13 Prisoner of Love

The Flight of the Armada

Book 13: The Prisoner of Love

By

Jay Michael Jones

Smashwords edition

copyright 2016 by Jay Michael Jones

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Chapter 138 – The Prisoner of Love

Chapter 139 – No Deed Goes Unpunished

Chapter 140 – A Pretty Good Fight

Chapter 141 – Do Not Call Me Jimmy

Chapter 142 – Fatherhood for Spirits

Chapter 143 – Thank You, New York!

Chapter 144 – Clash of Wills

Chapter 145 – The Eavesdropper

Chapter 146 – Mockingbird

Chapter 147 – My Deepest Concern

Chapter 148 – Blessings

Appendix

Back to top

Chapter 138: The Prisoner of Love

In 1997 after a considerable amount of time writing and editing, Michael Sheldon completed his book about being the first Earthian to meet the Thuringi scouting party in 1961, and of later visiting the Thuringi Armada in 1969. The book, Neighbors from Out of Town, was eagerly snatched up by the reading public and the media at large. The Thuringi were delighted, for Michael's descriptions and impressions complimented them thoroughly while retaining all honesty about his experiences. Descriptions of the scouts' experiences on the ranch in Oklahoma put them in a more sympathetic light with Thuringi detractors. Earthians learned the whole story of the Thuringi’s fight for survival in space, and how adapting to Earth was not as simple for the Thuringi scouts as was first assumed. Disgruntled Thuringi understood for the first time just what their scouts endured by encountering a number of strange new cultures, especially for Darien.

Michael gave as much information about the scouts’ adventures among the citizens of Iron Post, Oklahoma as he could without revealing anything that would be detrimental to the Thuringi. He completely omitted any mention of the existence of Arda liquid or the Phillipi family’s special talents utilizing the power source. He made great use of some of the photos he took on the ranch as well as his adventures with Brent as the solo scout explored Earth without his Thuringi companions. Michael also described his visit to the Armada in vivid detail, giving Earthians a firsthand glimpse into the life of the peripatetic nation. His description of the late King Lycasis Phillipi was so warm and complete that readers felt a personal loss in the chapter about the Great Attack.

The tour to promote the book gave him the welcome opportunity to speak even more about the Earthian visitors. Conservative factions in different parts of the world were not kind to the Thuringi, and Michael set about answering questions and correcting erroneous assumptions.

It was true that Aquatics really could breathe underwater.

It was true that the Thuringi were from another world.

It was not true that they would share their new world with Earthians.

It was true that King Stuart had a twin who was not interested in seizing the throne for himself.

It was true that Michael spoke fluent Thuringi.

It was not true that the school he headmastered taught courses in Thuringi.

After this busy promotional tour, he and his wife Heather went to New Thuringa for a rest. The inhabitants of the island kingdom welcomed him like a visiting Elder dignitary.

I didn’t think it would be easy for my fellow Earthians to accept the idea of alien worlds out there. Oh, there are plenty who realize the universe is big enough to support more than just one little planet, but it astounds me that so many others don’t believe it, Michael remarked as he and Heather sat on the stone patio with Stuart and Carrol one evening.

The odd thing is, I wonder how the Stellar Council worlds will react to Earth, Stuart mused as he rolled his drinking glass back and forth between his palms. They are as unlikely to believe that a single planet hosts billions of people plus animals and vegetation in such astonishing variety. I daresay the Scoda would accuse me of perpetrating wild falsehoods for the purpose of nefarious distraction.

You’d better put in your bid as to who they should send to represent Earth, Michael advised. You don’t want some harebrained ninny or equally bad, some earnest but awkward engineer showing the worst we have to offer. Not to mention our increasing habit of promoting celebrities with lots of sizzle but no substance! The United Nations is still wrestling with accepting your existence and questioning your motives. It will take them even longer to iron out among themselves who would be fit to play the part of space diplomat.

