Title: Baked, Boiled, or Fried
Author/pseudonym: Tinnean
Fandom: The Sentinel/The Thing from Another World
Pairing: Blair Sandburg/Jim Ellison
Rating: NC-17
Email address: Tinneantoo@earthlink.net
Disclaimer: The Sentinel belongs to Petfly and SciFi.
The Thing From Another World belongs to Howard Hawks and RKO Pictures. The
original short story upon which The Thing was based, Who Goes There? is by John
W. Campbell, Jr.
Status: new/complete
Date: started 11/03, completed 1/04, posted 6/05
Series/Sequel: no. seriously. I mean it. Do you see
how long it took me to write *this*?
Summary: After
the crash of an unidentified flying object, pilot Jim Ellison is ordered to fly
to a research station at the North Pole to investigate the resultant magnetic
disturbance. There he once again meets botanist Blair Sandburg, with whom he had
had an all-too-brief encounter in the States.
Warnings: m/m, AU (C'mon, Blair's a 'botanist'. That
doesn't say "AU" to you?), spoilers for the movie and for The Sentinel
pilot, Switchman.
Notes: At
the time this takes place, neither
Acknowledgements: This first appeared in Come to Your Senses 26. Thank
you to Mysti for picking up the discrepancies. And as always, many thanks to
Gail, who beta'd. From inception to completion, she offered unending support.
Baked, Boiled or
Fried
Part A
When I came across that monograph in an obscure little
bookshop on the West Coast, I'd been certain I had the ideal topic for my
dissertation.
According to Sir Richard Burton, pre-civilized tribes had
what he termed Sentinels, individuals with the genetic advantage of enhanced
senses, who tracked weather, game, enemies.
I'd been excited to find empirical evidence that appeared
to back
However, the few men and women I'd managed to track down
had one or two hyper-acute senses. There were none with all five senses
enhanced.
Eli Stoddard, the head of anthro at
And so, with my funding running out, I'd been forced to
give up my dreams of a doctorate in anthropology…
"You wanted to see me, Eli?"
"Blair, my boy!" He rose from his paper-strewn
desk and crossed the room, his hand outstretched. "I wanted to congratulate
you on your doctorate in botany."
"Thank you." I shook his hand coolly.
"I know you wanted to do your dissertation in
anthropology," he spread his hands and smiled apologetically, "but I'm
afraid The Sentinel by Blair Sandburg would have been more suited to Amazing
Magazine than the halls of academia."
I didn't want him to see how disappointed in myself I was
for caving under academic pressure. "There's no demand in the job market
for PhD's in anthropology, Eli, unless I want to do nothing more than sit behind
a desk and teach. Face it, Margaret Mead got lucky."
He made a noncommittal sound, and returned to his seat.
"So. What will you do now?"
I shrugged. "Send out my resume, see if any of the
labs are looking for a botanist." I picked at my thumbnail. "I
understand the British have come up with a rather unusual plant."
"I believe I might have something that will be of interest to you. Arthur Carrington is heading a research station up at the North Pole. Two of the sources you cited, Dr. Stern and Professor Laurenz, have been recruited to join him, and when they heard you were available, they were quite enthusiastic about taking you on as their assistant."
Dr. Carrington was a certified genius. Josef Stern and
Andrew Laurenz were among the most respected men in their field. And they wanted
me.
"I'll just hold on to your papers, shall I?"
"What? Oh. Yeah, sure." I had no need for them. I
was busy mulling over this new prospect.
All right, it was in the
I shook Eli Stoddard's hand firmly. "When do I
leave?"
****
A year. Twelve months. Three hundred and sixty-five and a
quarter days.
That was how long I had been working under Dr. Stern and
Professor Laurenz, with no end to the research in sight.
I'd finally been given a week's leave from the research
station at the
"Hey, Hairboy!"
"No." I didn't bother looking up as I stuffed the
last of my clothes into my backpack.
"You don't know what I was going to say."
"And I don't want to know, H."
"Aw, come on, Blair."
"No." He was going to set me up on another blind
date; I hated blind dates. The last one I had gone on had been with the schmuck
from hell. He'd seemed nice enough at first, until he suddenly grew eight arms
and had his hands all over me.
He thought the fact that he'd bought me dinner entitled him
to my ass. A broken nose and two black eyes later, and I'd convinced him that a
case of blue balls was preferable.
"How was I supposed to know he would turn out to be an
asshole? He was never like that when we flew together."
"Did you ever have dinner with him?"
"Blair, I'm straight."
"That's no excuse. Besides…"
Henri wouldn't let me finish. "This guy isn't like
that, I promise! He's a captain!"
"Besides," I went on determinedly, "you know
my flight leaves for
"So much the better. A few drinks, a few laughs, and
then you go your separate ways." He spread his hands wide, as if negating
the amount of damage that would be done.
"I don't do one night stands, H."
"But I swear this one will be better. Besides, he's a
captain!"
"You've already said that once." I looked around
the room in the off-base quarters that he'd invited me to share with him, making
sure I had everything packed. I spotted the monograph I intended to bring back
to the North Pole with me and pounced on it. "Nope. Not a chance."
"Geez, Hairboy. You don't have to marry the guy! Just
have dinner with him!"
"Do the words 'no way in hell' ring a bell?"
There was a hesitant tap on the doorframe, and we both
looked around.
"H. Hello." Six feet of hard-bodied male
pulchritude stood in the doorway. I almost swallowed my tongue. I didn't know
about Henri, but I had no trouble reading the expression on his face.
"Hey, tough guy! Long time no see!" Henri's dark
eyes slid from the captain to me.
I studied him in return. Ice-blue eyes, short-cropped brown
hair. I let my gaze stroke over that body, and I was suddenly the possessor of a
very hard dick. Fortunately, the pants I wore had a loose cut.
I couldn't take my eyes off him. I wondered what those
muscles beneath his flight jacket would feel like. I wondered what those lips
would kiss like. "Who is *that*,
Brown?" I asked softly, also wondering if I were out of my mind. Maybe it
had just been too long since I'd had sex.
"That's who I wanted to set you up with." Henri
shrugged, speaking out of the corner of his mouth and his voice low so he
wouldn't be overheard. "Oh, well, never mind. Blair. I'm sure I can find
someone else for him."
On the other hand… The airman was looking me over with
hot, interested eyes.
"No, wait a second! Don't be in such a rush to take
'no' for an answer!" I had his arm in a death grip. "I changed my
mind! Introduce us!"
"Well…" he drawled. A sly smile split his black
face. The pain-in-the-ass knew he had me hooked. "Blair Sandburg, meet
James Ellison."
****
I borrowed Henri Brown's 1945 Nash Rambler and took Jim to
a small, out-of-the-way restaurant called Machu-Picchu that served South
American cuisine. He ordered Ceviche, and I went along with him.
"Tonight, our chef has prepared it with shrimp,"
the waiter informed us.
"That will be fine," James Ellison, 'call me Jim,
Chief,' told him.
The waiter nodded in approval, and eventually brought out
the seafood dish, which was served cold.
I took a bite and chewed, enjoying the intermingling
flavors.
Jim identified them. "There's lemon; the raw shrimp is
cooked in the juice. Onions, celery, cilantro, and aji pepper." He took a
roll from the basket on the table.
The bite of the hot pepper hit me. I had become used to
hot, spicy foods from my journeys around the world, but even so it felt as it
there was a four-alarmer in my mouth. My eyes crossed and teared, and my nose
began to run.
I grabbed for a roll, which was Machu-Picchu's concession
to American palates, and bit off a chunk. It helped to subdue the fiery bite of
the shrimp.
