Abduction

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“Maybe we should have pulled this off after dinner,” Richard said. “I’m starved.”

“This is no time for humor,” Perry said.

“Who’s making a joke?” Richard said.

“This must be them,” Harvey called from the door, where Donald had ordered him to stay as a lookout. “An air taxi has just dropped down outside.”

The group was in the dining room waiting for Arak, Sufa, and the Blacks.

“All right, troops,” Donald said. “This is it. Let’s be prepared.”

Richard picked up one of the Greek swords. After his dunk in the pool he’d dispensed with the armor. Donald removed the clip from the Luger for the twentieth time, checked it, and replaced it. He made sure a cartridge was in the firing chamber.

Arak, Sufa, the Blacks, and four large worker clones swept into the room.

“Okay,” Arak said, slightly out of breath. “Everything is going to be fine, so please just relax.”

According to plan, Harvey pushed the door closed with a resounding thud. Arak ignored the noise. Harvey walked around the periphery of the room. Along with Perry and Richard he stood behind Donald.

“First,” Arak said, “you must understand that you cannot escape. We cannot permit it.”

“Word travels fast,” Donald said. “So Suzanne has already gotten to you.”

“We were informed by the Council of Elders,” Arak said. “We heard from them just after you requested our presence. Now that we are here, we’d like to request that you return to your individual cottages. I repeat: you cannot escape.”

“We shall see,” Donald said. “For the time being, we are going to be giving the orders.”

“That is out of the question,” Arak remarked. Then, turning to the clones, he said, “Restrain them without hurting them, please!”

Obediently the clones surged forward.

Donald brandished the pistol and took several steps back. His coconspirators did the same.

“Don’t come any closer!” Donald commanded.

“I don’t think they know what a gun is,” Perry said nervously.

“They are going to learn quickly,” Donald said. While continuing to back up he raised the gun and aimed at the face of the clone coming directly at him.

“Arak!” Ismael cried. “He’s got a gun. Arak-”

“Stop, please!” Donald ordered the clones.

Having been commanded by an Interterran, the clones ignored Donald and continued closing in on the retreating secondary humans. Donald pulled the Luger’s trigger and it fired with a roar. The slug hit the lead clone in the forehead. He wobbled and then collapsed backward to the floor. A clear viscous fluid flowed out of the wound onto the marble. Curiously his legs continued to move as if he were still advancing.

Arak and Sufa gasped.

Undaunted, the other clones continued to approach. Donald swung the gun around to the one closing on Perry and fired again. The bullet struck the second clone in the temple. He collapsed as well, though his legs, too, continued moving.

“Halt, please,” Arak shouted with a quavering voice to the two remaining clones. The clones obeyed instantly. Arak’s face had gone pale and he was shaking. Meanwhile, the scissoring motion of the legs of the two on the ground slowed, then stopped.

Donald was now holding the pistol with two hands. He swung it around and pointed it at Arak. “That’s better,” he told the terrified Interterran. “Just so we understand one another, you are next.”

“Please,” Sufa cried. “No more violence. Please!”

“We’re happy to oblige,” Donald said without lowering the gun. “Just do as we say, and everything will be cool. Arak, I want you to make a few contacts with your wrist unit, then we’ll be leaving here.”

Suzanne was impressed with the equanimity the elders displayed despite the grave crisis. She, on the other hand, was growing progressively more anxious; the dispatches coming back to the council suggested that her former colleagues were succeeding.

While the council had convened, Suzanne had been offered food and then returned to the colonnaded hall. Like that morning she was again asked to be in the center although on this occasion she’d been supplied with a chair similar in style though smaller than those occupied by the elders. She was facing Ala with the bronze doors at her back.

“The problem seems to be getting worse,” Ala said after listening for a moment to her wrist communicator. Her clear, high-pitched voice was not hurried or harried. “The wayward group along with four human hostages are now approaching Barsama with their intact submersible. Arak is awaiting our orders.”

“I’ve never dealt with such a situation as this in all my lifetimes,” Ponu said. “Four worker clones have been prematurely dispatched. That is disturbing, indeed.”

