Vissile 4

The pause lengthened with no impetus to swing them into activity. They all stared. Then a rear passenger door opened, and Father George emerged from one of the vehicles, joining the foursome as calmly as if they stood in chapel during Sunday service. "The kid?" Orry nearly whispered. Father George nodded toward the vehicle, then muttered, "I threw myself in with them, uninvited. Took more nerve than I thought I had," he confessed. Finally, the passenger door opened again, and Moxy clambered out. The guerillas disappeared inside, the vehicles performed impressively tight one-eighties as if choreographed, and spun back down the roadway in the proverbial cloud of dust. The Colonel's gun hand relaxed. For Dr. Orry, relief rapidly coalesced with anger. He opened his mouth on a scolding phrase, then swallowed it unspoken. As the kid approached, Orry got a good look at him. Moxy's eyes were puffy, his red nose made a forlorn snurffling noise. The kid stared abashedly at the ground, pulled a bandana from his jeans pocket and took a futile swipe at his damp features. "You were saying goodbye to the King?" the Colonel concluded. Moxy nodded. "Why the show of force?" Strong wondered in a slightly shaky voice. Father George explained, "the King felt the place might be dangerous now that our soldiers have pulled out." The Colonel nodded his agreement. Turning to the kid he asked "coming with us?" Again Moxy nodded. "That's it then," the commander said. Father George shook hands with each of them in turn, then hugged the kid. Strong stowed the crutch, got the air splint on Moxy's knee, and at last they left the place. Strong drove. The doctor sat next to him up front. It occurred to Orry that they had seen Moxy effervescent and passed out, cheerful, angry, jubilant, eager, thoughtful, curious, fascinated, but never before sad. After all this time, Orry had concluded that Moxy entirely lacked sorrow in his emotional repertoire. Now it was a surprise to see the kid in tears. Moxy really had formed an attachment for that old man there on the mountain. And it must have been mutual for the King. And now Orry was taking the kid away. The doctor seemed to be playing the role usually reserved for wicked witches, ogres and trolls. Here was the kid and the Princess on the war torn mountainside, ready to ignore the animosity of their elders, ready to take a vow of eternal fealty, to show the rest of the world how to make love not war. And then down swooped the evil Doctor Benjamin Orry to take Moxy away. Never to see the Princess again. To live sadly ever after. Now Orry wondered for the first time whether he'd done the right thing. Probably Moxy would be safer away from this place. But maybe Orry had exagerated the risk of staying. Maybe Orry was being selfish. Surely Moxy could find plenty of opportunities back home for work and study, as brilliant and talented as he was. But Orry had no guarantee of that. Maybe they would make it back stateside all safe and sound, only to be run over by a city bus. Or something equally mundane. The jeep lurched into and out of a road rut. Orry clunked his head on the ceiling. He glanced back to reassure himself that the kid was allright. And that he hadn't disappeared again behind their backs. Moxy lay sprawled across the rear bench, sound asleep. Typically, peacefully oblivious. A seraphic expression shone upon his face. Orry snorted at the image. Leave it at that he told himself. It would just have to do. Which was how the doctor met Moxy. And the doctor brought the kid back stateside. Home for Benjamin Orry was the Circuit Springs district in the Northwest Mountains. There, the doctor hoped to introduce Moxy to the policeman. Theodore Wainwright Dare, fondly known by his friends as Teddy Dare, or TD. He was tall, handsome, athletic, intelligent. Straight A student in high school. Quarterback of the football team, star forward in basketball. Voted "most likely to succeed" by the seniors. His classmates saw him as a future lawyer, running for public office. Senator, governor, maybe even president someday. Instead, he went to the police academy inVerrington, "the big city." Being a policeman came naturally to the man. Dare was a born perfectionist. If there was a 30 mile per hour zone on a street that should have been 25 mph, it bothered him. If someone left a cigarette butt in the street, TD was triply bothered: first, that someone was harming their lungs by smoking. Second, that they had left the butt as an ugly eyesore, and the taxpayers would have to pay for the street cleaners to pick it up. Third, that the used cigarette end might have some bacterial contaminant that represented a health hazard for children and small animals. If he got past the butt without fretting about the increased risk of brush fires that the previously lit cigarette represented, then he was doing well for the morning. Throughout his youth, his tall and well- built shadow had represented safe haven for the small and weak kids against the bullies. Parents admired his courtesy and instructed their offspring to be "more like Teddy Dare." Little girls smiled, giggled and blushed when he walked by. His orderly habits led to the making of lists. Shopping lists, chore lists, laundry lists, duty lists, lists of lists so that he wouldn't lose track of what he intended to accomplish. The degree of orderliness required to comfort his perfectionism led him into the realm of computers, large and small, portable and huge. His state-of-the-art skills with information management were greatly prized by the police department. TD was a model officer. The Dare family was large and prosperous. They also approached perfection in appearance, intelligence, elegance and manners. They approached perfection, but fell short in a single noteworthy trait. The Dares tended toward the intake of large volumes of liquor. They started drinking young, and they drank hard, with the result that most of them died with highly pickled livers and hearts, cirrhosis and ascites and jaundice, ugly and bloated, and encephalopathic. In all kindness and duty, TD visited some of these relatives in hospital. If his well regulated balance of life had allowed him ever to be drunk, which it didn't, the ugliness and messiness of this sort of death would have put him off drinking, which it did. The result was that Ted Dare approached middle age in excellent health at the same time that many others of the family were dropping like flies. And the result of this was that Teddy kept inheriting his large family's earthly goods. He became extremely wealthy. And since his extreme sense of order and balance demanded that the very best and balanced of financial advisers be engaged to look after the family finances, the wealth he inherited was very well-managed and got larger by logarithmic amounts. But his measured daily habits did not allow him to spend any but a modicum of all this money on personal comforts, so all of that money began to give him a feeling of imbalance. It weighed him down as if the whole sum of his wealth was rolls of quarters in his pockets. Therefore, he hired some excellent lawyers to meet with his excellent accountants and outstanding investment bankers. And they all advised him on the feasibility of various charitable undertakings that he had in mind. The most appealing of these was to establish small clinics in the wilder and more remote neighborhoods of his beloved mountain country. These were to communicate with a central clinic by a constantly updated computer network that he had in mind to devise with the best expert advice money could buy. Dare got the notion that the clinics were something missing, needed, and something he had it in his power to supply. He was enthusiastic about this project. The need for computer improvement and fine-tuning appealed to TD's notion of organization, and his desire to apply his own talents to the project. Reluctantly then, Ted Dare quit the Verrington police force to spend all his time and energy on the Dare Clinics Foundation. This clinic system flourished. Dare insisted on the best of everything: the finest training for