Involve (Lost Fagare Ship Book 3) Read online

  More jostling in the crowd interrupted his thoughts. Shouts and grunts marked some impatient reporter's progress towards the front. Already in a foul mood, Jim steeled himself to give the jerk a lesson on manners. He opened his mouth but snapped it back shut when he recognized the intruder.

  Lieutenant Long wore the same baggy tan slacks and rumpled brown vest as yesterday, as if his entire knowledge of reporters came from watching campy newsroom comedies. Instead of the rifle disguised as a camera, this time he carried a single microphone.

  “There's been a rumor,” Long spoke loud enough for most of the crowd to hear him, “that there was never a real ship and this entire affair has been staged to create publicity for your failing business.”

  A murmur rippled through the crowd. “I-,” Jim said, but was overwhelmed by the volume of the spectators. He held the bullhorn back up to his mouth. “We did no such thing.”

  The crowd buzzed further. Allyssa stood up straighter. “Is that all you have to say? That's a pretty serious accusation. There could be a lot of trouble for you if the world discovers it was staged.”

  “As much trouble as trespassing on private property and spying on people in their sleep?” Jim shot back.

  She shrank under the implied threat, but Long's words seemed to have emboldened hecklers. “It didn't even look like a real spaceship,” somebody yelled. “It was probably made out of plywood over a small airplane.”

  Jim wanted to ask how the heckler knew what an alien star ship looked like, but decided to point out the more practical issue. “Plane won't fly if you put it in a box.”

  Long turned to the crowd, no longer even pretending that he was there for Jim and his crew. “My producer has obtained exclusive footage of how they did it. I'm sure he'll share it will all of you.”

  Jim didn't bother to respond. Jenkins no doubt had excellent resources to fake a radio. He sensed that they'd already lost the crowd.

  Melissa appeared at his side, pushing the door open further with her body. “I guess that trip to New York is out of the picture now.”

  He put his hand on her shoulder, “I'm sorry. When the money is better, I'll take you. Maybe it will be a wedding present to you and Bobby.”

  “I think we're back to being broke, dad.”

  A line started forming towards the cars and busses parked on Devin's property. A cloud of dust hung in the air from their trampling of the rough Earth. A smaller knot of people surrounded Long, eating up his lies about them and no doubt providing contact information for his tape.

  “We'll make do. We always do.”

  Jim sat down in the kitchenette of his RV in front of a clear plastic bowl filled with steaming ramen. It wasn't much of a breakfast, but it would have to do. He glanced up at the calendar. Today made the third day of eating nothing but the cheap soup packets. He was sick of it, but would continue eating it as long as it took to save up the money to buy the plane tickets he'd promised Melissa. Mario had promised to still pay them if they finished the dig this week, but the bonus money that Jim had counted on was long gone by now.

  A series of chirps broke him out of his reverie. He reached for his phone before realizing that it wasn't his ringtone. Did Chris or Bobby leave their phone here last night? It sounded again, three electronic beeps, rising then falling. It sounded like it was coming from the kitchen, but the counter was bare. He pulled open one drawer then another. He yanked out the caddy holding his utensils and pressed his hand against the back still shrouded in shadow. The next drawer was his junk drawer. He slammed handfuls of fast food napkins onto the vinyl counter. A spool of baling wire fell to the floor and he kicked it out of the way before giving up on the drawer and tackling the cabinet of pots underneath.

  “It's got to be here somewhere,” he mumbled.

  “What's got to be here, dad?” Jim looked up in time to Mellissa and Bobby enter the RV. “What's up with this mess?”

  The chirps sounded again. “Bobby, you leave your phone behind?” Jim asked before ducking back inside the cabinet and yanking out his spaghetti pot. Hmm, pasta isn't much more expensive than soup. Maybe I can mix it up a little.

  “No.” Bobby pulled out his Samsung in its bulky protective case. “Mine's right here.”

  Jim dropped the pot. It rolled away from him as the thin metal vibrated, the sound echoing throughout the small space. “Whoever's it is, I'm going to find it.”