“You can stop them, can’t you?” Suzanne blurted. She was beginning to find the calmness of the council unnerving. “And you can do it without injuring them, can’t you?”

Ala leaned forward toward Suzanne, ignoring her questions. “There is one issue we must be absolutely sure of,” she said calmly. “We have witnessed that your colleagues have surprisingly little compunction about damaging worker clones. What about humans? Would they really be capable of hurting a human?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” Suzanne said. “They are desperate.”

“It is hard to believe they would do such a thing after they have had an opportunity to experience our culture,” Ponu said. “All our other visitors have unerringly adapted to our peaceful ways.”

“Perhaps they would, too, given more of a chance,” Suzanne said. “But at this point they are dangerous to anyone who would thwart them.”

“I’m not sure I believe that,” another elder said. “It’s contrary to our experience, as Ponu mentioned.”

Suzanne felt frustrated to the point of anger. “I can prove the iniquity they are capable of,” she snapped. “They’ve left ample evidence in two of the cottages.”

“And what might that be?” Ala asked as serenely as if she were discussing gardening.

“They have already caused the deaths of two primary humans.”

Suzanne’s words clearly stunned the council. They sat dumbfounded. “Are you sure of this?” Ala asked. For the first time her voice reflected distress.

“I saw the bodies a few hours ago,” Suzanne said. “One was bludgeoned and the other drowned.”

“I’m afraid this tragic news puts the current situation on a different plane,” Ala said.

I should hope so, Suzanne thought to herself.

“I recommend we seal the Barsama vent immediately,” Ponu said.

A murmur of assent filled the chamber.

Ala raised her wrist communicator and spoke briefly then lowered her arm. “It will be done,” she said.

“How long will it take to connect the vent to the earth’s core?” Ponu asked.

“A few hours,” Ala said.

The doors were enormous, about two stories high and nine feet thick. They began to open inward on silent hinges. Arak was directing the activity with his wrist unit. He was in direct contact with Central Information. Donald was standing behind him with the pistol pressed into his back.

Perry, Richard, and Michael were off to the side, keeping Sufa, Ismael, and Mary under close guard. Michael was still in his Greek armor, refusing steadfastly to give it up. Harvey was in the passenger portion of the antigravity freighter, which was carrying the Oceanus as its payload. He was ready to direct the craft into the decon chamber behind the great doors.

“That looks familiar,” Donald said as he caught sight of the stainless steel interior. “It reminds me of the room where we had our unsolicited bath on our way into Interterra.”

A sudden rumble shook the ground, causing everyone to struggle with their balance. It lasted four or five seconds.

“What the hell was that?” Perry demanded.

Harvey poked his head out of the freighter. “We’d better hurry,” he called. “They must be opening a geothermal shaft.”

“What would that do?” Donald yelled back.

“Seal the exit vent,” Harvey shouted.

“Come on, Arak!” Donald growled. “Speed this process up.”

“I can’t do any more than I’m doing,” Arak said. “Besides, Harvey is right, there won’t be enough time. The port is going to be disabled.”

“We’re not giving up after coming this far,” Donald warned. “In fifteen minutes Sufa’s going to be shot if we’re not out of here.”

Another short vibration rumbled through the ground, signifying that the monstrous pressure doors were fully open.

“Now it’s up to you,” Arak said. He waved to Harvey to bring in the freighter. “When the inner door opens, power into the launch and retrieval chamber. When that floods and the launch doors are open you’re free to ascend the vent.”

“That’s not the way it is going to happen,” Donald said. “You’re going all the way, Arak. You and Sufa.”

“No!” Arak cried. “No, please! We can’t. I’ve done what you’ve asked, and we cannot be exposed to the atmosphere without adaptation. We’ll die.”

“I’m not asking,” Donald said. “I’m ordering.”

Arak started to protest. Donald responded by pistol-whipping him across the face. Arak screamed and slapped his hands to his face. Blood oozed out between his fingers. Donald pushed him into the stainless steel room.

