Trespassers: a science-fiction novel (30 page)

Stewart was amazed by how such a strong and powerful creature as Lyntic could make herself so willingly vulnerable. With a seductive and graceful bend of her naked body over the hickory hope chest at the foot of the bed, with a tender sprawling of her sweaty legs, she was giving up all control and rendering herself powerless in front of him, welcoming his advances. The subtle undulations of her body were begging him to take control of her. These were images that could never fade from his memory: how excited she was to have him standing behind her, both of them enveloped in heart-throbbing anticipation; the way she uninhibitedly wailed with pleasure when he took the bait, and the way she purred with satisfaction when he finally collapsed on top of her.

This pleasant image was whisked away by the sound of George storming back in and slapping a folder down on Stewart
’
s desk.
“
And I was about to let you just stroll out that door,
”
George huffed.

Stewart played it cool.
“
What, is there something wrong with the door?
”

George pointed down the hall.
“
If you want that office, this is
not
the way to get it. Those two genius bounty hunters you hired gave me the whole story when they called to inquire about their pay. Mr. Grizzly was quite helpful with the details.
”

“
You conducted a secret operation in Juniper, and you didn
’
t report any of it!?
”
George fumed.
“
And a hostage situation! A federal agent was held hostage during an unauthorized covert operation!
”

“
That was only for like two minutes.
”

“
You
’
re staying here until I get all this straightened out,
”
George insisted.

“
I
’
m grounded?
”
Stewart mocked the situation.

“
Like a little kid who has been very bad. And I want that full report, with every detail included, even if a detail took
only two minutes
.
”

Stewart made a mental note to ask Mindy whether she was good with reports. He might as well ask a beaver whether it was good at chewing wood. The report Mindy would write was going to paste a genuine smile on George
’
s face. It would turn all the mishaps and fumbles into a streamlined operation. After her fingers worked their magic across the keyboard, it would appear that nothing had gone wrong at all.

“
I don
’
t have time for this nonsense,
”
George added, as he stormed to the door.
“
We
’
re shutting down the travel lanes and tracking a fugitive.
”

Shutting down the travel lanes should have meant something to Stewart, and normally a word like fugitive would catch his attention. But he was hypnotized by the thought of Lyntic and didn
’
t pay any mind to what George was saying. As soon as George left, Stewart called Web to his office and told him to pack for another trip.

“
Is the secret operation back on?
”
Web asked.

“
Maybe.
”

Web nodded and headed for the door, but Stewart
’
s voice caught him before he could exit.
“
And upload some files on alien culture for Lambert.
”

Web drew a blank.
“
Who
’
s Lambert?
”

Stewart pointed past Web to New Guy, who was standing marine-style in the corner of the room.

“
Oh,
”
Web replied. Now it hit him: this guy was staying.
“
Oh .
.
. nice to meet you .
.
. welcome aboard.
”

Jeremy was standing on a wooden platform with thick ropes dangling beneath; each rope had a large knot about every eighteen inches, perfect for climbing. It looked like a military obstacle course, and he had reached the top.

“
You can
just
see the roof of the house,
”
he said, as he stretched to see over the treetops. Then he crouched and extended a hand to Sara, who was making her way up to the final knot. This was the kind of fun summer campers were supposed to be having
—
the kind of fun she hadn
’
t had in the last eight months.

She took Jeremy
’
s hand and he pulled her up. She looked back at the ground. They were twenty-two feet in the air, and it felt like fifty. But the platform was so well constructed that there was no swaying or wobbling. This platform was solid and connected to a substantial wooden fort. The ropes, the eye bolts, the timber, the stainless-steel couplers, everything was top quality and built to last. This structure was created at a time when Jeremy
’
s father was plowing full steam ahead on Camp Whatever. It was built on top of a rock the size of a combine. Since they had no luck moving the rock, they decided to incorporate it into the structure. It was as good as anything you would find at the world
’
s best retreats. It had been so good that Jeremy
’
s family couldn
’
t let it just collect spiderwebs like so many of the other forgotten projects. When he was younger, Jeremy and his friends used it as their own personal clubhouse
—
dubbing it
Fort Fear
, and the name stuck. Years later, his mother began using Fort Fear for Thursday-night cookouts.

