First Moves

Chapter 2

Dr. Stone shook himself free from memories and turned off the blower. He shrugged himself into his jacket, tucked the bottle inside it, and made for the bridge. He found Eric looking out at the lake apparently so absorbed that all other sounds escaped him.

What are you listening to, Eric? Dr. Stone asked, breaking the silence. What do you hear?

The voice of a child, crying as if his heart is broken in a million pieces, blown to me on the wind . . .‍ He smiled ruefully at his friend. On a clear, still night, without the noticeable stirring of an air current. Eric shook his head. It would be easier, Doc, if I were either one or the other, but when I’ve got both logic and perception in the same head, it’s like I’m at war with myself.

You trying to figure out the how’s and why’s again?

Part of me is. The logic, I suppose, but it’s not having any luck. This one’s different, Doc. It parallels my own experience so closely that I’m having trouble sorting out what’s me and what’s the kid. It’s stirring up memories I buried long ago. I’ve been standing here trying to figure out who’s who.

So what’s with this kid you hear crying?

I’m not sure. I’ve never been this sympathetic to anyone I’ve ever encountered before. The others are uncomfortable, but this one’s frightening. It’s so close that I . . .‍

Suddenly Eric gasped. He doubled over in agony, color draining from his face.

Eric, what’s happening?

The kid’s in pain . . . I don’t know if I can . . . handle . . . the . . . pain . . .‍ Eric began to slump forward.

Eric! Don’t faint! Dr. Stone spoke with sharp authority, moving to catch and support the younger man.

Easier . . . said then . . . done, Doc. I’ll be all . . .‍ Eric gasped again as a new surge of pain struck him. He fought to remain conscious.

Don’t fight the pain. Dr. Stone’s voice echoed down the fogging corridors of Eric’s mind. It’s not yours. Here. Take my hand. I’ll be your touchstone with reality. I won’t let you go, Eric. Just let the pain come and try to look behind it.

No, gasped Eric. It’s too much. I can’t stand it.

You don’t have to. It’s not your pain, Dr. Stone repeated firmly. It doesn’t have to hurt you. Don’t keep it, son. Let it flow around, over, under, through you.

It’s sucking me down . . .‍

Hang on, Eric. I’ve got you, and I won’t let you go. Expertly Dr. Stone maneuvered the young man to the only chair on the bridge and lowered him into it. Look beyond the pain, Eric. What do you see?

I feel loss. Loneliness. Shock. Raw grief. Poor kid . . .‍ Eric murmured then fell quiet.

Dr. Stone, having done all he knew to do, held the hand that clutched his and waited. He watched Eric’s face for signs of increased stress, but, if anything, Eric seemed to be relaxing a little. The bridge quieted to near silence.

From below strains of a Christmas carol rose to meet with the silent stars that still watched over the activities of men. Patinelle had assembled his quartet. Looking out of the window Dr. Stone saw the surface of the lake stretched out smooth and unbroken. The moon painted the surface with a stripe of silver, a picture of peace visually echoing the words the men below sang.

Eric stirred. Dr. Stone saw him frown, saw his lips moving, but he made no sound. One minute lingered into two, and two dragged into three before Eric sighed, opened his eyes, and sat up straight, his body under control again. His face had cleared, and his normal color returned. His eyes held a gentleness Dr. Stone had never seen in them before. A minute more he remained so, then, with another sigh, Eric looked at his friend, squeezed the hand still gripping his, and released it.

You all right?

Eric nodded.

The pain?

Gone. From both of us, for the moment anyway. Thanks, Doc. I don’t think I could have handled this one alone. How did you know what to do with the pain?

I didn’t. I just followed my gut reaction.

It worked, I’m glad to say, and it makes all kinds of sense.

Exactly what happened?

It’s hard to say, Doc. This isn’t following the usual pattern . . . Well, maybe it is, but on a much deeper level. I hope this isn’t an indication of what the future holds for me. This is not pleasant.

I can imagine. You looked terrible.

"I felt terrible. So did the kid. His distress left him vulnerable. I picked up a lot of information about him, Doc. He’s a boy of about twelve, or around there, anyway. Something’s happened to him that is so severe it has overridden his inhibitions, and that’s no small barrier, Doc. The kid is an accomplished stoic. Whatever was—or is—wrong is very wrong. It felt like he had been ripped apart, and he didn’t know where to turn. I felt his loneliness. It was pretty bad.

The kid reminds me of myself when I was his age, all shut up inside, already protecting myself against the usual response I get from this—whatever it is—that I have. I wonder if he has the same ability. I can’t be the only one, Doc.

You’re not, but I would imagine most people with abilities like yours do the same thing with them that you do, hide them, or at least keep quiet about them. The boy could easily have similar gifts.