"I'd forgotten how very hot those aji peppers could be." His smile was rueful. "And this is camote, which is one kind of Peruvian sweet potato."
"You know a good deal about the food of
"I was stationed there for eighteen months."
"I didn't know the
"We don't. I'm career Army."
"I don't understand. Henri said he knew you through
the Air Force."
"I've been loaned to the Air Force. I always loved to
fly, and planes seem to respond better to me than to other pilots."
I could understand that. I'd been watching his big hands as
they toyed with his roll, and I had a feeling most anything would respond to
them, including me.
Suddenly, I felt very warm. I shivered and cleared my
throat. "Tell me more."
"Well, I was raised by my dad, William. I have a
younger brother, Steve. I'm thirty-five, divorced, no kids. I don't have any
vices. Except for
"Is that all you love?" Oh, geez, I was flirting
with him!
Jim gazed at me through his lashes. "I'm also partial
to brown hair. Long, curly." He reached across the table and fingered a
lock of my brown hair, which had curled around my ear. His finger stroked across
the discreet stud in my earlobe. I leaned into his touch.
The waiter came to refill our water glasses, and Jim
withdrew his hand. My ear felt bereft.
I was so wrapped up in the physical sensations that I lost
track of the conversation. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"
There was laughter in his eyes, but he didn't comment on my
obvious abstraction. "I said 'why don't you tell me about you?'"
So I did. Oh, not about growing up without a father when
that circumstance brought shame on both the mother and the child.
Not about having as a mom the carefree Naomi Sandburg, who
saw nothing wrong in doing as she and not society pleased.
And most definitely not my disappointment when the topic I
had selected for my dissertation, The
Sentinel, had been denied. I was still Dr. Sandburg, and I was damned good
in my field of botany.
I talked of the field trips I'd been on, when I had still
been hopeful of using my master's in anthropology for something more than toilet
paper. I spoke of living in Dutch New Guinea with the Kombai tree people for
three months, about how I'd nearly been eaten by a crocodile while in the
We continued chatting over coffee and Peruvian pound cake
topped with sour cream and peaches, and I was mesmerized by the sight of Jim
slipping the fresh-sliced fruit between his perfect lips.
Blindly, I reached for a pack of cigarettes, shook one out,
and groped for my lighter. Jim took it from me and ignited it. I cupped my hand
around his, and my fingertips tingled. My eyes flew up to tangle with his, and
he licked his lips. The trembling in my hand had to be too fine to be felt, but
I let his hand go and dipped my head to touch the end of the cigarette to the
flame.
When I looked up, he was still watching me, his gaze
hungry, and my mouth went dry. I swallowed a mouthful of smoke wrong and choked.
"Easy there, Chief." His hand on my back felt
more like a caress.
I finally caught my breath. I stubbed out the cigarette and
opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
Jim was glancing around the now empty restaurant. "I
think they're waiting for us to get out of here so they can close."
"Oh, yes!" Damn. I signaled the waiter over,
settled the bill and gave him a healthy tip, and followed Jim out to the parking
lot.
The man did have a fine ass! I had bought dinner because I
hadn't wanted there to be any assumptions that I would pay for my meal with a
roll in the sack.
Only, I found myself thinking I really wouldn't mind if he
made that assumption.
I sighed and walked him to Brown's Rambler. Before he got
in, he leaned down toward me, and for a second I thought he was going to kiss
me.
I closed my eyes and tipped my head back to meet his lips,
but instead I felt the five o'clock shadow that stubbled his cheek. His nose
brushed over my face and neck, almost as if he were learning my scent. And then,
to my disappointment, he put me away from him.
His voice was husky as he murmured, "I really hate to
see the evening end, Chief."
"Then it won't. I know the perfect place." I
opened the passenger door of the Rambler, and he slid onto the bench seat.
"It's dark, secluded, and eyebrows won't be raised at the sight of two men
dancing together."
His eyebrow rose, and for a second I had the sinking
feeling that maybe I had read him wrong, maybe he wasn't interested in me that
way, but then he said, "Sounds good."
I was almost shivering in excitement as I hurried around to
the driver's side and got in.
****
The Hideaway was another small, out-of-the-way place, just
outside of Cascade. The host led us to a semicircular booth on the upper level,
and a waiter came to take our order. "Jim?"
"I'm a beer man myself," Jim said, "although
I've been known to enjoy a nice red wine, but since this is a special
occasion…"
I looked into his ice-blue eyes and realized I was past
starting to fall for him; I had already fallen. "What would you
recommend?" I asked the waiter, never taking my eyes off Jim.
"You can't come to the Hideaway without trying an
Under the Wraps."
"What do you think, Jim?"
"Sure, why not?"
"Two, please."
I should have asked what was in them.
We never did get to dance, which was kind of flattering. We
sat with our thighs brushing. By the time we'd finished our first drink, Jim's
left hand was on my knee, drawing patterns on the material of my trousers. By
the time we'd finished our second drink, it was centimeters from my crotch. I
shifted, trying to bring it closer. He smiled into my eyes and signaled the
waiter to bring another round of drinks.
Sometime during that third drink, he began to run his
thumbnail over the bulge behind my fly. I sank lower in the seat and spread my
legs, and his fingers cupped my balls. I bit back a moan.
His look was almost predatory, and for a moment I panicked,
thinking he had heard my response to him.
But he couldn't have heard me.
"Want to go, Chief?"
"Sure." I was thankful for the dim light in the
nightclub; the spot where I had leaked pre come through my trousers would have
been visible otherwise.
I hadn't reacted to anyone like this since my randy teenage
years, when I'd first discovered sex and realized it was the greatest thing
since ginger ale. My dick was so hard I ached, my asshole was spasming, and all
I wanted was to be stretched, penetrated, and claimed. By Jim. Only by Jim.
The Nash Rambler was parked at the far end of the
Hideaway's parking lot, away from the few lights that cast illumination over the
small area. Jim breathed deeply, hummed, and pushed me up against the car's
side. He nuzzled my neck and seemed to purr.
I thought it was mind-bogglingly arousing.
I reached for my belt, ready to drop trousers and let him
have me right there and then.
"Not here, Chief. Not yet."
I wanted to raise his head to kiss him for the first time,
but he bit my neck and started sucking the skin between his lips, and my hips
jerked.
He inhaled. "You want this as much as I do!"
"Yes." I groaned as the heel of his hand massaged
my dick through my pants. My skin felt hot and tight. It had been more than a
year since I'd been touched like that. The encapsulated world of the research
station was not conducive to any kind of a sexual relationship, casual or
otherwise. It would have felt incestuous.
Frantically, I tried to think of a place where we could go.
As if Jim could read my mind, "The BOQ." His
voice was hoarse. "It's Saturday night. Everyone will be out."
I scrabbled behind me and got the passenger door opened,
and the two of us fell onto the front seat. I reached for the switch for the
interior light.
"No, Chief. We don't need any light."
Maybe he wanted someplace better, more romantic, but the
front seat of the borrowed Rambler was what we got. Jim yanked my pants down off
my hips, and my dick sprang up to be trapped between us. He managed to get his
pants out of the way also, and then the hard, hot length of him was thrusting
desperately against me, through the wiry hair at my groin.
My legs were tangled in my pants, and I couldn't raise my
knees to cradle him, couldn't expose my hole to him. I was wild to have him
inside me.
One hand slid beneath me, cupped a buttock, and suddenly a
wet finger was teasing my hole. It circled the rim, pressed in, retreated to
repeat the tantalizing actions.
"Jim, please!" He was driving me crazy.
His hips rocked faster, the pre come from both of us making
it easier for his dick to glide against mine. One large hand wrapped around our
dicks. Heat rolled off him in furnace waves.