his new personnel, the utmost in continuing education for the experienced staff that he attracted to the complex. He had no difficulty getting doctors to sign on with him. Between the generous salaries, geographic beauty of the situations, the state-of-the-art facilities, the finances lavished on the setup and maintenance, he had his choice of experts from all over the country. Dare spoiled his personnel with elegant dining facilities and living quarters, frequent parties and receptions, cultural events and seminars. Ultimately, the Dare Clinics got the reputation for excellent medical care, and that attracted patients from farther and farther away including international clients, many of them wealthy and famous. In spite of its nonprofit status, the Dare Clinics Foundation flourished financially as well. So TD's attempt at giving away his money came back as a financial success that got so large that it developed a board of governors, and a director of hospitals who took most of the detail-work off his hands. It was at this juncture that Dr. Benjamin Orry returned stateside, shining with a newly acquired and fairly uncomfortable civilian status. He knew he wanted to live and work in his beloved mountain country again. And it seemed a reasonable thing to apply to the Dare Clinics Foundation for a job. Orry and Dare had been high school buddies and teammates. Their friendship was a fairly warm memory of the distant past, untroubled by the real fact of a very bristly,sparrish competition that had existed between them since grade school. All of that was decades in distance. Orry half-wondered whether Dare would even remember or acknowledge the acquaintance. After all, TD was a huge success and something of a celebrity. The two men had not seen each other for many years. In response to a "position available" notice in a recent medical journal, Orry modestly framed his letter of inquiry. The notice was for a doctor with "rural medicine" training. Orry stated that whereas his formal training was not in that area, his field experience certainly seemed to qualify him. He did not presume to mention his acquaintance with Dare, but merely directed the letter and CV to the search committee at the Foundation in a general sort of way. And the doctor told himself, the Foundation was large and widespread enough that Ted Dare, so highly placed on the administrative ladder, would be oblivious even to the fact of Orry's application. In due course, Orry received a form letter acknowledging receipt of his application. The week after this, the secretary of the search committee sent him a letter formally thanking him for his interest, advising him that they had heard from many qualified applicants, but that they would update him as the search progressed. The coolness of this reception discouraged Dr. Orry. Unreasonably, or so he told himself. His qualifications really had not been those specified in the ad. The fact that he was as fine and dedicated a physician as the search committee could ever hope to find, and more experienced in frontier medicine than they could possibly imagine in any one practitioner was understandably not a priority for them. He himself was convinced that he was exactly the sort of multi-talented, eclectic doctor that they needed most at a remote clinic. Someone capable of dealing with any and many an emergency. Orry sighed, filed the committee's letter neatly away and told himself it was high time this sorry old soldier looked elsewhere for employment. Since he felt far too young for retirement, he spent the next few days generating his own form letter of inquiry, looking up the address of every hospital and doctor' s group in the northwest region, and then performing major mass-mailing. His incoming mail was largely junk to the previous several occupants of his abode. And he was forced to sift through it carefully before burning it, to assure himself he wasn't overlooking a response to one of his inquiries. When he finally did get a piece of mail addressed to himself, it was an inauspicious-looking short envelope with no institutional address printed on it, just a handwritten street number. Still, it was addressed to "Dr. Benjamin Orry," so he tore open the envelope and pulled out the short note. "Welcome home," it read. "Maybe we could get together for lunch soon and talk about the good old days..." this was followed by a telephone number and the signature "Ted Dare." Orry felt absurdly pleased with the receipt of this note. And his enthusiasm for it was nearly as strong when he dialed the number, only to find it answered by a female secretarial voice. The lady at the other end of the line asked him whether Thursday at 1:30 p.m. would be convenient. He told her that would be fine, and then received the name of the restaurant for which "Mr. Dare" had reservations. The simple friendliness of the note versus the cool efficiency of the secretarial dispatch canceled each other out, and Orry was left in an uneasy indeterminacy. He found himself wishing Moxy was around to talk to. The kid took off shortly after they had set foot on the East Coast, to drive to Texas and return the contents of the jeep to his professor. Orry had suggested going with him. Moxy had refused the offer, simply grinning and replying that neither of them had sufficient funds for a prolonged homicide defense in court. Later, Orry had mailed to Moxy's Texas post office box, the address of the ridiculously expensive "mountain lodge" the doctor was temporarily renting. It was in fact a very ordinary two bedroom ranch-style house on the outskirts of Verrington, close enough to the mountain views to appeal to tourists. The town had become much bigger and more urban, in a nasty grimey way, than Orry remembered it. The highlight of homecoming was a whole series of family reunions in which he heartily hugged the elders of the Orry clan, ate too much country cooking, listened to how his peer-relatives were doing at work, and met for the first time a whole crowd of generally attractive and bright-sounding nieces, nephews and cousins who had been born during the doctor's travels overseas. This was pleasant, but somehow served to re-emphasize in Orry's mind how directionless his current existence had become compared to the lives of the rest of humanity. One night after Orry had retrieved his daily allotment of junk mail, he sat reading the international section of his newspaper, which he considered badly lacking in detail and thoroughly misdirected. He had just snorted over a particularly naive burble about new prospects for peace in the Middle East. Again, he stifled the urge which he had repeatedly, to write a letter to the editors correcting their many misapprehensions. Which lead inevitably to his wondering what the Colonel, Father George, or Moxy's reaction to the article would have been. This progressed predictably to Orry's wondering where each of them was, and what they were up to at that moment. A knock came at the doctor's door. He turned on the porch light and was amazed to find the postal carrier. She was a plump, middle-aged woman who had a wedding band and a contagious, deep throated laugh. He greeted her and she confessed that she had made it all the way to the foot of the hill before she realized she had a parcel for him in her truck. She stepped aside and there stood Moxy with shouldered backpack, grinning wickedly. The lady enjoyed the uproarious meeting of the two friends a moment before saying goodbye and melting into the night. Of course the kid had hitchhiked the entire distance from the Mexican border, much to the doctor's very vocal disapproval. Moxy allowed Orry to tour him around the town for three days. Then the doctor found the kid re-packing his gear. "Going somewhere?" Orry had asked. Moxy replied, pointing to the lofty peaks and grinning, "to introduce myself to the local flora and fauna." The doctor then dug out all his terrain maps for Moxy, went over the kid's first-aid-kit contents with a critical eye, lectured him on the terrors of flash floods, unpredictable outrageously out-of-season winter storms, and vicious herpetological