  Melissa and Bobby looked at each other. Melissa shrugged. “I'll take the end. Bobby will look under the sink.”

  The chirping stopped, but Jim continued looking. When Chris arrived his characteristic half hour late, they'd removed every single item from the drawers and cabinets in the kitchenette, the bathroom, and even the small bedroom.

  Chris chuckled. “I musta missed some party.”

  Jim grabbed hold of Chris's leg from the floor. “Where's your phone? Did you lose it?”

  “Whoa, whoa. No, it's right here.” Chris patted his pocket but came up empty. “Wait a minute.” His hands danced around the various pockets of his carpenter jeans and safety vest. Jim sighed in relief at having solved the mystery of whose phone it was, even if they hadn't yet found it.

  “Ah, there we go.” Chris's iPhone gleamed in his hand, inches above the sleeve on his hip just below the hammer loop. “So, what's this all about?”

  Jim slumped back down. “Somebody must have broken into the RV while we were gone. A phone's been going off all morning, but we can't find it.”

  “Do you want me to help? 'Cause I'm never any good at finding stuff.” Chris shoved his hands in his pockets and looked down.

  “No.” Jim shook his head. “It will come up eventually, and then we'll know who broke in. My money would be on Jenkins, but his men wouldn't be that sloppy.”

  They shuffled out of the RV. After the excitement of being in space, they were still adjusting to the idea of their normal jobs. Bobby got half way to the excavator but stopped. “I think I hear it again.”

  “I don't hear nothing,” Chris said. “You're imagining... Wait, no I hear something. Three beeps, right?”

  Jim nodded. “Rising then falling. I'm going back inside.”

  “Hold on. Quiet,” Bobby said. He crawled under the front of the RV. “What if we couldn't find it because it wasn't inside?”

  Jim nodded. “Everyone spread out.”

  Melissa crouched down near the rear wheel. “We heard it from the kitchen. Should be around here.” Jim went around to the other side, praying that it wouldn't stop ringing again before they found it. There was just enough room for him to slither under the rear of the RV. He pulled out his phone and used it as a flashlight to shine around the area covered by the vehicle.

  “I found something,” Melissa shouted.

  Jim looked up and smacked his head into the water tank. “Help me out of here,” he yelled over his shoulder. Chris, who couldn't fit underneath and had simply followed Jim around it, wrapped a meaty fist around his ankle and yanked. Jim skidded out on the loose pebbles that had settled down there.

  Melissa came round and held up a device about the size of a smoke detector but charcoal black. “I don't think it's a phone.”

  “It is, after a fashion.” Jim plucked it from her outstretched hand. “It's a Fagaran communicator. Jun was wearing one when they evacuated. Must have dropped it. Don't have a clue how it wound up put here though.” He flipped it over to expose a large dent and scorch marks.

  “The C-4,” Chris said.

  “It took a beating, that's for sure. I'm surprised it still works.” As soon as the words left Jim's mouth, it stopped chirping.

  “Who do you think is calling?” Melissa asked. “If that's from the ship, its owner has been dead for over a thousand years.”

  “Telemarketer,” Bobby said, and Chris snorted. “We still get calls for my gran and she died when I was a kid.” He turned his attention to Jim. “You going to answer it?”

  “I can't unless it's ringing. And there’s no caller ID.” Jim slipped the device in his vest. “Let's get back to work. If we hurry, we can get this job over with today and get paid.”

  * * *

  Jim shuffled his feat towards the microwave in the RV. His stomach churned at the thought of more soup for lunch. Melissa pulled a sandwich out of a plastic container in the fridge and dropped it onto a plate. “You want this dad? I don't know how you can eat that soup all the time.”

  The communicator in his pocket chirped again. The sound startled Jim enough to drop his bowl, splashing broth and noodles all over the floor. “Get the boys,” he said in barely a whisper.

  His hands shook as he removed the device. It continued to chirp as he set it on the table. He pressed his thumb into an indentation in the center as Melissa returned with the others. The communicator went silent for a second and then a six inch tall hologram of a Fagaran man in a military uniform hovered above the box.