Stuart’s hands stopped their movement as he stared thoughtfully at his longtime Earthian friend. When their gazes met, the Thuringi king smiled warmly.

That would be the easiest choice of all, to me.

For years Michael Sheldon dreamed of traveling the wormhole traces, but the hazards of the times prevented him from following this dream, just as it prevented his Thuringi friends from traveling the same routes. Now that Earth knew the Thuringi existed and was made aware of the existence of even more alien worlds, it needed assurance that the wildest imaginings Earthians entertained was only speculation and not based in fact. Earth needed facts. It needed reference points, and in Stuart’s opinion no one could better express such references than the Earthian educator who embraced Thuringi culture and space travel so wholeheartedly.

But do you really think I should be the one to go? What will the UN – the world – say when they find out you circumvented their choice with your own?

Then I will remind them, ‘this is not my first rodeo’ in intergalactic relations and they would do well to follow my lead. Of course you should go, Michael. You will be able to express an Earthian’s point of view in suitable terms to satisfy both your people and the expectations of the Stellar Council. In addition, you would be the one most likely to remain mindful of the affect such a meeting will have on the Thuringi’s future.

Gareth fitted him with a strong multi-language translator and devised a small keypad and screen made from Earthian materials to disguise its Thuringi origins. Michael’s flight suit accommodated his slight post-middle age spread neatly, prompting him to exclaim, I should wear a flight suit everywhere! It takes twenty years off me.

Michael was 65 years old, in reasonably good health. To Heather that was a little too old to go flying around the universe all willy-nilly but she saw how excited he was at the prospect of the adventure, and realized he had been hoping for this his whole life. Marty Sheridan caught the quiet concern on her face as he waited for Michael to finish preparing for the trip.

I will protect him with my life, Mrs. Sheldon, the young Earthian promised solemnly. From deep within the spirit of Maranta Shanaugh came forth and spoke, giving his voice a deep rich timbre and a curious mix of the highborn-English sounding Thuringi and a drawling Texas twang. .

Heather Sheldon gazed into the depths of his eyes and found reassurance from a source she did not understand but instinctively trusted.

Well… make sure he wears a scarf.

Are you well, Doc?

Whew! Oh yes, I’m grand! I was prepared for a lot more buffeting and slamming around, but it isn’t nearly as physically hard as Carrol and Stuart prepared me for. It…it’s really beautiful, isn’t it? The wormhole?

The Blue Trace’s namesake multiple hues rippled in waves on the forward screen and the cockpit of the Dauntless, giving Michael the curious sensation of moving forward rapidly while at the same moment, remaining stationary as light and color rushed past them.

Yes. It’s just short of hypnotic, which is a good thing when you are flying so fast and need to keep your mind on where you are, Marty replied. Otherwise there’s no telling where we’d end up if we missed our exit. Hold on, we’re coming out of it now.

They emerged from the wormhole suddenly and Michael’s eyes worked hard to adjust to the difference between the hazy flash of the blue trace and the blackness of space with its glowing stars scattered across the endless stretch of darkness. The Stellar Council Headquarters lay ahead, a host of strong lights illuminating its gleaming surface.

The space station was enormous, far larger than Michael expected, larger than the Quantid had been but not as massive as the mile-wide Oceanic ship Freen. The structure vaguely resembled a tricorn hat, the crown obviously containing the main Council chamber but also the housing for the representatives. The outer slanted brim areas played host to supply storage, public trade meeting halls, and entertainment cantinas. The vacuum of space did not allow for rust or other signs of age, but the bolts and rivets holding the large shining panels of metal together were obviously not from the same era as the sleek seamless ships landing there.

The sight of the Dauntless docking at the Stellar Council Headquarters was no longer a curiosity to anyone; the ship regularly came and went. In fact, the one day that no one in the glassed lounge overlooking the bay area even gave it more than a glance, was the day a second Earthian to ever step foot on the alien satellite debarked from the ship. He strolled with its diminutive pilot through the bay and into the halls, and not a single denizen of the headquarters realized it.