lore in general. Moxy had grinned, waved, hiked up the mountainside and again disappeared. So that Orry was stuck without a confidante when his two-handed high school reunion with Ted Dare arose. Orry discovered that all of the clothes in his closet were either military or shabby and terribly old. The question of "what to wear" was sufficiently effete to offend him, but he had to acknowledge the practicality of the problem. He dismissed as silly the idea of viewing the clientelle of the restaurant ahead of schedule, to see what the gents were wearing. Ultimately he asked his lady postman, who recognized the eatery as "classy, very-good, very-expensive," and told Orry "a necktie and jacket would be a good idea." The day of the meeting found Orry taking a hike, a train, a bus, and a stroll into the downtown area. His timing was off and he showed up too early. His postal carrier had told him where her husband's "Big and Tall" store was located. Orry was now clad in new jacket, shirt, tie, and trousers, and his old uniform shoes. (Nobody had his shoe size in stock. They would need to be ordered out of a catalogue.) He located the restaurant and paused for breath a moment before edging tentatively inside the door. The doorman greeted him with just the hint of frostiness edging his "sir?" Orry replied " I'm early. Meeting someone at 1:30." This received a somewhat skeptical- sounding "reservations?" Orry replied "so I understood..." rather brusquely. Snottiness in hirelings brought out his more aggressive side. "Name?" came the next challenge. "Probably in my friend's name... Dare," he shrugged, glancing around the entrance area with a critical eye. "Would you care to wait in the bar, the library, or may I show you to your table now, sir?" The change in tone was abrupt enough to be alarming. Orry glanced back to see if the same man was standing there, or if the doctor had missed the changing of the guard while his back was turned. No, it was the same curmudgeon, now beaming warmly at Orry. Dare's name seemed a magic password. "The library," Orry agreed, wondering what a restaurant was doing with one, and whether it had any books in it. The library proved to be patterned on an antique, men's club room, with armchairs, side tables, a fireplace, newspapers, magazines and the occasional shelf of books. It was a crowded room, but only moderately noisy, and the doorman found him a chair before he left. A waiter, complete with towel on bent elbow, asked him would he like something to drink. Orry suggested and received coffee, served in a delicate porcelain cup and saucer. For some reason, the doctor was too restless to read, and soon gave up the effort. He sat drinking the coffee, which was excellent, and cautiously grabbing quick glimpses of the people in the room. They all seemed extraordinarily comfortable in their seats, politely paced in their conversations, and remarkably well-dressed and prosperous looking. In apparent contrast to the doctor, who was acutely aware of the newness of his clothes, the oldness of his shoes, and the fragility of the porcelain cup and the chair he was using. The handle of the cup seemed too small, in danger of being crushed by his meaty fist, and the chair had a slight creak to it when he shifted his massive frame on it. These reflections were interrupted by a voice behind his chair, "Dr. Orry?" He stood in order to look behind him and found the doorman ... with Ted Dare. The doctor knew exactly what to expect, occasionally having seen recent photos of his high school friend in newspapers or magazines. On the other hand, Dare hadn't seen Benjamin Orry for a full two decades. In amazed tones he blurted out "Orry?" and then stood in flat-footed astonishment. Gone back, consigned forever more to the pages of the high school yearbook was TD's image of a curly red- haired, large and laughing youth, full of mischief, competitiveness and eager expectation. Before him now stood an officer's monument, carved in stern outline, muscled in solemn determination, highlighted in calm capability, shadowed in subtle shades of sadness. Dare was uncharacteristically oblivious to the discourtesy of staring. Until the doctor blushed crimson and muttered "yes, it's me..." as if there were a dozen or more copper-haired six-foot-sixers in the room to choose from, and the point required some clarification. Ultimately, a reflex of sympathy for the man moved Ted Dare off of dead center. He stepped forward, grasped Orry simultaneously by shoulder and hand-shake and exclaimed "Jam! This is great, just great..." He used the high school nickname without thinking, (Jammin' Benjamin Orry, Jam for short). "I just can't quite get it into my head that you're actually here," he added in explanation. Orry agreed, vigorously returning the handshake, "it's good to see you again." The two men next became aware of the silence in the room, the otherwise polite occupants watching this emotional scene like a sequence in a movie. Dare suggested, "maybe we'd better find our table." The doorman, who stood as if glued to the celebrity's shadow, clearly enunciated his "this way, Mr. Dare," for all to hear. At least their table, when they got there, was in a calm corner of the dining room. Once they got to reminiscing and eating, things went a little more smoothly. Ted Dare was an astute observer. He was amused to notice how his companion used a fork and knife. Sometimes Orry ate European style, inverted fork remaining leftward, knife in the right hand. When the doctor remembered with a visible start, he switched to American style, setting his knife down, and handing the fork from left to right before raising the food to his mouth. Reflexively, the doctor aimed the pointed implements away from Dare, an eating habit conoting peaceful intentions, which came from the opposite side of the globe. The travel stories the doctor told were many and varied. Ted Dare, who was of necessity an expert on foreign affairs, enjoyed hearing Orry's insights on various current overseas conflagrations. But TD avoided dwelling on any of these subjects, carefully steering the doctor to other topics after a few sentences. His intention was to keep the conversation as pleasant as possible, to reinforce the impression of lingering friendship, sounding out a possible alliance, while remaining ready for a virtual withdrawal. Dare never lost sight of the business at hand, and he felt certain that Orry was fully aware of this. TD assessed and reassessed the man he saw. As soon as he had received word that Dr. Benjamin Orry had come back stateside, Dare had requested input from the brass. What were the details of Orry's sudden return to civilian status? Dare' s experimental helicopter design corp netted him an unofficial inside line on matters military. He reviewed in his mind's eye the electronic response "old war horse, true blue, surprise bolt, assessed at ultimate full bull permanent list minimum, all requested assignments hard-core, in retrospect should have been offered a cushion but wasn't, the squeaking axle gets the lard, ellipsis, too late now." In other words, the brass considered it a simple case of insufficient reward for above and beyond the call effort. Possible, but Dare doubted it. To the policeman's professional eye, Benjamin Orry was seething anger at the stupid cruelty of the world. The policeman had seen the look before on folks whose family members had been killed by drunk drivers, or on the faces of assault victims' relatives. A fury that could be dangerous in someone like Benjamin Orry. Dare knew that Orry was a bachelor. That piece didn't seem to fit the puzzle. The policeman wondered what the precipitating event had been for the doctor. What had driven Orry right to the brink? Dare's piercing look caught Orry's eyes and the cutting force of the retort was awe-inspiring. TD hastily glanced down at his plate. Counterproductive he told himself. Combat was not useful, a waste of energy here, irrelevant. He recalled their school days competition, good-natured, but ever present. When TD next looked up, he caught Orry's eye instantly, and suspected the soldier of