The freighter responded to Harvey’s commands, effortlessly gliding into the decon chamber.

“Come on, you guys,” Donald called to Perry and Richard. “Bring Sufa but leave the others.”

As soon as everyone was inside, Donald pulled Arak away from Sufa, who was trying to comfort him. The man’s right eye was deeply purple and swollen.

“Get this outer door closed and the inner one open, Arak,” Donald ordered.

Arak mumbled into his wrist communicator and the big doors began to close. Another rumble, signaling a second earthquake, echoed through the room; it lasted slightly longer than the first.

“Come on, Arak,” Donald warned. “Speed this up!”

“I told you I can’t,” Arak cried.

“Richard,” Donald called. “Get over here with one of your knives and cut off one of Sufa’s fingers.”

“No, wait!” Arak sobbed. “I’ll do what I can.”

Arak spoke into his wrist unit and the swing of the great doors quickened.

“That’s much better,” Donald said. “Much better indeed.”

The whole room shook for a moment with the concussion of the doors sealing. Almost simultaneously, inner doors of equal size began to swing open. Beyond was a huge black cavern similar to the one in which the secondary humans had found themselves on their way into Interterra. It had the same briny odor, no doubt from having been filled with salt water long ago.

As soon as the inner door was fully open, Harvey directed the freighter to carry the submersible within. The others ran after it but were impeded by the mud.

“Damn,” Perry said. “I forgot about this part.”

“Get those inner doors closed!” Donald yelled to Arak as they caught up to the freighter. His voice echoed. He handed the gun to Perry. “We need lights. I’m going inside the submersible.”

“Okay,” Perry said. He slipped his index finger around the trigger. It gave him a strange feeling. He’d never held a handgun, much less shot one.

As Donald ascended the submersible’s rungs another earthquake hit. He had to hold on to keep from being flung off. In the distance a sputtering sound heralded a geyser of lava.

“Shit!” Richard exclaimed. “We’re in a goddamn volcano.”

As soon as the latest tremor stopped, Donald scampered the rest of the way up the ladder and disappeared inside the Oceanus. A moment later the exterior lights came on. It was none too soon; the inner doors were nearing their jambs. Once they were shut the only light sources would be the submersible and the fountain of lava in the distance. It was growing by the second.

Donald’s head popped out of the submersible. “Let’s go, everybody,” he said. “Power’s up and life support’s on. We’re ready to button up.”

Arak and Sufa were ordered to climb into the submersible followed by Harvey, Perry, and Michael. Michael finally had to take off the breastplate in order to get down the hatch. Richard was the last in. As he closed the hatch, he saw a surge of water begin to fill the cavern. He also heard popping noises as the water collided with lava to form steam.

When Richard climbed down the ladder into the submersible, Donald told him to take a seat: he didn’t have any idea how much buffeting they would experience as the cavern filled. A few minutes later the Oceanus was bouncing around like a cork. Everyone held on for dear life.

“What are we supposed to do at this point?” Donald yelled to Arak.

“Nothing,” Arak said. “The water will carry the ship up the vent.”

“So does this mean that we’ve made it?” Donald asked.

“I guess you made it,” Arak responded sullenly. He reached over and gripped Sufa’s hand.

Ala slowly lowered her arm. She’d had an ear to her wrist communicator. Although she’d been visibly upset at the word of Sart and Mura’s murders, her expression was again tranquil. In a calm voice she announced, “The Barsama vent was not sealed in time. The submersible has left the lock and is now in open ocean heading due west.”

“And the hostages?” Ponu queried.

“Only two are on board,” Ala said. “Arak and Sufa are still with the secondary humans. Ismael and Mary were left behind and are safe.”

“Excuse me,” Suzanne said, trying to get her attention. What she was hearing seemed impossible. With all the powers and technology she’d imagined the Interterrans to have at their disposal, her erstwhile colleagues had apparently gotten away!

“I believe we must now deal directly with these people,” Ala said, continuing to ignore Suzanne. “Too much is at stake.”

