Book 1 Flight of the Armada Chapter 1 / part 2

The ship was remarkably roomy inside, even given the fact that the Thuringi were large people. The instrument panel bore identifying face plates in a language which looked like idle scratch marks. There was a definite pattern to those marks, however. He noted some gauges bore scratches alongside small hash marks and Michael presumed these were numerals.

Michael glanced out the cockpit to the land below with ease. He recognized the landscape when he saw the Mississippi river below, and he realized how fast they were going. Oklahoma would be underneath them quickly, at this rate of speed. He tapped Stuart on the shoulder and directed him to the farmhouse, using landmarks to find his way.

The Sheldon ranch house was in sad shape. When Derrick Sheldon struck oil, he promptly moved his family into Tulsa, leaving the ranch to serve simply as a point of reference for his drilling crews. But it was a large two-story house, spacious and comfortable with a wide front porch that stretched across the width of the house, sheltered by a sloping roof connected to the clapboard siding.

The house was surrounded by a three-strand barbed wire fence that enveloped a large overgrown yard Michael always dreaded mowing as a boy. The house sat fifty yards back from the hard-packed dirt road and the weather-beaten barn was thirty yards further back behind the house. A worn gravel driveway led from the road up to the right side of the house and around to the barn. The side yards measured twenty yards from the house to the fencing. A few free-ranging cows sidled up to the fence.

They landed their ships in the back yard out of sight of the road. Stretching as they got out of their crafts, the Thuringi were cautious about their surroundings but at the same time quivered with curiosity. Glendon went at once toward the cows until caution overtook him, and he stood back from the fence about ten feet. He spoke to them in his musical Thuringi language in an attempt to coax them closer. The cows moved about restlessly but did not leave until they realized there was no feed offered.

Michael explained the different features of the farm. Gareth was especially interested in the tractor, the combine, and the hand implements. He also eyed the old truck Derrick Sheldon drove home one day and never was able to start again. Michael told him he could tinker with it all he wanted. "I know it won't fly you around the moon or anything, but it's the kind of transportation most people use here."

"(Hmm)," Gareth said, studying it. "(It is positively elementary. How challenging)!" Once he had the hood opened, he crawled into the engine compartment, a "Hmm!" of discovery issuing from his lips now and then. They pulled him away to continue the tour.

Darien inspected the farmhouse with a critical eye. "(This will take much work to make livable)."

"(But we are grateful for it)," Stuart said to Michael, irritated at his brother's ill manners.

Darien belatedly grunted and nodded. “(It is not my intention to be so contentious, Michael of Tulsa. I should not be so quick to judge).”

"I understand. I'm afraid we didn't do a lot of updating before we moved," Michael said, "but the roustabouts haven't done too much damage."

It had three bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs with a kitchen, dining room, living room and a master bedroom downstairs. Off the kitchen in back was a screened-in porch. The plaster on the ceiling was cracked but still intact and the wallpaper was dingy and peeling in places. To show people he knew around the house would have been embarrassing enough, but to put his old house on display for people from a whole other world, possibly another galaxy, made Michael temporarily wish he could have fixed the place up before they came out. But then, who knew he would have visitors - extremely foreign visitors?

"The thing you'll need to concentrate on is getting some identification for yourselves, something that won’t raise suspicions about your origins," Michael continued. "I'll tell my folks that you're friends of mine I'm loaning use of the house. I'm sure they won't mind."

Carrol noticed Brent was missing. They searched and finally found him blissfully floating in the metal water reservoir beside the barn. He repeatedly dunked his head under water, and the weblike pattern on his wetsuit pulsed with each heartbeat. "There's a stock pond down yonder," Michael said at first chance.

"(There is liquid right here)," Brent sighed, sloshing around in the reservoir languidly. "(I shall observe your stockpond of which you are so eager to introduce, eventually. And just what is this stockpond down yonder)?"

"Our stockpond is a pool of freshwater, about...oh, about as big as this fenced in yard."

Brent abruptly stood up. "(Stockpond, you say)?"

"(No, no stock pond now)," Stuart told him. "(Are you more comfortable)?"

"(Yes, I am refreshed for the now)," Brent said, emerging from the tank.

"Are you... do you need water to live, or something?" Michael asked.

"(We all do)," Glendon explained, "(but our kinsman Brent is of a liquid heritage that begs a kinder climate for his skin)."

"He's amphibious?" The Thuringi looked at each other. The translators strained to decipher Michael’s unfamiliar language.

"(I adore females)," Brent stated almost indignantly.

