share. I need to go." Paul's eyebrows shot upward ... "now!"

"Okay, okay," Fox conceded. He rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders. "I guess I just never thought about you having to ... well, you know."

"Well, I do have to ... you know."

Approaching from behind, Fox partially unzipped the sleeping bag. He cautiously removed the outer handcuff, releasing Paul from the tree. Paul pulled his hands back and stretched his cramped arms out fully. In a smooth movement Fox rolled him face down, sat astraddle his back and pulling his arms back, shackled them together.

"What are you doing?" Paul asked.

"Arms behind is standard field procedure for movement of a prisoner," Fox advised.

Paul rolled his eyes. "While I appreciate your willingness to be of assistance with my problem, I can assure you I have been here long enough to learn how things work."

"What?" Fox questioned.

"May I ask how I'm supposed to...?"

"Oh," Fox acknowledged as he further visualized the situation. Momentarily, he sat unmoving then unlocked the handcuffs again. Moving Paul's arms over his head, he replaced the handcuffs as they had been. Now It's capable of running, he thought. I need to maintain control. Pulling out his pistol, he retreated to a safe distance. "Now you can get up."

Paul rolled over and fumbled to open the zipper on the sleeping bag further. Finally able to unzip it enough, he crawled out and stood hunched over under the lean-to roof. Cautiously he stretched the body in every way he could, while trying not to alarm his captor. He picked up his duffel bag and saw instant alarm on Fox's face. His eyebrows rose as he saw the weapon lifting and calmly held the bag out to Fox. "My raincoat is in here."

Fox took the bag, backed away again and dumped everything out on the plastic ground cover. He poked through the items and when satisfied there was nothing threatening, set the bag down and motioned Paul to put things back. Fox backed off as Paul stepped forward to retrieve his things.

Setting his raincoat aside, Paul replaced everything in the bag and put it back at the head of his sleeping bag. He picked up the raincoat, threw it over his head and hanging it by the hood, worked the garment around to cover his shoulders. Holding the raincoat around himself against an occasional breeze, he announced, "I'm ready." Fox nodded and they walked out into the weather.

Fox followed attentively, watching for any others who might be out and around. As Paul walked up a trail behind the lean-to toward their typical backcountry open-air latrine, he felt each of his front pockets. As I suspected, Fox has taken everything. I know this to be customary from the other times I've been arrested. Giving a silent sigh, he returned his attention to the more pressing matter.

The latrine facility consisted of a wooden box with an appropriately placed circular opening in the top and a hinged lid. The family kept a dry roll of paper in a lidded coffee can beside it. Though easy to get the big job done, handcuffed it was quite another thing finishing the paperwork and getting back together. Paul struggled while an impatient Fox, with pistol drawn, waited in the downpour.

Returning to camp and under Fox's watchful gaze, Paul removed his wet raincoat and hung it over a rope just inside the shelter. He sat in the open sleeping bag and pulled it up to his waist and reached for the duffel to get his coat. He saw Fox motion with his weapon and heard his demand.

"Lie down!"

Paul followed instructions without question. He pulled the sleeping bag over his shoulders and after zipping it to the top, rolled toward the tree. "I'll probably have to go out again before night," he said quietly, as he put his arms around the tree to be restrained.

Fox moved in from behind. Placing a knee on Paul's back, he reached over and secured him. Pausing momentarily, he thought: It is quite obvious It cannot free itself from handcuffs. I also don't think this thing really wants to die. It must be vulnerable for It also shows a great deal of respect for my weapon. As long as I have that, I can maintain control.

A little time passed before the Starman decided to address some things he felt would become growing problems. "Mr. Fox, I want you to know I have an extremely sore chest. I assume it is from my experience with 'CPR'. It really hurts a great deal when you use your knee to hold me down. I am also unable to keep my hands covered. Though warm now, they will not stay that way chained around the tree. I would appreciate it, if you would..."

"My heart bleeds for you," Fox interrupted mockingly.

Paul pondered momentarily then glanced around to where he knew the agent was sitting. I see nothing but contempt on his face so I must conclude his words possess some meaning but none significant to my problem. Looking at the agent he slowly shook his head, drew in a deep breath then let it go. "June was right when she said they treat their animals more humanely than you're treating me."

"What do you mean by that crack?" Fox snapped.

The Starman turned his head away. "Figure it out for yourself."

"If you could hear us talking you haven't been unconscious all this time," Fox said moving closer.

"No, I was not unconscious. Thus afternoon you killed this body, but you did not kill me, though that would surely have happened if my friends had not known what to do to help me. I also know how you treated them." Turning his head back toward the tree the Starman's second attempt at meaningful communication ended.

For a long moment Fox studied the restraints. Can I make this better without compromising safety? he pondered. Brief moments later he got up to get the tranquilizer bag. Opening it he pulled out the second set of handcuffs brought for the boy. Testing, he found the wrist shackle would fit snugly around the tree's sturdy young trunk. In a move that seemed almost a compassionate compromise, he removed Paul's right handcuff and brought both arms back from around the tree.

Surprised at being freed from the tree, Paul lifted his head and watched as Fox replaced the loose handcuff back on his wrist. Fox then picked up the loose end of the one hanging from the tree and fastened it around the chain between his wrists. Surprised, Paul pulled his hands back and the extra distance allowed him to get both hands inside the edge of the sleeping bag. Fox then withdrew without comment. "Thank you," Paul said gratefully.

"You're welcome," Fox replied almost without thinking then retreated to the place he preferred being near his prisoner.

Having my wrists from around the tree allows me much more freedom of movement, Paul considered. The extra length of chain also swivels around a little and lets me move around further. Now I am able to assume many other positions. This improvement may also allow me to maintain a semblance of eye contact with Fox. I am now especially grateful I have my air mattress to soften this continuing contact with the ground.

Fox looked back at his handiwork. It is still restrained and keeps Its hands warm at no further risk to me. When he saw his prisoner could now roll almost onto Its back, he looked suspiciously at what he considered excessive and unnecessary activity. Brandishing the weapon again, he threatened, "If you give me any trouble, one squeeze will permanently eliminate you as a problem."

Trying to rationalize the response, Paul stopped moving abruptly.

The alien's immediate response to his demand increased Fox's confidence. "I want you to know I'm not afraid of you, but I am telling you outright, my orders are to bring you in alive, if possible. I'll follow those orders if you let me, but if it comes to losing you again, I will not hesitate for even a moment to take you out."

I don't need an explanation for that expression, Paul thought. His meaning is in his words and the tone of his voice as well as his way of handling the weapon. However, I do appreciate this partial freedom of movement. Perhaps I should try again to get some conversation going. So, welcome or not, here goes. Starman moved the sleeping bag from in front of his face to better see Fox. "Yes, I understand," he acknowledged. "There is another thing I wish to tell you. We have already been camped here for three days. It will be dark soon. At this altitude it gets very cold at night. You're wet; your clothes are inadequate; and you're going to get chilled if you don't cover up."

"I can take care of myself, thank you," Fox replied bitingly.

"I just thought I'd offer to share my sleeping bag. If we unzip it we can use it like a blanket. I feel sure it is large enough to cover us adequately."

"I just bet you'd like to get me under there with you."

Paul puzzled over Fox's words for a long moment then smiled. "Didn't you just say you weren't afraid of me?" he returned nonchalantly.

"I'm not afraid of you," Fox shot back.

"Have it your way. I'm surely not in any position to argue with you. Actually, I really shouldn't care one way or the other, but I want to assure you as the daylight fails you will get cold." He paused for a moment. "If, by some chance you do change your mind, I have a dry shirt and some long underwear and socks you can change into. Also, while we're on the subject, my friends gave me an insulated air mattress for my birthday. If you do decide to join me, I might suggest you put some of the saddle pads underneath you for insulation and padding."

Fox's eyes narrowed at an unexpected reference. "Your birthday?" he questioned

Paul smiled. "Though this body was not actually reborn on that day, it does say on my driver's license that my host was born on July 24th."

"You have the gall to claim his birthday?" Fox retorted.

"My friends did it for me and gave me a surprise party. Scott said the party made it an official gift and it seemed natural to accept it." Paul's eyes danced at the memory. "I enjoyed the party very much and got many other gifts too." He awaited a response, but when none seemed forthcoming from his captor, he rolled onto his side once again. "Mr. Fox, again let me suggest you not let yourself get too cold."

Fox looked at Paul suspiciously. "Do you figure if I fall asleep, you can overpower me and get away?"

"How could I do that chained to this tree?"

%%%

Roy glanced toward the lean-to. "Now I welcome making our camp well away from them," Roy announced. "We have plans to make."

"Dad, I heard the government agent say the helicopter was coming for him tomorrow," Kathy offered. "If we don't do something before then, Paul will be gone."

"Don't worry about a helicopter," Roy announced. "This storm isn't going to blow over for at least another day."

"What makes you say that?"

"An educated guess based on forty years of experience camping in these mountains," Roy returned with a grin. "As long as we don't have a lot stronger westerly wind to move the storm front over the mountains, the rain and dense fog will continue to hang around the high country. Besides, June mentioned an aching back several hours ago. Her back is almost like having a weather barometer in your pocket. This storm front is going to provide considerable moisture on the westerly slopes. On this side and at this altitude that means sitting in a cloud."

"Are you sure?" Kathy asked.

"Honey, only a fool says he can predict Northwest mountain weather for sure. My guess is we're going to remain sitting in the fog and I know choppers don't like to fly these mountains when they can't see. Past experience tells me Fox will have no way out of here tomorrow unless he chooses to take Paul on a very long walk."

"Do you have any ideas about what we can do, Hon?" June asked.

"First I want to ask how far you want to go to help Paul. I really question whether this jerk's warrant is legal and I've heard of the courts often throwing out cases because of improper warrants. In that regard, I suspect he knows he's skating on thin ice. Everybody arrested has a right to know the charges filed against him. For some reason this Fox doesn't want to say. He also isn't decisive about this being a criminal arrest or just for questioning."

A worried look on her face, Kathy looked at her father. "But what if it is legal? He said the government would stand behind him."

Roy raised his eyes to meet his daughter's. "If it is, we could be getting ourselves into a lot of trouble. We have to remember we're challenging a Federal agent. The Feds don't compromise on sentencing unless you're one of them. I'd say the question we have to consider - is Paul worth the chance we'll be taking? To me this Fox guy seems too pushy in his handling of the legal end of this arrest. Instead of simply showing us some paperwork and explaining his position, he resorted to the use of force. Law enforcement isn't supposed to act like that with citizens. We really have no way of being sure he is who he says."

Kathy grimaced. "If he would have allowed us to make an informed decision by telling us what the government wants with Paul, we might feel an obligation to help him, but being totally in the dark, I don't think we really have much choice. Paul is our friend."

"It's my understanding that a smart lawyer can get the court to drop charges when the police forget, or use illegal procedures in making an arrest," Roy offered. "I believe we have a very good chance to convince a jury of our peers that his unorthodox methods merited a challenge."

"He might have decided to throw us out of the lean-to because he feels we're a personal threat to him," June added, "but it struck me he just didn't want to give us a chance to talk to Paul. Just like Paul was ready to expose some deep, dark, government secret."

"That is when he told us to leave, isn't it?" Kathy added.

"Yes," Roy confirmed. "It was all right for us to take care of Paul, but when he woke up and could explain what was going on it was 'get out'. I really think, together, we can present a legal precedent to question whether any officer of the law has the authority to do what he says he can."

June grimaced. "No government agency would have open authority to do what he did to apprehend a fugitive unless Paul's got himself involved in some top security matter, or maybe some covert CIA mischief. If either, they'll surely promise anything to keep things quiet."

"We have to consider that might be the case," Roy returned. "Remember, for some time we've suspected Paul might be foreign and Fox did say he was in the country illegally. If push comes to shove, we'll have to leave any final decision on our actions up to the courts. I've never heard of this Federal Security Agency, but it sounds like it could be CIA affiliated. That would explain some things, because the CIA isn't supposed to be working within the United States. This Fox might be working illegally himself. Of course there is another side to the coin; Paul could be guilty of some serious crime against our country. I will say after working with somebody for a while I've always felt myself a pretty good judge of character. I haven't seen anything hidden about Paul. I really like him and was hoping he'd stay with us permanently." He paused for a long moment. "Well, what do you want to do?"

"I feel the same way about Paul," June confirmed, "and personally, I don't like George Fox. I certainly don't like the way he's been treating Paul. I vote we help him."

Roy looked at Kathy for a long moment, allowing her time to decide. "I have to think about Cal and the girls," she replied, "but I can't argue what you've said is true." She thought a moment longer. "Under the circumstances I know Cal will understand. I'm with you," she replied, joining a blind commitment to civil disobedience.

"Thank you Kathy, it had to be unanimous," Roy returned. "Now this is what I propose. Somehow we have to get control of the weapon, but this guy is going to be alert and I believe he is dangerous. Right now, instead of a war of words, we're going to..."

%%%

The Starman continued resting while George Fox maintained his vigil. He heard his friends going up to the latrine several times. He was also aware Fox heard them, but nothing was said and another couple of hours passed. It was almost dark when Paul spoke softly, "Mr. Fox, I need to go out again, and may I brush my teeth?" Fox responded as before, by unlocking the single handcuff shackling Paul to the tree. This time he did not hold him down. Cautiously, he escorted him to and from the latrine.

When they returned Paul picked up his duffel bag. He looked at Fox then hesitated. "My toothbrush is in a little bag I keep up near the top." With Fox's nod of approval he removed a couple of clothing items then found the small sack. Soon he had his toothbrush and paste in hand. He moved toward the fire pit, picked up a cup and filling it with water from the large kettle used to heat water when there was a fire burning, and completed the job. George Fox followed every movement with his weapon.

Paul replaced the cup then returned to the lean-to. He put his things back in the duffel and took out some extra clothing then put it by his tree to serve as a pillow. He neatly folded his raincoat and placed it aside in case he had to go out again. Laying down he snuggled into the sleeping bag and zipped it. When he pushed his hands out, Fox secured him.

"Mr. Fox, I would again like to mention you are going to get cold, but since you have refused my offer I am fully utilizing my sleeping bag. If you should change your mind, just wake me."

"Do you have any else you'd like me to consider?" Fox asked flippantly.

"No."

My concern about the alien trying to get away has somewhat lessened, now, Fox thought. It responds submissively, but with darkness coming on I am more concerned about Its companions trying something. Having It secured gives me a decisive advantage as It can't help in any attempt to overpower me. With a light breeze blowing in under the tarp and intent on remaining alert to any intrusions he retreated to a new place of vigil at the rear of the lean-to. He pulled his suit jacket and arms tightly around him body in preparation for what he knew would be a very long night.

As George Fox guarded his captive, warm in the sleeping bag and still regaining energy, Paul dozed. A full hour passed quietly before Fox finally had to cave-in to a growing reality. I'm getting so cold I'm beginning to shiver. I have to do something about it soon. The easiest solution would be to accept the alien's invitation, but I am determined I will not accept any favors from this creature. There has to be some other way to keep warm. I should have been thinking about this earlier. I could have ordered the others to gather some firewood. Now there isn't enough even for a small fire. What should I do?

Fox's rummaging through the pack boxes woke Paul. He turned in time to see him pulling out one of the gasoline stoves. By the light of several intermittently burning matches, he watched Fox attempting to start it. Finally Fox yelped in pain and shook his hand vigorously as another match left burning to long, got too close to his fingers before going out. In obvious in frustration, he heard Fox blurt some unkind words. As another match flared Fox instinctively turned his head to see if the alien had heard his outburst. He saw Paul watching.

I observed Roy's technique for starting the stoves often the past couple of days, Starman thought. He changed positions, ready to offer a suggestion. Fox read his movement and before a word left Paul's mouth, responded, "No, I don't need any help."

Paul sensed having him watch offended Fox so he looked back toward his tree. Soon he smelled a quantity of unburned fuel then saw the bright flash as Fox applied fire. Looking back, Paul cringed as he saw flames climbing up toward the tarp. The flames retreated from their flare when Fox shoved the entire flaming mass out into the rain. Reflected in the burning gasoline, Paul saw Fox looking at him again. After a brief while the fire flickered, and then died. Though he wanted to watch, Paul turned away when in the light of another match he saw Fox glaring at him.