“I think we should send them back and be over with this problem,” one of the elders to Suzanne’s left said. Suzanne swung around to face the woman. In contrast to the speaker of the council, this elder appeared to be in her midtwenties.

“What do you mean send them back?” Suzanne asked incredulously. She felt that, with such a simple solution possible, it was no wonder none of the elders appeared particularly distraught by the developments.

“I agree we must send them back,” an elder on the opposite side of the room said, disregarding Suzanne. Suzanne turned to look at the speaker, a boy of five or six.

“Do we have general agreement?” Ala asked.

A murmur of assent rose up from all the elders.

“So be it,” Ala said. “We’ll send out a clone in a small intergalactic ship.”

“Tell them to use the lowest power possible on the grid,” Ponu said as Ala spoke briefly into her wrist communicator.

“Such an unfortunate episode,” one of the other elders said. “It is a tragedy, indeed.”

“They aren’t going to be hurt, are they?” Suzanne asked. She refused to give up and, to her surprise, Ala finally responded to this question.

“Are you asking about your friends?” Ala asked.

“Yes!” Suzanne said with vexation.

“No, they will not be hurt,” Ala said. “Just very surprised.”

“I think Arak and Sufa’s sacrifice should be publicly acknowledged,” Ponu said.

“With full honors,” the boy child said. There was another general murmur of assent.

“Won’t Arak and Sufa be sent back, too?” Suzanne questioned.

“Of course,” Ala said. “They will all be sent back.”

Suzanne looked from one elder to another. She was totally confused.

“I see light out the view port!” Perry said excitedly. They had been running for several hours with no conversation and with the instrument lights providing the only illumination. Everyone was exhausted.

“Me, too,” Richard said from the opposite side of the Oceanus.

“There better be light,” Donald said. “According to the gauge we’re at a depth of a hundred feet, and it’s dawn up there on the surface.”

“Sounds reassuring,” Perry said. “How much longer do you think?”

Donald glanced down at his sonar display. “I’ve been watching the bottom contours. I’d say in a couple of hours at most we’ll be within sight of the harbor islands off Boston.”

“All right!” Richard and Michael cried simultaneously. They high-fived across the narrow aisle.

“How much battery time do we have left?” Perry asked.

“That’s the only problem,” Donald said. “It’s going to be close. We may have to swim the last hundred yards.”

“That’s fine by me,” Harvey said. “I’d swim all the way to New York if I had to.”

“What about my armor?” Michael said, suddenly concerned about his booty.

“That’s your problem, sailor,” Donald said. “You’re the one who insisted on bringing it all.”

“I’ll give you a hand if you share it with me,” Richard offered.

“Screw you,” Michael said.

“No arguments!” Perry said emphatically.

They traveled in silence for several minutes until Arak spoke up. “You have your freedom from Interterra. Why did you take us, knowing what would happen to us?”

“Insurance,” Donald said. “I wanted to be certain there would be no interference by your Council of Elders once we’d left Barsama port.”

“You guys will also come in handy if anyone is foolish enough to doubt our story,” Richard said.

Michael let out a guffaw.

“But we shall perish,” Arak said.

“We’ll take you to Massachusetts General Hospital,” Donald said. He smiled wryly. “I happen to know they like challenges.”

“It would be to no avail,” Arak said glumly. “Your medicine is too primitive to help.”

“Well, it’s the best we can do,” Donald said. He started to say something else, but then stopped. His smile faded.

“What’s the matter?” Perry demanded. As tense as Perry was he was particularly sensitive to Donald’s expression.

“We’ve got something weird here,” Donald said. He reached out to adjust the sonar display.

“What is it?” Perry demanded.

“Check the sonar,” Donald said. “It looks as if something is pursuing us, and it is coming very rapidly.”

“How rapidly?” Perry asked.

“This can’t be true,” Donald said with growing urgency. “The instruments are telling me it’s going over a hundred knots underwater!” He whirled about to face Arak. “Is this thing for real, and if so, what the hell is it?”

“Probably an Interterran interplanetary ship,” Arak said, leaning forward to see the display.