Glendon explained, "(He will dry out and weaken without the touch of water on his being)."

"Yes, that's what I meant," Michael said. Brent nodded, apparently satisfied that his virility was no longer impugned.

"(Does this world have anything edible? We are no longer parched but we do hunger)," Darien said as he rubbed his abdomen in emphasis.

"Oh, I guess you are at that! There's a store about ten miles from here," Michael volunteered. He checked his wallet. He planned to buy groceries for himself that weekend, and so had a good amount of cash on hand.

"(What is a store)?" Darien asked suspiciously.

"(A store; a trader's center)," Glendon said brightly, and Michael nodded in confirmation. "(It is a marketplace, correct)?"

"Right," Michael agreed, and showed them his greenbacks. "This is our monetary system. I exchange these... tokens for whatever price they put on what I need."

"(Oh, I see)," Gareth remarked, "(it is the way of the D’tai and the Gharadee, vaguely similar to our hours).”

"(And of our way, in the older days)," Stuart agreed. "(Before the Reform of the Phillipi)."

"(So, we have returned to the barbaric past)," Darien snorted. "(Stepping backward in time. I had hoped it would be as Thuringi as possible, this world)."

"(It is closer than I ever dared dream. Darien, we are no longer on Thuringa)," Stuart reminded him sternly. "(We are guests, guests of a market-based society. You sound more and more like an Elder and that is unnerving)." He turned to Michael. “(I do apologize for my brother, friend Michael. Our people do not use coin to measure the worth of our toil, but we do – or rather did – trade with others and we understand the use and utility of monetary systems).”

Stuart took Michael to the outskirts of the nearby town in his aircraft, as the others remained behind in the farmhouse.

“This will take some doing. What a disgusting way to live!” Darien exclaimed as he kicked at some crumpled paper in the floor.

“He said no one lives here, Darien; what is the matter with you?” Carrol reproved. “It is not that bad, and I am glad we are in a secluded area. He does not quite look like us and none of them probably will. We will not fit immediately in this society. We do not know their strengths and they have been at war. Does your hunger allow for the six of us to fight for landing rights here against an entire planet? How do you know this Earthian is not somehow connected to a powerful lord and your insults will bring us trouble?”

“No, you are right,” Darien said crossly, annoyed at his own behavior. “I cannot seem to help it. I am too hungry to do much else than listen to my stomach object to its hollow state. I could not understand some of his words. What is ‘Aye-m’? And ‘Yer’?”

“And a ‘yonder’?” Brent added.

“What is this, Gareth?” Glendon asked about an object in the house’s front room.

“How should I know, this world is alien to me too,” Gareth replied, but he checked it out just the same.

“You are the mechanical answer man,” Glendon told him. “Surely you can hazard a guess.”

Gareth looked the object over from every vantage point, muttering as he tried to figure out its purpose. “It is made of a heavy metal. Large, square and... hmm! These are holes have coverings on top. This hollow tube runs out of it and into the wall, but there is no engine attached… no power source… hmm.” Gareth poked around in the hollow metal object, unfamiliar with an Earthian wood-burning stove. “I do not know.”

“Do not know?” Darien laughed. “Gareth Duncan, the man who can make lifesaving repairs to a gigantic oceanic ship, does not know what a little metal box does?”

“I said I do not know. Did you hear that? I shall say it again then. I – do – not – know.” He grinned. “Are you glad that the processes for waste removal on the ships all worked? I can make basic bodily functions on a fighter craft an afterthought even after many ginta of flight, yet you take me to task over an iron box on a strange world. Yes, I am at a complete loss as to its purpose. However, there is an engine of sorts out to the side of this building; Michael said something about a generator. If it has an engine I can be of service. But this,” he said, kicking the stove, “This is a waste of time.”

“I will go with you,” Carrol said. As they walked through the door, she patted his head. “If you are a good lad, I will give you a music box.”

“Dig yourself into trouble a little deeper, Your Nibs,” he grunted, and elbowed her. They shoved each other playfully back and forth all the way down the steps.

“Some things never change,” Brent observed.

Stuart waited hidden in a stand of trees while the young man he befriended walked into the grocery store. As he waited, he rubbed the rough bark of a tree with his hands. These were not the firm proud Dorea trees of Thuringa and they were not like the gracefully arching Sarden trees that lined the grand streets of Thelan, either. These were scrawny, tough, squatty trees that appeared to fight gravity to meet the sky. Dull green leaves clung tenaciously to the branches, unwilling to give up their places. Only a few feet away grew another kind of tree. It was larger, with a domed canopy of leaves and long armlike branches. The lower limbs nearly touched the ground. It was vaguely similar to a Thuringi sarden that centuries of children assumed grew specifically for them to climb.