His name is Robby, I think. And that’s the first time I’ve ever picked up a name. Usually, it’s just a feeling that translates into a condition, but the kid was so clear, so open. I think I could have picked up any amount of information, but I didn’t. I just concentrated on the problem.

And that was . . . what?

I ran away when I was twelve, Doc. Thankfully I was found by an old lake fisherman who took me in. Quite likely he saved my life. I remembered how I felt before he found me, what I so desperately lacked. I don’t know the whole situation with the kid, but he needed someone to comfort him. So I did. I talked to him as if I was right there with him.

Did it work?

Eric shrugged. Seemed to. I could feel him relax, almost to gain hope. It was as if he knew someone cared about him so he could go on. He’s better, Doc, but he’s a long way from all right. I wish I knew who he is and where to find him. I’d adopt him in a second.

You’d what?

Surprised you, haven’t I? Surprised myself, too. What would I do with a twelve-year-old kid? But it’s true, Doc. I’m drawn to this kid. He needs a lot of help, and I’d very much like to be the one who gives it. In the meantime . . . Did you bring the bottle?

Got it right here. Dr. Stone pulled the bottle out of his jacket and handed it to his friend. Eric reached out to take it but suddenly pushed it away, turning his head aside.

Phew! I thought I asked you to wash that thing out, Doc.

I did. Thoroughly.

Sorry, Doc, but I can still smell the stuff. It’s about to make me sick. Did you get that from Burton by any chance?

I pulled it out of the trash. Could have been his. Why?

Burton’s pretty close to being an alcoholic if he isn’t one already. I’ve been debating on whether I should bring him to the captain’s attention.

The captain knows. How did you find out?

I played cards with him one night about six weeks ago. Didn’t think I was going to get through the evening without heaving all over everyone. And he wasn’t even drinking that night. I can’t stand the smell. It really gets to me.

And that’s why you don’t drink?

Can’t get near the stuff without feeling like I’m going to vomit. Cheap or expensive, it’s all smells the same.

What’s it smell like? I don’t think you’ve ever said.

Rotting flesh. Smells like something that escaped from the morgue or the bottom of a swamp. A more foul odor I have never run across. Makes an open sewer smell like Channel # 5 in comparison. Therefore, I don’t drink. Not a very virtuous reason.

What do you tell the others?

That I don’t drink. I don’t figure anybody else needs an explanation. Except for Kelly.

Why the exception for Kelly?

I tried to get drunk one night. Kelly and some other guys talked me into going to a bar, and that was the first mistake. Some character there was feeling generous and bought us the first round of drinks. That was the second mistake. I reacted. I have never been so sick in my entire life. Kelly thought I was going to die. I was half hoping I would. Scared Kelly silly. I told him that I must be allergic to alcohol. He was ready to believe anything I told him. Apparently the word has spread. No one even mentions drinking when I’m in the vicinity.

Why go through all this bother with a wine bottle, then?

Good question, Doc, and the answer is I don’t know. Maybe because it’s the kind of thing that would catch a kid’s attention.

This has something to do with the boy?

Absolutely, but don’t ask me how. It also has something to do with the storm that’s going to arrive tonight. It’s going to be a doosey. Winds way up beyond gale force. If you’ve got anything loose in sickbay you’d better tie it down.

I’ll run a check. I heard about the storm from Janssen.

How’s his hand, by the way?

You picked that up?

You assumed I wouldn’t?

He’ll have a bruise for a while, but nothing’s broken.

Glad to hear it.

Dr. Stone grinned. Glad to hear that he will have a bruise or that nothing’s broken?

Take your pick.

Dr. Stone’s grin turned into a chuckle as he got back to the business at hand. What did you want the wine bottle for?

I need to put this pouch in it. Maybe I should try a clothes pin.

I’ll do it. What’s in the pouch? Dr. Stone asked, rolling the pouch tightly and working it into the neck of the wine bottle.

Eric hesitated, looking warily at his friend. Oh, a little something . . .‍ He shrugged his shoulders. Did Janssen decide I was causing the storm?

He didn’t say. Probably hadn’t thought of it yet. You’re hedging, Eric. What’s in the pouch?

Eric took a deep breath and expelled it quickly. He looked unsure of how to proceed. He shrugged his shoulders again and turned to look out at the lake. Five hundred dollars, he answered flatly. He inwardly braced himself for the disapproval he expected.

Dr. Stone’s hands stilled for a few seconds, and he raised his eyebrows. Noting the set of Eric’s shoulders he commented mildly. That’s a lot of money.

Yeah. As a matter of fact.

So far the pieces of this puzzle are intriguing. Are you going to tell me anything else, or do I have to speculate from here on in?