As time passed, Paul saw the flashes of many more matches, but Fox's attempt at the second self-contained stove proved no more successful. With no more flashes, Paul assumed Fox had given up on the stoves and breathed a sigh of relief. Moments later he heard Fox rummaging aggressively in the pile of things stacked on the far side of the lean-to and couldn't keep from looking again, but smelling the fresh odor of horse, he knew Fox was getting cold. This time Fox had the five stiff saddle pads and was trying to cover himself. Paul returned to his position, grinning. He rolled his eyes, shook his head ever so slightly in disbelief and lay quietly.

Fox continued his vigil for intruders wrapped in the stiff, dirty pads. There are too many things going bump in the night out there, he thought. A while ago I think I heard a couple animals come into camp, but most of the time I know it's somebody from the other camp wandering around. They're not fooling me. At least listening for them helps me stay awake.

He turned toward his prisoner. I'm sure It's warm and sleeping again. I hate to admit it was right. I am getting cold ... really cold ... dangerously cold. These pads help some, but being so stiff, every time I move something to close one draft it seems to create another. He moved the pad on his left side. If only I could stop the breeze from coming under the shelter. Even though the wind isn't blowing hard, it's enough to go through my still damp clothes. They are like having an ice bag against my skin.

Moments passed. His upper lip pinched together in growing annoyance. I know It was awake when I got these pads, but I'm certainly not going to admit It was right. The last thing I want to do is have to accept Its offer. He grimaced as he answered the need to move two pads into new positions cutting off drafts presently pierced his lower backside. He sat quietly until another cold spot appeared. "How much longer until morning?" he mumbled. "I know I can make it, but I have to know what time it is. I can't see my watch because I used the last of the matches on those blasted stoves."

Mumbling into the darkness, he began feeling through one of the wooden pack boxes beside him. "I know I saw the woman with a flashlight in her hand when she got things out to make the meal. I don't think she took it with her. It just has to be somewhere in one of these boxes of stuff. I've got to know the time." In the second box, his hand finally found the familiar shape and he looked at his watch. "11:20!" he cried out. "It's still several hours until dawn." His heavy sigh was short lived as a severe shiver rushed through his body, ending in uncontrollable shaking. His face contorted strangely. I can't deny it any longer. I'm getting too cold. Damn! Why did It have to be right. George, no matter how distasteful it may be, you're out of options. You have to accept Its invitation. Fox grimaced as he gathered the horse pad and moved over behind the sleeping alien.

The movement awakened Paul. "Mr. Fox, lay the saddle pads out on the ground. You'll have to unzip the sleeping completely then work it out from under me. Before you get in, it will not help much if you remain in your wet clothes. The dry clothes are inside here with me so they're warm."

Fox followed the orders. Once he had the sleeping bag free, he retrieved the clothes, changed and pulled the sleeping bag over himself. Desperately seeking warmth, he moved as near the warm body as he dared.

Within moments Paul could hardly believe the cold emitting from the man. Tolerating the chill he refrained from making any movement that might alarm him. Fox has conceded on a minor point, he confirmed, smiling again. He has to get close. One thing I do know, being forced to do so, he will not relax tonight. Paul closed his eyes to relax and further rest the body.

Fox thought further about his situation now that he had to lie right beside It. By the time he finally warmed, he had made a decision about how best to handle his distressing situation. He sat up again and positioning the flashlight so he could see, pulled Paul Forrester's wallet from his leather bag. He noted the weight on the driver's license then removed a needle and syringe. Carefully calculating a conservative dosage, he drew the drug from the vial. He pulled the sleeping bag down, and then unbuttoned Paul's shirt enough to pull it down, baring a shoulder. He swabbed the area with alcohol from the second small bottle.

Awakened by the disappearance of the covering, Paul turned his head to look. He cringed, struggling as best he could. "Please don't do that!"

"You don't need to worry," Fox said. "I've adjusted the amount," he said reassuringly. "I'm not taking any chances with you or your friends. If you can't navigate, they'll have a much harder time getting you away from me."

Paul rolled back toward the tree as Fox plunged the needle into a fleshy portion of his shoulder muscle and emptied the syringe. Had anybody else been around, Paul's protesting, "No ... please?" would have been heard above the sound of falling rain.

Moments later the Starman again felt the flush of heat within the body. I must close my eyes this time just in case the drug might cause me to appear again. Now I must accept what I know is coming. Sensation disappeared.

As before, in this drugged state my own essence will not sleep like a human. At home or in space such time is for contemplation. Still contemplative time is, of necessity, an elective state. After a short while within this body, I discovered I could impose a human sleep state upon myself and attempting to fit in, I began doing so regularly. Soon it seemed natural to answer this human body's request for uncontemplative sleep and within it I have continued to study the strange random dreaming that accompanies it. Now I find I cannot impose sleep. Under this drug's influence all concept of form has vanished and I am alone. This is total isolation. Fox is quiet and unlike yesterday, there are no voices, no conversation, and no arguments on which to concentrate energy. There is only mind.

In the vast void of space I have always felt at home, but always there were 'friends', or much learning to occupy mind. Except for visits to other worlds and the brief visit to Earth, someone has always been there. Even the unplanned extension of the earth visit soon produced Jenny Hayden. Now there's nothing and no one. I listened to the rain for a while, but it reminded me of the sounds of the great ship and makes me homesick. I think this emotion in humans is known as … lonely, and it is terrible.

With home providing no peace the Starman unwillingly returned to thoughts he wanted to avoid. All I seem able to think about now is Scott and our future. Right now neither appears very promising. Scott has not learned yet how to master control of his sphere and I know, even with all he has learned, he is still young. Alone, I feel sure he will not be able to avoid capture for long. Can he find someone to help him? I know Scott would be welcome with those who know of our situation; Liz, the Taylors, Antonia, Katherine, or even Arte and Naughton would welcome him. But I fear Fox will watch those who have helped us before. Will Scott be wise enough to avoid seeking out proven friends?

What does the government have in store for me tomorrow? They must recognize I have technological knowledge they feel they can obtain. I know I cannot provide anything they might use to endanger the balances of this world. It is forbidden. Will their scientists realize that ours must be wise enough to safeguard such technology before approaching an intelligent life form for the first time? I hope so.

If I must die, what will they do to Scott? I'm almost sure they will never allow him freedom or any normal existence. In my world this time would be used for abstract thought. Now it is filled with a 'very human' fear of the unknown and it is impossible to stop the processing of mind.

After what seemed like an eternity, the Starman became aware of returning sensation. He slowly began reveling again in Paul Forrester's form. But he soon heard Fox moving around then a sensation of cold. No, please he thought. I think Fox is giving me another injection. He is, though I can hardly feel the needle. Does he plan to do this all night? He felt the slight flush of heat. I'll try to impose the human sleeping state upon myself before the drug takes effect. He tried. Imposing sleep does not seem to work in my present situation. What little sensation I had regained is now almost gone. Alone the darkness continued on, and on ... and on...

With the sleeping bag pulled tightly around him and sidearm in hand, Fox laid close to his celestial bedmate. Even if it has to be an alien, he thought wrinkling up his nose in distaste, I'm comfortable close to something warm. Laying here listening for things outside, the night seems endless. I have to keep thinking to stay awake. At least contemplating on the actions of the other three helps pass the time. I hear them around quite often. No three people have to get up that often to be normal nature calls. I think there's a cold war going on. I'm not about to respond to their presence and give them any advantage of knowing they have me on edge. What can they be planning? All I know is I must stay awake and keep the alien tranquilized just in case they have intentions of trying to help It during the night. He frowned deeply. With this rain I sure hope the helicopter can come in for us tomorrow. Another day of this tension I really don't need.

########################################

Roy awoke at dawn's first light. The heavy rain has quit, he thought, and so has the wind. As he stuck his head out of the sleeping bag, he smiled broadly. This heavy fog, however, delights me. I can't see more than ten feet in any direction. He walked out to check the horses. If I didn't know where I staked Monty and Red, I might have missed them entirely. One could easily get lost out here. It gives one an eerie feeling of being alone in a world of black and white. Burr found him and followed as he moved Monty to a new location. He caught Burr and let Red loose. On the way back into camp he picked up some chunks of firewood he had gathered before losing daylight the night before, and then walked boldly over toward the lean-to.

As he reached the shelter, he thought, I'll just stay outside and get the fire started. There will be no standing or sitting around it chatting this morning and we surely will not be enjoying our usual casual cup of coffee while easing out the kinks from sleeping on the ground last night. Thank God for air mattresses. No. This morning's fire will not be casual. It's important. Clothing got wet yesterday on the mountain and we can use the indirect heat from the fire to dry them. He picked up some kindling stored under the edge of the tarp then moved to kneel beside the fire pit. Experienced with wet weather the fire-maker prevailed and soon the crackle of a large fire was the only thing cheerful around this morning.

He looked into the lean-to for signs of life and saw Fox intently following his every move. He acknowledged Fox's gaze with a nod then picked up the single gas stove he found laying outside. Noticing immediately the adjustments had changed he shook it. Finding no gas remaining, he refilled the stove, pumped it for pressure and set it down. After adding more wood to the campfire he left to fill the water kettle. Returning shortly, he found the fire burning sufficiently and placed the water on to heat. Catching Fox's eye again he picked up the stove. Stooping down, he walked boldly into the lean-to, turned one pack-box on its side and set the stove on it. After reorganizing the kitchen he stepped outside briefly to add more firewood.

June and Kathy showed up a few minutes later. Chatting freely they warmed themselves at the fire then June started mixing pancake batter while Kathy got out more breakfast supplies. Roy returned. Obviously under Fox's watchful scrutiny from inside the sleeping bag blanket, Roy removed and hung his raincoat then easily started the two stoves with matchbook matches from his pocket.

Grimacing, Fox got up. Reluctantly he put his warm dry body into his still wet slacks. He did not relish putting on his suit jacket, but knew he must, for the alien's shirt alone could not ward off the cold. When the wet slacks began seeping through the dry underwear, he decided to save the dry socks and pushed bare feet into his wet shoes. I hope it will not be necessary to reestablish my authority this morning, he thought, tucking his weapon into his belt. Having it handy does give me a feeling of security. He glanced at his silent charge. After a necessary trip outside, he returned quickly to stand by the fire.

How can Paul be sleeping with all this activity going on? June wondered. I think I'll wake him. Reaching his side she saw him twitching and glared at George Fox. "You drugged him again. You...!" The words she was thinking, she knew wouldn't make her feel any better so she decided to say nothing further.

Though still under the effect of the last injection Fox had given, Starman had welcomed the sound of voices. Being friendly made them better. That's it June. Give it to him, he urged, ready for another contest upon which to judge winner or loser.

Fox looked at her without any emotion at all. "You didn't expect me to take any chances on you helping Forrester escape last night, did you? I heard you all roaming around. I would like to impress on you that I will destroy this prisoner before I let you take him from me."

June remembered the family's plan made the night before. We're going to worry him. Nothing severe, just enough to keep him worrying. He's really strung out and we're going to take advantage of it. We took turns getting up to go to the latrine. He'll have to let down his guard sometime. With three of us a chance to get the weapon will come. June looked at Paul. This arrogant man has turned our efforts to help on you. He never acknowledged us being around, so we never knew if our efforts were working. No matter what it means, personally, we now owe you our help. "I'm so sorry," she offered the Starman. "I feel badly and to me it makes no difference if you can hear me, or not."

As breakfast preparation continued, Fox studied the three. I think this might be the right time to test their present attitudes. I believe I have Foster's wife convinced any attempts by them to help Forrester will be met with more drugs, or a bullet. If she cares about this creature as much as it appears, she'll make sure they understand I'm in control. Cold war can work both ways, he confessed. Sometimes a well-placed threat can be more effective than an entire army. I feel sure I can keep them under control but I must be alert. Fox moved over to Paul then announced: "I think you've regained enough control to sit up to eat." He released the handcuff restraining him to the tree. "You can feed yourself this morning."

Breakfast contained a minimum of conversation and Fox secured Paul as soon as he finished eating. Fox looked outside. This fog makes it clear the helicopter isn't going to be landing down here so I don't have to ask to have the animals moved. As his unwilling hosts dried the last dish near the fire, Fox came out of the lean-to to address them. "The chopper will be coming for us about noon and I don't want to see any of you around here until after we leave. If any of you interfere in this retrieval, the one shot you hear will finish your friend. Do you all understand what I'm saying?" Seeing three nods, his words turned flippant. "Go catch your dinner and enjoy your vacation as if nothing has happened. By the time you get back, we'll be gone and justice will be served."

Packing some things, the three walked into the fog toward their bed camp. As they disappeared, Fox turned and spoke to Paul. "It appears they're convinced I'm in control. I don't believe you need to expect their assistance any longer." Paul looked back at him with resignation.

For the next few hours Fox kept a large fire burning. Standing close he made a concerted effort to dry his clothes. Checking his watch often he finally returned to the lean-to. Approaching Paul, he removed the handcuffs from the tree. "I think it's time we get ready to go meet our ride out of here."

"May I take my jacket and rain clothes with me?" Paul asked compliantly. "I do need to dress for the out of doors."

Fox shrugged his shoulders. "Okay, I guess there's no real percentages in bringing you back with a case of pneumonia." He backed away, keeping Paul covered and himself out of reach. I can't take any chances of It overpowering me, he thought. It knows time is running out so any attempt to escape must be made soon. Once I have It secured in the chopper, the game is over.

Paul got his rain clothes wrapped around his coat and after a brief struggle with the handcuffs, managed to tie them around his waist with the sleeves. He looked at Fox, "Speaking of pneumonia, you might take something with you too."

"Like?" Fox questioned.

Paul shrugged his shoulders, "The sleeping bag, perhaps?"

Fox's face contorted as he tried to rationalize the alien thinking about his comfort. "What are you doing, trying to take care of me, now?" he asked.

"No, I'm just making a suggestion," Paul returned. "Suit yourself. Since it's only misting now you won't need any extra clothes because climbing will keep you warm; but the moisture you create with the exercise will let you get cold if we have to wait."

Maybe I should listen this time, Fox thought. The pilot could be late. How can I ever forget last night? I never want to be that cold again.

Paul continued his offering. "Your clothes are dry now, but still inadequate and you..."

"Okay," Fox rebuffed impatiently. "I'll take the sleeping bag." He gathered the bag into something he could carry then looked suspiciously at Paul sitting not more than an arm's length away. He heard a loud voice in his head: Careful, George. Is this show of concern a ploy to get you to drop your guard? Does It still have a surprise or two up Its sleeve? You can act cocky, but don't get careless and forget procedure. "Lie down on your stomach and stretch," he ordered. As Paul complied, Fox unlocked the handcuffs and pulled Paul's arms up behind and secured them. "There. Now get up. It's time to go."

With Fox's assistance, Paul struggled to his feet and stood looking at him. Fox motioned up the mountain with the gun barrel. Paul recognized Fox wanted him to go ahead to start the climb. Now Paul felt more than a little discomfort that a simple adjustment would eliminate. He decided to approach the problem head-on. "Perhaps you might do me a favor before we go?"

"Like what?" Fox asked suspiciously.

Displaying his back to Fox, he looked over his shoulder, "The roll of clothing around my waist is pushing my arms too high up my back. I'm already feeling cramps in my shoulders. Would you remove the clothes and hang them around my neck and a shoulder?"

"Why should I worry about your comfort?"

Paul turned back to face Fox. He looked at the man piercingly for his arrogance then turned away ready to start walking wherever directed. "Never mind. I just thought I'd ask."

I believe this being has just made a personally derogatory statement about George Fox, he thought. I know this time Its right. It has asked politely for a simple humane gesture, one that puts me at no risk. I can't ignore such a request. "Stop and I'll fix it."

Paul stopped and stood unmoving while Fox untied the knotted sleeves and removed the bundle of clothes. "Thank you, that's somewhat better." He received no response as Fox knotted the sleeves together again and hung the roll around Paul's neck and left shoulder. He then motioned to proceed in what Paul knew to be an illogical direction to anybody even vaguely familiar with the area. "I've been to the top before, Mr. Fox. I would suggest we use the trail. Walking will be easier for you, and climbing like this ... for me as well."

Fox remembered what the pilot had said the day before about a trail and nodded. "After you," he said, motioning Paul to walk ahead of him. Feeling more confident following safely in the rear he put the weapon away as they started the climb.