"I can smell your lust, Chief! I could find you in the
dark from your scent alone!"
He continued to whisper, hoarse, guttural. "So hot. So
tight. Never felt so good. Want to be inside you. Want to fuck you. Want to make
you come so hard you pass out." I whimpered at the hot, sexual words he
poured in my ear.
His lips slid down to my throat, his mouth opened against
it, and he gasped. His breathing became rapid, out-of-control panting, and then
he groaned and stiffened. Wet heat splattered over my belly. He scooped some up
and two fingers slid deep into me. My groan joined his, and I came as well.
For long minutes, all that could be heard in the confines
of the small car was our harsh panting.
Then, "That was… that was great, Chief," he
mumbled as he relaxed on me.
Yeah, it sure was. I opened my mouth to tell him so, was
surprised by a jaw-breaking yawn, and the next minute was sound asleep.
****
I came awake quickly. I usually did, but this time I was
slightly disoriented. My pants were twisted around my ankles, my legs felt like
blocks of ice, and I was on the floorboard of the Rambler. How the heck had that
happened?
From the leather bench seat above me came a soft snore, and
abruptly I recalled the events of the evening.
Jim Ellison and I had dabbled in frottage and come all over
each other. My ass was throbbing pleasantly from the invasion by his fingers. I
wanted to know what his dick would feel like fucking me.
"Hey. Flyboy." I stroked his shoulder.
"Mmmph?" If he was going to say anything else, it
was lost as he turned his head into the back of the seat.
"Hey!" This time I shoved at this shoulder, but
it didn't go any good. "C'mon, man! I'm freezing my ass off! We can't stay
like this!"
"Nice ass, Chief," he mumbled. His hand reached
out blindly as if to pet it. "Where'd it go?" He sank back into
slumber.
Maybe if Jim had kissed me, petted me, told me he had never
enjoyed himself so much, that *I* was
the best thing since ginger ale… maybe then I wouldn't have started thinking,
worrying, imagining him telling all his friends, "Blair Sandburg? Oh, yeah,
curly-haired guy, really easy. I had him the first time I met him."
It must have been even later than I thought. I could hear
patrons of the Hideaway starting to exit.
"Fuck." I scrambled out of the car and yanked up
my trousers, just barely managing not to catch my dick in my zipper, then
manhandled Jim's legs into the car and slammed the door shut. It took a few
seconds to steady myself. I would have liked to have taken a nap, too.
"Well, *fuck*."
I kicked the tire, walked around to the driver's side door,
and got behind the wheel. Talk about a totally male, après sex reaction. I put
the car in gear and drove to the Bachelor Officers Quarters.
By the time we reached the BOQ, I was too tired to be angry
any longer, and I was starting to become concerned. Jim was still out cold. I
remembered he'd said he usually drank beer or the occasional glass of wine. Had
the Under the Wraps been too much for him?
I pulled him out of the front seat, stooped, and got him in
a fireman's lift. Jim might have had almost half a foot on me, but I was
stronger than I looked.
He muttered incoherently, then subsided. His hands dangled
down my back, and he didn't even fondle my ass. I staggered down the corridor
and entered the first open door I found. There were four beds in the room, but
they were all unoccupied. I dumped him on the nearest bed. I was strong, but he
was heavy.
I was tempted to leave him lying like that, with his pants
undone and his dick hanging out, but I overcame my baser instincts and decided
to make him comfortable. After all, he'd given me a very nice orgasm, even if I
hadn't been able to wallow in the afterglow.
I stripped off his flight jacket, removed his shoes, and
dragged his trousers down off his legs. I sucked in a deep breath.
He had nice legs, strong legs, the muscles well-defined and
covered with a dusting of brown hair slightly darker than the hair on his head.
I began to grumble. Those legs could have been kneeling behind me as he pushed his dick into my ass, making me howl with each stroke.
I looked down at his body and sighed. His dick looked so
innocent, peeking out of his fly. I wanted to crawl into that bed beside him,
wanted to swallow that dick to the root and blow him like he'd never been blown.
I wanted to wake up in the morning with him buried so deep in my ass we wouldn't
be able to tell where he ended and I began.
Instead I tucked it into his Air Force issue shorts and
sighed again.
"Don't go."
I started.
His eyelids rose languidly. His eyes were unfocused.
"Chief."
"You okay, Jim?"
He smiled, sleepy and sated. "Never better,
Chief."
"What's my name, Jim?"
"Chief," he mumbled and fell back asleep.
All night long, he'd been calling me that. Did he even
remember my name? I turned to leave.
Only thing was, I'd liked him. I still liked him.
I dug out a pencil, found a piece of paper, and scrawled
across it, //Sorry I couldn't stay longer,
but I have an early flight to catch. At 8. AM. At
I propped the note on his chest. If I was lucky he'd wake
up before I had to leave and come see me off. If not…
I walked out.
****
In spite of the fact that Jim Ellison had literally fallen
asleep on me, I hung around the Cascade airport for as long as I dared before
the pilot grunted and gestured toward the twin engine plane. "Inside now if
you want to make your connection at
One final, futile gaze around the terminal, and I trotted
across the tarmac and climbed into the plane.
Headwinds delayed our arrival at
"Sorry I kept you waiting, Rafe."
"Blair! You back already? Man, that week went fast!
Nah, we can't leave until our other passenger gets here."
"Someone else is joining us at our garden spot?"
He grinned at me around the cigarette between his teeth.
"Carrington's secretary is hangin' up her typewriter. We're just waitin' on
her replacement."
"Nikki's leaving? I'm sorry to hear that. She's good
people."
"Yeah. I think she finally convinced her guy that the
double dome was makin' a serious pass."
"*Carrington*?"
The unspoken consensus was that he was brilliant but asexual, with no desire for
either men or women. "Well, I guess," I was dubious, "if you
don't know him…"
Rafe laughed uproariously. "And I guess her guy don't.
She's headin' out to get married!
Why don't you get aboard, Blair? It may be a while before the new secretary puts
in an appearance."
"What's holding her up?"
"No idea. But you know women. Probably makin' sure her
make-up is on just so."
I gave him a vague smile. I didn't really know women, but
that wasn't something I was about to share with him. "Think I'll see if I
can catch some zzz's."
"Late night last night?"
"Yeah." And I wasn't about to talk about that
either.
But Rafe was busy yelling at one of the
I climbed into the plane and took one of the few seats that
had been left in place. Most of them had been removed to accommodate the massive
supplies that needed to be brought to the research station. I fastened my seat
belt, leaned my head against the back of the seat, and was out cold before I
realized it. I slept through the other passenger's arrival and the entire
flight.
****
The landing skis of the C-54 cushioned the landing and
allowed the twin engine plane to glide to a gentle stop on the snow-packed
runway. I could feel it, even in my sleep.
A pointed finger was jabbing my shoulder, in a really
annoying manner. I blinked the sleep out of my eyes. "What?"
"Would you please wake up?" The woman who was
prodding me would have been attractive if it hadn't been for the discontented
twist to her lips. "We're here."
"Thanks."
"Would have been nice if you'd been awake during the
flight," she muttered. "I was bored out of my mind!"
I brushed the hair back off my face and pushed myself to my
feet.
She backed up a step and sniffed delicately, and I wondered
if it was me, personally, who offended her, or men in general. She was a little
taller than I, and I had to look up to meet her eyes.
"After you, miss." I gestured for her to exit the
plane before me. Naomi might have been a bohemian spirit, but she had taught me
manners.
I climbed out of the twin engine plane, slinging my
backpack over my shoulder.
The ground crew hustled to get the plane refueled. There
was a front coming through; it seemed like there was always a front coming
through, and the flight crew needed to head out with the latest copies of the
station's reports.