“They still know you are aboard, don’t they?” Donald demanded.

“Certainly,” Arak said.

Donald swung back around to the controls. “I don’t like this,” he snapped. “I’m going to surface.”

“I don’t think we can,” Perry said. “It just got dark outside. It must be hovering directly over us.”

The submersible began to shake with a low-frequency vibration.

“Arak, what the hell are they doing?”

“I don’t know,” Arak said. “Maybe they are about to draw us up into their air lock.”

“Harvey, do you have any idea what’s going on?” Donald demanded.

“Not the slightest idea,” Harvey said. Like the others he was holding on to the sides of his seat to keep from being thrown out of it. The vibration was increasing.

Donald snatched the Luger and pointed it at Arak. “Contact these bastards and get them to stop whatever they are doing! If not, you are history.”

“Look,” Perry called out, pointing to the side-scan sonar display. “You can see an image of the craft. It looks like a double-layered saucer.”

“Oh, no!” Arak exclaimed when he saw the new image. “It’s not an interplanetary ship! It’s an intergalactic cruiser!”

“What difference does that make?” Donald yelled. The vibration had increased to the point that it was truly difficult to stay in their seats. The heavy steel hull of the submersible creaked and groaned under the stress.

“They are going to take us back!” Arak cried. “Sufa, they are going to take us back!”

“It is all they could do,” Sufa sobbed. “It’s all they could do.”

The vibration stopped with a jarring suddenness, but before anyone could respond, there was a tremendous upward acceleration. All the occupants were pressed into their seats with such force that, for the moment, they could not move or even breathe, and they were rapidly brought to the brink of unconsciousness. The inertial force was accompanied by a strange light that enveloped the submersible’s interior. In the next instant, everything reverted to normal except for a yaw, suggesting a wave action that wasn’t present earlier.

“My God!” Donald groaned. “What the hell happened?” He moved, but his limbs felt heavy and sluggish, as if the air had become viscous. But the effect lasted only until he’d flexed his joints several times. Then he felt normal. Instinctively, his eyes scanned the instruments. He was surprised to see they were reading normally. But then he glanced at the battery level. To his dismay, the gauge showed the batteries had been drained of what charge they had had, indicating the submersible was on the brink of losing power. Then he saw something else astonishing: they were in only fifty feet of water! No wonder they were being buffeted by waves.

Donald’s eyes shot over to the sonar display. The Interterran vessel, or whatever it was, had disappeared. Instead Donald could see that the ocean floor sloped upward. It appeared that dry land was a mere hundred fifty feet ahead.

The other occupants of the submersible were reviving themselves after the bizarre ordeal.

“I wonder if that’s what astronauts feel when they blast off into space?” Perry moaned.

“If it is, I’m not interested in going,” Richard said.

“It’s similar,” Arak said. “But not the same. Of course, you are too unsophisticated to recognize the difference.”

“Shut up, Arak,” Donald said. “I’ve had enough of you.”

“Indeed you have,” Arak said. “And you deserve your fate.”

“Prepare to surface,” Donald said. “We’re running out of power.”

“Oh, no!” Perry cried.

“It’s going to be okay,” Donald assured everyone as he used compressed gas to blow ballast. “We’ve got dry land dead ahead.”

The surge of the submersible increased dramatically as they came up and broached. While there was still a bit of power left, Donald frantically tried to get a LORAN fix. When that didn’t work he tried the Geosat. That didn’t work either. “I can’t understand this,” he said. He scratched his head. It didn’t make sense. “Somebody go up into the sail, crack the hatch, and see if they recognize where we are. We should be somewhere in Boston Harbor.”

“I’ll go,” Michael said. “This area’s my old stomping ground.”

“Be careful with this wave action,” Donald warned.

“As if I haven’t been in boats much,” Michael scoffed.

While Michael climbed the ladder up into the hatchway, Donald rapidly took everything nonessential off-line to conserve what little power remained in the batteries. But it was no use. The batteries were drained, and a moment later the lights went out, and they lost all headway.

