Book 1 FLIGHT OF THE ARMADA Chapter 8 Part 1

The next time the Gentrys saw any of the Phillipis, it was Carrol astride Bishop, the bay mare Michael brought out to them. No longer needed for the plow, the horse was petted and pampered by the Thuringi princess. She fashioned a saddle from thick blankets and some flat braided smooth rope that doubled as a cinch from other strips of cloth. Another flat rope was attached to the saddle/cinch combination and its two ends were looped to form stirrups.

Margie Gentry noticed how regally Carrol rode, straight and proud. She was not a common sight in town and curious people stopped what they were doing to watch "the war bride" go by. Of course, they thought she was too young to be an actual bride of the world war, but the original notion about her remained. She purchased a few items at the grocery store and then rode back to the ranch, her long hair streaming out behind her like a flag of glory. A couple of young men accompanied her on horses of their own and provided amusing companionship along the way.

Once they arrived at the driveway entrance, she thanked them for their stories and rode on up to the house. Like any proper gakkisman she cared for her animal first before she entered the house with her purchases, but the time spent in task did not diminish her excitement.

"Oh, there will be exciting things tomorrow! It will be a Day of Memorials, an American Bauni, in which the Americans will recall great battles and deeds of their warriors! Could we go, Stuart? There will be a parade in the larger town just past Iron Post, and there will be bands and waving flags!"

Carrol knew just what kinds of buttons to push to elicit a yes from Stuart: tales of great battles and warriors accompanied by music and cultural pride never failed to stir him up.

Brent was home from the sea with a gash on his right leg that needed Carrol’s healing, and Stuart was not as willing for him to wander the often-violent Earth by himself any longer.

"It was not the violent Earth this time," Brent assured his brother-in-law. "It was an Earthian parmenter and I should have known better." He did not recognize a barracuda before the encounter, but he was not going to forget one in the future. He was able to convince the mission leader to let him return to the sea after a rest period.

The only Aquatic Thuringi among them wore a neck brace to cover his gills and loose-fitting clothing over his websuit for visits among Earthians. His shaggy locks of sun-bleached hair gave him the unusual exotic air of a California surfer, and quite by chance he discovered Beach Boys music in his travels up the Pacific coast. "It is a most excellent choice of music," he confided in his Airmen fellows. "Even you lungers would like it."

"We 'lungers' already do," Glendon told him. "You would do well to catch up."

The next morning, they dressed in their best American clothing and went to the host town for the parade. It was a modest-sized town, large enough that its school hosted separate buildings for the younger and older children. The main street was eight blocks long from the start of the parade to the finish and red, white, and blue bunting decorated nearly every storefront in some fashion or other. Cars were not permitted to park along Main Street before or during the parade so the townspeople could line the street.

Shopkeepers were busy ringing up sales and in front of several stores, veterans sold Buddy Poppy flowers. None of the Thuringi understood what Buddy Poppies were, so Brent in his friendly breezy fashion politely asked. He and his companions were regaled with the story of Flanders' Field of World War One, which naturally fascinated the alien warriors.

None of them looked much over twenty-one years of age, and the Americans were pleased to see how interested the "foreigners" were in war stories. Other veterans wandered over and the Thuringi were treated to very warm, personal narratives although it was impossible for the Thuringi to separate the tales of Wars One from Two.

"Such courage!" Darien declared upon hearing a story about Iwo Jima. "Word, that is the stuff of legends!"

"And these Germans, they sound like a quarrelsome group," Gareth added. "Or were they the chaps who fought in the woods?"

"They were in the woods, the Japanese were in the islands," Brent corrected. "I am unsure as to where the 'Limey' chaps fit in."

"Well, that's just what some folks call you Brits," one veteran said kindly. "I imagine your fathers didn't care to tell you that was what your folks were called, it's not the nicest thing I guess."

"I do not mind," Brent replied cheerfully. "We in particular call all of you, short." The veterans and Thuringi all laughed together at his saucy comment.

A siren rent the air and made the six scouts jump in strong reaction at the unexpected sound. It was only the police car signaling the beginning of the parade, but the onlooking Americans naturally assumed it reminded the youths of air raid sirens.

One man took Carrol's hand and patted it. "Now don't you worry one little bit. You're in America now; you have nothing to fear."

Carrol smiled at his thoughtfulness but felt sorry for him at the same time. He had no idea that beings like the Shargassi were out there or he would have been frightened out of his innocent Earthian mind.

The parade was so much like an Armed Command review day that the six Thuringi were caught up in the familiar excitement, but it was awash in so much American patriotism it was easy to stay focused on their surroundings. They liked the marching bands and the pretty girls waving from convertibles, and the floats were curiosities that made the Thuringi laugh with giddy glee. The politicians were insignificant, and the scout troops looked like some sort of cadet review, but their favorite part of the parade came last, the horseback associations called the Round-Up Clubs.

There were six of these groups and the Thuringi were astonished and thrilled at the varieties of gakkis before them. Carrol and Darien played a longstanding game from her childhood, choosing which gakki they would wish to have in their own stable. Gareth held out his hand, and a gakki turned to him and sniffed curiously at the alien scent.

When the parade was over, they returned home in the white truck. "I wonder how we Thuringi would have handled hand-to hand combat on our own soil against our own people," Darien mused. "I cannot imagine the hardship of raising a hand against another Thuringi over an ideal or belief that is contrary to mine. Oh, a brawl or an argument certainly; but a war?"

"Did you see the cemetery we passed just now? Many graves were marked with little flags," Glendon said. "It is nice that they set aside a day just to recall their warriors' efforts, just as we do."

"There are many ships under water that attest to those battles," Brent told them. "I was curious about them, but most are in very deep waters and I did not bother to explore any."