What a world, Stuart marveled. The variety all about him was astounding. Different types of colorful flowers grew in riotous display all around him, and tiny buzzing creatures flew from flower to flower, touching them briefly. He heard the steady rasping of a fat green bulb with wings before it also flew away. In some ways Earth was similar to Thuringa and Thelan and Borelliat, and other Stellar Council worlds: flowers and grasses and tended landscape around buildings. In the details, these flying buzzing creatures were things even Stuart in all his travels never saw before.

Perhaps in the depths of the oceans, a power source similar to what Thuringa’s oceans once held could be found. Only the Phillipi family could control the fabled Arda liquid of Thuringa, and Stuart wondered how he might discover who wielded this world’s power. Did this world even have the equivalent of Arda power? The Phillipi did not speak of their unique talents to the general populace, so it would hardly be likely that this world’s power structure would announce the same. He wondered how much damage had been done during this large war Michael mentioned. So many questions! He peeked around the tree again and watched for Michael’s return.

Meanwhile in the store, his Earthian friend carefully considered his options. What does one feed a hungry group of aliens? Michael wondered. Do they cook? Will they be allergic to Earth food? How much are six people going to need after such a journey as they must have had? He decided to get as much of a variety as he could and arrange to get more of what they liked later.

On the way home, he answered Stuart’s questions. The trees he saw were blackjack and chestnut trees. Some of the flowers were day lilies and irises and sunflowers, and the buzzing creatures were “insects” called “bees”. The raspy green bulb with wings was a “cicada”.

“(Beez),” Stuart repeated, and laughed. “(The names for your creatures are amusing).”

“I guess they are, at that,” Michael replied. He never really thought about it before, but he was eager to discover the differences between cultures.

Michael was astonished to see the lights on at the farmhouse. He thought there was not enough time to work on the generator, but then that Gareth fellow seemed to thrive on things mechanical. And sure enough, Gareth stood next to it as he wiped his hands on a cloth, pleased. The beautiful girl Carrol pulled his arm to remind him to join the others in the kitchen.

Michael emptied out the grocery sacks on the kitchen table. They looked on with great curiosity at the collection of foodstuffs. Darien opened a can of peaches with his very lethal-looking sword before Michael showed him how much easier and less messy it was with a can opener. Darien sheathed his weapon and inspected the can opener seriously.

The slender Glendon was quick to smile, and quicker to pick up on Earth ways. He was especially interested in plants and animals and did not hesitate in the least to pick up an item to inspect it. He was strikingly handsome and nearly seven feet tall. Michael noticed Glendon always managed to maneuver himself to stand between a Phillipi sibling and anything new or unexpected until they could determine its threat level.

Darien tried to improve his attitude, but his eyes still held a wary disdain for his surroundings. His hands were never far from the grips of his weapons. Each new, unfamiliar sound caused him to snap his head around in alert. Flies especially annoyed him until Michael found an old flyswatter and showed him how to use it. Darien hunted down flies with an unnerving vengeance.

Gareth was told he checked out a wood stove in the front room. Michael’s explanation sounded so logical Gareth felt stupid. This was a source of great amusement to the others, who teased him about not figuring out the fundamental workings of an inanimate object.

“Thank me for the lights some other time,” he advised them. “Burning wood for heat inside a house and without a hearth; who knew?” He poked around in the stove’s empty interior as Michael continued to unload the groceries.

"What was that thing you were looking at, that little box when we were on the beach? Just before Brent yelled 'Illick charr-aa-nay'?" Michael asked him.

Gareth replied, "(It is a medical device called a burillier. It told me you were much like us physiologically. The inhabitants of the worlds of the universe are richly varied, friend Michael, but you and I are quite close in composition)."

"Kind of, galactic cousins?"

Gareth's smile widened. "(Quite kind of)."

Carrol wanted to apply a cream to Brent's skin, but he waved her away with a reminder of the stock pond and water tank by the barn. Carrol went on to check the rest, and it was clear to Michael that she was the doctor of the group.

“(Oh, Darien! You are in such pain)!” she gasped and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. Darien’s pinched, pained expression relaxed.

“(It is taking me longer to adjust here than I expected),” he sat quietly. “(Thank you, dear heart).”