Up in the sail they heard Michael crack the hatch. Pale morning light shined down into the darkened submersible. They could feel the humid sea air and hear the harsh but welcome cry of seagulls.

“That’s music to my ears,” Richard said.

“We’re just off one of the harbor islands,” Michael called out from above. “I don’t know which one.”

At that moment the submersible struck the sandy bottom with a jolt and began to turn sideways in the surf.

“We’ve got to get out of here!” Donald cried. “This thing is going to founder.”

As the secondary humans scrambled out of their seats, Arak and Sufa raised their hands and pressed palms lovingly. “For Interterra,” Arak said.

“For Interterra,” Sufa repeated.

“Come on, you two,” Donald yelled to the two primary humans. “This sub’s about to tip over, and when it does it’s going to flood.”

Arak and Sufa ignored him but instead continued to press palms dreamily.

“Suit yourselves,” Donald said.

“Someone bring up my armor,” Michael yelled down the hatch.

There was a mad scramble up the ladder, especially after the sub careened and a slosh of water came crashing down the hatchway. Topside everyone except Michael jumped into the surf and struck out for nearby shore. Michael tried to go back down the ladder but changed his mind when the boat heeled over completely. It was with some difficulty that he managed to swim free.

Harvey had to be helped in the wild surf, but everyone except the Interterrans made it to the steeply pitched beach, where they flopped down in the warm sand. Michael was the last to pull himself from the undertow. Richard teased him mercilessly about his sunken Greek armor.

The weather was superb. It was a mild, hazy summer morning. Warm sunlight sparkled across the water, giving an inkling of what its midday power would be. After the effort in the surf, the group was content to rest, suck in the fresh air, watch the gulls soar, and allow the sun to dry the flimsy satin garments clinging to their bodies.

“Now I feel sad about Arak and Sufa,” Perry said wistfully. The Oceanus had tipped over on its side and was filled with water. It was already farther off the shore than when they’d disembarked. The wave action was dragging it back out to sea.

“Not me,” Richard said. “Good riddance as far as I’m concerned.”

“It’s too bad about the submersible, though,” Donald said. “It’s not going to last long out there. It will probably end up on the bottom off the continental shelf. Damn! I was hoping to power it right into Boston Harbor.”

Just after Donald spoke a particularly big set of waves reared up. After they broke and the foam receded, the submersible was gone from sight.

“Well, there it goes,” Perry said.

“After our story is told I’m sure there will be a lot of pressure to salvage it,” Michael said. “It’ll probably end up in the Smithsonian.”

“Where are we?” Harvey asked. He pushed himself up on one elbow and looked back at the low, windswept island. It seemed to be only sand, seashells, and saw grass.

“We told you,” Donald said. “It’s one of the many Boston Harbor islands.”

“How are we going to get to town?” Perry asked.

“A couple hours from now there’ll be pleasure boats all around here,” Michael said. “Once people hear our story they’re going to be fighting over the honor of giving us a ride.”

“I’m looking forward to a nice dinner where I know what I’m eating,” Perry said. “And a telephone! I want to call my wife and daughters. Then I want to sleep for about forty-eight hours.”

“I’ll second that,” Donald said. “Come on! Let’s walk around to the windward side. Even from a distance a gander at old Beantown will do my heart good.”

“I’m with you,” Perry said.

The group got to their feet, stretched, and started hiking along the beach in the hard-packed sand at the water’s edge. Despite their exhaustion, they began to sing. Even Donald was drawn into the merriment.

Rounding a point forming the side of a small inlet, the group stopped in their tracks and fell silent. Not more than a couple of hundred feet upwind from them was an old gray-haired man clamming in the shadows. He had beached a moderate-sized skiff. Its lateen sail was luffing in the steady breeze.

“Isn’t this a happy coincidence?” Perry said.

“I can taste the coffee and feel those clean sheets already,” Michael said. “Come on, let’s make this old guy a hero. They’ll probably put him on CNN.”

With a whoop, the group broke into a run. The fisherman panicked at the sight of the pack of bellowing men charging toward him across the dunes. Dashing to his boat, he tossed in his pail and net and tried to flee.