Michael finally took ownership of a private school in Texas that fall, a goal he had for years, and could not stay in Oklahoma all summer as he hoped. He came out to the ranch to celebrate their first anniversary on Earth and was pleased to see their progress.

The ranch was a hive of activity. The garden produced food at an astonishing rate. The ripened vegetables were welcomed with enthusiasm, and the Thuringi toasted their unified gardening effort. This soon gave way to an embarrassing bounty of foodstuffs, far more than anything they expected. There was simply no end to the number of tomatoes and beans and squash. The more they harvested, the more there was to harvest. Soon all of the modest jars from the year before were reused and additional jars were brought in to fill. The day came early when there was no more room in the cellar or in the kitchen or the parlor or back porch.

"I will make a new cellar behind the barn where there is adequate room for expansion," Darien offered.

"You are working for the Dickie Forbes again," Stuart protested with a groan. He was unwilling to think of the name Dickie in terms of a nickname and always used it as a title. "You will overwork yourself if you are not careful."

"But Stuart, working in the soil is a relief for me. Yes, the oil work is nasty but if I can get my hands on sweet Earthian loam, it is refreshing in a way and makes the oil task easier to bear."

Stuart helped his brother plot out a twenty-by-twenty-foot area immediately behind the left side of the barn. Once he saw that contact with the soil really did ease Darien's nausea, he turned the entire project over to him.

Darien dug out the area, larger than the tiny root cellar next to the house. He made it twelve feet deep so they would not have to stoop when inside. He used his powerful fists to slam into the dirt and pack it firmly. It helped take out his frustrations from work this way, plus it made the storage cellar strong. He walled and roofed it with large timbers and covered that back over with the original topsoil. He installed shelving and fitted a door so cleverly concealed that it took Michael Sheldon over an hour searching for it before he gave up and had to be shown its location.

It was finished just in time. Michael never saw so much canned food in a home cellar in his life as he did that summer. There was always something in the pressure cooker to be canned, and when a fruit grower came to the Gentry's store with baskets of peaches for sale, Glendon brought home four bushels. He was dismayed that the peach trees he planted the year before showed no signs of bearing fruit but since peaches were readily bought, it made no difference.

The small flock of chickens Carrol acquired from a nearby farm demanded grain and gave eggs for Thuringi use. There were so many ways to prepare eggs, mealtimes were never dull. Michael cautioned them as to what foods could be preserved and what should not. They decided pickled eggs were not one of those items after all; not a single Thuringi could stand the taste.

The back porch was completely screened in now to make their canning operation less accessible to flies and other insects. They made a bed for Michael on the porch. It proved a wonderfully comfortable place to be lulled to sleep in the summertime by the drone of cicadas and the far-off call of the whip-poor-will.

"We used to listen to the rheamor sing for the same reason," Gareth told Michael. "They preferred the country because they are shy creatures, but there were many gathers of them in the woods just outside Arne."

"I loved the rheamor's song," Carrol sighed.

"Oh, it is a song? Or is it a long bird call?"

"Rheamors are not exactly birds, although they do fly," Glendon explained to the American. "They are beautiful creatures of multihued plumage, but they have the capability to create beautifully complex harmonic songs. They are highly honored by our kindred, but they are also quite nervous. So many died of stress during the fall of Thuringa that only a small percentage survives."

"Well, that beats our whip-poor-wills all to hell," Michael acknowledged. He noted the ripe hay in the field. "So how are you planning to cut and bale the hay?"

He got blank looks from all six Thuringi. "Well, we did not think that far ahead," Gareth admitted. "Just to see it grow was an accomplishment."

Michael arranged to get a hay baler and tractor, and he and the Phillipi brothers cut and baled the forty-acre pasture. They were prepared to take after it with their swords if necessary, so the baler was a welcome labor-saving device. It was nothing to the Thuringi to stack bale after bale of hay into a wagon and then from the wagon to the barn. They hardly broke a sweat over it. "We sure could have used some of that muscle when I was a kid," Michael complained good-naturedly.

"How will we use that for our bread with it crushed together that way?" Carrol asked.

"Oh, you misunderstand! Hay is what we grow for our livestock; wheat is what we use to make flour, which makes bread and other food."

"I see. We are used to only using bran or seeda for everything."

"Say, your corn is looking great! You will be able to cook that and remove it from the cob and can quite a bit of that."

Gareth laughed. "We wondered if we would need to use a jar for every stick of corn. Or ear, that is."

The next morning the heat came early and brought a sticky humidity with it. The wind was dead calm and by noon it was unbearable. Glendon rode Bishop the horse home from town and brought with him an ominous report. "The Gentrys said this is excellent storm weather."

"This is Tornado Alley, and thunderstorms love to crop up this time of year. How was the spring?"

"We had many storms, Michael! It rained for three entire days at one point," Carrol told him. "Even Brent missed the sun, but I do not think he ever complained, exactly."

They heard a distant rumble at which Michael glanced to the southwest. "Yeah, see those clouds over in there? They will be coming up from there; it is just a part of life and you cannot avoid it if you live here in Oklahoma." The wind began to stir at last, and the coolness was a blessed relief. The clouds continued to build into towers of white puffy clouds which grew bluer and darker as time passed. Then at four o'clock, Darien returned unexpectedly early.

"We were sent home early; there is damage to the west of our area, and they did not wish to have us in its path. We ‘knocked off early’!" He was pleased to use a slang phrase that he actually understood without needing explanation first.

Michael turned on the television for the weather report. "We had better get down to the cellar. Come on, let us go. You cannot fight a tornado and that is what they are saying to expect."

They struck out across the back yard and explained to him about the necessary new cellar, but even they were taken aback by what they found behind the barn. The room was downright cavernous. Having run out of shelf room in the original area, Darien took it upon himself to expand it twice as large and placed a long low stone bench along a wall. He had in mind to use it to hold trays when they came to retrieve jars for meals in the winter, but the bench served well as a place to wait out the coming storm.