She checked the groceries and decided nothing appeared harmful for them to at least try. The Thuringi all loved the fruit; the apples were wiped out in minutes. The bread was nibbled on but apparently too dry after weeks of travel rations to enjoy yet. They all looked on in morbid fascination as Michael formed the ground beef into patties. He explained the relationship between the cattle in the pasture and the patties.

"(You eat gakkis)?" Glendon asked sadly.

"(Yes, most of us do. What do you do with your cows)?"

"(We would use them for transportation)."

"(Oh! Then gakkis must be like horses)." He nodded toward a crooked faded picture still hanging on the wall. Glendon examined it.

"(Oh yes, quite. Ours have a horn)."

"(The cows have horns. The cows, you eat)," Carrol mused. She stood next to Michael and watched him in a friendly manner, but it made him uneasy. They took offense to his hand kissing, but just where was the line drawn? Suppose her kinsmen thought he was trying to seduce her by a simple flirtation and decided to make rubble out of him?

"Now, we'll fix up a fire and grill 'em," he said when he finished enough for one burger apiece. He led the way to the old grill outside. He found a batch of wood chips on the back porch but had no matches. "I need some flames going, here," he muttered as he put the wood on the grill grate.

"(Very well)," Gareth said, removing a weapon from his side holster and tinkering with it. He fired at the wood and it flamed up with a roar. Michael jumped back.

"You're pretty handy to have around!" Michael said shakily as he put the patties on the grill.

“(What does this ‘yer’ mean, friend Michael?” Glendon asked.

“You’re? It’s a contraction of the words ‘you are’.”

“I see. Um, why?”

Michael thought for a moment. “Well, there are a lot of words we contract. It’s – it is – just a quicker way to respond, that’s all. That is all,” he corrected himself. “You mean you never, er, put words together that way?”

“No. We simply speak faster.”

Michael chuckled. “Ah, I see.”

Gareth asked, “(Why do you not use the stove in the house)?”

“It’d – it would make the house too hot inside at this time of year. Anyway, that’s – that is what this grill is for. They’ll taste really good this way. They will taste good.”

“It was not my intention to make you self-conscious about your manner of speech,” Glendon said reluctantly.

“No, that’s – that is all right,” Michael assured him. “It probably does not help your translator any, trying to interpret my contractions and my Okie accent at the same time.”

"Luket," Brent said, as he saluted them with a bottle of milk.

"Look at what?" Michael asked.

"Luket," Brent repeated, showing Michael the bottle.

"Oh, that is milk. We get it from the cows, too."

"(How? The cows become red)," Brent said, indicating the meat.

"No, we milk them. See, we take their...boy, howdy, this is tougher than I thought. We don't – do not – kill all our cows for meat. We drain certain ones of their extra milk. It doesn't – does not! – hurt them. Sometimes it makes them feel better, especially dairy cows."

The Thuringi all eyed him with mixed expressions. Stuart and Glendon were puzzled and re-checked their translators. Gareth was interested in knowing more but seemed unsure how to ask. Carrol seemed disappointed and almost ill, and Brent was amused.

Darien smiled wickedly. "(On D’tai, the men have spouses for that, when they become dahree)."

"Oh no, NO!" Michael sputtered. He quickly flipped the burgers onto the grill as his face flushing red with embarrassment. "The gakkis, I mean the cows, give us food, nourishment! No, we have spouses, wives and girlfriends and stuff, for...for..."

"(For)?" Gareth asked apprehensively.

"Sex." Michael blurted out.

"(Oh. Yjass)," Stuart clarified. "(The act of union between genders. Darien, if you are trying to be difficult, you have succeeded; now stop)."

"Yes, Yjass," Michael emphasized, hoping he meant to say what he just said.

"(There are females here like you, then)," Carrol said, not without relief.

"Well, of course," Michael said, flustered. "Where do you think our babies come from?"

They looked at one another, not realizing the question was rhetorical. Finally Carrol ventured, "From... cows?"

"(From our females! Where do your babies come from)?" Michael snorted, and she slapped his hand. The blow made him jump back, rubbing his hand gingerly.

"(I do not think he meant, specifically, to see from whence they come)," Gareth said dryly. "(Word, you are definitely Darien's sister, with that temper)!"

Stuart was extremely annoyed with his siblings, and it showed in his curt tone of voice. "(Do not strike him! This culture is different from ours, but we must assimilate. We must keep away from these people until we learn more about them. It will not do to antagonize them simply because we do not understand their culture)." Stuart patted Michael gently on the back. "(I am sorry, friend Michael of Tulsa. We are bad guests, but we deeply appreciate your help)."