As Jeremy and Sara stepped into the clubhouse, lunch was waiting for them. It was not placed there by unseen elves, but by Jeremy and Sara themselves, when they came up the stairs the first time, before Jeremy had insisted they go back down and try the ropes. Sara was glad he had been so insistent. She needed that workout .
.
. for her body, mind, and soul.

Sara took a seat on the sofa against the wall, just below a picture window. Jeremy took the plastic lid off a plate of rolled turkey slices. They were arranged in a circle around a container of barbecue dip. It was readymade from Shockley
’
s Grocery, and it still had the sticker to prove it. Each roll of turkey had cheese in its center, held in place by a toothpick. It was something his mother left in the refrigerator for him so he wouldn
’
t starve while they were away at the Farm Expo.

Jeremy had been scheduled to attend the Farm Expo with his family, just as he had all the other years. But Jeremy was feeling too old for family trips, and he decided to stay behind. What a monumental decision that had been. He didn
’
t know it at the time, but it was a choice between witnessing the latest innovations in hay baling or making out with the girl of his dreams. He made the right choice
—
no offense to the hay-baling industry.

When his mother bought that plate of turkey rolls for him, she never imagined he would be sharing it with a lovely young girl who had spent the night
—
separate beds, of course; they weren
’
t moving
that
fast.

Sara poured cranberry-juice cocktail into two plastic cups.
“
I feel like I should start making new memories, in case my old memories never come back.
”

“
That makes sense,
”
Jeremy said, peeling the cover off the barbecue dip.
“
I mean
—
don
’
t wait for a different life, you know. Live the one you have.
”

“
Exactly .
.
. I
’
ve been waiting and waiting and waiting for this mysterious person to
—
I don
’
t know
—
jump out from behind a bush and explain my whole life to me.
”

“
That
’
s a bizarre image,
”
he said, dipping a turkey roll.

“
I know, right?
”
She laughed.

“
So, how do you let go of that .
.
. how do you stop waiting?
”
Jeremy took a seat.

“
I feel like I stopped waiting last night. I feel like I made some new memories .
.
. good memories.
”
She blushed.

“
I feel like I made a few memories last night, too.
”

“
Yeah, but you already have memories
—
a whole life full of them.
”

He shrugged.

“
I should steal your memories,
”
she said.

“
You can have them.
”

“
Good, I
’
ll take them. Hand them over.
”

He laughed as he chewed a piece of cheese.

“
Tell them all to me,
”
she said, leaning back onto a pillow.
“
What
’
s something that you remember? What
’
s the first memory that you
’
re going to let me have?
”

“
Let you have?
”

“
Yeah, I
’
m going to borrow your memories, since I don
’
t have my own. What
’
s something that you did as a kid?
”

He licked the turkey off his fingers and stared at the ceiling.
“
Um, we flew to Niagara Falls, when I was about
—”

“
No,
”
she shook her head.
“
That
’
s not what I
’
m looking for. That
’
s too big. Flying to Niagara Falls doesn
’
t make you who you are. I want a little memory. The kind that stays with you and is a part of you.
”

He grabbed another piece of turkey and clenched his brow, digging deeper into his past.

“
I used to walk to school,
”
he said.
“
I couldn
’
t ride my bike, because the path I took went through fields and over a few fences
—
none of the other kids went that way. I would always carry this stick with me in case of snakes or a dog or something. I never had to use it on anything, but I always had it with me when I walked to school. I would drop it in the woods next to this big stump, so that no one would mess with it. It was like the perfect walking stick.
”

They both smiled as he described it.

“
On my walks to and from school, that thing had been a guitar, a baseball bat, a sword, a fishing rod .
.
. a spear .
.
. a rifle .
.
. you name it.
”

“
What about when you got home?
”

“
What do you mean?
”

“
Where did you put it when you got home?
”

“
Oh, I would drop it along the fence in our driveway. I was as careless as you could be with that thing, but it was always there in the morning.
”

This was exactly what she was looking for. She closed her eyes and pictured that walking stick. She wanted it to be her own. She wanted to slay dragons and hit home runs
—
at least she wanted to have that childhood memory.

“
I
’
ll take it,
”
she said.
“
That
’
s a perfect memory.
”

After lunch, they made their way down from the fort
—
opting for stairs instead of ropes. Jeremy acted as tour guide as they weaved through the rest of the hollowed-out camp and reached the lake.