Marty guided Michael through the loading area to the headquarters complex and down a light blue-colored hallway. This is a less-used passageway to the main cantina. I’m not certain just why so few people use it because it’s not any less comfortable and it isn’t restricted. Maybe it’s because many people don’t favor the color because they don’t want to forget this is a space station and not a planet surface. Or because the color is like one of the shades of the Blue Trace and it tends to make some feel off-balance. Yet they’ll walk down a blindingly white hallway without hesitation! Maybe you can discover the reasons during your interviews.

Do you think people will be willing to open up to a stranger like me? I know Stuart does, but Stuart is a very optimistic person. What do you think, as a fellow Earthian?

"You will be the Stellar Council’s best opportunity to address the Outlander Territory, since its – snort! – current representative is reportedly such a hard, chill individual he doesn’t make friends easily and doesn’t want a large tote of them. You’ll be accessible; I’m not."

Who, you? Marty, you are not hard or chill. You’ve the warmest heart I know.

Perception, Dr. Sheldon. Dealing with alien races gives me a much different personality than the one I show back home in Red Hill. I can’t afford to trust just anyone because as a solo pilot I have no backup. I have to assume everyone is a pirate unless proven otherwise. Then again I’ve seen enough to know a toothless dog when I see one, which is how I see some of the Stellar Council laws.

Michael grinned at the serious young man, barely twenty years old yet already a veteran of the wormhole traces. Marty always had been the most practical and unflappable of all of Michael’s son Marley’s friends, and now Michael knew why.

Marty paused at the end of the passageway. Now, stay with me and don’t remove your helmet until we get seated.

He strode with a firm purpose so Michael followed accordingly down a moss-green hallway to a double-door. There were signs posted on the doors in different languages. Michael noted one in Thuringi was at the top, alongside one in Hunda.

No projectile weapons fire allowed.

Do not be troublesome.

Enjoy and relax.

Please be courteous to the staff.

Why are Thuringa and Hunda at the top? Michael whispered.

They are the tallest people. Michael realized from his friends’ descriptions of Stellar Council people that the middle signs were in the other world’s languages according to height. Marty pointed to the bottom signs, which were in Scodan and Chassiren. It is an unnecessary sign for the Chassiren but the cantina staff wanted to be certain the Scodan saw and knew the rules, and couldn’t claim they were unaware or singled out. I’m just saying. He pushed open the doors, and Michael held back a gasp.

It was so ordinary a sight, so normal to an American Earthian’s eyes, that it was more like a staid natural setting back home and not the otherworld, science fiction-ish scene he had imagined. A circular bar commanded the center area of the open cantina, its bar top lit from underneath to better illuminate the patrons’ faces seated before it. They were humanoid and at first glance, Michael might have assumed they were from Earth. Most of them, Marty whispered to Michael, were traders or merchants from business worlds like D’tai or Gali or Pleoni, who wanted to be easily recognized in order to do brisker business. These traders glanced at Marty and nodded in brief acknowledgment. Their gazes lingered on Michael a little longer, taking in the thick brown leather jacket, white shirt and blue jeans he wore over the flight suit. The casual style he wore was favored by long-distance travelers who lived far from the wormhole openings, ordinary outpost merchants who saw no need for tailored formal travel wear.

Most of the seating was booth-style all along the walls, and the tables in the open areas were long in order to accommodate troops or large traveling groups. To the right of the circular bar was an alcove to restrooms; to the left was a secondary section of booths with a smaller open space between them that did not accommodate tables. Every tabletop was lit from within, and every booth had a wall sconce for additional illumination. Marty led Michael to one of the booths, where they sat on opposite sides. The booth was dark gray metal with a seat that probably began its service padded, but over the years the padding flattened and lost its comfort.

A Sengan server approached and smiled in recognition. Welcome back, Captain Shardonne. Thelan or Borelliat wine, or equitable brandy sources?

Oho, are you trying to find trouble for me? Marty replied, and the server laughed.