The misting finally stopped, but heavy fog persisted, sometimes so thick it made following the trail difficult. Paul stumbled many times and unable to catch his balance in time when a rock rolled from under him, he fell down hard on his knees. As he fell, Fox backed away to safety and momentarily eyed him suspiciously. When he saw a continuing pained expression, he noted the reaction for further observation.

The impact of the fall also caused severe pain in Paul's chest and he remained down for several moments before he could take in a deep breath. I surely cannot complain about this pain, he acknowledged. It resulted from the revival procedures my friends used to keep my heart beating, but I wish I had my sphere. Noting Fox offering no assistance, he finally struggled to his feet and when able to proceed, offered, "Until today, I never realized how much we humans depend on arms for balance."

"We humans?" Fox questioned. "You're not human!"

"I feel just as you do."

"I seriously doubt that."

"Whatever you say."

After much struggling, they finally reached what appeared to be a large flat area. "This is close enough," Fox ordered. "We must be close to where the pilot left me yesterday. I have a radio and when I hear the chopper, I'll call him." In the fog Fox almost stumbled onto a large flat rock and decided it would provide a seat for the wait. He directed Paul back to it and gestured for him to sit.

"May I put my coat on first?" Paul asked as he glanced at the roll around his shoulder. He turned his back toward Fox requesting release from the controlling handcuffs. After the humbling experience at the lean-to it surprised him when Fox obliged without question. Fox stepped back as Paul went through the motions of putting on his coat and rainwear. He continued to stretch his aching arms and shoulders for as long as he could.

"Enough!" Fox barked, again remembering procedure. "Down on the ground." Paul complied with a sigh as Fox secured his arms behind again. "Okay ... up." Paul struggled to his feet and Fox escorted him by one arm to the rock.

Fox wrapped himself in the sleeping bag then walked over and sat quietly beside his prisoner. They waited in a foggy gloom. A long time of deafening silence passed before Fox decided to try to make conversation to break an almost imposing unnatural quiet. His eyebrows lowered then rose as he turned to look at his alien. "Would you like to talk some more?"

Paul turned his head and looked at his adversary. "As I said yesterday, under these circumstances I really can't think of anything constructive for us to talk about." He turned away to look out into the fog.

Fox sat quietly for a while then moved to another rock, leaving distance between them. He watched the alien for a while and almost in an expression of defeat, shrugged his shoulders. "You could ask how I found you way out here."

Paul didn't even look at Fox before responding. "The fact remains you did find me. At this time to know how seems irrelevant and serves no useful purpose."

"It could give us something to talk about."

"Something to talk about?" Paul questioned as he looked at his captor. A quizzical expression appeared on his face, "What would we gain?"

"Talking could be better than silence," Fox returned. "We each might learn something."

Paul shrugged his shoulders, "Okay, if you just want to make meaningless conversation assume I have asked your question."

I do want to tell someone about my success, Fox thought, but this isn't exactly the circumstances nor the who. What I want is to have General Wade confess right to my face that I was right. I'm entitled to some recognition, but this ... whatever, makes it sound like I'm making It ask just because I've finally prevailed. It's irritating, he thought, but I really want to put the intricacies of the chase into words. As the alien looked at him attentively, Fox started expounding on what led to the conclusion of over sixteen years of his life's work. He related in detail of seeing the article about a child's description of a doctor with strange powers and how he decided to check on it.

Little Tony, Paul thought as he lowered his eyes, he was the link that led Fox to us. I know, from having talked to Jim Billingsley that his father kept his promise. How could I have made a like request of a child? Suddenly, he heard Fox addressing him angrily.

"Do you want to hear my story, or day-dream!"

"I'm listening," Paul replied, half-heartedly as he again looked up at Fox.

"The story about the kid led to another about a summer school teacher." Fox paused momentarily, contemplating the implications. "I'm almost afraid to ask, but would you tell me what you've been teaching our children?"

"About the quest for knowledge and the excitement of exploration achievable through your space programs," Paul replied openly.

Fox frowned. "What do you know about our space programs?"

"Only what I've read, heard and seen firsthand," Paul replied. "I've tried to encourage their interest in learning and science."

"I'll bet you have," Fox said suspiciously, "but why and for whom?"

Paul looked at the intense accusing gaze of the man and again felt impotent to influence his pre-conceived judgments. "Why don't we just get back to your story? Isn't that what you wanted to tell me?"

Fox glared momentarily as he thought about this prisoner's insolent method of cutting off his questions. He regained his enthusiasm once he got into his description of the chase. It delighted him so much he almost forgot it wasn't General Wade he was looking at. "The search for the truck brought us to the farm where I got to talk to the reporter who wrote the story. She was snooping around looking for you, hoping to get the bigger story." Fox pulled a two page typewritten document out of his inside coat pocket. "I took this from her, it's a copy of a taped interview she had with the kid and his family." Fox held the document up for Paul to read. It amazed him how quickly Paul motioned to change pages and again when he indicated completion. Fox folded the papers carefully and returned them to his pocket. "You're a fast reader," he said flippantly.

When Paul did not respond to his observation, Fox felt a need to comment further on the interview. "It made kind of interesting reading, didn't it?" He saw little response. "Tell me, how did you convince the old man you were a doctor?" He paused awaiting an answer, but noting only a puzzled and questioning frown on the alien's face, continued his assault. "How did you get him to convince the kid not to say anything about whatever it was you did?"

Paul grimaced. "Why would I...?" His words ran out.

"I already knew the child's story had to be a deception. How did you get a little kid to think you had helped his grandfather ... another illusion?"

Grimacing at the continuing accusations, Paul couldn't think of any appropriate response. He shook his head slowly and looked at the man with compassion.

This is satisfaction at its highest level, Fox thought. I can confront this creature with what I know has to be the truth of Its subversion of others. "Why don't you just tell me how you do it, and what is the significance of the blue light?" He glared at Paul for a long moment then realizing he wasn't going to receive an answer, smirked and returned to his recitation. He continued to explain the complexities of the investigation and search. Grinning, he chuckled softly as he told of the things gleaned from the Forest Service and finally locking up the area.

"I really had little hope of finding you," he said as his eyes did an elated dance, "but just look ... success, finally." Having already forgotten in his moment of triumph what had almost been a tragedy, Fox's face beamed. "If I hadn't found you up here, my associate, or the police, would have been waiting for you whenever you decided to leave here. One way or another, this time you would have been mine." Fox's expression denoted a look of complete satisfaction. "I'm certain you must be aware it will only be a matter of time until we find your son. He can't elude us for long." His expression was just begging for a rebuttal.

I can't see any reason to comment, Paul thought. I do fully recognize Fox and his agency are a threat to Scott. I also understand what this man's fulfillment will mean to me. He turned away, stifling back the moisture trying to form in his eyes. There was, again, a long period of silence.

Unable to handle the silence, Fox wanted a comment. I need recognition of my abilities from this creature. Finally he couldn't stand the silence any longer. "Well?"

Paul looked at him and his eyebrows rose at the new inquisition. "Well what?"

"I thought you'd have something to say."

"About what?"

"About what I just told you, of course," Fox stated with more than an air of impatience.

Paul looked at him questioningly. "Are you asking me to congratulate you?"

Fox's face contorted into a strange distressed smirk as he realized the alien did not intend to give him recognition for his success. "Then you're not going to comment?"

"Should I?" Paul replied, puzzling immediately over what seemed like a growing look of disappointment on Fox's face.

A brief period of silence followed before Fox realized the reality of his prisoner's situation and the absurdity of his request. "I guess you really have no reason to bestow congratulations, do you?" he said smugly.

"I guess not," Paul replied, cocking his head slightly.

There was another long silence while Fox continued to stare and Paul could sense from his look that Fox really did want to talk. He raised both eyebrows as he turned back to look at him. "Do you have another question you want me to ask?

Fox's eyes narrowed as he looked at what was becoming a verbal contest. "I figured you could ask or say something intelligent of your own."

"Since you profess to know everything about me, and how and why I do what I do," Paul replied a bit sarcastically, "I could ask you the same. So far, though, I haven't heard anything."

"So we reach another stalemate?" Fox returned.

Paul turned away from Fox's inquisition, resuming a non-communicative posture looking out into the fog. "I guess so." He thought a moment longer then heaved a sigh. In an effort to try to keep some conversation going if only to pass time, he looked back to Fox. "No. I do have one question to ask you."

"Shoot."

For a fleeting moment, Paul puzzled over Fox's reply. To me it seems Fox is obviously the only one presently with that ability. Should I ask for an explanation? Suddenly he heard Fox respond with a totally unexpected belligerence.

"Don't give me that innocent look. You tried that on me in Los Angeles and in a while you had someone helping you escape."

Paul frowned, at Fox's new accusation. I wonder how he can even think, while restrained to a chair, I found help to escape. Does he believe I'm that mighty? Doesn't he realize my escape was Scott's search for help and finding those willing to give it?

Fox glared in return then continued angrily. "You can forget the illusion crap, too. I can guarantee you that won't work. I will not believe anything threatening I see when I'm around you. That little trick with the fire engine made me look like a fool and I won't forget it."

Paul saw Fox's jaw set in a determined manner. I know a convincing illusion isn't possible because Fox has my sphere, he thought, but I feel a need to be truthful. "Mr. Fox, do not make the mistake of assuming any dangerous situation you see while I'm around is a creation. You might get a very unpleasant surprise."

"I'll surely follow your advice," Fox replied trippingly as he sat waiting for whatever the alien might offer. When nothing came, he smiled smugly. "I might have guessed, after confronting you about it, an illusion wouldn't be forthcoming." When his accusation again brought no response, he decided to break what appeared to be another stalemate. "I thought you wanted to ask a question."

Paul returned Fox's look, again slowly shaking his head. I must conclude Fox's reference to shooting has nothing to do with weapons. A reasonable conversation should continue and his last statement seems to infer I have his permission to ask my question. He looked Fox in the eye. "What are your plans for me?"

"I'm bringing you in," Fox stated simply.

"Wrong words," Paul said. "I'll try again. What I meant to ask is what does the government plan to do with me?"

Fox grinned then looked away from Paul's piercing look. "You won't be my problem any longer. I'll be out looking for others."

"I can hardly believe you've chased me as you have without some idea of what they want."

Fox remembered his promise to General Wade. "To obtain the funding I needed to find you, I agreed to deliver you to the military's table, so research and interrogation would be my guess."

Paul eyed the man probingly, "And Scott?"

"The same, I imagine."

"In total ignorance, you just agreed to deliver us?"

Fox's eyes narrowed and he spoke in a verbal tone born of pre-conviction and commitment. "Our government needs to find out what you're doing here. We must determine whatever we can about what we're up against so we can try to save the human race."

Paul gazed soulfully at Fox, "I cannot understand you or your government. Since our first approach to this planet well over fifteen years ago, your response has been hostile. Were we incorrect when we interpreted your space probe's message as an invitation?"

"I guess 'some' might have considered it an invitation," Fox returned.

Paul's face took on a look of pain combined with a deep sadness. "When I came to answer that 'invitation', you shot first, and then for some reason you felt you must 'have' me for there to be communication." Paul turned his body sufficiently to display his arms secured behind his back. "Even now, you don't attempt to talk to me in any manner that I can consider close to civilized." He frowned probingly. "You know virtually nothing of us or our intentions concerning this planet, yet you believe you have some right to use me, and my son, for research."

George Fox and a man from the stars now exchanged equally certain glances. To Fox the safety of the United States overrode all individual considerations. "You're damn right we do!" he replied adamantly. "I'm also certain we'll find out shortly what your intentions are."

"Don't you consider it sufficient evidence of our intentions when nothing has happened to your world for these many years?"

Fox looked back, tired of being on the short end of every exchange between himself and his aggravation. "Has nothing happened?" he replied defiantly. "Your half-breed is growing to manhood. How many more of them do you have out there in training to infiltrate and take care of the dirty work for you?"

Paul was aghast. "You think that is why I came back here? How can you even think I would train any child, let alone my son, to do what you're implying?"

"I would say your intentions are what we'll soon determine," Fox returned adamantly. "Aren't we entitled to that much from you?"

Paul could see there was no reasoning with the man. He took a deep breath. As he slowly let it go he closed his eyes and turned away from Fox. How can such hatred and distrust exist among the many good and caring people Scott and I have encountered since I returned? A deep silence resumed.

%%%

After leaving the lean-to, fearing the man might carry through on his threat if they remained in camp, Roy, June and Kathy left the meadow heading back toward the lower lake. The fog made route finding, even to the lake, almost impossible and after often becoming entangled in the thickets, they finally reached the lake. With only a knowledge of the area and a compass, almost useless in the fog, they fought their way toward the upper lake following, somewhat, the route Fox had descended a day earlier. Finally they had to rely on the only physically visible and reliable route, the stream that cascaded down the mountain from the upper lake.

%%%

Fox and Paul sat together for almost two hours before they heard the familiar sound of helicopter rotors chopping away at the air high above them. Fox took out the radio and called the pilot. "I'm ready for extraction. Pick your spot and I'll come to you."

%%%

The fog that would have graciously engulfed those not wishing to be seen made the timetable imposed on Roy, June and Kathy impossible. Still not totally sure of what they could do even if they reached the lake, they continued climbing the streambed. They were far from the large meadows below the upper lake when they heard the helicopter. The sound continued only as they struggled through loose dirt and rocks toward it. With the sound echoing between the mountains, it was difficult to tell for certain whether it had landed or was just hovering. The only hope of stopping the government man from taking Paul was if the helicopter couldn't land.

%%%

Fox heard the pilot's voice over the crackling radio. "Mr. Fox, is everybody all right?"

"Yes, everybody's fine," Fox confirmed, "I stayed with the people you saw."

"I figured you might, but I was told to find out for sure."

For some reason he could not explain, Fox felt a sudden surge of apprehension about the pilot's choice of words. "Why are you so late?" he asked hesitantly.

"You might say we have a problem," the pilot replied. There was a long pause before he continued. "The only reason I'm here at all is the Forest Service obtained special clearance for a high altitude fly-in after I convinced them you went in with no supplies. You just confirmed there is no existing medical emergency." He paused again. "I hate to tell you this, Mr. Fox, but you have to find your own way out."

"What!" Fox said in alarm.

"Somebody turned me in for flying you into a Wilderness Area," the pilot continued. "You told me you were on official government business and had proper clearance. The Forest Service shows no record of granting you or anybody else such authority. I should have checked with them myself, but you were in such a hurry. I did need the work and I guess I was impressed that you were giving me a chance to work with the secret end of the government. It was naive of me to take you at your word. I want you to know I had to answer a lot of questions or go to jail."

"I'm sorry, but it was urgent," Fox offered. "Believe me, I can take care of everything to do with authority."

With a worried tremor in his voice, the pilot replied. "Can I depend on your word this time, Mr. Fox? I'm on suspension from all flying activity and that's my family's livelihood. I have to appear before a committee who will determine whether I get to retain my license. If I'm found guilty, they'll confiscate all my equipment. Will you still assume responsibility for the fly in?"

I am totally responsible for the man's problem, Fox thought. With the alien in custody, a joyous department and General Wade behind me, it will be simple to keep my word. "Don't worry," he replied with confidence. "I will take care of everything. Just get me out of here."

"Thank you," the pilot replied, heaving a deep sigh of relief.

"I'm officially grounded until the hearing. This is the Forest Service chopper. Their entry permit says return to base immediately if no medical emergency exists."

"But I can take care of everything," Fox blurted. "Don't leave me here!" Fox could only make out a few words of some background cockpit conversation.

"It would have to be life threatening," the pilot returned. "I'm sorry, but we can't do anything about it. But if it's any consolation you should see what things look like from up here. There's no way we can land even if we had official authority."

"What would you have done if someone had been badly injured?" Fox asked pointedly.

"A mountain rescue ground unit is on stand-by to evacuate you if necessary." More cockpit conversation followed and the pilot returned. "We have to go. I do want you to know, the long-range weather forecast is not good. A large storm front is moving in from the coast and rapidly cooling temperatures are expected by tonight. If there isn't a radical change in the jet stream out in the Pacific, bad weather might continue for several days. You probably should make tracks out of there by the fastest route possible. At least get to a lower elevation."

"Thanks for the information. I'll suggest it to my hosts," Fox said despondently. "I guess I'll see you when I get out." Fox heard an end of transmission, 'out' and the chopper throttle up. Soon its sound faded into the distance. Suddenly his face contorted in distress. Fox opened the radio transmission key trying to resume contact. He looked up toward a faint glimmer of light through the fog as the sound disappeared. Lacking success, he mumbled, "At least I could have asked them to drop me something warm to wear and sleep in." Heaving a heavy sigh, he motioned Paul to his feet. "Let's go back."