Gareth brought down a com and tuned it to pick up whatever it could.

"It is raining now," Brent announced. Because Darien had packed the walls and floor so tightly, they held up admirably, but the rain dripped down through the topsoil and between the timber. They hastily threw a tarp up and nailed it in place over the boards.

"A ceiling, a ceiling," Darien muttered as a personal reminder.

"What about the chickens and Bishop?" Carrol asked.

"They should be all right," Michael told her. "Wait, where is Stuart?"

"He is outside. Do not fear for him. Stuart has an affinity with the air currents."

"He might on Thuringa, but this is Earth. Maybe he is not ready for tornadoes and things." Since the door to the cellar was inside the barn, they were able to open it without getting wet. Michael and Darien went up to the large wide back opening.

Stuart stood in the middle of the doorway, his arms stretched outwards from his sides, head back and with a blissful smile on his face. His hair and clothing were rain-soaked, and the wind blew it all back, but Stuart Phillipi de Saulin was having the time of his life. "Mmmm!" they heard him say in delight, "Freedom!" He turned his head and looked their way. "Stay right there," he advised. "Do not come this way for any reason."

"Be careful of the lightning!" Michael shouted.

"Yes," Stuart said cheerfully. "I know."

"Move to one side, Michael," Darien said as he walked toward Stuart. Michael did as he was told, for he noticed Darien's hands held small blue bolts flickering between his fingers. He joined his brother and grasped one of Stuart's hands. At that moment, a sudden electrical blue bolt struck the outstretched fingertips of their free hands and danced back and forth between both hands, and the instantaneous strike of thunder roared inside the barn. The sound made Michael leap backward in alarm, but the Phillipi brothers remained where they were. Michael heard them sing a strange song in an unusual minor key, in harmony.

Brent wisely grabbed Michael and pulled him back downstairs with the others. "Better stay down here with us for the now, brother."

"What is happening?" Michael gasped.

Carrol explained, not only for Michael's benefit but for the others as well. "As Phillipi, we have the power to control Arda liquid, a form of energy from our homeworld. Every Phillipi is born with a certain extra gift that is heightened by Arda liquid, and only those of Phillipi blood can tolerate and control the power from it."

"But… but that is lightning; it could kill them!" Michael gasped.

"It could if we were not Phillipi and energy not a part of our makeup. Our father can manipulate ore and process it into metal and manipulate the metal into form. Stuart has mastery over air currents and over the years he has developed a liking for the rush of electrical energy as well. Darien has a different kind of talent, a talent for chemicals and sensitivity for the chemical balance in living things. And my talent lies in my ability to heal, which also utilizes sensitivity toward living things."

"Then why are you not upstairs with them?"

"I am not strong enough to enjoy it, and even Darien is not strong without Stuart to temper the power. Besides, I do not like the lightning," she replied. "Too flashy; it is annoying."

"Annoying, she says," Glendon grumbled as he dodged a new leak in the tarp. "I do not see why they even need Naradi Famede."

"Because Stuart cannot create lightning, he can only direct or absorb it. And because Darien is his twin, the jolt will not harm him, but he cannot do what Stuart can. His abilities are different. Anyway, our Arda abilities have nothing to do with our need for security. Darien especially needs a Naradi Famede because he does not mind his manners and is the last word in annoyance to others."

The other three Thuringi agreed wholeheartedly with her, and Michael laughed aloud in spite of his earlier alarm.

Once the storm passed, Darien set to work with his laser pistol to make a crystalline ceiling and walls for the cellar and made the floor slightly rougher with the use of sand on the surface in order to be less slippery. Michael could see no sign of electrical burn anywhere around the barn door.

Glendon soothed the jittery nerves of Bishop the horse as Gareth peppered Stuart with questions. "Why does not every citizen of Thuringa know of your abilities? Word, that would silence the malcontents!"

"They might claim we are too powerful or spread a false tale of harm against others," Stuart explained. "We do not like to boast on our gifts, since it is not our doing that we are this way. It is solely the gift of the God of All. We are merely stewards of the gifts."

"What determines what sort of things you can do?"

"There is no way to tell. It is similar to one's gifted task, there is no way to know at birth what talents someone has. On old Thuringa we Phillipi kept our Arda gifts quiet; only a relative few know what we have, and Father told me even we do not know our full potential.”

“What does that mean?” Michael asked. “Since Carrol heals people, does that mean she could bring someone back to life?”

“Oh no!" she exclaimed. "I can heal but I do not have that sort of power! I must absorb the pain and injury myself first and if I absorb a deadly injury, I must be extremely careful to regenerate in time to save myself or my patient. When death occurs, there is no turning back. The last healer Phillipi who tried to save a fading life, lost both.”

“Are there other kinds of gifts?”

“My grandfather King Auguste had extraordinary hearing, which served him well on Thuringa but did him no favor in space. His ship floundered on his way to the Stellar Council, and we lost him, Grandmother and forty-seven crewmen,” Carrol said wistfully. “I never knew them.”

“My great-uncle mourned for days; they were very good friends,” Glendon said. “We have had many healers among our royalty, a number of metallurgists and a few air commanders. There has not been a chemist such as Darien in an exceedingly long time.”

“I thought you did not know much about it,” Michael said, puzzled.

“My great-uncle Argo told me after I became a Naradi Famede. I wondered about certain peculiarities of the Royal Family for which there was no ordinary explanation. I was not aware of the depth of the talent, however.”

The Phillipi brothers returned downstairs, hearty and restless after the intense charge they experienced. “I could plow a field for corn right now,” Darien boasted.

“Scoundrel, you lie!” Stuart taunted.

“I will prove it! Gareth, hitch me to the Bishop’s plow and I will take on that entire bran field we just mowed!”