"Well, you’re hungry, you’re tired, and you’re new. Maybe it’s better if you don’t get out much at first. Have a pattie," Michael replied. Why were pretty women always the touchiest? He showed them how to eat burgers between two slices of bread. All but Brent enjoyed them; Brent tried to be polite and appreciative but could not stomach the strange food.

"(I prefer Luket)," he admitted.

"Yeah," Michael muttered as he sank down onto a stump, "and I prefer red-hot Yjass in the back of a Ford with a redhead from Sallisaw."

They all burst into laughter.

"(I am sorry, Michael of Taulsa)," Carrol said, "(I did not realize I struck you so hard. It has made you take leave of your senses)."

"I'm not saying anything more to you, lady," Michael said warily as he rose to head for the back door, "God knows what you'll do to me if I try to describe petting."

"(God)?" Glendon's attentive voice stopped Michael in mid-stride. "(What do you know of...what God do you worship)?"

"God. God is God."

"(What kind of God, what do you call Him)?" Glendon pressed the issue as they returned indoors. Although the Thuringi still inspected the other items from the grocery bags, they all tuned in to the conversation.

"Well...my God doesn't have a name. He is just God. See, in this world there are a lot of different Gods worshiped ever since...well, ever since time began. But for me, there's just one God," Michael said.

"(The God with no name)?"

"Yes."

"(Yjass? You worship Yjass)?" Darien howled with amusement.

"Not Yjass, Y-E-S. Affirmative? Agreed? Okay?" Michael sighed. "I worship the God with no name: that is correct."

"(You have a bent mind)," Stuart said disapprovingly to Darien. To Michael, "(We, too, revere one God. Other worlds have other belief systems, and that is well. The Thuringi God also has no name. He is simply the God of All)."

"Are you Christian?" Michael asked.

"(No, we are Thuringi. What is Christian)?" Stuart asked.

Michael smiled weakly. "This is gonna be a long one, Your Highness. Let's go sit down on the front porch and talk."

They brought food and drink out to the porch and leaned against the wall of the house or against the support posts for the porch roof. Michael Sheldon attempted to encapsulate his world and religion for alien visitors. “Most scientists believe the Earth was formed millions of years ago and that all life evolved from lower life forms. Our religious leaders say that God created the universe and the Earth and created man. What does your religion claim?” Michael asked.

“(The God of All created each world in accordance to His ultimate plan. All lives are guided by the alignment of the stars God placed in motion),” Stuart explained. “(We usually do not know the reason or plan but place our trust in God to guide us accordingly).”

Michael nodded. “That sounds like what most of our Judeo-Christian beliefs follow. There are a number of religions on our world. Not all of them believe in a singular God or that God is a male figure or even believe in God at all.”

“Yeep!" Glendon uttered, a startled response to something that rattled him. "(Why not)?”

“Some people just don’t believe; they are jaded or stubborn and want concrete proof. It has been agreed by many scientists that mankind evolved from primitive creatures. This sort of belief has only been widely accepted in the last few decades.” The Thuringi did not know how to reply to this statement, so they did not. Michael continued.

“History was passed down word of mouth from generation to generation until writing was developed. Early man was pretty ignorant. God was seen in different ways by different groups of people. Many things in nature were explained through superstition and signs. Believers in God hold that God created mankind in His image to populate our world, but a fallen angel named Lucifer corrupted man. He told man he could be like God, too.

“This was a sin in God’s eyes, so man and woman were driven from the Garden of Eden, the perfect place God created on Earth for them. Mankind became mortal and could sicken and die then. Many beliefs and practices sprang up over time. Prophecies claimed a savior would be born that would save man. Eventually the Jews, a sect of believers in monotheism, were at odds with a powerful pagan group called Romans. I guess I should not say they were pagans; they simply worshiped their own gods. Now, Christian beliefs state that God loved this world so much, that he gave his only begotten son to bear the sins of world through a Jewish woman. His son Jesus died so we could live with God in heaven forever when we die here.”

“(Gave his what? God has a son)?” Stuart asked.

“Yes. Jesus was the Son of God. He suffered at the hands of Romans when He was a man of Earth, and because of His suffering we believe He did not die forever. We believe He conquered death and still lives in spiritual form.” The words that Michael knew since childhood now took on a different texture now that his view of the universe was changed.

Gareth shivered and shook his head in confusion. “(But how could he die? Gods cannot die).”