It was past three when they arrived back at camp. Finding the lean-to empty, Fox directed Paul to sit. "I'm happy I don't have to evict them again," he offered, fully expecting no response. His prisoner did not disappoint him. "I figured your friends would be moved back in by now. I wonder where they went." He searched through the pack boxes for something to eat, finally preparing a couple cheese sandwiches. He got behind Paul and released the handcuffs so he could eat.

My shoulders are cramping so badly I can't move them, Paul thought as his arms dropped down behind. I must allow the muscles time to relax. He gasped as Fox impatiently pushed them ahead.

Fox noticed the evident pain he caused, but merely refastened the restraints in the forward position and moved away a safe distance. Handing Paul a sandwich, he noticed the prisoner's wrists showing definite signs of discoloration. The constant pressure of the handcuffs must be bruising them, he thought, but there's no relief I can, or will offer. He handed Paul a cup of water.

"Thank you," Paul said as arms shaking, he took the offering. Some time passed before he could raise the metal cup. Then he drank appreciatively. When he finished the water, Fox returned him to the tree.

"You can sit or lay, whichever you choose," Fox offered. Pushing the branches to one side, Paul sat against the tree and studied the man intently.

Fox found it difficult to keep his eyes off his prisoner and their eyes met often. I see the alien attempting to avoid pressure on those bruises by holding Its hands close together. This is the third time in as many hours that I have observed this creature in obvious pain. They exchanged another glance. The look on Its face does bother me, though. There's no animosity, only a look of resignation. I'll never forget Mark Shermin's smug look as he blew that cigar smoke in my face. Shermin deserved everything he got.

Thoughts from the past continued to come to mind before he looked at Paul again. Could that look be what Shermin described when the police had It cornered in Winslow? He frowned deeply. What was it Shermin said finally made him decide to let It go? His eyebrows raised suddenly. Yes. 'The alien knew he was trapped, but he just smiled at me'. Fox's eyes narrowed again. Now what made me think of that? Glancing again at Paul, he thought with pleasure, well It isn't smiling now. It obviously knows better than to try that with me. He turned away from the Starman's return scrutiny.

Paul finally decided to give up his study. Laying down he settled into one of the presently comfortable positions available and turned his back on his tormentor.

Fox, alert to any movements, watched Paul adjusting his position. It knows for sure I'm going to hand It over to the military scientists, he thought. He cocked his head a little. I wonder exactly what they have planned.

%%%

Finally finding the meadows, Roy, June and Kathy moved cautiously from one clearing to the next. No longer hearing the helicopter, they still felt caution to be the best policy for it might have shut down. The fog had lifted briefly from the mountain. As they emerged into the large meadow below the upper lake they saw no one. "It looks like we must move forward with Plan B," Roy offered. "Let's get back to camp and get out of here as soon as possible."

"Our first priority is to get Scott to a safe place," Kathy confirmed. "Then we'll contact the media and every government watchdog group we can think of who might listen to our grievances."

"We'd better find an attorney," June added. "One willing to file charges against this government agent, his agency and the President of United States of America, if necessary. We'll keep Scott hidden until we find out what Paul has done, and then do whatever we can to help."

"I think the media remains our best shot," Kathy said. "In many ways it has become the police force of government. Probing reporters seem to have ways of embarrassing public officials enough to cause an investigation into bureaucratic cover-ups. Make enough waves and even our government finally has to listen."

%%%

Fox, gazing at Paul's back, thought again of the night before and suddenly he felt a need for answers. He poked Paul in the back to get his attention. "Before you go to sleep ... or whatever it is you do, can I ask you something?"

Paul turned enough to look over his shoulder, and then shrugged, and carefully inched himself up to a sitting position. Finding a position in which he could sit comfortably, he turned toward Fox and using Fox's expression of earlier, mimicked the word and inflection. "Shoot?"

Fox frowned slightly. Is that an alien attempt at humor, or sarcasm, he thought. I don't want to argue; I want an answer. "Last night, why did you offer me your clothes and a share of your sleeping bag?"

Paul's eyebrows rose then lowered. "Why are you bothering to ask now?"

"Because I want to know."

"Why," Paul returned, "so you can turn a gesture any human being should have made into something subversive? That's what you've done with everything else I've either done or said."

"No," Fox confirmed with dignity. "I don't understand why, under the circumstances, you should be concerned about my welfare."

Paul looked at Fox sympathetically. "While there is a possibility I might care about your welfare, I believe you might prefer to hear something you can use to support your own narrow perspective. Maybe I will answer your question by saying, in my ... situation', I realized you could have taken anything you wished from me."

"Is that it?" Fox replied, a puzzled look on his face. "You were trying to make brownie points with me?"

Paul's eyebrows rose again at another unfamiliar expression. I assume this to be another saying, but I must question these unfamiliar words. "Brownie points?"

"Don't give me that innocent look again," Fox said vehemently. "I believe you're about as innocent as a Simon Lagree."

Paul remembered the exchange with Dale Taylor over Solomon. In the book in a drawer at the hotel in Seattle I read about the man, Solomon, being a great Earth leader of long ago. With George Fox I do not want a similar uninformed exchange. "Tell me about a simon lagree?" he asked. "I do not want to confess to being like someone, or something, I know nothing about."

In his mind Fox suddenly questioned his earlier pre-judgment. If I have the time frame correlated correctly, he thought, It's only been back here for less than a year. Perhaps It is asking a question because It doesn't understand. He studied the look on the alien's face and his eyes narrowed. "With the command you have of our language, I surmised you must do a lot of reading."

"I do enjoy learning language and read a great deal," Paul confirmed. "I learn much by reading, but most things I must learn in day to day living. In a conversation, if I do not understand, I must ask."

"Haven't you read any American Literature?" Fox asked bluntly.

Paul's eyes widened. "Is simon legree American Literature?"

Fox's mouth contorted in distress. "How do you always manage to change the subject?" he retorted. "I really don't want to get into this with you. I'm certainly not in any mood to start explaining America's literature to a ... whatever you are."

"I'm not a, 'whatever'!" Paul returned emphatically. "I am a 'somebody' just as you are a somebody."

The forcefulness of the response startled Fox. I have rarely seen evidence of much belligerence from this alien. Still, I'm in no mood to defend my statements or use of language. "Just forget I asked about last night!" he snorted angrily. His thoughts and demands now returned to another question that continued to eat at him. "What I do want to ask is what you do to people that always makes them want to help you?"

"What do you mean?" Paul questioned curiously.

Fox gestured toward the camp. "I mean, like these people. Even when threatened, they have cared for and defended you without question. It's the same story with all the others."

Paul broke into a smile. "All the others."

"Almost without exception," Fox returned truthfully, "and that just isn't natural. Until I found out about your contact with the Billingsleys, I only briefly considered that the Taylor family might also have been involved in your escape." Fox looked Paul right in the eye. "When I read the child's, and Billingsley's, description in the reporter's interview, it left no doubt in my mind the woman with you must have been Ellen Taylor. Now I know they were up to their eyebrows in your escape." Fox's eyes narrowed. "How much do they know about you?"

"I told them everything before Scott and I left."

"Why?" Fox queried.

"I had to give them a choice of possible actions available to them."

Fox frowned. "And still they let you walk away?"

"Yes," Paul replied softly.

"You know, I could have that whole family arrested and put away for a long time for helping you."

Starman looked thoughtfully at Fox. Have I put friends in danger by accepting help? I never thought about what could happen to those who had helped us before. "You could?" he asked.

"Haven't you ever read about the penalties for aiding and abetting fugitives?"

"Many of your laws confuse me." Again Paul's eyebrows rose. "But you said you could have them arrested. You haven't?"

"No."

"Why not."

"Because disappearing citizens can raise questions I don't want to have to answer. If a government official confirms the presence of aliens being here, it could result in mass hysteria. We want to avoid that. If your contacts haven't expressed knowledge of you openly, or threatened anything that would breach national security, I have assumed they probably don't know. Believe me, my field operatives are busy watching them. So far, when interrogated, no one has openly indicated they know anything unusual about anything. To take them in now would be totally after the fact and the paperwork involved in the arrests would be a waste of valuable time. My major goal has been to get you and your son, thus eliminating two problems and would leave me ready to seek out any others." Fox gazed curiously at Paul for a long moment. "Those who I feel might know the truth also have continued to support you." Fox's curiosity changed to one of probing frustration. "Why do they help you? They must be aware of the risks they're taking."

"Perhaps they maintain open minds and see something you refuse to," Paul returned.

"Like what?" Fox questioned probingly.

Paul's eyebrows rose in two graceful arcs. "Perhaps the truth?"

"The truth! Why won't you tell me the truth? Why do you keep beating around the bush? Do you figure I'm too smart to be taken in by what you want to feed me?"

Paul looked at Fox silently questioning his words, but not wanting to irritate the man further, he replied quietly. "Truth is obviously something you do not yet understand if you feel it must be explained."

Fox's jaw jutted out defiantly. "Why don't you try me?"

"Like you said only moments ago, I'm afraid trying to explain 'would be a total waste of my time'. You have already decided your truth, but in reality, truth is something you discover in feelings and actions when you feel verbal explanations are unnecessary." Paul continued to look at his adversary with a piercing, yet tranquil gaze, but Fox's look never faltered. With no evidence of a favorable response, Paul finally heaved a heavy sigh, "Never mind," he said rolling away from Fox.

%%%

Their disappointment total at the loss of their friend, Roy, June and Kathy hiked solemnly toward camp. Kathy walked into the lean-to and expecting it to be empty, did a double take when she saw someone lying there. "Paul?" she asked, rushing toward him. Immediately she became aware of George Fox moving to intercept her advance and stopped short. As Paul turned to look up at her, she saw the handcuffs.

Fox glared at her and pulled his weapon. "That's just about far enough, Mrs. Doran."

Right behind, Roy and June stopped when they heard Fox's ingratiating voice then looking at one another, each smiled. Walking around the end of the lean-to, Roy looked directly at Fox. "I figured you weren't going to get out today."

"The pilot couldn't come in because of the fog," Fox replied casually. "He did tell me the weather's expected to deteriorate and urged we get out of here."

"With our vacation ruined, we planned to do just that," Roy returned. "Did he happen to mention anything about a change in the freezing level?"

Fox frowned, seemingly puzzled by the question. "Only that they expect much cooler temperatures by tonight."

"I thought it was getting colder," Roy acknowledged. He looked at his watch and shook his head. "I think it's too late to pack up this afternoon. With darkness coming on, I don't want to get caught up higher where there's no place to camp." He looked at Fox. "We'll leave after lunch tomorrow. That will get us over Ladies Pass and we'll make camp down lower. May I ask what you plan to do?"

"I'm planning to have you take us with you, Mr. Foster," Fox replied with an air of authority.

Roy looked at the man smugly. "What if I refuse to provide my services?"

"It's not your choice. You are taking Forrester and me with you."

"I would have suggested that to you for, without proper gear, remaining behind waiting for a helicopter wouldn't be wise. Now you're telling me I have no choice?"

Fox winked his eye and tapped one finger on the side of his head, "You're really sharp, Mr. Foster." His eyes narrowed, "Right, you have no choice."

"Am I to understand you're hijacking my outfit?" Roy asked bluntly.

"You can handle the outfit, but I'll continue to give the orders. Am I making myself clear?"

"You're making yourself very clear," Roy replied, glowering at his adversary.

Fox expected an argument and without further prompting, ordered the three back to their camp. I believe they're respectful, he thought as they departed, but I know they wholly resent me assuming authority.

Paul watched Roy and June retreat then turned silently back toward the tree. I have no desire to talk further to Fox. I would prefer he have time to think about our last exchange before attempting another. The failure of helicopter transportation could be a blessing. Maybe I'll be able to get through to him … or perhaps an opportunity to escape will come, but at this moment I don't see much chance of either. One good thing is this body's metabolic system has brought my energy level back to normal. Though I really don't need any more rest, I think I'll impose sleep anyway. Sleeping seems to make time go faster and is also a good excuse for silence. He heaved a sigh. Always 'one day at a time'. He looked at the young, struggling tree that had unwilling become a convenient jailer, and then closed his eyes.

A state of deafening silence again flooded the shelter. Damn, Fox thought. Why did they have to come back right then? They interrupted the conversation and I really wanted to probe further. When I got rid of them It tuned me out completely. Now It seems to have dropped off to sleep again. Of course, maybe It's not sleeping at all ... maybe It's listening ... perhaps trying to make some assessment of my weaknesses. He looked with disgust over at what he knew he would have to accept as his bed companion for another night and shuddered. He continued staring at the alien's back. In a short while his attention refocused as his alien began twitching. I think It's dreaming again? he thought with renewed interest. If I watch closely, perhaps I'll have something constructive to tell Wade's scientists when I turn It over. He moved quietly around to face the Starman, but by the time he had himself positioned to observe, the movement stopped. Damn, he thought. Too late. Maybe I'll just sit here and watch for a while.

"Ah ha," Fox mumbled softly. "Reward comes to those who wait". There goes the twitching again. Fascinating, and is that mumbling I hear? Brief moments passed. Now I see rapid eye movement, changing facial expressions and irregular breathing commonly associated with dreaming.

Many moments passed. Its physical movements are increasing sharply and becoming spasmodic. It's also mumbling more, and louder. He moved in closer. "I wish I could understand what It's saying," he grunted. Briefly his mind wandered. Hmm ... I wonder what an alien dreams about. Maybe he sees their spaceships lasering our defenseless and unsuspecting planet. Why do they have to be like that? He shook his head slowly. Could it be only for the glory of another conquest or only just because they can.

He watched with increasing interest. "The movements are becoming more pronounced. I think It's becoming aggressive," he mumbled softly. "It's probably giving battle orders in a war between worlds; taking slaves and without remorse destroying some budding civilization." He set his jaw tightly. "My observations will surely confirm my suspicions of an aggressive nature."

Now It's fighting against the restraints holding It to the tree. Fox's eyes grew wide. Right now this tree looks a lot smaller than it did yesterday. I wonder if it's even tough enough to hold It? I certainly couldn't uproot any of them when I was coming down the mountain. A couple of times I even trusted them with my life ... but I don't think I've ever seen anyone expending so much energy within the confines of a dream. His eyes still wide Fox moved back cautiously as he took out his weapon. Then he sneered as another consideration came to mind and he leaned forward, announcing defiantly, "Here comes the illusion, right? You've just been waiting. Well, it isn't going to work." His chin jutted out from a set jaw and prepared for anything he continued to glare. I guess my outburst hasn't reached It since the struggling is continuing. Now It's mumbling something else unintelligible. Fox frowned suspiciously. This aggression is definitely against something other than the handcuffs. Thank God the tree is holding.

Fox continued watching, almost mesmerized. Gasping and short of breath he saw the alien push forward with Its feet at the same time Its arms pulled It toward the tree with the handcuff chain. It's not pulling against the handcuffs now, but It's grasping for something. It's up in the tree branches like it was yesterday when It shoved me out into the rain. He saw one hand find the tree trunk and between gasps, Fox heard words now easily understood. 'I'm coming.' There's a look of anguish on Its face, he thought, and in a brief moment, It said emphatically. 'Please don't do this!'

The struggling increased even further. Now It's clutching the tree with both hands. I think It's trying to climb the tree. His eyes got wide and he crawled around behind the tree. My God, I think It's trying to break it off. He leaned back, and looking curiously his nose wrinkled. No, It's just holding on. He watched in astute fascination as the alien hung suspended by sheer strength, up in the tree as high as the handcuffs would allow. What is it doing, strangling someone? he considered. Maybe It has lost a friend in battle and is exacting revenge. Losing a friend serves It right for such aggressive behavior, he chided.

It's still struggling, but with little physical motion, Fox noted. Then he heard a fading, 'I'm sorry'. Gasping for breath and shaking, when the alien's eyes popped wide open, they were staring wildly at him. Is this where the chains break and It strangles me, he thought. A tremor of fear flowed through him and he leaned away, trying to get as far from the creature as possible. Instinctively he removed the safety on his weapon and aimed.