“We do not need that much corn,” Gareth objected. “Give us just a little corner.” The idea of the prince in plow traces amused him, so they went out to do just as Darien intended. The other four went out to the back of the barn and into the pasture. The wind still blew briskly, and Stuart lifted his hands and took off running into the face of the wind. He whooped with delight.

“Had I only known about these two’s abilities back in our Academy days, we would have had quite the roar of a time,” Brent commented. “There was a cantina in Dane that I would have enjoyed seeing Darien pull off its foundation. Throw me out for excessive revelry, would they!”

They all suddenly gasped at once. Before their eyes, Stuart made a leap and found himself body surfing on the current still stiffly blowing from the south. He rose nearly forty feet in the air diagonally and floated for a brief time before suddenly sinking twenty, and then he caught himself temporarily. Then he plunged the rest of the way to the ground. He leaped to his feet and turned toward his friends and family. “Did you see that? Did you see? Oh, what a thrill!” He tried it again but could not go aloft again.

“Show off!” they heard Darien bellow from the side field.

“Envious!” Stuart yelled back.

“Stuart does not normally speak so brashly,” Carrol confided to Michael. “I imagine he is still feeling sparky.”

Darien plowed an acre of land before darkness fell. Despite Michael's warning that the corn might not ripen before first frost, Darien and Glendon planted the acre in corn the next day.

They awoke one Wednesday to the sound of distant explosions. Glendon did not go into work. "The Gentrys said I was not to work today, but they did say we should come to town and be their guests for the holiday."

"What sort of holiday?"

"I…I do not know. They simply kept saying it was the Fourth of July. Perhaps it is another observance with sweets and fanciful tales. They will host a meal, and that always means some sort of religious day."

"Another? Word! Perhaps we could enjoy oh, say – August thirtieth," Brent scoffed.

"What happens on August thirtieth?"

"Does it matter? It is the same as July fourth!"

Katie Martin called to invite them to come to the local fireworks show at Iron Post. "It's Independence Day when our country was born. There won't be a parade in Iron Post, but there are some in other towns. But Iron Post is going to have a celebration and Monica's been anxious to invite you to go with us! We're not sure Lloyd will be back from out of town. His truck's been pretty unreliable lately."

"Then we shall accompany you," Stuart said cheerfully. "Perhaps you can enlighten us about some notions. We are going to the Gentry's."

"Oh good! They invited us over, too!"

They picked the Martins up in the white truck and headed for the Gentry's store. Behind the store was a sizable back lot between the store and the Gentry's two-story home. Margie Gentry waved at them from the front porch and ushered the group through the house and out to the back yard. A picnic table was set up covered in a brightly colored tablecloth. Ed was busy at his charcoal grill, slathering cuts of meat with tasty homemade barbeque sauce. "Hello, there! I hope you're hungry!"

So much meat! While it smelled delicious, the largely vegetarian Thuringi groaned to themselves. This would mean a disaster for their digestive tracts if they ate more than a few bites of the meat Ed offered. Fortunately, Margie had an array of vegetable side dishes, and Katie and the Thuringi brought food with them.

They heard small explosions all over town, and the sound made the warriors jump at every pop and bang. Ed chuckled.

"That's just firecrackers, boys; they won't hurt you none." He had several fountains and sets of sparklers to amuse them, and the Thuringi whooped at the sight with enthusiasm.

“In our homeland, we light rockets to celebrate a birth,” Glendon explained to their hosts. “But in your country, you light rockets to celebrate the anniversary of your country’s birth. See how more alike we are!”

They were well into eating dinner when Lloyd’s pickup rounded the corner of the store. The engine sounded terrible. “Sorry I’m late,” he said as he joined the group. “My truck’s just about a goner.”

“Perhaps I can help,” Gareth offered. “I will look it over after the meal.”

“I’d sure appreciate it.”

True to his word, Gareth poked around in the engine compartment after the meal was consumed. Darien helped clear the table, unwilling to get around the greasy dirty engine compartment of an automobile. The other men watched Gareth and chatted. Ed warmed to the other Thuringi as easily as he had warmed to Glendon. He saw them all at the store at one time or the other, but now that they were in a purely social setting, they were as friendly and enjoyable as one might want.

“What do you think?” Lloyd asked Gareth about the truck after a while.

“I could repair it, but I am uncertain I can manufacture the proper parts.”

“Oh, we can get the parts after Hill’s Garage opens tomorrow morning,” Ed said. “Lloyd, you don’t have to go back to the rig, do you?”

“Yeah, I do. I thought I could just come home and then zip back over to the rig tomorrow and be at work Friday, but it started acting up on me about thirty miles from here. I didn’t think I’d make it back before it broke down. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“Why, you can use our vehicle,” Stuart said impulsively. “You have done us so many good turns, we would be remiss to refuse you aid in your time of need. Then when your vehicle is ready, we will swap again.”

Lloyd gratefully thanked him for the offer and gladly took him up on it.

“If you can crank it up and move it over to that spot right there, you can work on it right here,” Ed offered. “You won’t have to go far to the parts store that way.”

Katie Martin watched the men from where she and Carrol cleaned off the picnic table. “Your brothers sure are some handsome men, Carrol.”

“Oh, please do not tell them that; it will only inflate their egos.”

“That’s hard to believe; you are all so modest! Um…would you mind if I asked you something?”

“No, of course not.”

Katie made sure that Monica was with Darien cranking the ice cream maker, and out of hearing range. “Were you married to Gareth’s brother?”

“Why, no.”

“Are all of those boys your brothers? I mean, are Darien and Glendon brothers? They don’t look very much alike.”

“No, Darien and Stuart are my brothers.”

“I thought Glendon was your brother?’