No, that was not my intent sir! But you do tend to order one or the other.

That is true. I think I shall have some Thelan brandy, please. Michael, what do you want?

(Can I take off my helmet now)?

Oh yes! I’m sorry; please do.

Michael pulled off his helmet, and the server suddenly sucked in his breath. To his credit he did not exclaim but it was clear he realized he was the first to see this new Outlander at the Stellar Council Headquarters.

I am certain the Sengan are a considerate people who do not advertise a private-by-necessity venture, Marty remarked.

Of that you can be certain, Captain.

(Maybe you should select for me, Marty).

Very well. Good sir, would you bring my esteemed guest a tip of Chamberlain? That way, he turned back to Michael, "you can sample Thelan and Borelliat’s wares and make your own decision on the matter."

(Are you trying to find trouble for me)? Michael playfully rejoined, and Marty’s laughter rang out.

Touché!

The server hurried to the bar to give the order. "This is a Priority, Keltin; mind you – a priority, for Captain Shardonne and his guest."

What guest? Palatin?

No, it – just make it the best Chamberlin you’ve got. And brandy from the Gallestra of Sarenchia fields for the captain.

What? Is Captain Shardonne celebrating a victory, to order a Gallestra in the cantina? One usually opens that for guests in the grand halls of Thelan.

Just do it.

Michael glanced over the cantina from his seat, then took out his flatscreen and took notes. I was afraid I’d get some stares but so far, nothing. That’s good.

You have general Thelan coloring and a D’tai/Gharadee build, more or less. I hope to find some – aha, here’s someone I didn’t think I’d see, but would be excellent for you to meet! Wait just a bit.

Marty slid from the booth and approached a Sturbin who had just entered the room and was looking around for a place to sit. He wore a pair of worn blue boots that poked out from under the hem of a long white duster. He wore the cords of Sturbin academia around his neck, a practical place to wear such identification for travel. Marty bowed respectfully and it was returned with equal consideration.

Doctor Volypus, I am glad to see you again!

Why the pleasure is mine, Captain Shardonne! Have you been trying the Blood Lizard?

Ugh, no. The Sturbin chuckled at the sudden revulsion on the Outlander’s face. Marty resumed his natural expression again. I would like to invite you to sit with me and a friend. Perhaps you could answer some questions he has.

Certainly! Questions of a scientific nature, I presume?

And more.

Doctor Ticor Volypus sat opposite Michael Sheldon and had already removed his gloves before glancing at Captain Shardonne’s guest. He blinked in disbelief.

Marty handled the introductions. Dr. Ticor Volypus, may I introduce Dr. Michael Sheldon. Dr. Sheldon is one of my kinsmen and is searching for answers perhaps you can help provide.

An…an Outlander?

Yes.

Dr. Volypus eagerly shook the hand extended to him. I shall do all I can to accommodate you, sir! What is it you need to know?

(I would like to ask you a little about the Sturbin civilization), Michael replied. (I am looking for information about all the Stellar Council worlds to compile for a thesis. It is… it is for an educational project on our home world).

(Word! I should like very much to help you)!

Marty left Michael with his interview. He found the cantina shout and called Reddarkin Manner’s Stellar Council quarters. Reddarkin had just returned home from guard duty and had not even changed from his uniform yet. I wonder if you would meet with a friend of mine, sort of give him a Sengan point of view; you know, an ordinary non-Posh Sengan take on subjects.

Oi, I hope he’s got a strong set of ears, Reddarkin laughed. Gillie, would you like to go to the cantina with -? Naw? Gillian’s just in from her task in the records department and she’s beat. I’ll be along in a bit. Where are you?

Marty gave him the name of the cantina and then returned to the table. Michael was taking rapid notes on his flatscreen, and the Sturbin scientist opposite him leaned forward on his elbows, talking and watching Michael type in an unfamiliar language on an unrecognizable tool.