having stared the whole time, waiting for the return to the clash. Suddenly, Dare saw the containing force. He had missed it earlier, overwhelmed by the massive power of the surgeon' s anger. He perceived it now, and swiftly analyzed it. His first reaction was resentment. The doctor was laughing at him, Theodore Wainwright Dare. Just who did Orry think he was, anyway? His second impulse was self-containment. Dare sensed his own unbalanced status. He had allowed Orry to get to him. Like they were kids again, no time had passed. Jam was bigger, stronger, smarter than Teddy. Dare gripped his hostility convulsively. TD was wealthy, powerful, in control. He could crush Orry like a bug if he wanted to. He looked steadily, coldly back into his adversary's eyes, taunting him, mentally beckoning toward the clenched fist, ready to throw the punch and block. Now the laugh on Benjamin Orry's face was overt, blending into sound effects, a soft sarcastic chuckle. Ted Dare, manipulative, assessing the doctor like he was livestock, old war horse, deciding whether to bid on the animal or not. Benjamin Orry, massive violent temper boiling, ready to tear the whole lousy wicked world apart with his huge ungloved hands, starting with Dare. The berserker response in the policeman came all the way to the surface, and he didn't care who knew. The call to arms was thrilling, invigorating, and Dare luxuriated in the full glaring heat of the challenge. "Just like old times," Orry declared, and Dare laughed out loud. It started as a mere gesture, but by the time his own ears heard it, the laugh lit him inwardly as well. Yes, that was it, what he'd liked in Jam before, what was still there to like, all the more impressive, juxtaposed as it was to his terrible, rational rage. The humorous affection that he had for humankind shone in the doctor' s look. The affection that drove him to wield a scalpel rather than a saber. That drove his anger to attack the cancer rather than charge the battalion. That kindly-motivated laugh representing the humor that walled-in and caged his aggressive anger, keeping it at bay, ranting and raving inside. The return of the ultimate sparring partner. Dare hadn't been so evenly matched in a bout for a very long time. And he didn't find it at all humbling. It was a chance to test his mettle, flex his muscles, display his own power. He nodded at Benjamin Orry, "what brings you back?" he demanded. Orry shrugged calmly, "homesick... change of pace." That wasn't it, Dare knew. Maybe Orry himself didn't know yet. "Looking for a position?" TD asked him, nodding acknowledgement that he already had been told. "Testing the waters," Orry agreed noncommittally. "You want to work for us," Dare emphasized the plural, "for the Foundation?" Orry guffawed, "do you think that would be wise?" There was a wicked twinkle in the corner of his eyes. "Yes," Dare nodded pseudo-somberly, "somebody needs to keep an eye on you." "Me? Ha!" the old friend retorted. After a moment, Dare inquired, "what exactly did you have in mind?" Orry looked him squarely in the face, "whatever you need done, I can do it." "Yes," Dare readily agreed with this assertion. Then TD said "what about Chief of Staff. And Head of Surgery?" Orry's eyes opened wide. He stared at Dare. The doctor opened his mouth, then shut it. The pause lengthened. Then Orry said, "I'm out of touch with civilian medicine. Haven't been there since med school." Dare contemplated that. "You'll adjust," he judged. Then smiled widely, "you might even come to like it." "Possibly," Orry agreed, still thoughtful. "Don't answer right away," Dare urged seriously, "give it a few days." "All right," Orry nodded. Then they talked about other things. The waiter interrupted them with a phone call. "A lady," he told Dare, "says it's important." "That would be Mrs. Grandham," TD stated. "Sorry" he apologized to Orry. "Wealthy patroness, patient, international liaison?" Orry wondered. Dare chuckled wryly, reaching for the proffered telephone, "personal secretary..." The waiter withdrew to a carefully measured distance, precisely calculated over timely experience to suggest a discrete disinterest in the conversation, and a proprietary interest in the telephone hardware, which still permitted eavesdropping. "Yes, Mrs. Grandham?" Dare began, then listened and replied. "The line cabin at Cliffside... it's scheduled for demolition... yes, I've heard the details. When will the crew arrive? Oh, I see. Yes, I suppose I'd best talk to him then..." Dare grimaced humorously and shrugged slightly at Orry before speaking to the next individual. "Mr. Parkaweil? Yes, just the beginning... it's occupied? It must be nearly a hundred years old... I understood it was crumbling, over the edge, barely standing, dangerous. Occupied by whom? A kid... you mean a minor? No, not miner... minor... someone under age?... alone? He's repairing it? That hardly sounds safe... I should think the legality question would be secondary to the kid' s safety. No, I don't want him arrested... certainly not... what environmental issues? Water... pond organisms... underground springs? He claims ownership? On what grounds?... that seems highly unlikely... all of that land has been Dare property for over a century. Wait a minute... let me get this down on paper... the amended Homesteading, Land and Water Usage Act of 1887... must be some kind of legal wiz-kid to be quoting you vintage legislation like that. Wasn't the environmental impact statement filed? Well, if there is any doubt at all, we should shelve the whole thing... the expenses are a secondary concern... yes, we can meet...later... I'm not in the office at the moment. You can ring Mrs. Grandham back. Yes, tell her I said so... yes, yes... thank you Mr. Parkaweil... I do appreciate that fully... yes, goodbye." Dare started to apologize again, then stopped short, looking at the doctor' s face. Orry seemed quite embarrassed, looking down, shaking his head. "What is it?" Dare asked him in surprise. "Sounds like someone I know..." Orry began. "Parkaweil?" Dare asked, mystified. "No," Orry groaned, "the kid..." As soon as he was reunited with Moxy, Orry took the opportunity to scold him roundly. The words "selfish... thoughtless... arrogant... inopportune... ingratitude..." and "disastrous" sizzled off the doctor's tongue repeatedly. The kid waited until Orry completed his diatribe. Then Moxy said, "I'm sorry you're put out with me." "Is that all you're going to say?" Orry demanded. "I just don't get it," Moxy explained. "Don't get what?" Orry spluttered. "Why your friend should be angry at you. I mean, getting pissed at you hardly seems fair, for something that I did. What's it got to do with you at all, anyway?" "Moxy, I brought you here," Orry began. "No, you didn't. I hitchhiked up, remember?" the kid helpfully corrected him. "That's not what I mean and you know it," Orry scolded and then paused, examining the puzzlement on Moxy's face. The kid really did look perplexed. The doctor felt silly explaining things to this genius side- kick. But the phrase "... hardly seems fair" had just now registered. Just because the kid was an intellectual phenomenon didn't mean his judgment was necessarily better than other kids' his age. Maybe that level of assessment came with experience. It occurred to the doctor that the sort of behavior he was demanding from Moxy was that of a mature adult. Which he wasn't. "Maybe Mr. Dare doesn't realize how unusual that place of his is," the kid said earnestly, "it may be unique, I mean really one of a kind. Honest, Doc, you should see it." Orry sighed, "why couldn't you just politely approach him, ask to talk to him about it?" "Doc! They were fixin' to demolish the cabin. Crush it flat. It would have been too late," the kid protested. His eyes were round and luminous, as he added softly, trailing off, "I just thought it was important to do something, sort of, right away, if you see what I mean..." Moxy stared thoughtfully at his feet a while, then looked hopefully up at Orry. "Do you suppose it would do any good if I offered to explain now to Mr. Dare and apologize?" The