Eric turned to look at his medical friend who had continued to work the pouch into the bottle. Dr. Stone leaned his lanky six-foot-four frame against the housing containing the signals for the engine room. He should have been awkward but was, oddly, unexpectedly graceful instead. Eric guessed there was a great deal of the unexpected about the man. Dr. Stone had an intelligent, sensitive face; brown eyes, alive and sharp, missing little; light brown hair beginning to thin near the temples; and a mouth given to smiling. He presented a laidback attitude in general, but he also had the toughness of an old tree root. Layed back he might be, but you knew when you’d crossed him. He was a controlled man who had learned patience in a hard school. Eric knew little about the doctor’s past, but there was more to Dr. Elwin Stone than met the eye.

Well, I can tell you what I know, Eric said, but whether my information constitutes questions or answers I haven’t a clue. In the pouch you’re working with I put five hundred dollars in fifty and twenty dollar bills. With it is a note explaining that the finder is welcome to the ‘treasure.’ In my antique bottle I’ve put another note saying the finder is welcome to the money in the green bottle, but that I would like my antique bottle back, even if it’s in pieces. I’ve included another forty for postage telling the finder to keep the change. My name and the address of the Vigilant are on the note as well. I am to tie the two bottles together and drop them into the lake tonight.

That’s it?

That’s all I know, Doc. Sounds weird, even to me, but I’m sure this is what I have to do . . . at least I’m as sure as I can be about these things.

Then let’s do it. Got anything to seal these with?

Right here in my pocket.

The two men worked quickly but carefully, sealing the bottles tight to both air and water. When they were sealed Dr. Stone held the bottles while Eric tied them together with a tough cord, treated to be water resistant.

Okay. They’re ready, Eric pronounced. He stepped out of the bridge and onto the gyro deck. Dr. Stone watched from the open hatchway. Eric hesitated a moment, adjusting his balance. Then he threw the bottles as far as he could. They sailed out over the water in a long low arc. Seconds later the bottles hit the water with a splash that sounded loud in the quiet night. The bottles disappeared beneath the water, but they soon bobbed back to the surface. Moved by the currents within the lake they began to slip away from the ship.

Bon voyage, murmured Eric. A moment more he watched them, then turned away, and reentered the bridge.

Where are they going?

Beats me.

What’s the connection between the bottles and the storm?

I don’t know. Delivery service, maybe. You tell me.

Hefty delivery service, wouldn’t you say?

Maybe that’s what’s needed to get them where they’re supposed to go. Right now you know as much as I do, Doc. If you want any further answers, you’d better ask whoever’s in charge of this thing. I didn’t plan it, that’s for sure.

Whoever’s in charge . . . Do you mean God?

I suppose so.

Do you have an active belief in God?

Depends on what you mean by active.

A personality as opposed to, say, a force.

Definitely a personality.

I didn’t realize you thought about things like God and such.

You don’t have a gift, an ability, a talent, or whatever like I do and not think about ‘God and such’.

Why do you think in terms of personality?

Too many things work out exactly. It’s not just knowing about something. There are lots of reasons for knowing something. It’s the sense of having to perform some action, as if I am a part of a bigger plan. I don’t pretend to understand, Doc. I just know that if you push things back far enough, you always come up against a Personality. At least I do. Maybe I’m copping out or not facing reality or whatever, but I find it much easier to keep on doing the things I have to do for peace of mind if I believe there’s a reason behind the promptings.

And how does the boy—Robby, did you call him?—fit in?

Eric shook his head. I don’t know, Doc. I don’t have details. All I know is that I haven’t heard the last of this kid, yet.

Chapter 3

Are you thinking I’ve finally gone too far and I really do need to be committed? Eric asked lightly, breaking the lengthening silence.

You’re not crazy, Eric. I’ve told you that before. Just because you or I can’t explain something doesn’t automatically make it wrong. If you decided to use this ability of yours to take unfair advantage or people, or if you decided to become a wrecking crew of one, then I would question you. I would also do whatever I could to stop you. I’m against lawlessness and people abusing one another.

To my knowledge, I haven’t done anyone in yet.

No, and I don’t think you’re likely to.

I once thought seriously about going into one of those programs that study and experiment with people like me. A legitimate one like some of the universities have.

You obviously decided against it.

The thought gave me such nightmares that I realized it wasn’t the way I should go.

That’s the kind of decision a person has to make for himself, but personally I’ve never been one to pull the wings off flying things just to discover the mechanism that enables them to fly.

With all your scientific training I would expect all this non-tangible stuff to rub you the wrong way.

Dr. Stone shook his head, speaking calmly. "There are all kinds of phenomena that scientists can’t explain. While I was in South America I saw plenty of ‘scientific abnormalities’ that, nonetheless, worked. You’re not a problem for me, Eric.

