A Jungle of Stars (1976) (17 page)

Savage decided on a calculated risk. The torrent of words that poured from her demonstrated her extreme lonliness, and told the whole story.

Isolated from the mainstream of society, even blind society, by over protective parents, and told she was crippled and treated that way all her life, she had not known how to communicate. Dropped suddenly into real life, she had no experience to cope with it. She'd retreated into the small world of her apatment, and stayed. People wanted to help, of course, but their obvious motive -- pity -- only increased her own self-pity. She dressed sloppily because she didn't have anyone to dress for. She kept a sloppy house because she had lost hope. When she was feeling particularly lonely, she ate.

Savage chose his words carefully. "Did you ever," he asked softly, "wish you'd gone to that party?"

She froze, sitting straight up for an instant; then she seemed to melt.

Tears welled up behind the glasses and streamed down her cheeks.

"I -- I'm sorry I said that," he apologized. "I shouldn't have. I--"

"No, no, that's all right," she said. "You're right. Yes, I've wished it. I -- I've even thought of correcting the mistake."

"What the hell for?" he chastised her. "There's no reason for it. You're not unattractive, and, being born blind, you're less handicapped than somebody who goes blind. There are lots of productive things you could do. Jobs. Get out!" "For what?" she asked bitterly. "For who? Why? So I can exchange one prison for another?"

"Maybe for -- me. . ." he said softly.

"For you. . . ?" She gave a bitter, humorless laugh. "Who are you, Paul Carleton Savage? A traveler? A man of great experience? Somebody who got here last night and will be gone tomorrow morning."

Savage sat thinking for a few seconds. How strange, he thought, how really strange. Come in on a dirty case, and in the space of an hour in the morning get caught up with somebody. She was right, after all. If the Team cleaned things up, he would be gone. Somehow, he felt very guilty about all this. Abruptly, he decided he would take a vacation -- they were pretty flexible around D.C. headquarters, anyway -- when this job was done. Here.

Stay a while. See it through. He'd made a commitment somehow.

"I'll be here for a while, Jennifer," he told her. "Let's see what develops."

She smiled a warm smile, but she didn't believe him. Even so, this was the first time anything had happened. It was like the excitement last night, she thought. Enjoy it while it lasts. . .

"Let's go," he said, picking up the check.

"How much is it?" she asked him.

"Never mind. My treat."

"Oh, no!" she shot back. "Remember, this is my date."

He, shrugged. "Three twelve."

She brought out the wallet and counted out three ones and took a quarter from the change purse. "You leave the tip," she said.

As Savage got in the car, he heard the buzzer alarm inside.

Jennifer heard it, too. "What's that?" she asked.

"Car phone," be replied, and touched the stud. "Hang on a minute while I answer this."

She sat quietly as be picked up the receiver. "Savage here."

"Savage! My God, been trying to reach you for some time!" came a gruff male voice.

"Breakfast with a pretty lady," he answered, and Jenny smiled.

"Well, time to get to work. We can't get the Team assembled there until four or so this afternoon. You'll have to delay the dive until then."

Savage felt a knot tighten in his stomach. "You mean that's not the Team out there now?"

"Hell, no! What gives?"

"Hate to tell you this, but the Army is out there -- and it's not what we planned at all."

"Oh, shit!" exclaimed the watch. "You mean the real one?"

3

AS SAVAGE DROVE out to the lakeside, Jennifer was silent for a while.

Finally, she asked, "Just what sort of work do you do?"

"I investigate. That big visitor you had last night is my baby, the reason I'm here. It's my job to check out all sort of weird happenings around this area of the country."

"For whom? I mean, for what do you work?"

"Well, a combination of agencies, really," he said carefully.

"Government?"

"Some," he admitted, "and some private foundations as well. Whoops! Here comes the roadblock. Army men this time. Hope you don't mind the delay."

"That's all right," she said quietly. "I have nothing else to do."

The sentry was not as trusting as the trooper had been; Savage's DIA credentials were meticulously scrutinized. However, when the man was satisfied, he motioned Savage on through and told him to park next to a troop carrier about a hundred feet farther on.