doctor studied the kid's eager look. Somberly, he replied "it might." "Great! I'll give it a shot, then," Moxy grinned. Which was how the scientist met the policeman. Up to this point, the Chief of Staff position at the Dare clinics foundation had been elective, filled by a vote of the doctors. Ted Dare had disliked this aspect of the organization. No matter which of the doctors held the post, they were intimidated and too deferential with respect to Dare generally, but tended to talk down to him medically, and overall were unwilling to share the day-to-day nuts-and-bolts details with him, especially with respect to clinic difficulties and patient problems. And after all, troubleshooting was what Dare lived for, what he excelled at. So the transition of Chief of Staff to appointed status was a relief to TD. Except for finding the ideal person for the job. The position had remained unfilled for a while. The sudden, unexpected contact from Benjamin Orry fitted so well into Ted Dare's plans that the occurrence almost suggested predestination. If he weren't so practical, TD could almost bring himself to a belief in something that approached superstition. But he was. So he couldn't. At the very least, however, Dare was convinced that Orry was exactly the right man for the job. So Dr. Benjamin Orry became Chief of Staff, Head of Surgery at the Foundation's main clinic. Complete with a fancy salary, and a house on the grounds that had one of the finest views of the mountaintops for a hundred miles in every direction. Of course, there were some at the Foundation who saw TD's precipitous hiring of Benjamin Orry as too high handed. And there was considerable grumbling when the first impact of Orry's military style of command was felt. The former officer iron-fisted his way through the organization. His war zone mentality was unshakeable in his practice of civilian medicine. He insisted on a sufficient level of autonomy for each clinic. In case of natural disaster, he reasoned, communication could be cut off indefinitely. Supplies must be maintained, and personnel must be sufficiently eclectic to cover all exigiencies. Dr. Orry wanted the outlying clinic staff to rotate through the main clinic and university on a routine basis, for updates and refresher training. To sweeten the rigors emanating from his Chief of Staff's training demands, Dare spoiled his personnel with even more parties and events than before. Dare's coddling efforts won out in the short run. And as the doctors and staff came to know Benjamin Orry, there gradually grew an acceptance of the man. Very soon after his arrival, he was acknowledged to be a fine surgeon. The respect started, as it usually does, with the scrub nurses, who recognized the accomplished hands of the master when they saw them in action. Their attitude spread to the medical students, that ever present font of ruthless critique, and from them upward to the housestaff.. Orry's love of teaching had to come through as he coaxed the youngsters' skills along and poured a wealth of information into them. The fact weighed-in heavily that he never ever pimped. The housestaff went from a scrupulous avoidance of any opinion whatsoever, to a devotion that stopped short of worship... but only-just. Because, sooner or later, now and then, Orry would save one of their patients who was blatantly a goner, and bring them back from beyond the brink of the grave. Such dramatic occurrences have the aura of the miraculous, and worship feels right and reasonable in that setting. The faculty, of course, had not reserved judgment, and therefore had to come all the way back from severe prejudice and disapproval. They felt they'd had their ears clipped, losing the Chief of Staff position doubly. Once, by virtue of transition from a vote to dictatorship. And again, from in their midst to a total stranger. The assumption amongst them was that a doctor was competent until there was evidence to the contrary. None of them expected Orry to be a quack. Amongst the faculty, then, it was simply a matter of time passing, ruffled feathers and dust settling, and the new Chief of Staff gradually becoming the same old Chief of Staff, what everybody was used to. Orry felt that his life had taken a turn in the right direction. His worst problem, it seemed, was monitoring Moxy. The doctor wanted Ted Dare to like the kid well enough to keep him around long term. To Orry's way of thinking, Dare had to be shielded from the discovery of the kid's wilder propensities. Orry could not imagine Dare tolerating the way the kid crashed from extreme to extreme. It was much to Orry's disappointment, then, that the details of Moxy's first meeting with Ted Dare were never revealed. The kid, when asked how it went, simply shrugged and commented "TD is an okay person..." the doctor was amused with this measured assessment. And he chuckled to hear how quickly Moxy was on a first initials basis with the powerhouse entrepreneur. Apparently, "Mr. Dare" was an appelation of the past. The kid must have made a dynamite first impression. He went into the meeting to offer a humble apology. And came away with a job at the Foundation. And a letter of introduction to the dean of the graduate school at The Well Springs University (Alma Mater Water U) complete with a recommendation that Moxy's work at Father George's clinic be accepted as a pilot project for the kid's dissertation. (Dare was on the University's Board of Regents). Also, Moxy had the application paperwork in hand for a Dare Clinics Foundation employee continuing education scholarship. "You must have charmed the executive socks right off of Ted's feet. What exactly did you say to the man?" Orry demanded laughing. "Not much," the kid shrugged, "explained and apologized. Just like you said." Orry guffawed, "that must have been the great granddaddy of all apologies... what did you do, kneel, grovel, abase, throw dust on your head?" "Course not," Moxy made a face at the doctor' s silliness. "Did you mention me at all?" Orry asked. "Maybe once," the kid replied doubtfully. "Mostly we talked about software. Troubleshooting Terpsicorps' program glitch. Giving the Dancers help with their communications grief." "Dancers? You mean as in music and frilly tutus?" Orry asked in puzzlement at this turn in the conversation. "Helicopters, Doc. TD's experimental helicopters are called 'Dancers'. And its experimental-proprietary stuff. So I can't talk about it anymore. See?" Moxy nodded emphatically. "Oh," Orry's voice trailed off into amused silence. After a pause in which the doctor chuckled inwardly, he asked "so what's the word on the Cliffside cabin?" "Oh, that's all settled." Moxy dismissed the concern with a brief hand gesture, "I'm going to move in. Fix it up. Live there." "Just like that?" Orry was surprised all over again. Moxy admitted "well, yeah. I did sort of promise TD that the Foundation buildings inspector would have final say on my living there. Something or other about safety... Anyway, no problem." Moxy declared cheerfully. So it was, one evening, that the policeman, the doctor, and the scientist were walking together in downtown Verrington. The Stealthy Juggler, who has known mankind longer than man's memory of himself, might have considered them to be three heroes upon a quest. They didn't see their journey into the big city as such, however, and continued to stride forward without any preparations for doing battle. The ladies they were going to meet might have given them a hint along these lines. The first was Bethany Berke, Ted Dare's fiancee. She had encountered a difficulty and she was determined to deal with it. A man had called her asking for a meeting. This was inappropriate, since he was not an acquaintance. On the other hand, he did have an excuse. He claimed to be her deceased father's deceased friend' s lawyer. Victor Grey had been Mr. Berke's colleague, business partner, oldest and dearest friend. Bethany Berke had known Grey since she was a child. The man had been very much like an uncle to her. She had not heard any of the details of his death, because he had died during his travels abroad. There