Paul, finally consciously able to break into the dream plaguing him, awoke. He found himself half sitting by a stressful hold he had on the tree and encircled by its branches. He gasped when he also found himself looking directly into the barrel of Fox's gun. Behind the weapon he saw Fox's face reflecting a fear as apparent as his own. Recognizing his surroundings, he let go of the tree and let himself slip back down then retreated back into the sleeping bag. Swallowing hard and afraid to close his eyes, he laid there shaking. Though I know it was only a bad dream it doesn't stop my heart from pounding. Sleeping in the human form, I dream as they do and occasionally the dream experiences become disturbing, but this has been the worst ever. He rolled his face onto his duffel bag pillow. One thing I do know, I do not want to talk to George Fox about it.

Fox's fears calmed as the threat de-materialized. At least It continues to respond to my control, he thought. I'm almost sure It can't get free. Now I'm just curious, he thought as he moved around behind the tree and parked where he could look the alien right in the eye. If I interrogate It, maybe I'll have something further to tell the scientists. "Were you dreaming?" he asked pleasantly." A long moment passed in silence. "My question requires just a simple answer," Fox said insistently. "I asked if you were dreaming."

If I keep my eyes closed and don't answer, Paul thought, perhaps he'll think I'm asleep again. I don't really want to talk to him. The silence continued.

Fox struggled to keep his growing impatience under control. "Do you dream?" he asked pointedly. Another question remained unanswered. You're not going to deny me my research, he thought, and his annoyance level rose decisively. "I know you're awake. Answer the question!" he demanded.

Paul opened his eyes to look at Fox. At least I can be grateful that he's in front of me now. Having to look over my shoulder to obtain eye contact pulls heavily at the handcuffs and my wrists are really sore. Turning my neck, yesterday, while restrained with my arms around the tree also has my back, neck and shoulders aching. That wasn't improved any by having my arms cramped behind me for several hours, today. But worse by far, twisting to look at him has worsened the aching in my chest. I must not complain again for that also seems to annoy him. Making only momentary eye contact, he answered, "Yes."

"I'm a patient man," Fox advised, "but for some reason you want to avoid explaining about what I just saw. Now, I'm seeking an explanation other than a simple, yes. Do you dream?"

I see that determined look again, Paul thought. Fox is not going to give up. He looked up at the man, took a deep breath then blew it out. "Normally we do not sleep or experience dreams as you do. We contemplate to fill time, not waste it."

"Well, from what I saw, I believe you were dreaming."

"Yes, I was dreaming, but it wasn't an alien dream, unless you mean alien to me."

"Let's stop playing word games!" Fox retorted loudly. "I think you understand very well what I mean!" A long moment passed before Fox regained composure following his outburst and returned smoothly to a smug pleasantness. Shrugging his shoulders, he offered, "I guess I just never figured you for dreamers."

"As you never figured I had to ... you know?" Paul replied, his eyebrows rising. "In this form I dream as any other human being."

Fox's eyes rolled then he paused, evaluating the alien's choice of words. It's a deliberate attempt to insinuate It's human again, he concluded. It isn't human and I'm not going to concede that point. Maybe if I try to show a personal interest It will voluntarily offer to tell me what It was dreaming. "This dream was a good one, right?" he asked flippantly

"No, it was not a good one!" Paul returned emphatically.

His words laced with sarcasm, Fox responded, "You know I meant, bad."

"Why don't you just say what you mean," Paul returned impatiently. "If you meant to ask if I had a bad dream, why didn't you just do so? As you just recently said, why play word games?"

"Never mind," Fox said impatiently, tired of continuing these contests of words with a being that appeared to be rapidly developing into an expert. "Why don't you just tell me about it?"

"No," Paul replied decisively.

"You keep insinuating you're peaceful and have nothing to hide," he offered, pleasantly. "You say I'm supposed to seek the truth. Well, tell me about what an alien-human dreams."

"I'd rather not," Paul reiterated. "It's totally irrelevant."

Now barely able to control his growing impatience, Fox's eyes narrowed. I have been seeking cooperation and by George I'm going to get it. "With some cooperation on your part at least we'll have something to talk about," he said with smug pleasantness. "I have noticed there are some things you don't mind discussing."

"Oh, you're not really interested in what I dreamed? You just want to create some more meaningless conversation?"

Now George Fox recognized a developing contest of wills. "You're twisting my words again. Stop it!" he demanded bluntly. "I am interested. Besides, I believe it might be your turn to offer some dialog."

Raising one eyebrow, Paul gave Fox a knowing look. "I wasn't aware interrogation was taking turns. This is interrogation isn't it ... or perhaps your interest is more research instead?"

Fox glared back, recognizing his adversary understood his motive. "Tell me then..." Fox's eyes narrowed defiantly ... were you losing your battle?"

Paul puzzled momentarily over Fox's question, before answering: "I guess you might say I lost."

Before Fox could control it, a broad self-satisfied smile appeared on his face. It has just confessed it was fighting and that's as good as confessing to an aggressive nature, he thought. His eyebrows rose probingly as he looked Paul in the eye. "Is that the reason you don't want to talk about it?"

Paul saw Fox's smug look and softened his manner. Trying to be evasive isn't working either, he confirmed. He remembered another of the many sayings June had used. 'You can catch more bees with honey than you can with vinegar'. "No. That isn't the reason. Actually, I didn't want to say anything because I thought you might not appreciate it."

"Sure," Fox returned with a sly grin, "but I really would like you to tell me anyway."

"Okay," Paul replied. "But remember, I'm telling you because you're insisting." Paul's eyebrows shot up. "Will my cooperation earn me some 'brownie points'?"

Fox glared at his adversary, aware it was also difficult to argue with something that seemed to remember every word you said. "Just tell me," he retorted. "Don't try to justify a response to a simple request."

"I do not consider it a simple request. I consider it a demand, and an invasion of the very basis of my being." Paul returned Fox's glare, and then softened again, repeating his raised eyebrows. "But I will cooperate for some 'points'." He observed the return of Fox's obstinate look. I guess mixing in some humor doesn't seem to be working either, he confirmed. Gathering and reviewing the still vivid memory of the entire dream, in a few brief moments Paul began narrating. "When the dream took physical direction, I could see light through my closed eyelids and knew I was lying somewhere looking up toward something very bright. I assumed it to be a series of lights for the brightness seemed in a line and centered above me. I realized I had been drugged, but my personal reaction was different than with yours. I could barely hear the voices of people asking me questions ... over and over. I concentrated on listening to their voices and identified two men and one woman. I tried opening my eyes for I wished to try reasoning with them, but found myself unable to move. I assumed their drug incapacitated this body in much the same way as yours.

"Though I have no recollection of the subject of any of the questions, I know I kept answering those I could and refused to answer those I could not. The three inquisitors did not seem satisfied with my answers, for like you normally are, their voices continued to become increasingly impatient and angry. I lay there, helpless, while they demanded what I apparently could not give. Finally I could not hear them anymore.

"I cannot guess how much time might have passed before I heard Scott. I struggled against the effects of the drugs and opened my eyes. I could now feel that I was lying on something hard and flat, but I still was unable to move. The bright lights hurt my eyes so I shifted my limited range of vision toward where I heard Scott's voice. As he came to my side and looked down at me, his shadow removed some of the brightness. I could see tears in his eyes as he looked at me and though I regretted seeing he had been captured, I tried to tell him I was glad to see him. Since he started talking while I greeted him, I don't think he understood me. 'Dad,' he said, 'just tell them what they want to know. Don't let them keep doing this to you'."

"Doing what to you?" Fox demanded, his eyes narrowing.

"I don't know," Paul replied quietly. "Perhaps, as with the questions, something was keeping me from remembering." Paul looked at Fox, accusingly. "May I continue? This is not pleasant for me and I would like to finish."

Paul saw Fox's almost imperceptible nod and regained his train of thought. "I tried to tell Scott I couldn't answer them for what they sought was protected by our laws. Still I must not have spoken clearly, for I saw no evidence of him understanding. Then I heard your voice. You told someone to take Scott away. I begged you to let him remain, but I must assume you understood no better than my son, or merely chose to disregard my request. He disappeared from my range of vision and you repeated your earlier threat; you know the one... 'We have other methods of finding out what we want to know'." Paul looked accusingly at Fox again. "When you said that to me yesterday, I could not visualize the reality of what such a threat really meant. In my dreaming human mind, it took on meaning."

Fox's eyes narrowed. "Come on, now! Do you expect me to believe you can remember a dream in such detail?"

"I remember everything this body experiences, including what it dreams ... in detail," Paul returned, his voice now taking on an air of impatience. "Do you want to listen ... or do we take turns?"

Fox's lips pinched together and his eyes narrowed. He took a deep breath, let it go and trying to appear objective, forced a look of artificially induced relaxation. "I'm listening," he replied casually.

Paul gathered his thoughts for another try. "I heard the woman tell you I was awakening. She asked what you wished them to do, to which you replied, rudely, 'Do you want It secured or do you wish to chase It around the room?' With that you left to follow Scott. I could feel the interrogators pulling at something fastened to my wrists and tried to pull my hands away. As they pulled my arms forcefully up over my head, I saw my bruised wrists still secured in your handcuffs. They forced my arms down toward whatever I was lying on and I could no longer pull them away.

"I wanted to see my son and from somewhere I found the strength to turn my head. I saw you and two others dragging him across the room. Scott was fighting, but how could he fight against three? Then I saw a table. Though much longer, it was like one I saw in a veterinarian's office. I assumed it to be the same as the one I occupied." Paul shuddered and took a deep breath. I saw straps attached to the table and you were lifting him onto it. It was then I began to understand what your 'other methods' meant. I yelled at you, 'What you're going to do is beyond the realm of civilized behavior! Please don't hurt my son! He's a child!'"

"I wouldn't do that," Fox interrupted, this time almost in self-defense.

"Wouldn't you?" Paul snapped back. "Though in different ways, you have tried to use my son before to try to get to me. You gave Antonia Wayburn your promise to leave Scott with her in exchange for me. I had to accept your promise because you had my son, but Antonia suspected you would not keep it. She fully understood how one lies and manipulates to get what they want." Paul continued to glare as he continued his accusations. "You also used Scott at a mental hospital to trap me. You may say you wouldn't harm my son, but I don't believe you. I'm sorry Mr. Fox, but I wouldn't put any 'other methods' beyond your moral and ethical values."

"What do you think I am?"

"I have already felt what you are. I felt, you, yesterday as I tumbled down a mountainside; I felt, you, again when my heart stopped beating and my spirit remained locked within a dying body. It was you I felt when I realized my son would be left with no one to care for him. When my body recovered, I felt, you again when I had to face my friends chained to this tree, and again when, you, isolated me. You treat me like a criminal."

"But what you have implied is torture!"

"I have not 'implied' anything at all," Paul returned, sincerely. "I told you what I dreamed. It is you who have called it 'torture'." Paul's eyebrows rose. "What I see, is from my description of a dream, you easily recognized a concept totally alien to me."

"I might do a lot of things," Fox retorted, "but I certainly wouldn't consider torture!"

"Remember, Mr. Fox. I have no way of knowing for sure what you, or your government, might be capable of doing to obtain what you want." Paul paused momentarily, looking Fox in the eye. "What difference does it make anyway? Dreaming of you as our persecutor, instead of some faceless stranger, may be because you have already threatened me with 'other methods' and have told me that for money you promised me to your military. When you fulfill that promise, your government will have all the essentials it needs to do with me as it wishes."

"What do you mean ... essentials?" he questioned.

"At present, two things. You have already indicated you wish my presence here to remain secret. Though a necessity to me in freedom, in captivity it leaves me no options. By not giving me a chance to tell my friends the truth, you supported that goal. No one will have knowledge of my actual existence or incarceration. Likewise no one will be available to speak for me ... or Scott if you find him."

"When we find him," Fox corrected, watching for the Starman's reaction. His face took on a look of deep satisfaction. From the alien's reaction I know it understands the reality of my words, he thought.

Paul, seeing Fox's look of satisfaction, paused momentarily then choosing not to comment, he continued. "Second, you have openly threatened to use force. With secrecy and determination to turn me over to your military, you secure for them the final necessity, opportunity." Paul looked at Fox, awaiting a response, but it became evident from Fox's look that an acknowledgment was unnecessary. "So I dream correctly?"

Observing the Starman's gaze, Fox's look softened. How close this alien's narrative is to the probability of Its future.

Looking for any positive response, Paul watched Fox for a moment longer then sighed. "Now I'll ask again, will you please stop interrupting? I assume your investigation ... or research, or whatever you may feel justifies this invasion of my privacy, can wait until I'm finished providing what you have demanded of me." Paul acknowledged Fox silently accede to his request, and he continued.

"I heard Scott calling out to me for help and I began to struggle against both the drug and the people proceeding to forcefully subdue me. I couldn't stop myself from telling my son I would help him, though logically I knew I could never keep that promise. 'Now are you ready to answer our questions?' I heard the woman ask. Again I replied, 'I cannot' and begged them not to harm Scott. I heard Scott call again. Against the very nature of my own kind, I continued to struggle to free myself while telling him I would help. As I struggled I heard you yell to the interrogators to get me secured and to make sure I could not hurt myself.

"One man was laying a wide strap across my chest, but with my constant struggling, alone he couldn't fasten it, so I fought even harder. He finally gave up trying and instead lay heavily across my chest to hold me down while the other two worked at restraining my arms. They pulled so hard I felt much pain in my wrists. I knew I couldn't win, but I continued to act 'human', by fighting for what I believed important to me.

"The weight on my chest made breathing difficult, but pulling hard with my arms and pushing with my legs I managed to move myself forward on the table. I grabbed for whatever I could. One hand managed to get hold of something ... human. I realized immediately it was some part of the woman, when she shrieked, either in fear or in pain. I held on desperately. My move forward allowed the other man to fasten one wrist tighter to the table, and then he pried my hand free from the woman and I grabbed again for anything. I think my hands found some part of the long white coat she wore for she still seemed unable to leave.

"The man lying on top of me received help from the other and together they fastened the strap across my chest. I lifted myself up and again using my legs, twisted around, trying to prevent them from tightening it, but the strap held. I felt someone grab one of my legs and pull it out straight and they secured it, and then the other. With the indignity a calf must endure in a squeeze chute if you wish to give it medical treatment, I was being totally immobilized.

"I could no longer get free, yet found myself unable to stop trying for I knew Scott would have to suffer for my inability to answer questions. I turned my head again and twisted as much as I could to look at Scott and could just see you strapping him down. 'Please', I yelled, 'don't do this'!" Paul stopped his narrative momentarily and closed his eyes. "He called to me again, but now I knew there was nothing I could do. I couldn't think of anything to say, but..."

Fox, caught up in the drama, frowned when he interrupted this time, "I'm sorry." He saw and interpreted another questioning look. "That's what you said just before you woke up." George Fox saw moisture in the alien's eyes and meeting an accusing look, he suddenly felt compelled to look away.

"Now, Mr. Fox, are you satisfied?" Paul, his composure restored, said. "Are you happy to know I can fear? Until I came to this world, I feared nothing. The danger of termination associated with space exploration, I never questioned. When I left home to serve on my ship it become a part of my very existence. Now, I have a child I care for, and I have learned to fear ... even in sleep."

George Fox looked at Paul with compassion. For a moment he wasn't looking at an alien creature. He was looking at a father who had just fought for his child. From somewhere long ago lost inside, the words came again, "I'm sorry."

Briefly, Paul observed a sincerity in Fox's look and returned it. "We're both aware you're only doing your job," he offered.

Now It's fishing for a mea culpa, Fox thought. I have no reason to apologize for my efforts in apprehending this alien creature. You need to find out what it really is. George Fox, FSA agent, returned. "Forget it, I really don't know why I said that!"

"I was hoping I wouldn't have to forget it," Paul replied. He rolled partially onto his back to look at Fox. "Was it really so difficult to say, just because you're talking to me? If fear is an emotion you desire I feel, please do accept my congratulations for, among my kind, fear is not believed possible."

Fox frowned as he saw this Paul Forrester's very human face framed between outstretched arms. In outward appearance It seems to possess the fears of any human concerned for an offspring and I am sorry. He looked again. George, return to reality! He chastised. Remember, what you're looking at, isn't a man. His jaw set firmly. This human body is possessed by an invading alien being who's presence here could constitute a threat to the entire world. You're not responsible for this creature's problems. "I really have no reason to be sorry," he returned. "Someone may have invited you to come for a visit, but no one invited you to leave your cross-breed," he announced.