“He was born on this world through a human mother. He was therefore human while he was here, and when He died, he took on the sins of the whole world. If you believe in Him and in God, then your spirit also will never die when your human body dies. You will live in heaven forever in spirit.”

For a long moment, the otherworld guests stared at their host. Then they began to chuckle until it grew into uproarious guffaws.

“(What a tale)!” Glendon whooped. “(You are an imaginative people)!”

“There are millions of people who believe it.”

This simple statement stopped their laughter. “(How many worlds believe this way)?” Stuart asked.

“Just this one,” Michael replied.

“(How many people are on your world)?” Darien asked.

“Roughly three billion.”

A unified gasp issued from the crowd.

“(That is more than on all the worlds of the Stellar Council),” Stuart mused. “(Please forgive us our mirth, Michael, but your tale is so impudent! Aside from sheer number, what is it about your people that make them so grand as to host a son of God among them)?”

“Well, up until this afternoon nearly everyone on this planet, including me, thought we were the only people in the universe.”

“(You are not as imaginative as Glendon claimed),” Darien commented wryly.

“Well, what are your beliefs, what is your culture like?” Michael asked defensively.

Stuart jumped in to answer before his caustic twin could. “(We believe in the God of All, who made all the worlds. Each planet has variations, I suppose, but most worlds embrace the concept of a God. He – well, we say ‘he’ for the sake of the flow of conversation, but there is no proof God is not a female – is all-powerful and compassionate in equal measure. We read from the Thuringi Book of Prayer and attend services every ginta. We uphold our honor and duty with equal devotion in the name of the God of All. We have never heard of this perfect place, this Eden of which you speak. We accept sinful behavior as a challenge over which we must exercise control in order to live the proper life of a devout Thuringi. Our prayers are no different for our Aquatics as they are for Airmen).”

“Each planet, you say. What planets; what are they like?” Michael asked eagerly.

“(Our closest neighboring planet was D’tai),” Darien told him. “(Their prosperity and industry were thanks largely to the peace we held in place for them).”

“(Our defenses did not have that much to do with their economic success; only their safety),” Stuart clarified for their Earthian host. “(Several worlds were made to pretend that they were forced to give us supplies after we fled our dying planet and approached them for help. They are generous people normally but were desperate to remain in our enemies' good graces. After what happened to our world, they were uncertain they could escape the same fate if they defied the Shargassi).”

“What happened to make war between you and these Shargassi?”

“(It started long, long ago. The Shargassi have a history of aggression and brutality, and pillaged outposts and murdered innocent folks since before any of us were born. We are known as a warrior race under monarchical rule, but we urge peace and use our military to enforce the peace. The Shargassi are a military empire and believe in taking what they need rather than trade peacefully).”

Glendon seconded Stuart’s words. “(The Shargassi wanted Thuringi power and might without developing their own. They killed two hundred thousand of our people but still they failed their main objective. They did not annihilate their rival. We survived).”

Darien grumbled, “(Other worlds caved in to the Shargassi’s demands to not aid us, despite knowing we were desperate for supplies. After all the times we literally saved those worlds from everything from aggression to natural disasters, some had not the sand to take care of their own! At least the D’tai created a plausible excuse in order to help us).”

Stuart did not want Michael to get the wrong impression. “(There are societies with powerful defenses who are not afraid of the threat and others who have only trade goods for appeasement. And then, there are the Chassiren).”

“(Ahh).” Brent, Darien, and Gareth all smiled at the mention of this name. Glendon did not comment and looked uncomfortable instead. Carrol looked at Gareth and raised an eyebrow, along with a smile.

“(The Chassiren are a race of beautiful women who help visitors put aside the cares of the day for more, shall we say, welcome distractions).” Michael smiled and nodded in understanding at Stuart’s words. “(They are gracious and well versed in the customs and courtesies of all the known worlds).”

Glendon shrugged and muttered, “(I would not know; I have never met one).”

“(Our Glendon is a proper Thuringi; his family does not dally with Chassiren. Garins are far too couth to stoop to a little what-what with desirable women),” Brent chuckled.

“(Those that we do, we prefer to call our wives),” Glendon replied with dignity. “(But if you please, friend Michael: tell us more).”

Michael traced Earth history as briefly but with as much explanation as he could. The Thuringi were impressed with the tales of kingdoms and exploration, and even more impressed with peace treaties and scientific advancement. They were disturbed by the notion of plagues and untreatable illnesses. These were things they had just left behind on Thuringa. Michael could not help but notice how appalled they were at Earth’s comparatively primitive technological status.