had been considerable mystery associated with the death of Victor Grey. Trans oceanic inquiry had been unsatisfactory, with many strange questions left unanswered. Now, the practical thing for Bethany to do would have been to refer this stranger to one of her many lawyers. But she knew that this action would have left her curiosity entirely unsatisfied. Referred to the lawyers, this strange man with the strange accent would disappear from her view. And if she heard the punch line at all, it would be bowdlerized, edited, diluted, washed, dried, and predigested into a form suitable for presentation to a small stupid child. Bethany Berke was eager to hear the truth concerning the death of Victor Grey. And if this stranger was dissembling, not who he claimed to be, she might scare him off by referring him to her lawyers. But then, the question occurred to her, if he was in fact a criminal, did she really want to meet him alone? So she phoned Ted Dare and asked him to meet her in the same place. She didn't explain to her fiancee about the stranger, for the simple reason that the former policeman would have insisted on leaving her out. So there she was, all set to crack this mystery case wide open. The thrill of the investigation was really influencing her mood, and the excitement was apparent in her looks. So that her best friend noticed the difference when she came to call at Bethany's house. This other lady was Jane Khaziamiere, a clothes designer known as "Merely Khaz" to the denizens of the fashion world. She greeted her friend and immediately asked her "what was she up to?" Bethany Berke could not resist sharing all the delicious details of the mysterious assignation. Khaz got caught up in the spirit of the thing, and wanted to be included in the party. Having settled that aspect of the evening, the designer explained why she'd come by to visit in the first place. She was doing piece-work-for-fee, age 17 to 24 year olds' menswear. And she needed artistic inspiration. And all of her acquaintances who had anything to do with the Foundation whatsoever said the same thing. She absolutely positively "must meet Moxy." "So, dear," she asked Bethany, "have you met the Clinic's answer to Adonis? And is he worth a viewing?" "Moxy Youngblood? Well, yes, we've been introduced," Bethany admitted, "but you know, since I'm engaged to be married, I'm not supposed to look at other men anymore." "He's a teenager, a boy, not a man," Khaz pointed out, "and I don't believe you're a bit serious about getting married. Why haven't you set a date?" Bethany sighed, "lawyers, Jane, lawyers. Big ones and small ones. Old ones and young ones. Teddy's and mine. All of them glaring and staring at each other. They can't figure out my inheritance, and they can't figure out Teddy's. And until they do, which may take decades, we can't agree on the finances for after our marriage. Which is a whole bunch more complicated. So I will probably die of extremely advanced age, still an old maid..." Bethany pouted, then continued, "Personally, I think it's all terribly silly. I'd elope in an instant, if Teddy wanted to. But he's so very proper. I'm afraid I'd shock him with the suggestion." Khaz sympathized, "you poor dear. But tell me what Moxy looks like." "He's cute. And very nice," Bethany declared. Khaz shook her head, "cute and nice is a dime a dozen. I'm looking for 'spectacular beauty.' And I heard, Moxy is the real thing. What does he look like? Describe him to me." Bethany began doubtfully, "sort of, I don't know, exotic. As if, maybe, you might start out wondering what country he came from, and end up wondering what Galaxy..." Khaz replied "Weird... okay that's it. You've picqued my curiosity. I have to see the brat. Can't you ask TD to bring him along?" she urged her friend. Bethany shook her head, "you won't call him a brat after talking to him. He's some sort of genius. Makes me feel very small in comparison." "Better and better," Khaz commented. "And I should warn you," Bethany continued, "that Teddy won't invite Moxy along without including Benjamin Orry." "The surgeon? Why?" Khaz asked in puzzlement. "I'm not certain," Bethany replied, "but Teddy and Jam seem to have Moxy Youngblood in some sort of joint protective custody. Khaz laughed, "well then, it will be quite a crowd, won't it?" So Ted Dare, Benjamin Orry, and Moxy Youngblood approached the evening' s meeting place. It proved to be quite a walk from where Dare had parked. The kid folded the journal article that he had been reading and tucked it into a pocket of his jacket. At this point, the doctor noticed Moxy was favoring his right leg. By now Moxy was back to normal activity, but maybe this was too much exercise for his post-surgery knee. As soon as the doctor had this perfectly reasonable thought, he had a different one that really bothered him, one that involved Gram negative diplococci and sexually transmitted disease. G C is a bacterium that has a nasty habit of turning up in infected knees. And one thing Orry had discovered gradually was that Moxy's magnetism extended to those of the fairer sex. Sure, the doctor had already witnessed the instance of the King's niece as a prelude. Still, the magnitude, the sheer length and breadth of the kid' s effect on ladies dawned slowly on Orry. A hospital is a great place for rumors. The Dare Foundation Main Clinic, away from the city, a community in its own right, was rife with ripe rumor. And according to the gossip mill, Moxy was a red-hot lover. Each time Orry overheard something about the kid, his name was linked with a different girl. Orry didn't want to meddle. But in the back of his practitioner-brain was the question of whether Moxy used appropriate prophylaxis during undercover action. Starting that conversation with the kid was a tricky business. e.g.: buy him a beer, and casually, while raising a mug say, "by the way and just in passing, do you sheath your sword before swashbuckling? I mean, wrap your wrigglers in raincoats? Plasticize your procreator? Govern your goo? False front your phallus? Barricade your banger? Hermeticize your hammer? dot dot dot..." the difficulty of trying to start that conversation had yet to be solved by the doctor. As well as the mystery of how and why. What was the secret of the kid' s success? Moxy was rather short and skinny. A negative for the ladies, you'd think. And if anything, he looked younger than he was. Another negative? Well, maybe the ladies started out trying to mother him and then defaulted to sex when they got near enough to take a second look. The kid had always lead an athletic, outdoor life. There was nothing about his build that was at all effeminate. He was muscular and physically capable, although his face was smooth and downright pretty, with hardly a bristle brusque enough for a blade. Clearly he had an adolescent male libido, all engines go, full thrust ahead. And nothing to stop him from having-at, if the ladies were amenable. Here was where Orry's imagination ran aground. Moxy seemed rather bashful. Orry just couldn't picture the kid propositioning anyone. So, did the ladies do the asking? Or was all this supposed activity a myth of the rumor mill, fantasy not fact? And was the kid' s knee bothering him just because the walk was too long? "Much farther?" Orry asked Dare, nodding down significantly at the kid when he'd got TD's attention. Moxy caught him at it, "working on the Dancers this morning," he shrugged, " too much kneeling on the ground, I guess. No big deal," he offered the cheerful explanation. "It's just around the corner," Dare replied. Simultaneously, with one accord, Dare and Orry each grabbed one of the kid's arms. As the gentlemen arrived at the establishment, Bethany's statement about joint protective custody seemed so graphically illustrated that the ladies laughed outright to see Moxy squirmingly suspended between the two large men with his feet barely skimming the floor. The night spot was called "The Broom Closet." Khaz favored it because it screened its clients, was terribly exclusive, and therefore being seen there was good for her business. Bethany