"You are correct," Paul offered quietly. "Like you came here yesterday doing a job, many years ago I tried coming here to do likewise. Jenny Hayden helped me return to my job. During that time, in a moment of moving human passion I realized I had given her Scott. Earlier she had told me she couldn't have a child with her husband and in gratitude for her help, I surely shouldn't have offered her my son. Most certainly I should never have returned here to accept responsibility for him when he was troubled. He is only a part of me. He looked Fox in the eye. We have jobs, Mr. Fox, and are we not responsible for any mistakes we make when doing those jobs."

George Fox merely stared back. My, whatever, has just detailed what might have been a very human nightmare; one, I, will very likely fulfill. It says It had a job, and then came back to assume responsibility for the child that resulted from a moment of 'human passion'; something so many fathers forget. Is there truth in what It's telling me? He studied Paul momentarily. I can't give in. There are too many questions we need answered. Getting those answers is still my job. His eyes narrowed into a deep frown and his words were again harsh and demanding. "Tell me, exactly, why you came here?"

"You mean the first time?" Paul replied, adapting quickly to the change of subject. "I already told you we interpreted your space probe's message as an invitation."

Answering to Voyager's scientific package can't be the primary reason for coming to Earth. There has to be more, Fox thought. He became very agitated and his demand reflected his frustration. "First time, second time, third time? How many times, and how many more of you are here for us to identify and round up to save our planet?"

This is becoming increasingly disappointing, Paul thought, for he's defensive again. He heaved another sigh. "You already asked that some time ago. Can't you give consideration to anything other than what you want to believe?"

"I think about it often and I can see no good from your comings and goings, but deceptive infiltration and eventual conquest."

Paul's face contorted into a deep frown at the repeated implication. "So you think we wish to do battle with you over your planet?"

"Yes," Fox shot back with conviction. "That's exactly what I think, and believe me it isn't going to be easy."

Paul studied Fox's determined expression and decided to carry the matter further. He shook his head. "Mr. Fox, do you really believe if we wanted this planet we couldn't just ... take it?"

Fox's eyes narrowed to mere slits and he looked more determined than ever. "I can guarantee you the people will put up one hell of a battle for it."

Paul frowned. "If a need ever arose for such a conflict between our worlds, I don't think you could get many of your, so called, 'United Nations' to agree on a basic strategy for planetary defense. They always seem too busy fighting among themselves over petty matters like the shape of a table or posturing for an advantage in what should be an honest discussion." Paul shook his head slowly. "Even with all your primitive weapons combined, how do you think you could ever effectively resist an inter-galactic civilization desirous of conquest?"

Paul observed Fox's continuing defensive posture. "Mr. Fox, while I have been here I have learned much. I realize on Earth there are instances when you must defend what you believe is right. Just as important as knowing when to show authority or when to defend, is exploring options to avoid confrontation." Paul glanced upward. "From those capable of getting here, you must never assume conflict to be necessary. I would like to say that if, in some misguided belief you feel a need to try defending yourself from what you believe to be an invasion, you will surely extinguish many human lives. In such an all out battle to save your world, I fear you will destroy it yourself." Paul shook his head then smiled broadly. "I think, like my son, you have read and watched too much 'space' literature."

As Fox saw the alien's smile, he noticed the band aid still stuck firmly on Its forehead. He remembered the blood as the woman rolled It from under the tree enough to tend the wound. I'm pretty sure It bleeds human blood, but I'm also certain this isn't what It really is. I must show no sign of weakness for the rest of the people of this Earth. His face reflected confidence and bravery. "So you're sure we can't win such a war?" he said casually. "You think we should just roll over and let you take it? We just might surprise you for I can guarantee you we will fight for our planet. Fight to the last man if need be."

Paul shook his head, took another deep breath and let it go, speaking calmly, "You would certainly experience an unnecessary loss of many lives and I feel, I must repeat what I just said, you will do it yourself. Believe me if we came here with the intention of conquest ... you would lose. Technologically and socially you are still infants. Though I observe you still aim most of your scientific progress at destruction, after being here, even this long, I feel you show promise of a chance to succeed." Paul looked calmly at Fox, attempting to instill trust. "Now that we are finally talking about intentions and I sense in you a growing fear; before we proceed further in this direction, may I ask you something?" Paul saw Fox nod slowly and knowing the man expected a threat, asked simply, "Why should we want this planet?"

The question surprised Fox, but preconceived convictions do not die easily. "Slaves, maybe?"

"What for?" Paul grinned. "With the ability to cross the cosmos, you might expect we have energy resources capable of doing all basic work. We also have opportunities for exploration beyond your imagination."

"Expansion and colonization, and then."

"And displace others already here?" Paul glanced upward. "There are systems out there with planets infinitely more suitable to us than this one; planets with no life forms we could feel free to roam, explore and colonize without opposition. With so many that we could make over into an image of our home, why should we feel it better to dominate others?"

Momentarily Fox felt humbled. He shrugged his shoulders and changed his tone, nonchalantly defending the earth. "Well we think this is a nice place."

"For you, yes, but trying to dominate any aggressive or intelligent life form requires much effort and little benefit. In simple words ... wasted effort."

Fox's eyes narrowed, "you already said you have energy sources available to do all basic work. I assume that might include methods of controlling, so called, intelligent life forms."

"I guess we must," Paul replied, "but we have found if they have enough intelligence, though not always the case, they finally decide to control themselves. Mr. Fox, you're trying too hard to justify your actions by convincing yourself of the reality of something that won't happen, at least not from us. We have already determined you must evolve further to recognize your place in the 'overall' order of things. We cannot provide that direction. You must begin to work together and use your collective brains to make proper choices and 'earn' that place. My observations indicate a beginning, but you still have a long way to go. Actually at this time my world finds very little inviting here."

"Then what?" Fox questioned, his eyes narrowing with determination, "Will we become more inviting?"

"To visit, perhaps, but existing problems here will have to be resolved long before open contact will ever be attempted again. You must make choices and limit your species to provide for the benefit of other living things on this world. Yours is a successful and dominating species and it is displacing too many others."

"To remain successful we have a right and a need, to control our surroundings."

"The ability to see the results of your actions is what separates a truly intelligent species from others. The human mind is a superior and adequately complex unit, one capable of handling great quantities of information. If intelligent, you have a responsibility to use it constructively. Believe me, in the vastness of the cosmos the finding of any life forms, let alone intelligence, is still considered a miracle. Don't throw away your miracle for at the moment your species is the only one with the ability to destroy it all. To give it the respect it requires, you give up no rights other than continuing to act irresponsibly. While trying to be one of you I continue to learn and I offer you these facts for I can see your impact. Whether you listen, or not, is up to you."

Fox's determined look returned. "You've managed to change the subject on me again. Right now I'm not interested in world or cosmic survival problems. I've got a more pressing alien threat to consider. We were talking about your intentions. Let's get back to the subject!"

"I thought I was on the subject," Paul replied. "As I said before, you worry too much about threats that won't materialize."

"Then if you're not here to dictate to us and we're supposed to be growing up and earning our place in your idea of perfection, why are you already here?" Fox smirked. "You see what goes around, comes around."

Paul sighed. "I do not understand why I must keep repeating myself. I have already told you why I'm here, but I will say it again. I came to help the gift of life I left with Jenny Hayden ... my child. The same child she had to desert because of you. It remains that simple."

Fox frowned. "You're trying to tell me you gave up your own highly advanced world to come here to help him?"

"Does that surprise you?"

"I try not to let anything you say, or do, surprise me," Fox returned. "I simply can't believe it."

"The inability to accept the truth continues to be a basic problem with you, and I am sure with many others here. At times I feel encouraged for I have also met many of the human species, who, when confronted with the truth can accept it. These inabilities seem more persistent with people in power than the general population."

For a long moment Fox studied the being before him and a strange expression appeared on his face. "I'll have to think further on all of this."

Even though his situation seemed hopeless, Paul smiled inwardly as he met Fox's gaze. Two heads turned simultaneously at voices then they heard June announce a return to prepare the evening meal. Paul looked back at Fox with a highly controlled demeanor. "Mr. Fox, for my sake and for my son's future, I hope you do consider it very soon."

%%%

June peered around the end of the lean-to and when she saw a nod of acceptance from Fox, walked out again to signal Roy and Kathy to approach. As they walked together the last several feet, Roy said, "I don't care, Hon, I can't leave him lying there like that any longer."

"Just move slowly then," she replied. "Don't spook him."

Roy picked up the ax as he passed the fire pit and walked directly into the lean-to and over to Paul. Fox backed off, raising his weapon.

"Don't be alarmed, Mr. Fox," June quickly advised. "Roy only wants to remove a couple lower limbs so Paul has some more room."

"Move your hands close to you, Paul," Roy said, raising the ax.

"Don't try anything stupid, Mr. Foster," Fox advised.

"It's all right this way, Roy," Paul replied. "Don't take any chances."

"No, Paul, none of this is all right. I know it's against wilderness rules, but if this is the way it has to be, at least you shouldn't have to lay here with tree limbs in your face all the time." With two short, quick cuts, two short bushy limbs fell to the ground. Roy picked them up and took them and the ax back to the fire pit then joined June and Kathy at the pack-boxes.

During dinner preparation, Fox watched Kathy approach Paul and start asking questions again. It was satisfying to note that a simple glare silenced the alien. It isn't volunteering information so It recognizes my authority. I'm sure it's because It doesn't want to get them involved any further. I'll get It out of here if I can continue to control them. I think it's time I test them again, he decided. I'll free the alien enough to feed Itself tonight. I think they'll appreciate the gesture and I'll be able to get a better feeling about their attitudes. Stringing the handcuffs together he tethered Paul to the tree by one wrist. Feigning relaxation of his inward tension, he turned to Roy, making an attempt at conversation. "Lousy weather."

"The Cascade Mountains of the Pacific Northwest," Roy returned flatly.

Fox tried again. "Do you often camp like this?"

"Not often enough."

"Why not?"

"Too much work on the farm," Roy replied succinctly. He stood up and walked off.

Fox watched until Roy disappeared, and then looked at the two women. I think their responding glares to Foster's departure show me how they feel. Forget the conversation.

With dinner almost ready, Kathy chased after Roy and found him moving Monty. "Dad, what do you make of Paul's silence?" she asked.

"It's him," Roy offered, cocking his head toward the lean-to. "Watch him while I try talking to Paul." Seeing Kathy's nod, they returned to the lean-to and Roy approached Paul. "Would you like some coffee?" At Paul's nod he again asked what Fox wanted and Kathy confirmed Roy's observation when Fox interceded. The meal was eaten, together, but in a strained silence.

Fox continued to watch his hosts, noting they just got up and went about the business of cleaning-up with a look of silent resignation. As he re-chained Paul to the tree, his face contorted in disgust as Kathy and June again moved beside his prisoner. He again relaxed when he saw the women were lavishing attention on It. Fuming momentarily, he gathered his self-control and said nothing. Happily, he soon heard simple goodnights exchanged and they departed back to their camp.

Fox thought about what he had learned from his conversation experiment. Everything is going along too well. I am beginning to believe this to be the calm before the storm. Even though I can't be totally sure they aren't acting normal under these very abnormal circumstances, I don't trust any of them. I must remain alert to any challenge to my authority, for three against one isn't very good odds. The only good vibration I got through being together for the meal is I think they respect my weapon. As his adversaries disappeared across the meadow, he softened his look. I'm going to test this alien's attitude again as well. Returning his attention to Paul, he asked, "What kind of power do you use for your ships?"

Paul shook his head at Fox's sudden approach to such a technical subject and decided to further test Fox and government attitudes. "You must understand I cannot provide you technical information. It is forbidden."

Hmm, Fox thought. Pursing his lips and narrowing one eye, he looked back at the alien's calm forbearing. A negative response, as I expected. Questions regarding technology will not be compromised, willingly, he confirmed. Ask something you might expect It to answer, George. He thought momentarily. "Can you tell me how long you've been back?"

Is he actually accepting a 'no' from me? Paul considered. At least this question is something I can answer. "I had just returned when you found us in Seattle."

"Tell me, how did you get back here without being detected? I checked all the available satellite films and radar reports."

"You wouldn't understand the principles involved."

"Try me," Fox offered.

"As I just said a moment ago, I cannot..."

"Okay. Okay, you can't give me any technical information," he countered thoughtfully. His eyes narrowed slightly. In this situation, that doesn't really surprise me. I guess those questions are better asked when It's in the laboratory, anyway, but believe me they will get answers.

Fox thought he heard something behind the lean-to. He got up to check. After looking around, he started back, mumbling, nobody. I guess I'm just a little bit on edge, but it has given me an idea that could solve present and future problems with the alien's friends. He returned to sit in front of Paul. "I have an offer for you," he said with sincerity.

Bewildered, but interested, Paul looked up at him. "An offer of what?"

Fox motioned to the other camp. "From their actions, I'm fairly sure you have told me the truth about them knowing nothing about you. Tell them we have agreed on an arrangement for handling your legal problems and that you have decided to go with me, willingly. I'll..."

"I can't agree to that. It would be a lie," Paul returned succinctly.

"Hear me out," Fox retorted. "In exchange for convincing them with that little lie, I will promise to let them go on their way when we get out of here. In addition, if you give me your word you won't try to run off, I'll let you enjoy some limited freedom, let you mingle and won't give you any more tranquilizer."

Paul returned Fox's look with an air of certainty. "Just as I assumed, you haven't listened to anything I've said."

"I have listened. I guess I just don't understand what you're asking of me."

"I want you to let 'me' go," Paul announced.

Fox's mouth dropped open as he looked back in disbelief. "Are you making a joke?"

"No."

"You're the one who said it yesterday," Fox returned smugly. "You have about as much chance of me doing that as I have of you telling me where to find your son."

Paul looked at him somberly. "Mr. Fox, I realize I am your prey and I concede you are a very dedicated hunter, but you are hunting the wrong game. I have and will harm no one."

Thinking back over the years since 617-W, Fox returned the Starman's look. "I am a patient hunter, but one rapidly losing patience. I have an obligation to my country, and this planet. That means bringing you in for questioning. Even if I could consider your request for a split second, I have worked too hard to catch you. I have dedicated sixteen years of my life to this and been subjected to harassment from skeptics about there being alien life forms present here. Now you're trying to tell me it was all for nothing. You expect me to forget my beliefs, my job and my country with just a few words from you and let you go along your merry way doing, whatever?"

"It's the truth."

"How do I know that? Fox rebuffed. Look, my work has been important and I figure I'm entitled to some recognition for my dedication to finding out the truth."

"You would exchange Scott, and my very existence for what ... a few moments of personal glory?" Paul looked at Fox and grimaced. "We are to be sacrificed just to prove to someone else you were right?"

"It's small reward for all those years," Fox returned.

"Losing all those years is not my fault," Paul replied. "I have not been here for you to try to prove anything. Pursuit of your belief has been your choice. I cannot give back the years you have lost, no more than I can recover the years I have lost with my son," Paul offered compassionately.

Why is he critical of me? Fox thought. "Are you trying to make me feel guilty about doing my job?" he asked probingly, unable to take his eyes off his ultimate captive. I want to look away, he thought, but I can't. It has just accused me of wasting my life. Moments passed and he finally shook his head, breaking the eye contact. "What were we talking about," he muttered. "Oh, yes. Look, I've made a reasonable offer. Take it or leave it."

"From your point of view it might seem reasonable," Paul returned "but I could never agree to such terms."

Surprised at an uncompromising rejection, Fox's brow wrinkled. I guess I expected It to agree to anything that might provide a chance to escape, he thought. He looked directly at Paul. "You said you don't like being treated like a criminal. Making this commitment of cooperation could change that."

Paul's eyebrows rose with dignity. "You're right, I don't like being treated like a criminal, but I must accept it for I owe it to my son to try to remain free. Providing for Scott is my responsibility and one I certainly cannot do as an object of research. If I put myself into your government's hands, I know it will be the end of existence for me, and ultimately for him as well."

Fox frowned as he looked at his prisoner. "At least I have to respect you for your honesty," he offered. "I'm sorry, but we have too many questions needing answering. For that we must have controlled conditions. What I don't understand is, if you do not intend to dominate this planet, why do you fear talking to us?"

"Wouldn't you?" Paul replied decisively. "Apparently you don't remember my first encounter with your government was a craft which forced me to abandon mine."