Too late Carrol remembered their ruse, and she thought fast. “Darien and Stuart are my brothers-in-law.”

“Oh! That’s right, your names are Phillipi.”

I hope I can remember all this later, Carrol thought. No wonder Sunny does not like to lie.

They enjoyed homemade ice cream and enjoyed admiring the colorful sparklers. Gareth threw a block and tackle over a sturdy branch in the tree over the truck. As they all listened to a country band play music in a nearby park, he pulled out the engine. Darien and Stuart helped but were sickened by the greasy residue under the hood and encrusted on the engine block. They loaned the Martins their pickup and rode home in the back of it to the ranch.

The next day Gareth and Glendon returned to town. Glendon bought the necessary parts from the garage and brought them to Gareth. One of the garage mechanics followed him back over to see an amateur at work. He came away impressed by the quickness and strength of the Big Blonde Boys, as the Thuringi were called in town.

Gareth was not pleased to simply fix the engine, since he found problems with the brakes as well. More parts were bought and put on, and Gareth toiled away all day under the elm tree in back of Gentry’s store. He and Glendon talked and laughed in their lyrical native tongue, and Margie liked to listen in. She had no idea what they were saying since they did not wear their universal translators anymore, but the language was so pretty, just the tune was enough for her.

The other mechanics dropped by and wondered what Gareth thought he was doing. He made modifications to the engine that they would not have thought to do but were perfectly sound once they thought about it. They even loaned him some tools just to see what he would do with them. “Where’d that ol’ boy learn how to work on trucks, he’s pretty damn good,” one of them asked Ed in the store.

“I don’t know; I guess he just picked it up somewhere.” It was true enough and Ed did not want to invite further speculation with a careless extra word.

By the time Lloyd returned to town that Saturday, his pickup was ready and in far better shape than he dreamed. It still looked like his truck, but the improvements under the hood made the engine purr like a pleased kitten.

“Why don’t you get work in a garage?” one of the mechanics had asked Gareth at one point. “I bet our boss would hire you in a New York minute.”

“I have far too much to do at home,” Gareth replied easily.

The hot summer months were made bearable by visits to the river. They happened across a large blackberry patch while taking a different route back to the ranch, and they returned with buckets until all the ripe berries were harvested. Most of the berries were preserved and put in the large cellar, but they could not resist treating themselves to a jar once a week.

Michael spent several days at a time with them. He showed them how early Americans made butter with a dash and churn and how cheese was made. They in turn taught him the Thuringi alphabet and helped him learn to read from the Thuringi Book of Prayer. Michael liked to be able to write in a private journal and never worry about any of his family snooping in it. They could not fathom why he persisted in making odd scratchy markings and call it a language.

“Oh, Michael's just playing around,” his father told the rest of the family. “You know how much he liked to make up things as a kid.”

Michael took his Thuringi friends to a baseball game involving local minor league teams and explained the game to them. Brent thought popcorn was foolish and preferred watching it pop to eating it, but he liked the idea of potato chips – “friak crisps”. Darien was pleased at the sound of the crack of a bat hitting a home run, and Glendon liked to watch the players run to catch a ball. There was nothing from Thuringa to compare with baseball and it was an amusing diversion. Gareth liked the seventh inning stretch and explained to Michael that Kellis players would laugh at the thought of so many rules and regulations.

In Kellis, there was only one rule: "Bury the Dead!" As long as the ball was carried into the point zone of the opposing team, it did not matter what one must do to get it there. One could grab, twist, steal, throw, drag or run with the ball and as long as no one could stop you, a point could be scored. Wrestling one's opponent was fair game, and it was always interesting to see an entire team locked in a tight quasch until someone with the ball broke free and gamboled forward if possible. Honor prevented unfair jabbing of fingers into eyes or biting, but in the heat of contest even these things were up for debate as a defensive ploy.

"Baseball is a game with so many rules - how do you have time to enjoy any of it?" Gareth wondered to no one in particular.

Glendon often stopped by the Martin house to check on Katie and Monica during the week. He was always polite and unflappably calm. Just seeing him on the porch made Katie feel safer. She hardly needed anything since she was a very capable young woman, and his visits were usually only brief check-ins. The one time she needed help was when her water heater went out. Glendon arrived with Gareth, and the two men worked on the tank.

For Gareth it was child's play, so Glendon only had to pass tools to him. They chatted to each other in their native Thuringi, and it sounded like a musical duet to the Americans listening in. Once the heater was repaired, the two men worked on other odd jobs around the house - a patch in the wall here, a table leg tightening there. They turned away her offer to pay by reminding her that they were friends and had promised Lloyd to look after his family during his absence.

As the Thuringi left, Glendon turned and bowed to her on the porch. "Do call at any time, Lady Martin," he told her, and he fondly chucked Monica under the chin with a playful fingertip. "It is a privilege to give back in friendship."

He did not think anything of the gesture, and neither did the Martins. It was just like the Thuringi to make such lovely gestures and say such nice things, and neither Katie nor Monica thought it odd. Their curious neighbors, however, saw the handsome foreigner with Lloyd's wife, smiling and bowing and God knows what, and speculation about two attractive people began to blossom.

The rasp of cicada wings in the night pleased Darien Phillipi. Darien's voice was often raspy, and he was one of the very few Thuringi ever known to not have the ability to sing. This did not mean he did not try; only that perhaps he should not and call it a day. His speaking voice possessed the natural singing style of Thuringi speech, but when he tried to lift his voice in song the tune often wandered far from the original key, flattened and awful despite its enthusiastic delivery.

This did not matter to Darien Phillipi de Saulin. Ever aware of the potential to annoy friends and acquaintances, Darien sang for the joy of the action and it did not matter at all if the tune was lacking. He could not tell anyway. The difficulty of giving birth to two large royal Phillipi babies was hard on his mother, and Queen Oriel used methods she learned from the mystical Hunda to save the threatened life of her younger son. Darien could not sing, nor did he have the kind of outwardly powerful Arda abilities like his brother. His gifts were of an internal nature, more subtle and something he did not discover until he was grown.