favored it because her friends did. The lighting was dim and the decor just a little strange. The walls were lined with unfinished board shelves showing rusty nails at the corners. The walls were crammed from end to end with odd pieces of junk, from old kerosene storm lamps and button boots, to ancient rubber hot water bottles and ear trumpets, randomly displayed in profusion. The music was ostentatiously experimental. The food was trivial in amount, and only exceeded by the beverages in price exorbitance. Orry, who got enough of the effects of age, dirt and decay at work daily, found the setting a little depressing. Dare, in all practicality, found the place dark and noisy. Moxy seemed to take no particular notice of the decor, good or bad. When they found the table Bethany had chosen, the kid greeted her politely, shook hands with Khaz, dropped quietly into the chair farthest into the corner and melted into the shadows. He started drawing in a small, bound sketch book. The waitress appeared, a young woman with a slender waist, clad in a rather frilly blouse and a somewhat attenuated black velveteen skirt. She asked "is your party all here now?" "No, we' re expecting one more, but we can probably order anyway," Bethany answered, looking out of the corner of her eye at her fiancee's reaction. "Who else is coming?" TD asked. Bethany stated rather excitedly "a Mr. Daville Shayden. He claims to be Victor Grey' s lawyer." Dare started visibly. He entirely approved of Bethany Berke. But every once in a while, he found himself imagining what she would be like if she were just a little bit less proper, correct, straight-laced. Now, he told himself ruefully, was his chance to find out. Of all the forms for Bethany's expansiveness to take, amateur sleuthing was very high on Ted Dare's list of dislikes. But there was the waitress waiting to take their drink orders. The ladies asked for wine. Orry made pleased noises when he discovered on the imports menu an obscure Czechoslovakian beer he liked . Dare decided to try it along with Orry. The waitress dimpled at Moxy, who replied "nothing, thanks." When Orry said to him "my treat," the kid immediately changed to "Irish, neat, please." Ted Dare spontaneously shook his head before stifling the gesture. The waitress was too busy flirting with the kid to consider carding him. Orry was amused and a little mystified as to what was going on. Bethany Berke had been several years behind them in school, but Orry had always had trouble with her. Back then, she was a fresh-faced pre-teen that Ted Dare had tolerated like a younger sister. Orry had thought her a snob. He'd always thought that she disapproved of TD's friendship with someone on a lesser social plane. Now he saw a different person. He wondered if he'd been wrong all along. Whether, back then, she had been just timid and shy. And whether he, with his working-class parents, had had a chip on his shoulder. And had misinterpreted her reticence to look at him, speak with him. He was pleased at the chance of a friendship now. The funny thing was, Ted Dare seemed to be the disapproving one tonight. Orry couldn't fathom what the pretty little heiress was up to that TD didn't like. The doctor had no idea who Victor Grey was. Or why the man's lawyer would be unwelcome company. Orry glanced at Khaz, looking for more pieces of the puzzle. She was staring at the kid while trying to look like she wasn't. If you could get past her overtly nouveau style, she was also an attractive woman. She was probably younger than Bethany, but still too old to be interested in the kid. Cluck, cluck, mother hen, Orry scolded himself. Orry next wondered why the kid always seemed to be broke. His wages at the Dare Foundation were quite generous. Moxy never seemed to spend any money on anything. And yet he never seemed to have any money either. Where did it disappear? The evening seemed full of mysteries that the doctor couldn't fathom. Speaking of disapproval he told himself, he would have to watch Moxy's tendency to hard liquor consumption. Having offered to stand treat he was stuck buying drinks for the kid. And he didn't want to be contributing to the delinquency of a minor with Dare watching. Or without for that matter. When the waitress came back with a tray of drinks, the band was beginning to gather on the stage. One of the musicians walked past and whispered something in the waitress' ear that made her giggle. As he was turning back toward the stage, the performer caught a glimpse of Moxy in the corner and paused. "Why, its the very, very old man, himself," he greeted the kid, "How's the Mox-meister? Going to sit in on a round with us, then, are you?" "Sorry, Berry," Moxy shook his head and intoned, "I left my strings with some other things at my house hum drum so I cannot strum," the kid shrugged. Berry replied, "I could shoot the lead singer and you could use his instrument. He plays worth piddle, trust me." "Er, no, thanks anyway," Moxy responded pleasantly. "Very well then, if that's the way it's going to be," Berry stormed off in a mock- huff. After a minute of the entire table's worth staring at Moxy, he explained "Berry has no native weirdness, so he rehearses a lot..." and the kid went back to sketching. Orry reflected that Midnight Moxy Monitoring had now run the gamut of sex and drugs to rock and roll. He felt that Dare was stifling his disapproval, barely, but whether of Moxy, Bethany, Berry, Orry, or of all of them, the doctor couldn't decide. He wondered if it wouldn't be more relaxing, after all, to go back to soldiering. At least then you knew nobody was pissed at you when they didn't lower an automatic to waist level and open fire. But now was the moment they seemed to be awaiting. A man who just had to be the deceased Victor Grey's supposed lawyer, Daville Shayden was escorted by the doorman to their table. Bethany Berke shook hands with the man and offered very brief introductions to the others at the table. Khaz, being professionally inclined to the minute examination of people's appearance, perceived first the lavish expensiveness of the stranger's apparel. Shaking hands in turn, Orry noticed with some surprise that Shayden's grip was almost as strong as his own. The doctor wondered what exercise the lawyer could find to develop such a powerful grasp. Orry laughed to himself that the act of taking folks' money by legal means must be more strenuous than it seemed. Ted Dare, of course, made Shayden's acquaintance with considerable skepticism. As a policeman, he was accustomed quietly to assess and judge a person's lifestyle. TD doubted that Daville Shayden spent most of his time in the practice of estate law. Moxy seemed to be abstracted in his drawing. The rest of the company was so involved in examining the newcomer, that none of them noticed the piercing look the kid darted at the stranger. So none of them came to the conclusion that Moxy's failure to shake hands with Daville Shayden represented his stark refusal of the man's presence. If they had noticed, they might have wondered what Moxy saw in the elegantly attired foreigner that warned the kid away from any toxic contact. There was a short silence. Bethany entered the breach with the question, "so, what did Victor Grey leave behind that requires an estate attorney's attention?" Shayden responded courteously, his voice thick and rather soothing, with just the hint of an accent of unknown origin, "his collection of first editions." Bethany nodded her head, "daddy had a provision in his will to house the collection for Victor. I had to give up a whole guest bedroom to find room enough for all the shelves. The books were terribly dusty when they first arrived. And the cartons were absolutely crawling with spiders." She shuddered to illustrate the point. Daville Shayden bowed politely to acknowledge his dismay at the arachnidal encroachment of the lady' s domain, "I was hopeful that it might be possible for a viewing of the collection at some convenient future date," he stated apologetically. "It might be possible. Sometime," Bethany Berke agreed vaguely. "Why?" Ted Dare demanded somewhat