"You should have announced you were coming to visit. Did you just think we wouldn't try to defend ourselves from what could have been an invasion from anywhere? Your unannounced appearance and over-flight we deemed a threat to the security of this country."

"If I had been allowed to land, I was prepared to reproduce sounds from the information contained in your probe. I even had the invitation with me to verify our acceptance. From the information you provided, I had no reason to believe an announcement to be necessary. If your probe indicated to approach with caution; as with my return here last year, you would never have detected my craft at all. Still, being an unexpected guest does not explain your later actions. When you determined who I was, you wanted to own or destroy me. Since you had no problem following me, my route across the country must have suggested a rendezvous. Why did you deem it necessary to keep me from leaving?"

Fox grimaced. What It's saying is true, he thought. The record was in the craft when Shermin brought 617-W into the Wisconsin facility. Still we didn't do anything wrong. "We figured you were heading for the Arizona Crater, but by that time we had to try to determine if there was to be a future threat," Fox returned.

"When we arrived at the crater to rendezvous with my ship, your final demand was for Jenny Hayden and me to surrender or be annihilated. That would have given you nothing. I feel certain you would have succeeded if not for the ship's timely return."

"Instead of kidnapping the woman and running, you should have turned yourself in to the authorities. With all the facts, perhaps we would have chosen to assist you in getting to the crater."

"Your 'perhaps', I can only interpret as a very vague possibility. Knowing that you have promised to deliver me for research and interrogations only convinces me that my chances of returning to my ship would have been no better if I had come to you, then or now."

Fox thought back. While I was still trying to absorb, cold turkey, what Mark Shermin and those scientific eggheads were trying to tell me about the principles of cloning, they started in on the possibilities of learning from such a being. Without even seeing it, they defended an intelligence much in advance of ours coming to provide help. I still can't quite conceive of them wanting to provide anything but trouble. Of course scientists always daydream about things coming easy.

He blinked several times and frowned. Still, I can remember how I felt when Shermin showed me the craft. I was awed by what I saw. The interior contained no switches or obvious systems to use for guidance and there didn't appear to be anything to support an occupant. Then Shermin pointed out projections extending from one area into the interior. Even I could see they were of such crystalline complexity Shermin didn't have to convince me we were looking at something not of this Earth. Even after all these years of technological progress into crystals and their structure, it still baffles all of our scientists with the security clearance necessary to take a look, about how it operates.

Shermin said he hit a place on the floor and a panel opened revealing a metallic box. In the box were seven small round depressions. No one wanted to even venture a guess about whether the box was functional as it was, or whether seven individual, 'something's', had been removed from it. The entire craft was definitely something to behold. Fox looked at his alien creature again. What I'm looking at and have been questioning is definitely intelligent. His brow wrinkled with a momentary consideration. This creature has traveled through space; something we aspire to do someday. He heard his prisoner continuing and his vision ended as quickly as it had come.

"I came with authority to make initial contact only. Your message showed visual harmony and good will from a 'United Nations of Planet Earth' seeking contact. If for any reason I deemed contact unadvisable, I was to look around and form opinions of your potential for progress."

"Look around at what, is what we wanted to ask you."

"We had no intention of answering questions and any assumption on your part and at your discretion, of a right to use me for research and interrogation is not asking," Paul confirmed gracefully.

"Would providing some honest answers to our questions be so bad?"

"Not bad, but out of the question," Paul replied calmly.

"You told me about your dream. Did it violate your position at all?"

"What I dream is a part of this world. It is my human existence drawing me pictures and sometimes expressing my deepest apprehensions. Besides, you know the extent of what I dream has no bearing on what your government will ultimately want from me. I see no indication they would be inclined toward believing honest answers, or accepting a 'no' any more than you. Presently you are the representative of your government." Paul looked at Fox with a pride of self. "You call it a representative democracy. I read in one of Scott's schoolbooks that everybody living in it is endowed with 'certain inalienable rights'. I am alive and living here and whether you wish to acknowledge it, or not, I am a 'somebody'."

"Rights are granted to its citizens," Fox rebutted without hesitation.

"Paul Forrester is a citizen and I look, see, hear and feel, just as he does."

"He did!" Fox returned without hesitation. "But you're not Paul Forrester."

"Genetically I am, lacking only his memories," Paul offered.

"That's another thing we need to ask you about," Fox retorted. "We consider stealing a body a crime in this country."

"When I found him, he no longer had a need for anything earthly." Paul motioned to himself with a gesture of his head. "I took nothing more than the basic structure of his blood from a sample no longer contained within his body. If you consider it stolen, the amount was far less than what one of your hospitals took from me without permission." Paul's eyes opened wide. "No one seemed to consider their stealing a crime."

Fox's eyes narrowed questioningly. "Then you're not using his body?"

"No," Paul answered decisively. "His body remains up on the mountain."

"That confirms what our scientists originally suspected. You used some kind of cloning process." Fox looked Paul over carefully then retreated momentarily within his thoughts. I am sure killing the body can stamp out their infection, but if they can continue cloning new ones from a small biological sample, how can we ever identify them? Suddenly his eyes lit up. "Ah, ha!" he exclaimed. "The cloning process would duplicate the entire organism, except memory and ... except ..." A broad smile spread across his face. "Now I know how we can find the rest of you."

"The rest of me," Paul puzzled.

"How we can identify and ferret out the rest of your kind here on Earth," Fox shot back. He reached over and pulled the sleeping bag down and vigorously began pulling at Paul's shirt.

Paul responded to Fox's probing by trying to move away, but being held firmly, all he could do was writhe at the invasion. Finally, still squirming, he looked at Fox in dismay, "What are you doing?"

"A better question for me to ask is why are you resisting?" Fox returned with satisfaction.

"Your hands are cold," Paul announced.

"Just lay still," Fox demanded. "I'll have my theory confirmed momentarily!"

"What theory?" Paul grimaced, squirming evasively.

Fox continued examining his distressed victim. Suddenly he pulled back and his eyes got wide at finding what he felt sure he would not. "My God!" he stammered, "you even duplicated the navel!"

Paul's defensive reaction to Fox's attack of cold hands ceased. "Not duplicated he confessed. That I consciously created." He smiled. "Though I had observed this non-genetic scarring in the material included with your probe, when I reproduced Scott Hayden's body I overlooked it. Jenny Hayden, observing the whole of me, noticed my omission and knew right away I was not really her husband. She told me about it on the way to the rendezvous at the crater and I physically included one as a part of this body."

Fox looked completely bewildered. "How do you duplicate a completely mature body?"

"As you said when I asked you about a 'Simon Lagree' and American Literature," Paul returned trippingly, "I don't want to get into this with you. It is of my world and there is no need for you to know. Besides, you wouldn't understand the theory or implementation of the process."

"Look," Fox returned, sincerely. "Since your first escapade here I have studied the cloning theories. You might as well tell me now, because sooner or later you're going to tell us anyway. The government does have ways of finding out, you know, and they'll certainly be easier on you if you cooperate.

"Are you referring to 'other methods' again?" Paul asked, shrugging his shoulders and raising his eyebrows. "You see ...to you 'no' is unacceptable. You feel your desire to know supersedes all my rights of privacy."

"We don't want to hurt you. We only want information about your intentions."

"You have hurt me," Paul replied. "I have learned here that hurt is not only the result of physical injury. To me your accusations are hurtful."

"Then talk to us!" Fox demanded, not giving an inch.

"I am talking to you, but either I don't know how to say things clearly enough, or you're not a good listener," Paul returned with dismay. "All you want to talk about are things I may not discuss. I know after talking to you, my assurances will not be all you will demand of me. I also know you will deprive me of freedom. The picture you have just describe of my future in your government's control, holds little promise that my life can continue."

"You'll never know if you don't try. Perhaps the decision will be in your favor," Fox offered.

"That would be highly unlikely since you are the government official in charge and they will probably listen to you. You corrupt everything I say into something threatening. You are afraid I will tell my friends the truth, so you send them away. Now, you try to bargain with me for their freedom to retain a secrecy that leaves me no options at all. Believe me, I do not desire everyone know who I am any more than you do. Disclosure would give Scott and me no peace either."

"There will be no peace until you talk to us!" Fox returned with undeniable certainty. "When we know something about what we're dealing with, it might not be necessary to hold you any longer."

"Meanwhile, you will be free to attempt to invade the very essence of my being," Paul announced with almost an air of belligerence. "Finally, pride will make it impossible for you to maintain secrecy. When you announce my presence to the world it will be too late, for common knowledge of my existence will not enable me to live here." He paused for a long moment. "Enough of this, for I know what will happen when that time comes. What I would like to talk about is possible alternatives. In the newspapers I read of a new United States policy toward aliens. I understand you have laws that grant to those not legally in this country a way to become citizens. Would things be better if I register as in immigrant?"

Unable to believe the question, Fox looked at Paul and his eyes rolled. For a long moment he tried to come up with an appropriate answer, he then frowned. "I don't exactly think you are what that particular change in United State's policy had in mind."

Paul's look was calm and calculated. "…Because to you I seem more alien than they?"

"Yes, I would say you are definitely more alien," Fox returned.

Paul's eyebrows rose suddenly. "You can see it?"

Fox eyed him. "Perhaps not," he replied, conceding. "But I know it."

"My friends don't know and they think I'm all right." Paul offered in rebuttal.

"I'm glad they don't know," Fox returned with satisfaction. "It keeps things simpler."

"It is simpler to lock me away some place," Paul said, his eyebrows rising. He could see Fox's answer without words, and continued. "Would it be all right if you didn't know?"

"I do know, and no, it still would not be all right," Fox snapped.

Paul's eyes opened even wider. "Do you have any special laws dealing with those more alien?"

Fox smiled with confidence. "I really don't know, but I don't think any of our laws apply in your case."

Paul's mouth contorted in contemplation before replying. "So because I do not fit into any acceptable 'category'; in your democracy where life, liberty and due process are guaranteed, I am to be denied all rights?"

"I think that just might be the case," Fox returned.

Paul looked sadly at Fox. "And Scott? What about his rights? His mother was a citizen and he was born here. Can all his rights be denied because of me?"

"That is a question that will have to be resolved at a much higher government level," Fox returned, evadingly. "Right now, I think it's my turn to lead this conversation. This is what I think. You're running because you're afraid of having to answer some serious questioning. That worries me and the government."

Paul returned Fox's look with one of certainty. "You are only partially correct, Mr. Fox. Yes, I fear your government's questions as I would fear those of any government. I do not fear talking to them as I do not fear talking to you about things I can." Paul looked at, and then rattled and pulled against the restraining handcuffs before looking back. "But I cannot, and will not talk to them like this."

"Very soon you're not going to have much choice," Fox returned confidently.

"Again, you are wrong, but that is something else I don't want to get into with you. I would like to say much of what I fear is not for me for I chose to return here and must accept the consequences of that choice." Paul took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "I fear for Scott. He is a citizen of this country by the process of normal birth and he has committed no crime. As a child he could not choose his father, but as a citizen he should be entitled to choose where he is, and what he does with his time of being."

"That all sounds grand and glorious," Fox returned, "but my job is still to bring you in; find out what you're up to and what kind of forces we're dealing with I am afraid Scott is too much a part of it."

"If you search for truth," Paul rattled the handcuffs again and looked questioningly at Fox, "then why are you doing this?"

"It's the job assigned to me."

"And that job is to bring me, and my son, into a laboratory for research and interrogation, even though I have done nothing except try to remain free as my world requires. I cannot understand why you choose to treat me like I am a criminal."

Fox set his chin firmly, evidencing an unquestioning conviction. "Because I don't trust you, that's why."

"Mr. Fox, I have learned that you possess little ability to trust. It is a general shortcoming on this world." Fox did not respond and for a moment Paul continued to study him, trying to figure a way of getting through. He finally extended his shackled hands up as far as he could toward the man. "Let me propose another approach. Hand me your parcel so I may get something out of it. Then I want you to take my hands in yours and look into my eyes for I need to determine if I can trust you. If you can allow your mind to clear, you may feel and see what I am." When Fox moved back Paul looked him in the eye. "Don't be afraid. I will not harm you."

As their eyes met George Fox glanced back trying to avoid the growing uneasiness he now felt. "Stop looking at me like that!" he said harshly.

"How can I look at you, without looking at you?" Paul questioned.

"I don't think I want to play this game," Fox retorted.

Paul could see only growing fear and spoke with a deepening sadness. "You can kill me with your drugs and chain me like a beast. You plan to take me from my friends like a criminal without explanation. You will deliver this body for research and feel sure your military will attempt to get what they want from me; but you can't take my hand in an attempt toward establishing understanding? Are you that afraid of me?"

Fox replied, desperately trying to sound convincing, "I'm not afraid of you at all," he snapped back giving the Starman only a fleeting glance.

Paul looked at him momentarily. "Mr. Fox, we both know better than that, don't we?" He waited, but received no response. "If you're not afraid, then look at me." Fox looked, but avoided eye contact. "Look at me, here," Paul demanded, motioning with one finger toward his eyes. "Can you bring yourself to try that much?" Fox turned away from the serene and probing gaze. Paul continued looking at the man. Finally giving up, he turned back toward his tree.

It sees I lack confidence, Fox thought and he turned defiant. "If you want me to trust you, why play these silly games?"

"I am not offering you a silly game. I am offering you a method of dealing with your petty fears."

"Why don't you just show me what you really are!" Fox retorted.

"I've tried!" Paul replied emphatically, looking at the man again. "You can't see if you won't look."

"Just more rules from home?"

"No," Paul returned with dignity, "I have already offered you a way toward understanding. All I conclude is you are not ready."

"Are you really that frightening?"

"Not if you have overcome prejudice toward one who appears or believes differently than you. I have chosen to show others and they have not been frightened. You must learn to accept somebody for their actions not on how you believe they should act. If they respond in a civilized manner, the form in which they appear before you is irrelevant. When you develop enough confidence to take my hand, look into my eyes and clear your mind of prejudice; you will be ready to know what I am.

Right now, I can only trust that by willingly, or unwillingly, going with you, my son and I will disappear into some secret facility and it will not be very long before you finish what you almost did yesterday on a mountainside." Remembering Dale Taylor's stories about the space program, Starman added, "Perhaps as with my prior visit, both Scott and I will become additional rumors spreading among your scientists."

"What rumors?"

Paul's eyes opened wide. "I understand I am a frozen specimen at one of your military bases."

Fox looked alarmed and eyed Paul suspiciously. "How do you know that?"

"What difference does it make?"

Fox's eyes narrowed as he returned Paul's look. "You did tap into the government computer network while you worked over in Wenatchee! I know you were at the Sheriff's office working on their system. How did you get the codes for obtaining such top secret information?"

"In the Sheriff's office in Wenatchee all I did was repair some crude computer hardware," Starman returned succinctly. "Now, I will tell you, I know and care nothing about what you wish to remain secret. Of course, I highly suspect you will not believe that either. In any case, does it really matter how I found out about the rumor, particularly since we both know it isn't true?"

"I guess not," Fox replied, heaving a heavy conceding sigh. "The whole landing was pretty hard to keep secret from the start. Unthinking, even I said something to the wrong person and the reporters quoted me in print. It was a major embarrassment. I had to leave my position as head of National Security and the government officially denied your appearance completely. Sometimes I believe they created this FSA job just to keep me searching."

He took another deep breath. "Nothing stopped the rumors though. I guess too many people saw you carry the Hayden woman out of the tanker fire in Colorado and even with a massive debriefing project there were just too many soldiers at the crater when your ship came in to get you. Information sifted down from one department to another of having recovered a craft and it was only a matter of time before the 'body' had to be added. Over the years it's developed into almost a legend at NASA."

"It is interesting how legends develop," Paul returned. "But now it is 'you' who have changed the subject. Let us get back to your request that I agree to go with you." Paul heaved a sigh. "After talking to you, I am sure in your care all 'human' rights will be denied me. Since your compromise stipulates I am to remain a secret it's obvious my incarceration will be the same unless someone deems disclosure as valuable to your government. Until then, I will be totally vulnerable. No matter what you decide, without freedom my world decrees I not be with you for very long. Now, as in my dream, I further anticipate ... no, I believe you will attempt to use my love for Scott to try to get what you want."

"I understand what you're trying to say," Fox returned, still trying to solve his problem with the alien's friends. "In the spirit of further compromise, I'll remain with you during all procedures."