"Oh, m-m-my g-g-god!" The woman gave a convulsive
shiver. The jacket she wore might have been all the rage on the ski slopes in
the States, but up here it wouldn't even keep a mild chill at bay. The fact that
she was also wearing a skirt didn't help, either. "It m-m-must be about 40
b-b-below!"
"Yeah, and it isn't even winter yet! Let me get you
inside. The men will see your luggage is brought in."
"Th-th-thank you."
"I'm Blair Sandburg."
"I'm…"
"Hey, Blair!" one of the flight crew shouted
above the rising wind. "Tell Nik not to dawdle! We need to haul ass outta
here!"
I waved a hand to let him know I'd heard and hurried the
woman out of the cutting wind and into the first of the insulated buildings.
This one was above ground and contained storage rooms as well as the radio room
and the passageways that led to the other buildings, which were sixty percent
beneath the permafrost.
"Hi, sweetie! We've missed you!"
"Mrs. Chapman!" I hugged her.
Esther Chapman was a motherly woman who was as comfortable
in trousers as any of the men in the station. If Dr. Chapman, the premier
mineralogist on the planet, was the actual head of this research facility
because Dr. Carrington always had his head buried in his work, then his wife was
the one who took care of us, made sure we didn't get so wrapped up in our
experiments that we forgot to eat. She also made sure we were treated for
assorted cuts, bruises, sore throats and head colds.
"And I'm assuming this is Nikki's replacement?"
She smiled warmly. "Hello. You must be freezing! Let me show you to your
quarters, and we'll see about getting you warmed up. We'll need to get you some
slacks, also." She led the younger woman down the corridor, deeper into the
warmth of the living quarters of the station.
"Well, good night nurse!"
"Hi, Simon."
Simon Banks, in charge of security at the station, watched
the retreating figures with interested eyes. "Hi, Blair."
When Dr. Arthur Carrington had decided that his research *had*
to be conducted in the
"Is that Nikki's replacement?"
"Yeah."
Simon rolled his cigar thoughtfully between his teeth.
"Her picture doesn't do her justice." Whoever had hired her would have
gone through Simon for her final clearance. He pulled his attention from her
swaying hips and grinned down at me. "So, you're back, short stuff."
"Yep. Did I miss anything?"
"Nothing much. The most excitement was when the powers
that be sent us twenty-five rolls of cattle fencing."
"What? What purpose could we have for cattle fencing
for at the North Pole?"
"Be damned if I know. So tell me. How was your
vacation in Cascade?"
I shrugged.
"That good, hmm?" He started down a corridor that
branched off from the one the women had taken, and I followed him. Our footsteps
sounded hollow on the wooden walkway that was laid out
above the concrete floor. "You look like you could use a vacation
from your vacation. What did you do, fall for a pair of pretty blue eyes?"
He saw my expression. "Blair!"
"I didn't."
"Why do I get the feeling that you aren't telling me
the truth?"
"Because I'm not?" I gripped his sleeve and
pulled him to a halt. "Simon, he was the most gorgeous man I've ever
met."
Simon knew which side of the street I walked, and it hadn't
bothered him. I'd felt I had to reassure him, however.
'I won't make a pass at you or Daryl, Simon.' Daryl was his
teenaged son, who occasionally came up to visit. 'I don't rob cradles or old age
homes,' earnestly.
He'd frowned at me around one of those fat Cuban cigars he
favored. 'You could have just said black men don't appeal to you.'
I'd pretended shock. 'You want me to *lie* to you?
You're the head of security!'
'Smart ass!' He'd cuffed my shoulder, but his eyes had been
bright with humor.
~~~~
I was only supposed to be in the
They were a short people, and I almost felt like Gulliver
in the
But then the Japanese began landing troops in December of
that year.
Using the ham radio Eli had insisted I take to stay in
contact with the 'civilized' world, I listened in growing horror as MacArthur
was forced to abandon
He was ordered to leave his forces, and on March 1st he
made his famous 'I will return' speech and sailed to
On April 9th,
By May 6th, with the surrender of
We were too far south to attempt any kind of assistance,
but the remnants of a squad of colored soldiers somehow wandered into our
territory. George Washington Jefferson, the sergeant, who couldn't have been
more than four or five years my senior, formed the Negrito men into a band of
guerillas, eventually one of the most deadly on the Island chain.
Since I was the only one who could speak Tagalog and
English, I became his translator. We worked together constantly, and I found
myself attracted to him. He was a few inches taller than I, with black hair that
covered his scalp in tight curls, and eyes like a
"What's he saying, boy?"
"Excuse me?" I dragged my attention back from my
lascivious thoughts of him. "Oh, er… Sorry. A couple of Japs have
wandered away from the others. And don't call me 'boy', George. I'm not that
much younger than you."
"Sure, boy." His smile was a slash of white in
his dark face. "Do we have a clear shot at them?"
"Of course. I already told Atribe and his brother to
take them."
The Negritos returned with the heads. While not primarily
headhunters, this tribe tended to dabble in it. George swallowed heavily when he
saw the staring eyes and the ragged edges where head and neck had been joined.
"Sissy," I sassed, and he narrowed his eyes at me
"I'll show you who's a sissy, boy!" And he
swatted my seat. His hand seemed to linger, and my mouth went dry.
George and I stayed behind to throw them off the trail if
it became necessary, hidden, waiting to see what the reaction would be when the
other Japs came across the decapitated bodies.
They went wild, screaming in fear and fury. Bullets tore
the brush above our heads, narrowly missing us, as they sprayed the area with
machine-gun fire.
George clapped a hand over my mouth, mashing my lips
against my teeth, and rolled his body over mine. "Shhh," he hissed in
my ear.
We stayed that way for what seemed like hours, but was
probably no more that twenty minutes. They finally left.
"Don't move, it could be a ruse," he whispered,
and I nodded to let him know I understood.
I shifted under George's body. His gun had been digging
into the crevice between my buttocks the entire time. I'd experimented with a
boy when I first entered
It turned out it was George's weapon, all right; it just
wasn't his gun.
There was some rustling behind me, and I managed a look
over my shoulder. He had freed his shaft. It was shiny blue-black, and the tip
glistened with drops of liquid. I'd seen an uncircumcised penis before, but
never one that was aroused, and I bit my lip to keep my moan silent. The
possibility that the Japs could return was always imminent.
I met his eyes, and he saw the acquiescence in mine. He
worked my pants off my hips, down past my knees and around my calves, then
kissed my left ass cheek.
"Gotta have you, boy."
"Yes!"
I don't know what he found to ease his way in. Maybe it was
just the adrenaline rush of our close brush with death. Maybe he had something
in his pocket. Whatever it was, it made my first time memorable in a very good
way. He held my ass cheeks apart, got the head of his dick lined up with
my hole, and started a steady pressure.
"You a virgin, Blair?"
If I told him 'yes', he might stop. If I told him 'no', he
might think I was cheap. I mumbled something, thrust back, and he popped through
the tight ring of muscle. There was pain, but the promise of pleasure outweighed
it
He bit the shirt over my shoulder to prevent himself from
groaning, and I bit the palm that was once more over my mouth.
It was fortunate that we'd kept silent, because one of the
Japs returned to relieve himself against a tree not more than a dozen feet from
us. George held himself still, but I could feel his dick like a huge intrusion
inside me. I clenched my inner muscles involuntarily, and he nipped my ear in
warning.
Finally the Jap shook a last drop from his dick, put
himself back in his pants, glanced around, and left.
George groaned, deep and guttural, and an explosion of heat
flooded my bowels as he came. Seconds later, I shuddered and found myself lying
on a wet spot.