  “I am Kahl, High Commander of the Fagare fleet. Am I speaking to 'Jeem' of the Resolve?”

  “Jim Bromley, sir. And the rest of my crew is present as well.”

  “Your people have such odd pronunciations.” Kahl shrugged. “Anyway, I must say that your rescue of the Starfall saved a tenuous diplomatic situation with the Kalaxakians. They were most displeased when their ambassador was captured. And Kaxaxa was quite vivid about how your Mesilla personally saved him from a certain death on board the Star Destroyer.”

  “It's Melissa, sir. And I must ask, who are the Kalaxakians?”

  “You met their liaison to the Fagare. He's the one with the spines on his face and arms.”

  Recognition washed over Jim. “Oh, the cactus.”

  “What's a cactus?” It was Kahl's turn to be perplexed.

  Jim scratched his head for a moment, try
ing to figure out how explain earth botany to the Fagaran High Commander. “Well, we have a plant that grows in the desert that bears a remarkable resemblance to the Kalazxakians.”

  The miniature of Kahl nodded. “Yes, we have a similar plant that grew on our home world. They don't appreciate the comparison. But I have other matters to discuss. We have debriefed the crew and passengers of the Starfall. Based on that and the distress beacon you sent, I think I understand how the Resolve came to be in your possession. I must admit, we are in desperate need for ships for the war effort, and in even greater need for good crews that can handle a fight against the Razak. We would like you to fly out to the Fagare Prime Station and join the fleet.”

  Jim stood speechless in front of the communicator.

  Finally, Jim said, “We don't have the ship anymore.”

  The holographic figure huffed. “What do you mean; you don't have it any more? You didn't crash it, did you?”

  “No,” Bobby blurted behind Jim. “I'd fly circles around any pilot you put me up against.”

  Kahl scowled. “Captian, I suggest you get your crew under control.”

  Jim's lips formed a thin line. It was this kind of arrogance that had turned him off from his own military. “I encourage my crew to speak their mind. We wouldn't have defeated Krazirk without everyone contributing their ideas.” Jim folded his arms across his chest. “That's the way we operate. If you don't like it, don't ask for your help.”

  “I guess it’s a moot point, since you seem to have misplaced a piece of technology more advanced than anything your planet will comprehend in more time than your civilization has existed. Besides, it's not my planet the Razak will raze.”

  “What do you mean?” Jim's arms fell to his sides.

  “One thing that came out of the briefing was the fact that you let Krazirk escape. The Razak aren't the type to let go of a grudge, and he just might be the worst of them. It may take him some time to rise back to power, but rest assured, he will be coming for you. If you find your ship, come here. Otherwise, a least his grudge will provide a distraction from the war for a while.” Kahl smirked. “I guess one way or another; you are helping the war effort here.” He leaned forward with an outstretched hand. At first, Jim thought the hologram was going to try to shake his hand, but Kahl's finger flicked towards an unseen button and the image winked out of existence.

  “Dad, what are we going to do?” Melissa asked.

  “You guys finish this dig. I'm going to go pay Jenkins a little visit.”

  Jim pulled into a mostly shaded spot in the rest area off the interstate and set an alarm. By his figuring, he was about fifteen miles from Jenkin's secret base. It would take a while to hike the distance, but he didn't want to get too close before dark. They hadn't exactly gotten a grand tour of the place during their last visit, but Jim didn't remember anything that would have pointed towards infrared detection. He just had to get close enough to contact the Resolve and hopefully the ship could fly itself out. If he was captured, well, he'd looked into the Fagaran chain of command while they were in space. If the ship detected his death, it would look to Bobby for leadership. Melissa would have been his first choice, but he knew his pilot and machine operator would look to Jim's daughter for anything he couldn't handle himself.

  A rap on the windshield woke him up. The sun had already set, and the moon hung low in the sky. Jim stat upright in the pickup's driver seat, gripping the laser pistol he'd stashed behind the seat. Chris wasn't the only one to have kept a few souvenirs.

  He hit the button on the power windows and squinted into the moonlight.

  “He's awake,” Chris called.