He did not like the buzz of mosquitoes, and all the scouts grew to dread the telltale whine of the insects. Evenings in the yard were often spoiled by a mosquito infestation until bats flew in to feast on them. Unlike Earthians, the Thuringi liked the bats and thought they were no worse looking than many short-nosed dogs they saw.

Wasps and hornets were creatures upon which Darien waged a fierce war. He was stung several times by wasps in the barn, so he got out his laser pistol and made quick work of ridding the barn of the things. He was especially anxious to destroy the nests since he knew Glendon would always throw himself between the royal siblings and whatever they came up against. He did not want the loyal Naradi to continue to suffer simply because Darien preferred to take an impatient swat at flying stinging creatures.

The cat in the barn gave birth to four kittens and the Thuringi were delighted with the adorable babies. Even Brent liked them since they did not try to bite at him the way the mother cat did. The playful kittens provided endless observational fun for the scouts, although one was almost permanently welded inside a new scout ship by mistake before Gareth fished it out. They were natural mousers and often presented Carrol with gifts of field mice on the back steps of the house. Carrol was alarmed at their profuse generosity and wished she could explain to them that she did not require such offerings. Glendon was able to give all the kittens away in the due course of time since very few customers at the Gentry's store could resist his friendly salesmanship.

One of the recipients was Margie Gentry herself. Glendon had a feeling that if his daughter Echo were there on Earth with them, all the kittens would remain on the ranch. She was consue age and Thuringi adolescents were fond of small cuddly creatures just as much as Earthian teens were.

That fall the Thuringi discovered the County Fair, and Margie urged them to enter some of their canned goods in it. Carrol selected some jars that looked prettiest, and she also entered some of their favorite chickens and Bishop the bay mare in the livestock competition.

The six Thuringi discovered a whole new world of delight and surprise. Their green beans won third place, and although it was the only jar of theirs that won anything, it was nevertheless a proud moment and one that Stuart was pleased to note in his journal.

They met Katie and Monica Martin on the grounds, so Darien rode some of the midway rides with Monica "since it pleased a sweet child to do so." Gareth and Carrol rode the Ferris wheel repeatedly for the pleasure of looking out over the peaceful countryside without worry about detection of their ships.

Stuart unintentionally broke the "test your strength" bell when he struck the sledgehammer on the target at the bottom and the measuring striker knocked the bell off the top. The carny worker was not happy, but he did not find it prudent to argue the matter with five large men at hand, especially when Brent scoffed, "Well, if that is all your toy can do then it deserves to be broken."

Darien knocked down enough bottles to win Monica a plush toy, so Gareth set to work and won Carrol a toy too. The other three Thuringi looked at each other, then at Katie Martin and promptly set out to see who could win her the largest prize at separate booths, because “Lloyd would surely wish for his lady to have the best, and we shall win them in his stead." Katie blushed at the knowledge that three attractive and kind men playfully vied for her approval.

Stuart chose a shooting gallery and won a pink and white dog half as tall as Monica. Brent played a ring toss and would not stop until he secured a large black cat with a bright yellow ribbon around its neck.

Glendon threw three-balls-a-chance at a target. In his typical Garin perfectionist way, he took careful aim and threw the balls so hard the first two times that the balls not only knocked down the target, but they also nearly punched a hole in the booth's canvas backing. The third ball crashed through the target with an odd crunch, and the proprietor hurriedly offered Glendon a choice of any prize he wanted. The decision was turned over to Katie, who chose the largest plush toy of all. The proprietor was unable to close down before Gareth decided to play and Darien was not pleased at the small item he won for Monica, so he insisted on playing too.

Brent wondered why the carny worker at the ring toss looked so pleased about the action at the ball toss booth. The carny confided to the Aquatic, "I've been wondering if he's playing a rigged game or not but as hard as your friends are throwing, it sounds like they've broken through whatever he's got holding the targets up."

"Indeed! Well, a bad intent always returns to its keeper with equal malice."

Glendon overheard the conversation and called out to the players: "See here, you two! Make certain to knock those targets down! You must leave no doubt in my mind." He winked at the ring toss carny, who grinned conspiratorially.

Laden down with the spoils of victory, they moved on. The Thuringi all tried but could not eat cotton candy for fear the sugar rush might put them into a coma, but what little taste they got was absolutely delightful.

Once they learned that Monica had entries in the 4-H section, they all went with her in a show of solidarity. Darien was irritated she was awarded a green fourth place ribbon for her depiction of The Life Cycle of Corn. It was his loud and defiant opinion that her work was by far the more superior display on hand, and that the judges were woefully blind and senseless.

"Do not be dismayed by this travesty, small bones," he intoned grandly to the little girl, "The great ones are often the most modest to the eye."

After walking through the contest barn and the information booth barn, they came to the livestock barn and roamed for an hour. They admired the cows and the pigs and horses and sheep and chickens but were particularly drawn to the goats. Goats were unknown on Thuringa but according to Brent Ardenne, goats had “the most marvelous little faces of virtue ever placed on a creature.”

Bishop the bay mare won no official acclaim, but her masters were pleased just the same as if she had. Carrol spent several minutes telling the mare what a noble animal she was, as if the horse could understand. Bishop sniffed Carrol’s hand but gave no other reaction.

The amusement rides on the rest of the fairgrounds held no particular charms for alien warriors who once regularly toured the wormhole traces, but the rodeo in the nearby arena captured their imagination like nothing else. Glendon was especially delighted and even managed to talk his way into entering a contest. After observing a bulldogger in action and admiring the way the cowboy wrestled the cabrett to the ground with a twist of the head, Glendon decided that was a challenge he could not resist. Stuart encouraged him to try, since Glendon never asked for much for himself and it was for the good cause of discovery.