"Wait here," Savage told Jennifer, and got out.

In a few minutes, he had spotted the obvious supervisor, a chicken colonel, who, Savage saw from his nameplate, was named Marovec.

"Morning, Colonel," Savage called pleasantly.

"Who the hell are you?" snarled Marovec, some exasperation in his voice.

Ever since coming in at about 6 A.M., he had been besieged with town officials, public works men, and a few reporters.

"Savage, DIA, Pentagon," he replied crisply. "I didn't get any word that regulars were being sent up."

"You wouldn't," Marovec replied in a more subdued tone. "Didn't know it myself until a few hours ago. I got the order to move down -- have a little installation up in the hills there -- and wait for an Air Force specialty team.""Any idea why?"

"Not really," he admitted. "I think NORAD tracked this thing down and didn't like something about the way it came in."

"Flying saucers?" Savage asked derisively.

"Naw. None of that goddam silly stuff. Could be a lost Russian item or something, though. I'm told that what bugged hell out of them was the slow descent and, the fact that it changed course for no apparent reason, like it wanted to hit just where it did. Anyway, we want to see what's there."

"So, do I, Colonel, so do I. What's going to happen now?"

"Well, we wait for the flyboys to come in. Should be good -- never saw flyboys in scuba gear before. All we need now is the Navy."

"Well, look, I've got a local in the car. Let me drop here off and I'll come on back?"

"No hurry," the lieutenant colonel replied. "They're flying in some people fom Vandenberg and--" he looked at his watch, "they just now left. It's almost ten now I figure they couldn't get to Mycroft, get their stuff, arrive, get out to this site before three or four. Good thing it's summer: plenty of working light."

"Okay," Savage replied. "I'll complete my interviews with the locals in town and meet you about three, then."

"Should be time enough. Probably just a big rock, anyway, buried so deep they'll never get it out."

"I don't think so, Colonel," Savage objected. "Look out there at the center of the lake. See that dark blotch? I think that's it."

"Could be," Marovec admitted. "We'll see."

As Savage walked back to the car, he saw that Jennifer had gotten out and was leaning against the door, letting the warm breeze off the lake hit her in the face. He stopped to stare at her for a moment.

Funny, he thought to himself. Here I meet her only this morning and, in the middle of the biggest job of my life, I can't think of much else but her.

This sort of thing happens to other people, not to me, he told himself. But the strong emotional feeling, somewhat ill defined and very alien, just wouldn't go away. He found himself liking -- even admiring -- the unkempt, informal look; her deficiencies, so obvious earlier, seemed to turn into assets or become suddenly irrelevant.

Walking back up to her, he put his left hand in hers. She smiled. "So how'd it go?"

"Nothing much doing until the big boys get here this afternoon," he told her. "Let's go back."

He helped her into the car and started back to the Merritt. As he drove, be punched the stud and picked up the transceiver once again.

"Duty Watch," responded the same gruff male voice he had talked to earlier.

"Savage again," he reported. "The big boys are coming in from Vandenberg at three. Can you vouch for through DIA and get me in on the show?"

"Already done after your first call. Looks like a rough one, Savage.

Particularly if there's still something alive in there."

"Don't see how we can put the lid on it now," Savage agreed. "The best we can do is cover the examination when they get the thing out. That won't be easy -- a couple of days and some heavy equipment."

"Okay. Stay there and do what you can. Above all keep us informed. We have Della Rosa already on Air Force team and Peterson's there with his Washington Post cover. We're ready to drop in the Team and to hell with it if things get really messy."

"Right. Back at three or earlier, if things develop," Savage told him.

"Clear for now."

"Clear," responded the watch officer.

"That really was a spaceship that crashed in there, wasn't it?" Jenny asked suddenly.

Savage was startled. "Huh? What makes you think the flying saucers are among us all of a sudden?"

"When you're blind," she explained, "you train your other senses to a fine point. I heard both ends of the conversation."

Savage turned into the parking lot and parked the car. He sat for a long moment, thinking about what to say.

"Yes," he said finally. "We think it was. And it could be extremely dangerous."