Thuringi history likewise interested Michael. One Thuringi name in their history was mentioned often, and the name Maranta Shanaugh rendered Carrol speechless. His story was told by Darien; Carrol could not bear to speak of it. Maranta was the last Warrior General of Thuringa, and also helped explore their future home, ‘a fair, promising world uninhabited by creatures of intelligent thought.’ According to Glendon who quoted the report from memory, it was ‘a gakki’s paradise.’ As far as they knew Earth was the only habitable world in this farflung area they called the Unknown Territory.

"(Maranta and his crew visited that world on a scouting expedition)," Stuart explained, "(They were able to travel to it along the wormholes. But to travel the wormholes, ships must be hardy, and we cannot transport the entire Armada's contents through a man-made physical transporter. There is no transporter available large enough to hold anything bigger than our cargo shuttles. We need every battleship we have to protect the fleet. Some of our ships could not withstand the kind of buffeting a wormhole trace produces, and for an exceptionally long stretch there are no wormholes to venture through as even a shortened passage. We have powerful engines but without use of the traces it will take a long time.)."

"Uh... wormholes. Gotcha," Michael replied, not getting him at all. “You must have trusted this Maranta fellow's judgment a lot if you’re banking your future on his exploration.”

“(He was also our brother-in-law),” Stuart said with a nod of his head at Carrol. “(When he died and went on the Path to the God of All, it was a terrible thing to bear).” Carrol sat with her head bowed, gazing at the floor in thought. Gareth stroked her shoulders in comfort.

“I am so sorry for your loss,” Michael told her.

Darien stretched his arms upward and his rowdy voice cut through the somber mood like a sword. “(Ordinarily I would wonder at the judgment of any man daft enough to marry a troublesome package like Carrol, but he was as trustworthy a man as ever there was! I trusted him with my dear only sister so yes, we are going to a faraway world solely on his word).”

Carrol glanced at him and Darien gave her a saucy wink. She finally smiled and playfully wrinkled her nose at him.

The first rays of dawn peeked through the darkness from the horizon when Michael awoke. What am I doing back home at the old house, he wondered. He looked around and remembered. It was not a dream, then.

Aliens from space really were here on Earth, on his porch. They were awake until the wee hours of the morning on the front porch of the farmhouse in a cultural history exchange, until one by one they all fell asleep where they sat. He was glad he did not report them to the authorities. Now that he had a chance to know them, he warmed to the Thuringi more than he ever warmed to anyone or anything in his life. They were people with feelings and hopes and fears just like anyone on Earth and as far as Michael Sheldon was concerned, they were to be protected.

Glendon stood nearby as he watched the sun rise. He took in deep breaths as if he could not get enough clean cool morning air, or at least not had not in a long time. Michael watched in fascination as tears ran down the tall man's cheeks.

"Are you all right?" Michael asked gently.

"(I have not seen such a beautiful sight in many years)," Glendon said equally as quiet. "(It is a wonderful world here, friend Michael)." He adjusted a blanket at the shoulder of the slumbering Prince Stuart.

“You take very good care of them,” Michael observed.

“I am a Naradi Famede, a member of the Royal Family Guard. It is my duty to look after my Phillipi charges, but it is also an honor and a joy. I would look after them even if it were not my task to do so.”

"That’s very admirable," Michael noted. He suddenly sat up with a start, awakening the slumbering Thuringi with his exclamation. "Oh my gosh! My car is still upside down in a creek in Massachusetts! If I'm considered missing or someone calls in the wreck, they won't know where I am. They'll be worried. They'll call my parents, and they'll be worried and pissed."

"(What is that)?" Gareth asked as he yawned and stretched.

"Pissed. Uh..." Michael answered, "Not happy at all."

"(I will take you back)," Stuart offered.

Michael got up to go, and Stuart put his hands on Michael's shoulders. The top of Michael’s head was equal to Stuart's nose, so he tilted his head back and looked up at the tall alien

"(You are the best friend we could have possibly made, Michael of Tulsa. I am certain that the God of All has guided us to you for safety and aid. We will always be in your debt)."

"I appreciate that," Michael said, trying not to wince. He had been through quite a bit in the past eighteen hours, and he was sore all over. "I'm not sure how much food you have left over for a breakfast meal."

"(We still have travel rations)," Gareth pointed out, and this made the others groan. "(We have no way to barter for food)," he pointed out, "(and we cannot expect our generous host to continue to feed us. He already houses us)."