Outside the arena, Glendon practiced sliding on and off Bishop, not an easy task considering the looped stirrups of the makeshift Thuringi Ground Command Cavalry saddle. He had no partner to ride on the other side of the steer to keep it running in a straight line, but he finally found someone willing to do that for him. He only wanted to try the event, not compete, but the rules were the rules, so he paid the coin necessary to enter. As he rode Bishop into the arena, whoops and howls erupted at the sight of his very abbreviated saddle.

"And now we have Mr. Glendon Garin from Iron Post: this is Glen's first time at ever bulldogging, so let's give him a big hand!" the announcer proclaimed, and the spectators gave Glendon a rousing cheer of encouragement. All around the small knot of Thuringi, people made comments about Glendon's strange saddle rig.

"I don't see how he's gonna be able to get in and out of that thing."

"It looks homemade!"

"Lord, that boy's gonna git killed out there."

Carrol nervously seized Darien's arm on the right and Gareth's arm on the left. "Oh my, they are right. He does not have the proper tack. What are we going to do?"

"We?" Darien exclaimed. "I am not certain what Glendon is going to do, but we shall sit and observe."

Glendon and Bishop lined up in the proper position next to the gate holding the steer as he observed the rodeo cowboys do, and when the gate sprang open and the steer leaped forward, Glendon urged Bishop to follow. With the helpful cowboy keeping the steer in line, Glendon leaned over as the crowd held its collective breath.

Thuringa did not have rodeos, but as with the Ground Command, the Naradi regularly practiced different ways to dismount in case of emergency. The bulldogger's way was similar to a technique used by the Naradi for some forms of riot control. Glendon slipped his feet out of the stirrups and kept his long legs gripped around Bishop just long enough to slide over and grasp the horns. He quickly threw his right leg over Bishop's withers, dug his heels into the ground and plowed into the dirt. It was then a simple matter to flip the steer over the way the cowboys did, and he held him down until the whistle blew. Glendon leaped to his feet and pumped both fists in the air, whooping in triumph.

"Audecer fallen botay!" he shouted to his fellow scouts as the audience cheered his unexpected success.

All five Thuringi bolted for the arena floor, laughing with delight and talking all at once in their musical Thuringi language. Carrol hugged Glendon around the neck as Gareth and Brent pounded their fists on his back in congratulations and led him off to the side of the arena, yelping and cheering all the while. Stuart ran out to collect Bishop from the other cowboy, but Darien trotted briskly to stand before the release gate, where in his excitement he forgot to speak in American.

"(I must do this game as well; this looks like great fun! Where may I go, who am I to see about throwing around cabrett)?" The cowboys on the gate stared at him dumbfounded with no idea what this tall foreigner was saying to them. "(Well, come now! You have no claim on all the fun, do you)?" After exchanging uncomprehending stares, Darien turned around to Glendon and bellowed, "(I say! With whom must you toy to have fun here)?"

"In American, Darien," Stuart shouted as he rode Bishop up in a generous gallop. He leaned over and held out one hand. Darien reached up and in one fluid motion he was pivoted around to land on the bay mare behind his brother.

"I said, I wish to play this sport as well! How does one go about throwing around cabrett?" Darien asked the cowboys.

"The two of you are more than Bishop should bear," Carrol called out, but it was too late. Bishop did not think she should bear both brothers either, and she gave a grunt and began to buck. Darien did a backward somersault off the mare's rump and landed on his feet but was just off-balance enough to stumble back a few more steps before sitting down hard in the dirt. Stuart clamped his legs around the horse and pulled back on the reins. The crowd got a bonus bareback bronc riding exhibition as the ill-tempered horse continued to buck and twist in an effort to throw the Thuringi from her back. Darien jumped to his feet and let out a wild happy yell along with the rest of the crowd. Stuart held on in a sincere desire not to be thrown off in front of all the onlooking Americans and wished Darien would stop making so much noise.

The steer was guided toward a nearby open gate in preparation for the next contestant, and Darien was impatient to try this "throwing about business". He quickly ran to match the steer's stride, grabbed the animal by the horns and threw it down again.

"I say, that is great fun!" he chuckled as he released the steer and swatted it on the rump. The crowd was astonished that he was able to grab and throw a steer so easily but as the accomplishment sank in, they cheered again, and for the still-mounted Stuart. The steer ran for the gate, eager to get away from all the manhandling. Darien crawled up the fencing to sit beside the cowboys, who stared at him even as they clapped their hands. "You chaps will need to meet my kinsman Sandan Medina; he will enjoy throwing animals to the ground! Why did we never think of this before!"

Stuart managed to stay on and get the excited horse under control again. He turned her around and rode for another gate, which was opened for him by a group of hat-waving cowboys.

"Well, I reckon we have us some natural cowboys from… er…wherever these fellas are from," the announcer told the crowd. "Let's give 'em all another round of applause!"

For the rest of the evening, the Thuringi enjoyed the rodeo from behind the gates and inquired about the techniques used in each event. They were fascinated by the rigging and the timing and the sheer bravado of it all, and they could not resist entering themselves in bareback and saddle bronc riding contests. Carrol met with opposition when she tried to sign up for one.

"I'm sorry, m'am, but this is too dangerous for ladies," the registrar said kindly.

"But my brothers are getting to play," she objected in bewilderment.

"Well, that's just what I mean, this isn't play. Them's thousand-pound horses up against a little ol' gal like you; it's too dangerous."

"But I… Stuart!" she pleaded, pulling his attention away from a conversation. "This man will not let me even try. He says it is too dangerous. I am a Thuringi; of course, it is dangerous. It would not be fun otherwise."