"Science taught me to observe and to look for patterns. What you’ve got isn’t a whole lot different from the mother that knows when her child is in trouble, although she may not know what the trouble is or why it’s occurring. Some couples are like that, too, close enough to know when something untoward is taking place whether they’re together or not. Occasionally you find friends with the same ability.

You just seem to be open and fine-tuned enough to be receptive to half the population, whether you know them, are connected with them, or not. Neither easy nor comfortable for you with all those extra emotional feeds playing in your mind. Probably feels like an invasion. Tonight is the only time I’ve ever seen a dangerous side of your ability, dangerous for you, that is. Since I have never seen you take advantage of anyone else with this talent you have I doubt if you’re going to make the FBI’s ten most wanted list. I know someone who is, and you don’t fit the bill. If fact you’re downright ordinary compared to that one.

Tell that to Janssen. Eric paused. You know someone wanted by the FBI?

I used to, a long time ago. I’d like to tell Janssen you’re harmless. In fact I’d like to tell Janssen something, anything, but I don’t think that’s going to happen. No one seems to be able to get through to him once he’s made his mind up. By the time he got to sickbay tonight he was convinced that you had set him up. The falling block was your fault. The impending storm is a figment of your imagination, a story to lead him into your trap, or something like that. In any event, he’s sure there’s no storm coming.

Wait until midnight. Be interesting to see his reaction when the storm hits, but Baker will be on watch. Baker I can work with. Eric turned to look out of the window. Look at her, Doc. She’s a beautiful being, this lake of ours, a queen of lakes with a magnetism all her own. She looks so peaceful, but she’s brewing up a nasty spell of weather. Notice that mist just rising? It’s so faint you can hardly see it, but it means heavy weather ahead.

I wonder what Janssen will think when he finds out you’re right.

It won’t make life any easier, Doc. He’ll either be so scared he’ll turn vicious or so awestruck that he’ll turn me into a Sir Galahad. Instant hero! I don’t know which will be worse, and I don’t want either extreme. He annoys me no end. He’s constantly claiming my attention when I need to be thinking about other things.

And people? Like Robby?

Yeah, the kid’s on my mind. That much pain and no one to hang on to. It’s a bad situation, Doc.

Do you think he’s run away like you did?

I don’t know. I hope not. There can’t be that many Rolly’s around.

Rolly?

Roland Nesbit. He’s the lake fisherman that found me and took me in.

Why did you run away?

My home had disintegrated. There wasn’t a reason to stay and lots of reasons to go.

Where were your parents?

"They died. Car accident. It was pretty bad, Doc, pretty traumatic. Dad was an austere man. He loved Mom, but I don’t think he was all that pleased with me, or if he was, he didn’t know how to show it. We certainly weren’t close. Mother was just the opposite. She was affectionate, warm, and loving, and she understood me.

They had been invited to a banquet sponsored by my father’s company. I’d had nightmares for a week before. I pled with them not to go. I told them they were in danger. Mom believed me, but Dad said it was all nonsense. Mom wouldn’t let Dad go alone. On the way home Dad swerved to avoid hitting a deer, lost control, and hit an embankment. He died instantly. Mom lived a few days longer, but the doctors said she wouldn’t make it. She was pregnant, almost to term. Both she and the baby died.

They made no effort to save the baby?

Apparently not.

That’s odd, especially since she was so close to delivering. Where were you?

I was shipped off to friends on a temporary basis.

No relatives?

None that I know of. Parents never mentioned any. One afternoon I overheard what the plans for me were, and I figured I could do as well on my own. I went back to our house, packed some things, and took off.

And you never saw your parents again?

I went to the hospital, but I was without adult supervision. They said, ‘Sorry, but no information,’ to all my requests.

They wouldn’t let you see your parents?

I had no adult with me, Doc. All they told me was that none of my family had survived.

Devastating for a . . . how old were you then?

Twelve. There wasn’t anything more I could do, or so I thought. So I left.

Where did you go?

"No plans, nowhere to go. I just . . . went. I kept saying I could do what I had to do, over and over again. It was something I heard my father say often.

"I don’t remember all that much about the next three weeks. I do remember that I had never been so cold, tired, and hungry in my whole life. I ended up in Amroth. Compared with the little town where I grew up, Amroth was huge. Being a lake port it was plenty busy. It was frightening as well. I decided to stay near the wharves. I stole a fishing pole thinking I could catch something to eat that would keep me alive. I really didn’t know much about being on my own.

"Turned out, I had stolen Rolly’s fishing pole—his favorite—and he tracked me down to recover it. One look at me and he took both me and the pole to his house. I lucked out. That place became home for me, and I