"(Gareth is absolutely right)," Stuart said. "(We will live on our travel rations until we can come up with a way to assimilate into this society)."

"(...and get more peaches)," Glendon added. He liked the tasty treat from the can Darien slashed open. It was devastatingly sweet, but one can divided among six Thuringi did no harm.

“No, I still have some money on me,” Michael protested. “I’m not about to leave you without anything to eat and no way to get it.”

Stuart took Michael back to the store, where Michael spoke to the owner, Ed Gentry. He explained that some foreign friends were staying at the ranch for a time, and would Ed help them when they came to shop? The owner remembered Michael from the old days and was happy to help. Michael bought sunglasses for his guests to hide their yellow eyes. He went outside and gave Stuart a pair so Michael could introduce him to Ed. The ship was hidden out of sight of the store and they pretended they walked into town.

Stuart and Michael went to a larger town, where Michael bought as much food as his money could buy. They carried it out to the ship hidden in an alley and piled the bulging paper grocery bags into its hold.

They returned to New England where Michael went to a theatrical supply company and ordered blue contact lens, the kind film actors used. They then returned to the creekside wreck site and set the plane down among thick foliage for camouflage. Michael's car was still there. He shook Stuart's hand.

"I am so sorry I can't drop everything right now, but as soon as I come up with something plausible to tell the school principal, I’ll be back to help you. I will; sorry, I need to really work on not using contractions! I will try to get the phone hooked up out there. In the meantime, I’ll – I will – have those lens shipped out to you to the ranch as soon as they come in. The local postman will bring the package to you. Let him know you were expecting it and act casual. You can get away with a lot if you behave as if whatever you do is an everyday affair.”

"(I cannot possibly tell you how grateful I am, Friend Michael. We are in desperate straits. We will do our best to be good guests, but we are making dreadful mistakes and I do apologize for our behavior)."

Michael smiled. "I understand. Just try not to draw attention to yourselves, okay? You guys are kind of hard to miss, you know." They heard a screech of tires from the roadway above. "Somebody must have seen the car, so I'll go be found. Take care, Your Highness."

"(And yourself, Michael of Taulsa)." Michael went out from behind the rocks and trees shielding them from view.

"Geez Louise, have you been here all night?" Tom Scott hollered in relief as he gave his old college friend a big hug. "You had us all worried, the highway patrol said you weren’t anywhere around! Are you okay, Michael? How did you manage to get out of a crash like that?"

"It was a miracle," Michael said truthfully. "Take me back to town, will you? I need to call my family and let them know I am okay."

"Clarence Burton's already got every policeman and state trooper on the lookout," Tom laughed. "The guy is a rich drip sometimes, but boy, he's a loyal rich drip. Say, did you know there were all sorts of reports about mysterious lights and ships and stuff? My ham radio was smoking with reports. Did you see anything out here? What happened, anyway?"

"I swerved to avoid an animal, and I lost control. Lights and ships, huh? What kind of ships?"

"Oh, man! Rocket ships, alien ships, you know. They were sighted up the coast too."

"You don't really believe in little green men, do you?" Michael laughed. Tom shrugged sheepishly. Michael continued easily, "Come on, then. Give me a lift back to the house. The only aliens I know work in the kitchen at Clarence Burton's home."

Tom burst into laughter. With a backward glance toward the rocks, Michael got into the car and the friends headed for Boston.

Stuart Phillipi peered out from behind the rocks. Never in all his wildest worried imaginings did he dare hope for fortune as good as this! The God of All was surely watching over the scouting party. A bountiful planet with edible food and for the aquatic Brent's sake especially, water; being befriended by a kind, patient young man who remained kind and patient even after Stuart's people were so rough on him. Michael was a teacher, working on his doctorate at the Earthian Academy with the curious name of “Harvard”. With so much on his agenda already, it was kind of the Earthian to offer to help at all and his Thuringi guest was incredibly grateful.

That they had a safe haven in a strange, violent world was not what Stuart expected to have on their first day. At the very least, the Thuringi scouts were prepared to negotiate a treaty for squatter's rights, and eventually hoped to soften the populace up to allow the Thuringi Armada to rest in a peaceful truce. At the worst, they were prepared to battle for a resting place. It would have been difficult as they were all tired from travel and dangers, but possible in this relatively elementary civilization. Stuart returned to the Sheldon ranch, thanking the God of All that Michael Marley Sheldon of Tulsa, Earth piloted a ground vehicle at just the right place at just the right time in the Thuringi's lives.