Stuart laughed at her protest and turned to the registrar. "Good sir, I assure you my sister is not afraid of this contest. We come from a different culture and our women may look delicate, but they are wonderfully admirable warriors. Please do let her ride or she will become morose and dejected."

"Yes, by all means, let our little sis ride!" Brent told the man. "I would wager heavy coin that she can stay on longer than your simple eight seconds."

"She will tumble in seven!" Darien taunted, and earned a swat on the head from her for his effort. He cackled in amusement.

"Well, all right but don't say you wasn't warned," the registrar grumbled. "You make sure you sign that waiver so you can't sue us if you get hurt."

"Call upon your legal representatives? I should say I would not!" Carrol snorted with mildly wounded pride. "It is my choice and further, my fault if I do not stay on."

Gareth sighed and whispered to Glendon, "Oh my; I shall have to soak in a cold tub over the sight of Her Nibs with her legs wrapped around a sweaty animal!"

Glendon suddenly inhaled and accidentally swallowed a gnat. He coughed and tried not to laugh or curse at his friend. Gareth's was a comment that a man could tell his long-time friend but not Her Nibs' relatives. It was also a notion that resulted in exceedingly unseemly thoughts for the proper Garin.

"Yeep! Why did you have to put that in my mind," he croaked.

"So we will both be miserable!" Gareth chuckled.

"You are shame!"

Carrol borrowed a glove for the rigging from one of the cowboys, who were all very eager to help the pretty girl with the long blonde hair and sparkling white smile. Her Thuringi kinsmen gathered to tease and goad her.

"Do not cry to me if you land on your rudder," Stuart admonished.

"Are you sure you do not want a pillow?" Darien asked.

"I have you on for eight seconds at least," Brent instructed with a wag of his carefully positioned finger so as not to show the webbing. "Do not shame me with anything less!"

"Then why are you not riding?" Carrol shot back playfully.

"I am not some silly lunger looking for needless punishment," he replied smugly.

"Be careful, Nibs," Gareth said.

"This will be Thuringa's greatest triumph!" Glendon cheered, and all five men started up an old Kellis cheer. At the sound of some of the Thuringi words, several cowboys grinned and elbowed each other in amusement but no one stopped the song. They had no idea where 'Thuringa' was, but such bold people were bound to be bolder yet to sing words like that in public.

The gate swung open, and Carrol dug her heels into the horse's shoulders as she was instructed to do. Because the Thuringi did not wear spurs and only had Thuringi boots for footwear, the cowboys hoped these likable greenhorns would not elicit much response from the animals. But the other Thuringi made such a noise every time one of them rode, the horses were already jumpy and by habit and training, they bucked as soon as the gate opened. Carrol's bronc had a good whiff of Brent's Aquatic skin and it did not recognize this mysterious creature, so it ran spooked for a few yards before it bucked and spun around.

Carrol held on for six bone-jarring seconds before the bronc slipped out from under her, and she went down under the stamping hooves. Before the Thuringi could launch themselves off the rail to her rescue, the clowns were already on the job and distracted the animal away from her.

Carrol uncurled from the little ball she formed of herself and hastened to the fence. She was disappointed not to make the eight second limit, but the experience was exhilarating, and her smile and excited laughter told the crowd she was safe from harm. They cheered, and she waved at them. Once behind the gate, however, she put her hand to her side and stood still for a moment.

"Are you okay, miss? That was quite a fall you took there," a barrel-racing contestant from earlier in the evening, asked with concern.

After another second or two, Carrol straightened and smiled at the girl. "I am prone to take too many risks, in hindsight. But I am well, thank you!"

"I swear, that was the bravest thing I ever saw! I wish my daddy would let me ride the broncs! Maybe now he will."

"Well… perhaps if you are used to this sort of sport, you can do far better than I. I do understand the registration man's concern, though."

"Bull riding is next, but I don't think y'all ought to try that; it's just 'way too dangerous even as strong as you are," a cowboy told Stuart. The Phillipi brothers eyed the Brahma bulls.

"We shall accede to your hard-won wisdom," Stuart said.

"But –!" Darien began, but Stuart stopped him with a warning look.

"Darien. If you ride, then Carrol will want to ride and that is not going to happen. The hornless gakkis are one thing but these oversized cabretts are out of the question."

After they watched a few bullriders in action, Darien agreed that perhaps they had enough experimentation for one evening. Somehow along the way, Glendon was given a straw cowboy hat by one of his fellow contestants, and he was more pleased by it than any trophy he might have been offered.

They went home thoroughly exhausted but exhilarated by their adventure, with Bishop and the chicken cage in a borrowed horse trailer hitched to the pickup.

"We must be certain to tell Father about this," Stuart said. "Imagine, deliberately encouraging a gakki to misbehave for the sake of sport! That was such fun!"

"Well, I do not know that I would want a gakki's horn up my lane for the sake of sport," Gareth corrected, and they hooted in amusement.

Glendon looked at Carrol. "I suppose you understand now why it is such a fearsome deed, this bron-criding?"

"Yes, I do." She grimaced as she inspected her shirt. "Bother! My garment is torn; I shall need to mend it."

"Anything else that was torn?"

"Yes, faithful Naradi Famede ever at the ready," Carrol chuckled as she tapped his slender nose with a finger. "I broke a rib but that was easily repaired."

"A rib!"

"Shh! Yes, but I was not about to allow that registering man to be smug."

"If we enjoy any more such sport, it will have to be at home," Darien said thoughtfully. "I was asked many questions about Thuringa that I was unsure how to answer: where is Thuringa, how long were we to stay here, things of that nature. Michael warned us not to – what was it? Stick out? We must be certain to tell the same tale."

"But you must admit, it was great fun," Gareth pointed out, and they all readily agreed.