We couldn't chance staying there much longer. George helped
me get my pants up, and I tucked him away in his pants.
And then we got the hell out of there.
Afterwards, we took what opportunities we could find to
fuck, although we didn't have many. The few survivors of his squad had paired
off with the women of the Negritos, who were as dark as they, but they would
have looked askance at a relationship between their sergeant and anyone white,
much less another male.
I never did learn what his lips felt like.
In '44, MacArthur returned as he promised, and George and
his men returned to their division. The fighting was fierce. As a civilian, I
was bundled out of the danger zone. I was sent first to
I heard through the grapevine that if George Washington
Jefferson hadn't been colored, he would surely have gotten the Medal of Honor.
He *was* awarded
the Philippine Presidential Unit Citation, the Distinguished Service Cross, the
Bronze Star, and the Purple Heart.
The last two were posthumous.
~~~~
"Let me give you a hand with your backpack, and you
can tell me about it."
I came back to the present. Simon was talking about my
meeting with the striking captain. He looped the awkward pack over his shoulder,
and we resumed walking.
"It's all Brown's fault," I groused
good-naturedly, not wanting him to know how serious it had been for me.
"What did Henri do?" Simon grinned. He was
familiar with some of our escapades.
"He set me up on a blind date with Jim Ellison."
"Ellison? I didn't know he was gay."
"You know him, Simon?" My mouth was suddenly dry.
"I've been out of the military a few years now, but
yes, I know of him." He saw how pale I had become and hurried to reassure
me. "Blair, his private life is none of my affair. He's a damn good
soldier. He served in the Pacific theater toward the end of the war. I seem to
recall he took out a machine gun nest on some little island no one even knew the
name of, saved his men from a jungle ambush. Said the Japs were really careless,
they made so much noise he had no trouble locating them. Funny thing was, none
of his men heard them."
"That is strange, Simon." Briefly I toyed with
the notion that Jim Ellison might have hyper-acute hearing, then dismissed it as
irrelevant. I wasn't looking for a sentinel any longer.
"Anyway, he was awarded a medal for it. What's he
doing in Cascade?"
"He's been loaned to the Air Force."
"That's the military for you." He opened the door
to my room, reached in, and dropped my backpack to the floor, then displayed the
pack of cigarettes he'd filched from one of the pockets. "Uh uh uh."
I sighed. Dr. Carrington had one hard and fast rule: no
smoking in his research station. That didn't mean we were above trying to
smuggle them in.
"You weren't even half-trying, Blair."
"I had other things on my mind," I assured him in
an injured tone, but he knew me well enough not to take it seriously.
"Yeah, I guess so." There was a half-smile on his
lips, and he cuffed my shoulder. "Come to the mess hall. We're giving Nikki
a farewell party. I'll buy you a cup of joe, and you can kiss the bride
good-bye."
"Sounds good to me."
"And tomorrow you'll have to hit the ground running.
Dr. Stern's been getting really antsy about those MacCormick molds."
"That's Professor Laurenz's project!" Lately I'd
noticed that I was being assigned more and more of the botanist's experiments.
He laughed at the look on my face. "Looks like it's
yours now."
****
The crowd in the mess hall was starting to thin out.
Toilet paper streamers were draped from the ceiling beams,
and plastic gloves, blown up as impromptu balloons, were tied to them, makeshift
decorations.
"Captain Banks. Can I see you a minute?" one of
his men called to him. Danny Barnes. He was the youngest of Simon's security
team, a green-eyed towhead from
Barnes looked a little uneasy. I remembered his arrival earlier in the summer. Months of light, twenty-four hours a day, tended to drive some people over the brink. He'd finally managed to adapt, but winter was a little more than six weeks away. How would he deal with those months of unrelenting darkness?
Simon swore under his breath. "I'll have to owe you
that coffee, Blair."
"It's okay, Simon."
I waved him off and looked around for the guest of honor.
Standing near the head of a table, wearing an improvised
veil made of some gauzy material and appearing teary-eyed, was Alberta
Nicholson, Dr. Carrington's tall, dark-haired secretary.
"Nikki!"
"Blair! Oh, sweetie, I'm so glad you made it back
before I left!"
"I hear best wishes are in order."
"This is it, Blair." Her smile was misty.
"The big lug realized he couldn't live without me!"
"So Pat's finally asked you to marry him?"
"Yeah." She dropped her voice. "When he
found out that Arthur wanted me…"
"Ah, a little obfuscation on your part. So he pulled a
dog-in-the-manger?"
She nodded and grinned. "I told him he couldn't have
it both ways, he snapped and snarled, but the result is I'm flying down to
"Well, good for you! Where will you go on your honeymoon?"
"Would you believe
I thought of the captain that I'd so recently met, and
swallowed. "Well, have a good time, Nikki. When will you be back?"
She was shaking her head. "No, this really is it,
sweetie. I'm retiring from the glamorous life of Dr. Carrington's chief cook and
bottle washer. Pat's taking me back to the base in the States, we're going to
have a pack of kids, and if I never see a snowdrift or a typewriter again, I
will be a very happy woman!"
"We'll miss you." I hugged her and kissed her
cheek. "Have you met your replacement yet?"
"No, I'm afraid not, and if she doesn't turn up
soon…"
"That reminds me. Fred said…"
"Here she is. I was giving her a quick tour of the
place." Mrs. Chapman was standing at the door. The other woman was beside
her, looking around with mild curiosity. "Everyone! Meet Carolyn Plummer!
She'll be taking over for Nikki."
The scientists mumbled greetings, the techs, admiring her
legs, gave long, low whistles, and then they all turned their attention back to
the table, demolishing the remains of the feast that had been prepared for
Nikki's party.
"I'll introduce this bunch to you later, Carolyn, when
you've settled in and are more likely to remember their names."
"Thank you."
"Would you care for something to eat, Miss Plummer?
I'm about to get a sandwich for myself," Simon told her.
She took an aborted step back, and her smile seemed forced.
"That's quite all right. I'm not hungry."
Simon's face went blank, and I watched as he crossed to the
group around the table; they parted like the
"Who is he?"
"Simon's head of security here. He's the one who
cleared you." Nikki was justifiably annoyed. She liked Simon.
A hard flush ran from the other woman's chin to her
hairline.
"Miss Plummer." The two young women eyed each
other for a minute before they exchanged handshakes.
"Carolyn, please. And you're
No one called her that, but Nikki didn't correct her.
"Carolyn. I'm sure you'll do an excellent job."
She didn't sound sure at all. I started to laugh, and Nikki
dug her elbow into my ribs. My laugh changed to a cough to disguise it.
"I'm sorry I won't have the opportunity to get to know
you. There aren't many women in this station, and while these are a great bunch
of scientists for the most part… well, you know men."
"Only too well," Carolyn replied, disgust clear
in her words. "I was married to one for about eighteen months."
"'Was'?" Nikki gave her a cool look. "I'm
sorry, that's none of my business."
Carolyn shrugged. "I don't mind talking about Ji…
about him. He changed so much. First it was that the sheets were too scratchy,
then that I was putting too many spices in the meals I worked my fingers to the
bone to make for him. As if that wasn't enough, he didn't care about my sister's
wedding, about the stress my mother was going through trying to organize it,
about how unhelpful my father was… He just wasn't the man I thought I'd
married."
Nikki looked a little shell-shocked from the barrage of
information.
Mrs. Chapman looked amused. "Ah, Carolyn, none of them
are."
The door burst open. "Hey, Nik! Shake your
tailfeathers! We got a front comin' in!"
"My suitcase?"
"It's loaded on the plane."