Oh, I really can’t speak for all Sturbin on the matter. I had a wife but she left me for another. I’ve been wrapped up in my work and really don’t have time for all that emotional rigor. You’ll find that true about many hard-working Sturbin, you know. But some of my colleagues are shall we say, quite active in the art of socialization with several mistresses or ministers to their name. It seems like more trouble than it is worth, really, and I daresay other worlds find the subject far more interesting than my own people do. Dr. Volypus paused and then asked casually, What is the standard of the Outland?

Michael smiled, finished typing his sentence, and then looked up to address the question. (There is no true standard. There are lofty ideals and laws that vary from place to place but there are so many sectors, so many people and so many different societies, there is hardly a consensus about anything. There is a great deal of curiosity about the societies of the Stellar Council, however. That is why I am attempting to gather information about things that are important to many of the Outland: religion, politics, employment, morality and duty to name a few. I don’t expect to gather much information of course; not many people may want to open up to some stranger from the unknown. Still, Captain Shardonne wants me to present my findings to the people, and then we’ll see about further dealings with the Stellar Council worlds).

And will you give information about the Outland?

(To be honest, I cannot give you very much without creating a lot of confusion. We are a large collection of cautious people and don’t venture out of our own territory much. Small steps are best where we are concerned).

Indeed! Until you arrived, Sturbin had almost decided Captain Shardonne was simply a D’tai lad with a particularly driven desire for adventure!

Michael laughed.

Marty grinned and sat beside Dr. Volypus. He was well aware of the increasing number of people who now leaned toward the booth, straining to listen to the conversation.

I have invited another acquaintance to join us. He is a Sengan, a likeable fellow who is honest if blunt.

Perhaps Lord Brandy will not be comfortable sitting with a Sturbin, Dr. Volypus suggested, a trifle unsettled.

It’s not Lord Brandy. If I wanted Michael to meet the officials here first, I would have brought him into the Council chambers for a proper introduction. No, I wanted him to meet whom I deem a truer representative everyman of each world. You, Dr. Volypus, represent the Sturbin and – Ah! Reddarkin Manner will represent the Sengan!

Reddarkin ambled through the cantina to the table, the straps and buttons of his guard uniform still intact. Michael shifted over to offer him a seat. The lanky Sengan sat, gave Michael a thorough once-over and then studied the Sengan across the booth. He finally turned to Marty.

You have a former Toolie boy alongside a Sturbin professor? Oi, you really like extremes, don’t you mate?

Michael laughed, delighted as much by the Australian-like drawl from the Sengan as he was from the slightly Italian-accented Sturbin. (I’m not so much interested in your scientific achievements as I am the elements that make up your societies. What sort of historical events do you claim; what are your religious beliefs if any; what traits are prevalent among your people; what are the socio-economic and generational spectrums of your respective worlds, that sort of thing).

Oh right; and you want a Toolie like me to answer that sort? Reddarkin snorted with a mixture of disbelief and annoyance.

(I don’t want to know what leaders and commanders think. I want to know what ordinary people think), Michael replied calmly. (If Marty says you are an ideal representative, then you are indeed the ideal).

Reddarkin nodded slowly, digesting the statement. When he spoke again it was with humble acceptance. Well then, I will try to represent as well as I can.

And Palatin Porteau; will Palatin represent the Thelan? asked a Thelan patron who had boldly leaned around the edge of the booth wall from the seat next door. Marty gave him the briefest of nods.

I think I will keep future selections to myself for the now.

As Michael interviewed the two men, it became clearer why Marty chose them and had both interviewed at the same time. Traditionally the Sturbin and Sengan worlds had always vied for superiority over the other. But by choosing a non-competitive Sturbin biologist and a ‘non-Posh’ working-class Sengan, the two could speak of universal matters without falling back on promoting racial pride, as higher-profile representatives might. They gave clear, unvarnished opinions with a better understanding of their fellow man that a more professionally polished individual might. Reddarkin had no scientific background to promote, and Ticor the scholar was genuinely interested in discovering more about Sengans, himself. Unlike Thelans and Scodans who were violently antagonistic of each other, Sturbin and Sengans were able to have a common ground that would not likely end up in an emergency ward as long as no competition was involved. The questions Michael posed, and followed up with, gave them an opportunity to make a case without judgment or expectation.