Richard was the first on the scene, and he raced out into waist-deep water to grasp the boat’s transom and slow its progress.

“Hey, old man, what’s the rush?” Richard questioned.

The fisherman responded by releasing his sail. With an oar he tried to fend Richard off. Richard grabbed the oar, yanked it out of the man’s grip, and tossed it aside. The others ran out into the water and latched onto the boat.

“Not a very friendly chap,” Richard remarked. The fisherman was standing amidships, glaring at the group.

Harvey retrieved the oar and brought it back.

“No wonder,” Perry said. He looked down at himself and then at the others. “Look at us! What would you think if four guys dressed in lingerie came running out of the morning mist?”

The entire group broke down into giddy laughter fueled by exhaustion and stress. It took them several minutes to regain a semblance of control.

“Sorry, old man,” Perry said between chokes of laughter. “Pardon our appearance and our behavior. But we’ve had one hell of a night.”

“Too much grog, I suspect,” the fisherman said.

The fisherman’s response sent them off on another laughing jag. But eventually they recovered enough to convince the man that they were not dangerous and that he would be generously compensated if he gave them a ride into Boston proper. With that decided, the men climbed into the boat.

It was a pleasant ride especially in comparison with the tense hours in the tight, claustrophobic submersible. Between the warm sun, the soft whisper of the wind in the sail, and the gentle roll of the boat, all but the fisherman were fast asleep before the skiff rounded the island.

With a steady breeze the fisherman expertly brought the boat into the harbor in good time. Unsure of where his passengers wanted to be dropped off, he gave the nearest person’s shoulder a shake. Perry responded groggily to the prodding and for a moment had trouble opening his eyes. When he did, the fisherman posed his question.

“I guess it doesn’t matter where,” Perry said. With supreme effort he sat up. His mouth was dry and cottony. Blinking in the bright sunlight, he glanced around the harbor. Then he rubbed his eyes, blinked again, and stared at the surroundings.

“Where the hell are we?” he demanded. He was confused. “I thought we were supposed to be in Boston.”

“ ’Tis Boston,” the fisherman said. He pointed to the right. “Them there is Long Wharf.”

Perry rubbed his eyes again. For a moment he wondered if he were hallucinating. He was looking at a harbor scene of square-rigged sailing ships, schooners, and horse drays along a granite quay. The tallest buildings were wood frame and a mere four or five stories.

Fighting off a wave of disbelief that bordered on terror, Perry shook Donald awake in a panic, crying that something was terribly wrong. The commotion awoke the others as well. When they took in the scene, they were equally dumbfounded.

Perry turned back to the fisherman, who was lowering the sail. “What year is this?” he asked hesitantly.

“Year of our Lord seventeen hundred ninety-one,” the fisherman said.

Perry’s mouth dropped open. He looked back at the square-rigged sailing ships. “Good God! They put us back in time.”

“Come on!” Richard complained. “This has got to be some kind of joke.”

“Maybe they’re making a movie,” Michael suggested.

“I don’t think so,” Donald said slowly. “That’s what Arak meant when he said they were going to take us back. He meant back in time not back to Interterra.”

“The intergalactic ships must involve time technology,” Perry said. “I guess that’s the only way travel to another galaxy is possible.”

“My god,” Donald muttered. “We’re marooned. Nobody is going to believe our story about Interterra, and the technology doesn’t exist to prove it or for us to get back there.”

Perry nodded as he stared ahead with unseeing eyes. “People are going to think we’re mad.”

“What about the submersible?” Richard cried. “Let’s go back!”

“And do what?” Donald asked. “We’d never find it, much less salvage it.”

“I’m not going to see my family after all,” Perry cried. “We gave up paradise for colonial America? I don’t believe it.”

“You know, I’ve finally figured out where you lubbers are from,” the fisherman said as he readied the oars.

“Really,” Perry said, without interest.

“There’s not a doubt in my mind,” the fisherman continued. “You’ve got to be from that college up the Charles River. You Harvard fellows are always making fools of yourselves.”