"Okay, Fred, I'm on my way." She yanked off the
veil and bunched it to her side, kissed everyone, including Lee, the Chinese
cook, then scooped up her parka. "Bye. Good-bye. Good…" She ran out.
There was an awkward silence, and then, "Hey, is there
any more of that cake left?"
"I'll have a piece too." Danny Barnes glanced
around briefly, then picked up a plate and fork and sat beside Simon.
The head of security wiped the impatience off his face
before anyone else saw it. "Lee, more java."
"Come along, Carolyn. I'll show you the greenhouse.
Blair, remind me to give you the key back."
"Sure thing, Mrs. C."
"You lock the greenhouse?" Carolyn Plummer was
startled. "What do you keep in there?"
"The Eskimos have a weakness for Blair's
strawberries," Mrs. Chapman was telling her as they walked out of the mess
hall. "If we don't keep it locked, they…" The door swung shut on the
rest of her explanation.
It opened again almost immediately, and Dr. Chapman came
in. Slightly over six feet and solidly muscled, he was in his early fifties. His
light brown hair had a sprinkling of grey, and his pale blue eyes were sharply
intelligent.
"Blair!" He swept me into a bear hug. While
Esther Chapman was more of a mother to me than Naomi had ever been, Hugo Chapman
was like the father that Naomi felt I could live without knowing. "A little
bird told me you were back! How was your vacation?"
"I found another monograph that mentioned
sentinels." I lowered my voice. "And I… uh… I kind of met
someone."
He studied me. "Esther is sure to ask how you 'kind of' meet someone, but I want to know about the monograph." He thrust a porcelain mug of coffee into my hands. "Lee, forget these scavengers! Get a plate of food for our boy."
The warm, fragrant steam rose to encircle my head, and I
inhaled deeply. "Ah. I missed Lee's coffee."
"Sit down." He pushed me into a seat and sat down
beside me. "You're an excellent botanist, Blair, but I know your heart
isn't really in it."
"It doesn't really make much difference, Hugo."
Lee brought me a plate of steak and eggs.
Dr. Chapman waited until he left. "If it's the money
you need for funding…"
"No. That's turned out to be the least of my
worries." I sliced into the steak. "When my grandparents passed away,
they left me enough to cover college expenses for at least ten years if I was
frugal. It would have been nice if Naomi had told me at the time, but… Oh,
well, spilt milk. The big problem would be finding a subject with the enhanced
senses."
"But if you believe in this?" Mrs. Chapman had
returned without Carolyn Plummer.
I'd heard that if a couple was together long enough, they
started to resemble each other. The Chapmans seemed to be proof of that.
Although her coloring was somewhat darker than his, her eyes had the same lively
and intelligent expression.
"No, it's like Professor Stoddard said. It makes an
excellent piece of fiction."
Dr. Chapman opened his mouth, then appeared to think better
of whatever he had been about to say. "Where's the young lady I saw with
you in the corridor, Esther?"
"Carolyn just couldn't seem to warm up." That was
an understatement. Wisely, I kept my mouth shut. "I offered her our
bathroom and left her soaking in a hot tub." They were the only ones with a
private bath, complete with a tub.
Everyone, including Dr. Carrington, made do with the
communal baths.
Dr. Carrington should have had those rooms, but he'd wanted
Hugo Chapman as part of his research team more. He would have given the man a
seraglio of dancing girls, or dancing boys, if that had been one of his demands.
Of course, Esther Chapman would have had a good deal to say about that.
"Here's the key to the greenhouse, Blair."
"Thanks, Mrs. C." I looped the lanyard over my head.
Dr. Chapman smiled. "Why don't you tell Esther about
who you met?"
"Sweetie, you met someone? I'm so happy!"
"Don't be. We had one date." I wasn't certain she
was aware that men could have sex with each other, but I was certain she would
have been shocked out of her flannel underwear if I told her what I'd done with
a man I had known only a few hours. "It wasn't anything to make a fuss
over, honest. We just had dinner and a few drinks and… Um... If you don't
mind, I think I'll go back to my quarters and take a nap. Simon's told me Dr.
Carrington has put the MacCormick molds in my care, and I'll need to check them
later this evening."
I left my half-eaten meal on the table and got out before
she could question me further.
****
Narrow bed, single chest of drawers, desk with a lamp and
chair.
My room felt like an alien place, even though I'd only been
away for seven days.
There would be time later to empty my backpack and set the
dirty clothes aside to be taken to the laundry. Right now I needed a shower.
There hadn't been time the night before.
Well, truthfully, there had, but I hadn't wanted to wash
Jim Ellison's come off my groin and navel. I still didn't want to, which I found
really pathetic, but I was starting to itch.
I removed the stud from my ear and put it in the small box
that held my memories. My grandparents' wedding rings, which Naomi swore she had
no use for, an onyx pinky ring that I believed was my father's, other bits and
pieces to remind me of the people I'd met in my travels, the friends and the
very occasional lover.
I grabbed up fresh clothes and went to the men's shower. It
was empty, the men either being in the mess hall or the laboratories. I turned
on the water, stripped down, stuffed the hothouse key into a trouser pocket, and
stepped into the narrow cubicle.
The hot water was less than a cascade down my back. I stuck
my head under it, wetting my hair. It was shorter than it had been only the week
before, although still longer and curlier than was acceptable in society. I
hadn't been in the
I poured some liquid shampoo into my palm and worked it
through my hair. Ropes of lather slid over my shoulders and chest. I liked the
feel of the bubbles catching on my nipples.
Once I'd finished washing my hair, I reached for the bar of
soap, rubbing it over my arms, then through the mat of hair that covered my
chest and arrowed down to my abdomen. My dick was flaccid, but as I bent to wash
my legs, the water hit the crack of my ass.
My dick became engorged with the blood that caused it to
swell.
I was suddenly overtaken by the image of Jim Ellison behind
me in the shower, his groin pressed against my ass, the thick length of his
shaft nudging the crevice between my buttocks.
I bit back a groan and stroked my dick with a soapy hand,
while a finger slid past my anus, finding my prostate as Jim had done on the
front seat of the borrowed car. I pushed back onto my finger, then rocked my
hips forward and thrust into my fist.
I braced my legs apart and rubbed my thumb roughly over the
slit that was oozing drops of pre come while I pushed a second finger into my
back passage. It was awkward, and soap wasn't the best lubricant, but once I'd
found my prostate and began giving it the attention it was begging for, I flat
out didn't care.
I closed my eyes against the spray and imagined how it
could have been.
A tall body joining me in the shower.
Fingers manacling my wrists, my torso against the cool tin
while my ass was angled back.
My legs shoved apart and his dick between my cheeks,
rubbing along the crevice, teasing my hole.
Needing him inside me.
Tossing my head in frustration that he wouldn't give me
what I wanted.
My hair slapping wetly against his face, then pushed aside,
and teeth biting down on the back of my neck at the same moment his dick slammed
into me.
My hips jerked as I came, spattering the wall with semen. I
sagged and struggled to catch my breath and let the water trickle down, rinsing
me clean.
Blindly I reached out and twisted the faucets. The water
pressure was never the best, half the times the pipes were in danger of
freezing, and there'd be hell to pay if I used up all the hot water.
Still, it wasn't Saturday night. Maybe no one would realize
there was a bit of a hot water shortage.
I dried myself off, put on the clean clothes, and picked up
the shirt that I'd worn for more than twenty-four hours. The tail was a little
stiff, and I realized semen must have dried on it. I raised it to my face and
inhaled, and was inundated again with memories of the night before.
Why hadn't Ellison stayed awake long enough to fuck me?
I gathered up the rest of my clothing and returned to my
room, where I found the Eskimo girls Mrs. Chapman employed to do the station's
laundry had been by and collected the clothes that had been in my backpack.