  Bobby popped up on the passenger side, he yanked on the door handle, but the door didn't budge. Jim hit the lock button, and the door popped open. “Thank God. I don't know why I let Chris talk me into riding on his bike. My back hurts.”

  “What are you guys doing here? Where's Melissa?”

  “She's in Denver, trying to get Mario to pay up,” Bobby explained. “Everything's buttoned up and parked. Mel's even got a few changes of clothes for each of us, this time. All we need is the ship.”

  “And I wasn't going to let you have all the fun, taking on the U.S. military all by yourself.” Chris broke out into a toothy grin.

  Jim shook his head, but couldn't help smiling. “Should have known that you too couldn't follow a simple order. Well, come on. We have some hiking to do.”

  Chris cast a glance at the dark woods behind him. “Through there?”

  “Since when are you afraid of the dark?”

  Chris didn't answer. Instead he took three steps back to his bike and pulled open the saddle bag. He fished his hand around for a moment before pulling out three pairs of night vision goggles. “Unless you want to announce our presence with a flashlight.”

  Bobby shifted in the passenger seat. “I can stay here and watch the vehicles.”

  Chris crossed his arms and leaned back. The smile disappeared. “Why'd you come if you ain't going to help?” He glared at the shorter man.

  “You wouldn't let me stay behind.” He glared back.

  “Bobby.” Jim put his hand on the pilot's shoulder. “You're the one person who might actually be necessary on this expedition.”

  Jim didn't wait for any more discussion or argument. They'd wasted enough time as it was. He pushed open the door and grabbed a pair of goggles from Chris as he swept past him.

  A chain link fence separated the rest stop from the forest that surrounded it. A layer of dew coated the grey surface. Jim scrambled up it. The support rod bowed slightly under his weight as he shifted to climb back down the other side. His boot slipped off the metal. He grabbed at the top but his momentum brought him down and landed with a thump on the hard clay below.

  The fall broke the other two out of their glaring contest. “You okay, boss?” Chris yelled.

  They ran for the fence and more vaulted it than climbed the slick surface.

  Jim sat up in the mud. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just not as young as I used to be, I guess.” Chris held out his hand, but Jim pushed it away. “Let’s get underway.”

  The green tinted view of the dark forest took some getting used to. The goggles didn’t provide the greatest depth perception. Chris seemed to have an easier time navigating the rough terrain in the darkness, so Jim let him lead the way, taking care to follow in the larger man’s footsteps. Bobby took the rear and struggled to keep up with them.

  “If you don’t hurry up back there, I’m just going to leave you by yourself,” Chris shouted over his shoulder.

  Jim grabbed his arm and hissed. “Be quiet. We can’t be more than a mile from the base now. You want to alert the guards?”

  “Yeah,” Bobby started as he closed the gap between them.

  Jim pushed his hand over Bobby’s mouth. “That goes for you, too. Now everyone, be quiet, I think I hear something.” He held his breath as he struggled to catch the sound he’d just missed. In the distance, a faint hum made itself known over the sounds of the night forest.

  “That’s a generator,” Chris whispered. “We must be getting close.”

  Jim nodded. “Absolutely no talking unless it’s necessary. We get to the fence, and try to make contact with the ship without being seen. Don’t engage unless we have to.”

  A few more paces down the game trail they’d been following and they removed their goggles. Flood lamps covered most of the small base in harsh blueish light. The coverage extended well past the chain link fence. They stood in shadow, but at least they now had enough light to see in color.

  Jim closed his eyes. “Resolve, come to me.” He felt a tug at his mental connection to the ship; the space in his mind that he hadn’t realized was there until Jenkins had stolen the ship and left a giant hole in his psyche. The tug strengthened, as if the ship was trying to pull him in to it. He couldn’t see or hear the ship, but sensed it was stuck and couldn’t fulfill his command. The link with the ship felt almost human with a sense that Jim could only describe as frustration.

  “Bobby, can you try?”

  Bobby bit his lip. “It's not responding to me, either. What's wrong?”

  “They know we don't need to actually be on the Resolve to control it,” Chris volunteered. “Probably have it locked down in a hanger somewhere.”