"Why, so you can watch the research first hand? I can tell you now, I bleed, I feel ... and shortly I will die."

Fox felt a twang of conscience as he studied the alien's bruised face. It's strange, he thought, I don't think I really paid much attention to the extent of the injuries It received. I know the bandage is covering a bad cut on the forehead. I saw the blood and scratches on Its face and I think the right eye is turning black from colliding with the tree. I have to wonder how many other injuries must have occurred when It tumbled down the mountain? According to Its companions, I actually killed It.

"Earlier you said now that you have me, I belong to you," Paul offered with an air of indignation. "I repeat. I can belong to no one."

"That depends on your point of view," Fox replied defensively with a self-satisfied grin.

"The only point of view that really counts is mine," the Starman stated. Though his words were meant to challenge Fox, Paul's look remained serene. "Mr. Fox, I want to restate my position. My world enjoys the freedom of the stars and even if I could live for Scott, which I cannot, I can never live in captivity."

"You have to realize things won't be totally in my hands."

"They are now," Paul returned, quietly offering his hand again. Seeing no sign of acceptance, he finally heaved a sigh. "Even if the final decision was yours, your offer does not provide me any particular peace of mind. I must repeat; I can never give them what I suspect they will want to know."

"Look," Fox replied with an air of confidence, "all I'm trying to do is make a personal effort to get your cooperation and save your earthly friends further problems, it's the best I can do. If you're smart, you'll take it. Then I can tell them you are willingly agreeing to cooperate."

Paul sighed, momentarily closing his eyes. "I don't know how you can make such a determination. I don't believe you have accepted anything I've told you. You asked me what I was teaching your children. I told you I was encouraging their interest in science and you accused me of training them to harm you. I do honest labor repairing a computer system and you accuse me of infiltrating your secret computer network. I repair an injured man's leg and you say I have harmed him and coerced both him and his grandson. Why ask when you already have all the answers? You see, Mr. Fox, while I have been here I continue to learn. I have learned from you that I cannot trust some people."

Paul looked Fox in the eye again and his face reflected his skepticism. "During interrogation I will have to refuse to answer many questions. I am sure my 'no' will not be deemed acceptable leaving no way toward the furtherance of trust. You are part of your government and I must suspect they will trust no more than you. You see the ability to accept the truth must begin with you and must begin here, and now. For now, you must do what you feel you must, and I must do likewise. Our reasons for our actions and our ultimate goals are just very different."

Fox watched the alien turn away again. There is a final rejection, he thought. I don't think another chance at conversation will be possible unless I can do this hand and eye thing. Without a word, he crawled behind Paul and silently secured the sleeping bag over him.

For a short while Paul returned to contemplation of any possibility of escape. Seeing little hope with Fox's determination to hold him his thoughts returned to the unemotional simplicity of his own world where truth and trust remained the rule rather than the exception for some time of peace.

With the afternoon waning, the evening meal came and went. As the evening approached the temperature began to cool rapidly. Fox finally crawled under the sleeping bag before the chilling of the night took hold. For a very short while peace reigned until Paul felt another biological calling. He rolled as far as he could toward the agent. "Mr. Fox," he called. Hearing no reply he repeated his plea. "Mr. Fox, I have to go out." He was more than surprised when it seemed his movements and request must have startled Fox for he saw the man suddenly sit bolt upright. Fox's eyes were wide and Paul saw him draw in a deep breath of air and hold it.

Oh my God, Fox thought as he recognized his surroundings, I fell asleep. His head snapped toward his prisoner and he saw him looking his direction. It's still secured to the tree so I don't seem in eminent danger from the alien. He glanced out of the lean-to searching for any other unwelcome visitors who might be about. Confirming there was no one else around he finally let out his deep breath. Since talking to the alien and finding It unable to free Itself, I've become more relaxed with the sleeping arrangement. Did I fall asleep as soon as I got warm? I wonder how long I've been sleeping; a second, a minute ... an hour? I'll probably never know. It was careless, and carelessness I must avoid if I'm going to succeed in getting my prisoner out of here.

Paul continued looking at Fox. Even in the rapidly disappearing light, I saw surprise, fear then relief appearing and disappearing from his face. I must assume he fell asleep. I should try to relax him. "I need to go out," he repeated again. Without a word Fox acceded to his request.

Though still shaking inside as he waited for Paul, Fox considered his position again. I haven't heard or seen the others bumping around at all today. Maybe I've convinced them I'm not going to give them a chance to get It away from me, alive. Still I must be careful not to let my guard down again. I couldn't get any of them to say they would not interfere, so a threat from that direction is still a distinct possibility. I also know if the alien gets a chance, It is going to run because It doesn't trust me. Returning to the lean-to Fox rearranged the sleeping quarters while Paul completed his pre-bed rituals. Congratulating himself Fox secured his prisoner for the night. We're sleeping on the other side of the tree, this time, he thought. In this way I'll have adequate warning if they do attempt to free It during the night. I have no way of knowing how much anger they're holding inside or if they would actually harm me, but I must not take any chances. If left with no alternative, I must have time to kill this creature before it escapes again. That much I do owe the world. He moved behind Paul with his leather bag and drew the drug from the vial.

As Fox started to unbutton his shirt, Paul turned and caught Fox's eye. "Please don't do that again," he begged. "It is really very unpleasant to me.

Fox had to return the look and their eyes met. Feeling somewhat guilty, he hesitated. "I don't have to do this, you know," he offered. "Promise me you won't escape, and...?" He didn't finish the question.

"I can't do that," Paul repeated solemnly. Hoping Fox might reconsider, Paul looked him right in the eye.

Fox swabbing the site with alcohol. "So be it." He looked directly at Paul, paused a moment then gave the injection. Turning quickly away he emptied the syringe. How will I ever forget that piercing look? he thought.

Moments passed. As the Starman felt the familiar flush he tensed with the knowledge of what was to come. He closed his eyes as sensation began disappearing. Mr. Fox, your drug excites my real self, and with no activity going on around me, under its influence I have no delineation of form. The feeling is terrible. It's like being alone in space with no frame of reference ... no guiding stars ... in total darkness. I wouldn't be so alone if I could keep the eyes open, even looking out into the darkness, but I cannot take the chance of you seeing what my friends did. Without understanding, you would tell your scientists and they would have something else for their research. Why can't I convince you to believe me? How can you be so certain yours is the only way?"

Fox saw the alien body stiffen. I wonder what It does feel, he thought, almost sympathetically. He continued to watch. Thank goodness, the eyes are closed. It will not be conscious enough to look at me when it's time for the next injection. Soon the tension released and the body went limp. I wonder what an alien being would consider very unpleasant.

This is going to be another night of staying awake watching for trouble, Fox lamented. A moment later he heard it beginning to rain and soon the rain turned into another downpour. The long night continued. It's much colder, Fox confirmed a little while later. The pilot's forecast was correct. I have the alien's extra clothes on under my suit, but I still feel cold. I wish I had that hat the alien was wearing out on the mountain. I'm pulling the sleeping bag up over my head even though I won't be able to watch. Momentarily he sighed with satisfaction. Covering my head provides an almost instant sensation of warmth.

An unusually chilling breeze found an opening under his side of the sleeping bag. I must get up, he thought and he quit the warmth of the shared protective covering. He pulled the cover over Paul's head, leaving a small, unrestricted breathing hole. "Why am I doing this?" he mumbled under his breath. "Why am I being so considerate now? Is it because you indicated those people treat animals better than I've been treating ... whatever you are. What am I feeling? Guilty? Why should I feel guilty?" He checked the handcuffs then made a special effort to tuck the sleeping bag securely around the alien's hands. "I don't think I'm really sure." He looked pensively at the silent body and continued his mumbling, "Maybe it's because of what we talked about, but I'm not really convinced our exchange isn't part of a deception to make me question my resolve to bring you in. Above all other considerations I have to acknowledge, that tranquilized, you're totally dependent upon me."

He returned to his side of the sleeping bag. "This is nonsense, George," he chastised abruptly. "No matter what Its been trying to feed you while you've been together, the threat It represents is real. We must have the opportunity to interrogate It about their intentions before making any decisions. We need to find out how many there are before we can determine a proper course of action. Perhaps Wade will decide it's safe to let them go." Drawing a deep breath, he slowly let it out and shook his head. "You know better than that, George. It is too dangerous to allow such highly intelligent beings roam freely among the population."

Raising his head Fox looked toward his tranquilized charge and his face wrinkled in disgust. "The look you gave me when I gave the injection was like you were looking right through me. Stop it, George," he scolded. "Just don't look the next time. Just do what you have to and don't think of anything except a safety of your planet. You know what you have lying beside you isn't a man. It's a..." He grimaced. "I still have no idea of what you are. Why wouldn't you just show me instead of trying to bury me in all your rhetoric?"

He rolled away to separate himself and under the pretense of closing a minor draft, pulled the blanket further down between them. "Don't let It get under your skin," he mumbled. "Think of anything else." His thoughts raced forward to the end of the trail. "By tomorrow you'll be enjoying a nice soft bed. Yes ... and a hot bath, shave and clean clothes for starters. I'll really be happy when Wade's team takes over. My obligation will be fulfilled. There's still enough time to get my life organized like a normal human being. First, I think I'll take a vacation.

"Hmm," he mused. "Maybe I'll take that trip to Ireland to find my roots. When that's over there will be another assignment, I hope this time one that will let me take more time off." Glancing over his shoulder toward his prisoner, he chuckled softly. "Now they'll have proof of what I've been trying to tell them. Maybe I'll be able to get my old job at National Security back."

"Talk, talk; roll, roll; and stay awake," Fox told himself as he found himself facing his prisoner's back again. "Tomorrow I'll have you out of here and on your way to the UFO Center. It's going to be tougher than I planned. A helicopter ride would have been so simple, but I'm tough and I will prevail. Since you wouldn't take me up on my offer to remain for the interrogation, I'll be free to go home and forget all of this." He felt above his head for the comforting shape of his service piece. "All I have to do is stay alert until morning."

Another half hour passed amid a babble of wakeful trivia. "At least I can talk to you and expect no back talk. You know, you're lucky. At least you're getting some sleep." He wrinkled his nose and his face contorted as one corner of his mouth rose. "Wait! You're probably listening? You said the tranquilizer doesn't keep you from hearing." He glared at Paul's back. "... I don't care if you are listening?" His face contorted again. "The tranquilizer still doesn't explain how you could hear while you weren't breathing."

His words ran out again. He poked Paul in the back. "Do you hear me now? The woman said you had no pulse or heartbeat for almost an hour. What kind of thing are you that you could continue to live for that long with no side-affects?" He grimaced. He reached out and poking Paul again, announced almost belligerently: "You see, I'm not afraid to touch you." Fox paused momentarily. "What am I waiting for ... an answer?" Angry with himself, he rolled over and for a while silence reigned.

The Starman continued to listen with interest. Even though I cannot always understand what he is saying, Fox's continual mutterings make me feel less alone. He must be having difficulty staying awake or he wouldn't be doing so much talking to himself. He didn't do that last night. It's interesting. He's directing his conversation to me, even though he knows I cannot answer. He's arguing with himself and beginning to think. Perhaps what we have shared will allow him to reconsider his position. If I see any signs that a more candid conversation might convince him to let me go, I will try when the next opportunity arises.

In my present situation, I don't think that possibility exists because he seems unable to accept what I tell him. That still leaves escape my only option. He says he will kill me first. With his concern over more of us being here, I wonder if he would. I wonder if Roy, June and Kathy have something in mind. If they do they might likewise get hurt or into a lot of trouble as well. I don't want that either. I hope I haven't done that to those we've encountered in our travels. Still I have to think about Scott if a chance to escape comes along.

Rolling over and shaking his head, Fox puzzled over still unanswered questions and continued his monologue. "Why didn't you just explain how you made the body? After fifteen years of study I do understand the basic cloning concept. How do you do it and why try to keep it a secret? We'll find out sooner or later from the lab work. You said you used the basic structure of blood. Shermin thought it was a sample of Scott Hayden's the first time. How long does it take and how can you get the replication so perfect?"

Fox remained secure in the warmth of the shared covering waiting to give the next injection. "With you sedated and secured to the tree, it's easier to give the injections in your forearm. That way I don't have to partially undress you each time. I do have to keep track of the time though, but getting up every forty- five minutes appears to be adequate." He turned on the flashlight and looked at his watch. "Still another fifteen minutes," he noted. The flashlight dimmed noticeably and he shook it vigorously. "My luck, the batteries are giving out. They must be carrying extra batteries. I assume they're in the camping gear stacked on the other side of the shelter, but finding them is going to mean an extended trip out in the cold. If they don't have extras, I'm going to be wearing these out further. I'm comfortable now and I really don't want to get out. I'll look for them when I have to get up."

He waited for some time checked again. "Just a few more minutes. I'm really dreading this and it's only the third time." Fox's eyes narrowed as he tried to penetrate the darkness. "I think I heard something. I'd better stop this chattering." He shined the flashlight out into the darkness. "Nothing, but I better keep my head out for a while to watch for intruders." His eyes narrowed, reflectively as he glanced at his charge. "Every time I've seen It awakening, the first reaction seems to be irregular breathing; then the twitching starts. Why should I get up until I know the drug is wearing off? I think I'll wait." Hearing nothing further, in a little while he crawled completely under the covers.

Fox is quiet, leaving me nothing to concentrate on, the Starman confirmed. In a world of isolation, I'm so lonely.

As Fox's head met the ground it lifted again and he looked toward his prisoner. It's quivering, he confirmed. I guess I missed the irregular breathing while I was looking for intruders. This quivering is so obvious it would be hard to miss. I think it must be time to give the next injection.

I believe I felt sensation returning, the Starman thought. Now it's gone again. Fox must have given me another injection. This feeling of isolation is terrible."

His duty done, Fox wrapped the sleeping bag over the Paul's hands again. Returning to his place he pulled the cover back over his head. Relaxed again, he returned to his wakeful mumbling. "The next time I get up, I'll have to remember to pull the cover back over my sleeping spot to preserve some of the heat until I get back. I do have to agree, the pilot was right; it's colder than it was last night. With the bag over my head I'll be warm and comfortable in a few minutes. Being observant has its rewards and not having to watch the time will save the batteries and a long time out in the cold looking for the extras."

Fox is back to mumbling, Starman thought. I never thought I'd enjoy the sound of his voice, but hearing any voice gives me the companionship I desperately need right now.

So a second long night of forced wakefulness continued. Fox continuously searched his limited world for ways to pass time. Beside sporadic ramblings with himself and his charge's silent form, he regularly began listening to the rain on the tarp. "Staying awake takes all my concentration," he confirmed. "I don't like this rain, but it is something on which to focus. I can concentrate on the staccato sound of large drops falling onto one corner of the tarp from the branches of the trees up above. I have created a game out of the sound. I compare the irregular beat of the large collected water droplets hitting the tarp to songs I know. It's a challenge to hum along when I get something familiar going, and then to try to make them complete the rest. When I get tired of that game, I can listen to the steady rhythm of the rain on the other side of the roof. How can it rain so hard for so long?"

After another brief period of silence, Fox began another period of babble. "At least when I'm not listening or arranging, I can carry on an intelligent conversation, even if it has to be a dual monologue. I'm glad these people have decided to leave tomorrow, but riding a horse in this continuing downpour I feel sure will be unpleasant. Just thinking about tomorrow gives me the shivers. George, you're warm right now. Everything will work out okay. Just take it one day at a time. I'm sure going to grab this blanket for myself when we leave here." The time slowly passed.

"Damn, there goes the heavy breathing again," Fox announced sharply and with obvious annoyance. "The twitching will follow. I have to get up again to give another injection." He heaved a sigh. "What a bummer it is to have to keep getting out in the cold." There was a long silence. "Why should I get out? Dummy, you can crawl over and stay under the cover." He did the job and returned to his place. "That was much better." His monologue continued.

After another extended time of listening intently for heavy breathing, Fox stuck his head out from under the sleeping blanket. "It still isn't getting light. I guess I'll go back to musical tunes on the roof. He adjusted his hearing to another round of diversion, but heard only silence. "Hey, I think it has stopped raining. This is great. Maybe the sun will be out in the morning and I'll get a chance to dry out." Happier, he continued to search his repertoire for more subjects he might review. The second seemingly endless night continued.

End Part 2