They were good girls, but they had no concept of the
necessity of doing things expeditiously.
That meant the only clean clothes I had were the ones I was
wearing.
I was pleased they hadn't taken the shirt that carried the
scent of Jim and me. I hung it over the back of the chair. At least I had a
memento.
I decided I didn't really need that nap and went down to my
laboratory.
****
Something disrupted my concentration, and I raised my head
from the microscope. I took off my glasses and squeezed the bridge of my nose,
then peered into the shadows at the corners of the room, but the laboratory was
quiet.
A glance at the clock on the wall told me it was a quarter
past eleven. I'd been studying these slides for much longer than I'd realized.
The mold spores were beginning to swim before my eyes.
"Okay, Sandburg, enough," I muttered to myself.
"Let's get you to bed before you keel over. Maybe if you're lucky, you'll
dream of Jim Ellison."
I sighed. The odds of seeing him again in anything but my
dreams really were minimal.
I took the notes I'd been making and stacked them in the in
box for the new secretary to transcribe and give to Dr. Carrington, and called
it a night.
****
I overslept.
It was unusual in the extreme that Dr. Carrington hadn't
sent someone to wake me up. I vigorously massaged my scalp, clambered out of
bed, and dragged on my clothes, paid a hasty visit to the lavatory, then hurried
to the empty mess hall.
I was starved. I should have finished my meal the night
before.
"I keep these warm for you, Brair." Lee grinned
and handed me a mug of coffee and a plate stacked high with pancakes.
"Thanks, Lee." I took a seat at one of the long
tables, and he brought me the jug of warm maple syrup and the butter dish.
Simon walked in, and I paused with the fork half-way to my
mouth.
"Jesus, man! You look exhausted."
He looked more than exhausted. His black face was almost
grey with fatigue. He dropped down beside me with a groan, accepted the mug of
coffee Lee offered him, and took a deep gulp.
"Just need to get my second wind." Simon
carefully placed the mug on the table and dug his fingers into his eyes as if an
incipient headache was lurking behind them. "Last night, around
The door to the mess hall swung open to bang against the
wall, and our heads jerked up to see who was coming in.
Tex Richards, the radio operator. A broad grin stretched
his mouth when he saw me.
"Hey, amigo! I heard you were back! I wanna hear all
your tales about the big, bad city!"
Cascade, a big, bad city? I swallowed a grin. How would he
regard
He quickly became serious. "A message just came in
from General Fogarty, Captain Banks." The radio man crossed to where we sat
and handed him a slip of paper. "Sounds like this ain't the first he's
sent, but it's the first that wasn't drowned out by static."
Simon studied it carefully, worrying his lower lip.
"Thanks,
"Will do. See you later, Blair."
I gave
"I don't know. Last night at
"Russian, Simon?"
"Possibly. They're all over the Pole like flies. The
only reason why the Military gave permission for this garden party up here is
because the egg heads have me and my boys guarding their asses."
"Placing your bodies between us and the evil
Commies?" It was meant to lighten the atmosphere, but it wasn't successful.
"That's right." Simon was dead serious.
"So what's got the General's shorts in a bunch?" Fogarty, the general who ran the Air Force on the West Coast, was known for keeping a cool head when others were panicking. If he was concerned…
"Whatever it is that crashed, it's producing a
magnetic disturbance that's throwing everything off kilter!"
"Odd. Meteorite, maybe?"
"That's what Dr. Chapman believes. Of course,
Carrington believes it's something else entirely."
"Oh?"
Simon's expression became sour. "He thinks it's some
sort of… Twenty thousand tons of metal. Hell, Blair, you know his favorite
hobby horse."
"Extraterrestrial life? A UFO? The Air Force has
flatly stated that they're either hallucinations, weather balloons, or
out-and-out hoaxes."
"Right."
"Seriously, Simon." My expression was the most
earnest I could make it. "According to the Department of Defense's Office
of Public Information, in an official communiqué dated
"How do you remember that shit?"
"I make it my business to memorize the important sh…
stuff, Simon." As I'd hoped, that finally got a grin out of him.
"General Fogarty is having kittens about that magnetic
disturbance. Almost twelve hours, and it hasn't abated to any degree. He wants
us to go check it out. He's sending some men to investigate it. They're already
on there way up."
"Sounds like SOP to me. Will I get to go?"
"Not your field, Sandburg." He ignored my
muttering that he never let me have any fun and growled, "He's sending a
reporter, too, to cover it."
"And he'll get to go out on the ice with the big boys?
Simon, that is just not fair!"
"It's a woman."
"Huh?"
"The reporter. He's a 'she.'"
"She must be something special. Who is she?"
"Megan Connor."
My jaw dropped. "The only female reporter to cover not
only the European Theater, but the Pacific Theater as well?"
Simon grunted. "General Fogarty isn't impressed. He
just wants to get her the hell out of Cascade."
"I thought you said he wants her to… Oh. I
see." There were things going on in Cascade that the General didn't want
the public privy to. The man was noted for nursing his secrets like a June
bride. "When are they supposed to arrive?"
"Probably another twenty minutes. About a hour out
they had to start homing in on
I could understand it; I'd heard the radio man sing.
"This going to be a long visit?"
"I hope not, but they'll be bringing additional, er…
supplies." He looked up.
I glanced up as well, at the toilet paper streamers that
were still dangling from the ceiling beams. "Well, that's thoughtful."
He checked his watch. "They'd better shake their
asses. We've got a front moving in…"
"That's nothing new," I grinned as I finished the
last of the pancakes.
"… and they're going to wind up stranded up here.
Carolyn Plummer should be really thrilled about that. Her ex-husband will be
piloting that plane."
"Oh, boy. And from the way she talked about him
yesterday, I don't think he's her most favorite person."
Simon gave me an odd look, but Dr. Carrington walked into
the mess hall just then.
Arthur Carrington had more degrees than Carter had pills.
His IQ was off the chart, and there was nothing he liked more than finding
answers to seemingly unanswerable questions.
He was a very distinguished-looking man, of medium height,
with close-cropped, prematurely white hair and cool grey eyes. Normally, he
preferred to wear a cardigan that matched his eyes, but now he was dressed for
the outdoors in an alpaca coat that wouldn't have looked out of place on
"Captain Banks, have you seen… Ah, there you are,
Dr. Sandburg."
"Yes, sir?"
"You've heard about the disturbance?"
"Simon was telling me about it."
"Excellent, excellent. I'm…er… I'm afraid you
won't be able to go out with us."
"Simon told me that, also." I wanted to go, and I
couldn't help the touch of resentment in my voice. Dr. Carrington didn't take
note of it at all.
"Ah. Excellent. Well, I wanted you to know General
Fogarty's men are just arriving, Captain Banks."
"Thanks." Simon looked put out. As head of
security, he should have been informed first.
"They brought up the supplies we've been requesting,
and I'm having them transferred to the storage building."
Simon nodded grudgingly. "That should give me time to
round up my crew. Blair, would you mind telling the Eskimos to harness the
dogs?"
"Sure thing, Simon." I'd become friendly with our
Eskimos, had learned their language, and spent a good deal of my spare time with
them. The dynamics of their tribal life fascinated me.
Once an anthropologist, always an anthropologist.
I followed the two men out into the corridor.
"As soon as the dogs are ready, we can get a move on,
Dr. Carrington," Simon was saying.
"Will the dogs have to come with us?"
"If we can't land close enough to the spot you've
indicated, we're going to need them to get us there."
Dr. Carrington nodded, but I knew he wasn't happy. He'd
been nipped by one of the dogs, and had never gotten over his uneasiness around
them.