He got out of the car and opened her door, helping her out. As he closed her side and they started for the door to the inside hall, Savage heard a series of electrical bells.

"What the hell is that?" he asked.

"The ice cream truck," she replied. "It usually makes two runs through the area, right about now and later this evening."

"But I thought the guy who ran the truck was the father of the girl who was killed," he said in a puzzled tone.

Jennifer, too, looked suddenly strange. "He is, come to think of it."

Savage took her by the hand and they walked around to the front of the apartment complex. The truck, one of the snub-nosed, box-shaped trucks that specialized in soft ice cream, was just pulling out, its bells jangling. A half-dozen or so kids were standing in the lot watching it go. Most were holding ice cream cones or bars, which were dripping messily in the hot sun, but, none seemed to be eating. Instead, they all watched the truck roll down the road and out of view, dreamy sort of half-smiles on their faces.

That was what was wrong. That being the fact that kids almost never mill around after a truck leaves. They rush to buy the stuff, then run back to eat, get messy, and return to play. Savage desctibed the scene to Jennifer.

They approached one of the kids, a boy of eight or nine just standing there, a double-dip chocolate cone oozing down.

"Hi!" Savage greeted the boy cheerfully. "Was that Mr. McBride?"

"Yeah," the boy answered sullenly, sounding like his mouth was full of mush. "Is that you, Tommy?" Jennifer put in, recognizing the voice.

"Yeah, Jenny," he replied with the same mushy indifference.

"How did Mr. McBride look and act, Tommy?" Savage asked him.

The boy shrugged. "'Bout the same, I guess. Didn't notice, 'cause of Charley."

"Who's Charley, Tommy?" Jennifer prodded.

"He's our friend," the boy responded dreamily.

"Is Charley a dog or something?" Savage asked.

"Naw. He's -- well, sort of a little purple haystack, ya know."

And, with that, Tommy seemed to lose interest and wandered off with the other kids.

Savage frowned. "Ever hear of anything like that before?" he asked Jennifer.

"No," she admitted. "Not that. But kids have such great imaginations, and McBride was always good with them. He always pretended he had an invisible friend in the freezer who handed him the ice cream bars. They love it."

Savage shrugged, and they returned to the doorway, but something in the back of his mind told him that things weren't kosher. McBride out the day after his daughter was killed, her body still in the lake. And the kids'

reactions. He put it out of his mind for now as they approached Jennifer's door. "Come on in for a few minutes, Paul," she invited as she unlocked it.

"You said you had some time. And excuse the looks of the place."

He entered without a word and watched as she kicked off her sandals and plopped on the bed. He just sort of stood there for a second, cursing himself, unsure of what to do next. He knew what he wanted to do, but there were inhibitions long ingrained in him which whispered that, no matter what he did, it would be the wrong move and he'd blow it. Calm and as implacable as ever on the outside, he was a raging torrent on the inside.

"Come on over and sit on the bed," she said, and he did, putting his left arm around her.

"Have you had a lot of girls, Paul?" she asked. "World traveler, detective, and all that -- you must have."

"No," he answered her softly. "Nobody. I grew up as much a social prisoner as you, Jenny. The ugly one, Mr. Ape Man, and all that. I never really had much of an adolescence. I stayed away from social contacts -- the ridicule was too much. Finally, when one girl did show some interest in me --

I was eighteen -- I blew everything by not knowing what to do. I -- I --

couldn't be human. The armor grew up with me and it proved too thick."

"You haven't had any problems with me," she pointed out.

He leaned over and kissed her, long and hard.

"Did you know I'm twenty-five years old and still a virgin?" she whispered.

She lifted off the t-shirt and slipped out of the jeans, kicking them to the floor. He, too, stripped down, removing also his hand harness, and climbed into bed with her.

"That should be an easy condition to fix," he replied, his heart pounding.

She reached out. "Oh, God, it's a big thing," she whispered.

He had never done it left-handedly, and hadn't done it at all in a long, long while.

Time passed, but they didn't notice it; two extremely lonely people, armor down, had found something that transcended such things as the outside world. After, they just lay for a time, not talking, simply touching, knowing for the first time in their lives the involvement that one human being can have for another.