How do you measure time – what constitutes the time measurement from sunrise to sunrise? What is your system of rule? How is your world’s leader or leaders determined? How do you treat the elders of your world? At what ages are people educated? Is education mandatory, granted, bought? Is your world spiritual and if so, what sort of religious tenets do you hold dear? If not, what else determines your morality? Could you describe your general physiology? What would you say is your world’s proudest accomplishment – or list more if needs be? More questions followed, posed in the gentle, congenial voice of the elder Outlander.

Word of the unusual meeting spread quickly, and the leading Stellar Council representatives were astonished they had not been tapped for it. Why, Manner was a mere guard, and a Toolie boy at that! Whatever could he say, opposite a learned man from Sturbin? And Dr. Volypus was not a clever wealthy inventor to represent the honored class of Sturbin; he was just a biologist at Stirken Institute, which was a good school but not one of the top notch intellectual universities.

And yet the two men talked frankly about their societies in calm, factual terms with no friction and no one-upsmanship. The listeners, by then everyone in the cantina, nodded their heads to one another at the answers. Some were even surprised by some answers, judging by the uplifted eyebrows and thoughtful slight protrusion of the lower lip. By the time Gore Brandy, Gunnar Porteau and Kallas Troub of Sturbin got to the cantina, all eyes and ears were on the booth. The trio quietly made their way to the front of the crowd to listen. Marty caught sight of them, smiled and nodded, but did not interrupt the conversation.

Ticor Volypus was well into his own tip of Chamberlin as he spoke in answer to Michael’s latest question, about tattoos. It is a thing you see, a peculiarity of our culture, in which we mark ourselves permanently with our histories as we live them. Have you any marks, Dr. Sheldon?

(Not personally. It is not a prevalent thing for us in general, although there are some individuals who do it. It’s usually done as a way of expressing or identifying with a particular something or someone. Many people choose not to do it at all).

There you are, then. Nearly every Sturbin gets marked. I don’t know anyone who does not; it is not ordained by any legal means but to not do so would label one as odd. And a Sturbin only displays his or her own name. There would be nothing worse than getting into bed with one’s lover and giving her a look at a rival’s name. I wouldn’t know because as I said, I do not participate in such activity.

(That’s wise. I cannot tell you the number of regrets people of the Outland have had when they tattoo something, only to have it prove frivolous or hopelessly outdated later. But that is all you do, just tattoo your name)?

"Not just, my good man. Here, let me demonstrate if I may. He removed his coat, stripped off his shirt and then turned around in his seat to expose his back. We often get the initial marks done in our early youth and add to ‘just the name’ over the years."

It was indeed a work of art. Ticor Volypus was printed (in Sturbin of course) across his back from the far side of one shoulder blade to the other, with elaborate flourishes. Surrounding it in concentric fashion were breathtaking embellishments and artwork. Ticor explained that as his specialty was biological, many of his embellishments reflected that in terms of leaves, vines, flowers and tiny images of favorite Sturbin creatures.

Michael asked for and received permission to photograph the tattoo. (That is gorgeous).

Pardon?

That is… a beautiful piece of artwork.

Ticor put his upper clothing back on. And what of Senga? What do Sengans do? he asked. It was not exactly proper to ask a question instead of Michael, but Michael wanted to know the answer too, so he nodded his head at Reddarkin.

I don’t think Senga has much use for tattoos, certainly none so elaborate. That is a beauty and is a credit to you, but when you consider we Sengans are satisfied with living in plain box houses, delicate penmanship on the skin is far out of our standard. The whole cantina erupted into laughter, including the Stellar Council representatives. "As Dr. Sheldon pointed out, one could put a mark on one day, only