There was the bite of winter in the air. I should have
grabbed my parka. As soon as I passed the message to the Eskimos who cared for
our dogs, I rushed back into the station, shivering and rubbing my arms briskly,
thankful that Lee had another cup of coffee waiting for me.
****
The experiment I'd set up with the molds wouldn't be
completed for some time, so after lunch I took a break and went to visit our
Eskimos.
The men of the village had been fishing in the ice floes
and had brought back a whale; there would be feasting tonight, and tomorrow they
would begin preparations for the long journey south to the spot where they
wintered.
I sat with them and helped carve creamy strips of blubber
from the carcass, working our way down to the flesh. Every once in a while I'd
toss a chunk to the dogs. These were sweet-tempered animals, not like the brutes
that had been brought up here from Barrow to pull the station's sleds.
The angatkuq or shaman was telling a convoluted story that
had everyone chuckling when the headman's wife touched my shoulder and pointed
to the Northeast. At first I couldn't see anything, and then there it was, a
speck that was quickly growing larger. Close behind it was the storm front that
had been threatening for days. My breath snagged in my throat as I watched the
plane try to out-race the storm.
I shoved my knife into its sheath in my boot, barely taking
the time to thrust it into the snow to clean it, and ran for the landing strip.
Some of the Eskimo men were right behind me.
"Smith!
The wind rose, and snow started to pelt down.
"Oh, shit!"
The landing was rough, a ski broken in the process, but
they had made it with minutes to spare.
The cargo hatch opened. "Someone get these dogs out of
here!"
I spoke quickly to the Eskimos, and they rushed into the
plane. Within seconds they were being dragged out behind the team of sled dogs.
Men and animals all seemed panicked.
"What the…?" I stared after them as they
chained up the dogs and raced back to their village, shouting something that was
lost in the fierce whine of the wind.
Simon jumped down from the cargo hatch. A huge block of ice
was shoved out of it and onto the ground. "Come on, men!" he roared.
"We need to get this thing into one of the storerooms!"
While Simon's men were busy dragging the block of ice
toward the uppermost building of the station, the ground and flight crews were
scrambling to get the crippled C-54 into the shelter of the hangar.
"What is that?"
"Believe me, you don't want to know!"
"Barnes, go see Mrs. Chapman. I don't want you puking
over your boots again! Lieutenant Dykes, the radio room is through there.
Blair!"
"Yeah, Simon?"
"We want to put this thing in number 4. And we want it
kept frozen!" He ignored the scowls from Dr. Carrington and Professor
Laurenz. Why was the botanist involved in this?
"We need to study this…"
"We've already lost the ship…"
When they realized that Simon wasn't paying any attention
to them, they strode to the man who was watching the plane being secured.
"Captain, this is under military jurisdiction…"
"You have the say-so, so you have to let us…"
"He doesn't have to let them do a fucking thing." Simon's smile was grim.
"Is this what was causing the disturbance,
Simon?" I tapped the block of ice with the toe of my boot.
"No, his saucer was."
"Saucer? As in *flying*
saucer?" My eyes widened. "A man from Mars? Amazing!" I studied
the size of the block. It would be at least eight feet, more probably nine, when
it was upended, and I could vaguely make out the shape within. Something that
size… "What did the inside of his ship look like?"
"No idea." The redhead who spoke with the faint
Australian accent had to be Megan Connor. "Smart boy over there decided to
melt the ice with a thermite bomb. He succeeded in blowing it up, instead."
"How was he supposed to know it was made from some
magnesium alloy? Even Carrington didn't blame him for that." A big, stocky
black man with military insignia on the shoulders of his flight suit glared at
her. "He explained that's SOP, miss. Standard operating procedure."
She glared back at him, unintimidated by his size. "I
know what SOP stands for, Taggart, and don't call me 'miss'. Why don't you just
admit it? He screwed up. Wait'll General Fogarty hears about this!"
"But thermite shouldn't have caused that type of
destruction."
"Carrington believes the thermite ignited the
magnesium skin of the craft, and…"
"There's a newsflash for you: magnesium burns!"
"… there
was some kind of chain reaction with the engines, and ka-boom."
"That's not funny, Taggart," Megan Connor sniped.
The lieutenant shrugged. "Some people have no sense of
humor."
Simon shook his head. "There's no use in regretting
what can't be fixed. We still have our visitor from Mars to deal with."
"How come he didn't go up with his ship, Simon?"
The reporter answered my question. "According to
Carrington, he was probably thrown from the ship when it crashed. The heat from
its entry into the atmosphere caused the surrounding ice to melt and then freeze
around him. He was encased in this block of ice for almost eighteen hours.
Survival was impossible."
"Especially when you consider that while we were
trying to free that thing from the ice, Barnes sank his axe into its head."
Simon swallowed. "He… it… Shit. Something green oozed out of the man
from Mars' head."
"Ah. So that's what made him sick. But if it had been
in the ice that long… ?"
"I don't know how to explain this, Blair."
I gripped his shoulder to let him know I understood his
frustration with something that was so far out of the realm of our knowledge.
"Listen, Simon. There's no control for the temperature in the storerooms,
but I'll see what I can do."
"Find a way to get that temperature down." The
military man who had been harangued by the double domes joined us, irritation
radiating from him with every step he took. His face was concealed by the shadow
of his flight cap and the raised collar of his flight suit, and his gaze was
fixed on the block of ice. "I don't care what you do, Einstein, just do it.
If this thing starts melting, I'm gonna hold you personally responsible.
Banks…"
"Keep your shirt on, General MacArthur," I
snapped at him. "I said I'll take care of it."
His head whipped around, but I had dismissed the
overbearing son-of-a-bitch and was already turning back to the buildings.
I trotted down the corridor that led to the number 4
storeroom and flicked on the light switch by the door. Simon had picked a good
one. There were some empty crates stacked against the walls and a beat-up old
desk that would eventually be broken up for firewood, but otherwise there was
room for the slab of ice and whatever it contained.
It was about 40 degrees in there, cold, but tropical
compared to the temperature on the other side of the walls. I glanced around the
room, my gaze returning to the two windows that were a few feet below the
ceiling. They were double-paned for insulation. I went out to find something to
break them.
It took some searching. Simon's men had brought all the ice
axes with them and hadn't replaced them yet, but I finally found a crowbar in
the last storeroom I rummaged through.
As I went back to Number 4, I could hear raised voices.
"You have to let us thaw this being out,
Captain." Dr. Carrington, no longer hot under the collar, but flatly
emphatic.
"Arthur, you don't know what that could let loose on
this planet." Dr. Chapman, sounding more concerned than I could ever
recall.
"Are you insinuating he could survive this cold?"
"No, of course not, but there are germs that can
survive it. Germs our immune system would have no defense against."
"Really, Hugo…"
There was another argument going on as well.
"Listen, Banks, I told him…" The captain had
his back to me. The angle of his head was pugnacious, and his hands were fisted
at his side.
"Give the kid a fucking break!" Simon was looking
just as pugnacious.
I felt the ridiculous urge to chant, 'Fight, fight, fight!'
"Problem, gentlemen?" I asked as I leaned against
the doorframe.
The captain stiffened but didn't turn. "You were
supposed to do something about the temperature in this room."
"And so I shall." I sauntered past him to the
first window, hefted the crowbar like Joltin' Joe, and slammed it against the
glass, shattering it. Cold wind whined through the broken pane. I went to the
one beside it and repeated my action. Freezing pellets of snow started blowing
in with the wind. "Think that will be cold enough for you, Captain?" I
turned to face him with a smug grin on my face.
I could see his face clearly for the first time, and the
crowbar dropped from suddenly nerveless fingers.
It was Jim Ellison.
End Part A