abruptly. "I have an inventory I should like to confirm," Shayden stated. Bethany responded coldly, " they are all there, I do assure you, and in much better condition than when they arrived." Daville Shayden made a profoundly apologetic obeisance, " dear lady, please forgive any clumsiness of mine in your language. I wish only to confirm that Victor Grey's list of his possessions is accurate. He was an invalid for a prolonged period before he died, and his memory may have failed him." Bethany Berke silently acknowledged this apology. Khaz interrupted the pause with her question, "what is the subject matter of the collection, and are they valuable?" Shayden responded with a glowing smile, "they are chemistry books, and for an enthusiast they are valuable, a unique collection." Ted Dare spoke up, "maybe I could make a fair offer for them. Add them to the Foundation's library. It's getting to be quite a fine historical medical collection we've got," he smiled at his fiancee. "Oh, Teddy, what a lovely thought! I'm sure Victor Grey would have approved. Making them available to doctors and scientists. Chemistry enthusiasts and such like..." Bethany agreed enthusiastically. Shayden bowed politely towards Dare, "perhaps you shall have some competition there," the elegant foreigner stated. "As soon as I am satisfied concerning the interests of Mr. Grey's estate, there will be no conflict of interest. I may well bid for the books myself," he declared with a determined set to his jaw. Ted Dare' s eyes glowed at the receipt of this challenge. Daville Shayden returned the stare. To avert an escalation to open hostility between the two men, Bethany Berke hastily changed the subject, "what have you been drawing all this time, Moxy? I wish you would show Khaz. She's an artist too, you know..." Moxy passed his notebook down the table. Bethany opened it and exclaimed in delight, "oh, its Teddy! And me. Look, Khaz aren't they perfect? Look, Teddy, hasn't he drawn you exactly right?" Khaz agreed, "they're very 'like'. What a nice touch you've got, Moxy." They turned the page, "there' s Jam," Dare said, showing it to his friend. Orry chuckled in acknowledgement of the likeness. Bethany turned a page, "here you are, Khaz. What do you think of yourself?" "Flattered," the designer said, "I had no idea I was looking so good. But what's this? Here' s a nightmare for you! Brrr... what's it meant to be, Moxy?" The kid shrugged, "it's the ghost of Victor Grey, in the guest bedroom, reading his first editions," he explained. "Spooky!" Bethany Berke shuddered. It occured to Ted Dare to wonder how Moxy could draw a likeness of Victor Grey, a man the kid had never met. Meanwhile, Orry studied the drawing, recognizing the ghoulish quality of Moxy's darker imaginings. In the sketch, the drooping woebegone expression of the ghost was pathetic. The angle of the walls and bookshelves was distorted and threatening. In the immediate foreground a grim profile scowled at the books. The likeness was unmistakably Daville Shayden, despite the extreme distortion of his expression, which depicted an almost animal hatred and cruelty. His tongue lolled out and slavered over the prospect of the pitiful dead soul and his treasured former possessions. The doctor hastily closed the book upon the table. And almost magically, it was transferred to the hands of Daville Shayden. Shayden's expression evolved as he looked at the drawings one by one. At first, he seemed impressed with the quality of the artwork, and his face betokened a connoisseur who is surprised by vestiges of civilization in a presumed benighted corner of the world. He lingered over each of the portraits in turn, as if appreciating the artist's talents anew, and studying his technique as it applied to each subject. When at last he turned the page to find the ghost drawing, his reaction was striking. His powerful hands tensed upon the book covers, his stare turned hard and cold, and he consumed the subject as if memorizing the details. Suddenly, surprisingly, his face relaxed, and Daville Shayden laughed out loud. "Mr. Youngblood. I must know you better. Much better," Shayden seemed to devour the look of the kid, as he had previously devoured the look of his sketches. Moxy stared into his empty drink glass and said nothing. Again, Bethany intervened, "oh, Moxy. Do you think... could I have them? The pictures of Teddy and me. I'd be glad to buy them. They would look so nice framed together..." "Sure. No problem," Moxy shrugged. He got up, walked to the other end of the table, and took the book from Shayden. In a second, there was a flash and the kid held a jeweled, gold plated switch blade, sparkling in his hand, just inches from Shayden's arm. Daville Shayden didn't flinch or draw back. He watched the kid intently, as Moxy drew the razor sharp edge of the blade smoothly across the pages in two swift slashes. The kid handed the two sheets to Bethany Berke, "here you go, no charge," he smiled at her. She responded warmly, " how sweet of you. Teddy, wasn't that nice of Moxy?" "Thanks," Dare said, and then very sternly "Moxy, you know, carrying a switch blade is illegal. You could be arrested for that." The kid tucked away the weapon, saying "I just use it for a penknife." Orry said "that's one hell of a penknife! Where'd you get it, anyway?" Moxy replied "going away present from the King." Khaz suggested "Bethany, your nose needs powdering." "So does yours," Bethany responded. In the ladies' room, Khaz studied Bethany in the mirror. She had started the acquaintance with the heiress for professional reasons. Bethany Berke liked current clothes and she could afford to have them made for her. Khaz liked puting her creations on Bethany because they looked good on her. The heiress had a slender figure and classic facial features. Her hair was quite spectacular, long, curly and rich auburn color. Khaz, who had never felt much of a need for friendship, made an exception for Bethany Berke. The lady was just nice, through and through, very modest and self-effacing. Bethany made little of her own abilities and much of Khaz's talent. There were plenty of people who would ally themselves with Bethany Berke for society reasons. Whereas, Khaz acknowledged she herself had done just that in the start, a real affection had now evolved, and she didn't like the idea of anyone taking advantage of her friend. So now, Khaz asked permission before executing her current plan of action. "Beth, will you despise me if I leave your detective activities mid-plot? Because I have a desk full of work that isn't getting done if I keep up the night-owl hours..." "Certainly, I understand," Bethany replied, running a brush through her hair with a crackle of sparks in the evening lighting. Khaz asked mischievously "do you mind terribly if I deplete the party by one more?" Bethany smiled "Jane, what are you up to?" "Oh, nothing much," Khaz replied, "I just thought it would be nice if I had a male of the species along to protect me on the way to my car. I'm going to write a little note to Moxy Youngblood and have the waitress carry it to him." Bethany wondered "do you think he'll come along?" "Yes, because I've done a little strategic planning. I'm going to tell him that I find our foreign lawyer fellow distasteful. And so I'm leaving rather than suffer his onerous presence any longer." Bethany confessed "I don't find him all that bad. As a matter of fact, I'm rather disappointed. Our mysterious visitor seems very tame and ordinary. Quite boring, really." "Yes, I agree. But young Mr. Youngblood seems to have taken a violent dislike to him. I'm not sure why..." Khaz said, tidying her already perfect lipstick and hair in the mirror and studying her image with some apparent disparagement. Bethany said thoughtfully "well, you know, both of Moxy's parents died young. Maybe he associates estate lawyers with unhappy personal memories..." Khaz said "there now, I imagine you're right. You're so good at understanding people, Beth." Bethany Berke blushed, "thank you. Do you really think so?" "I never spout insincerities. Well, at least not to you," Khaz stated emphatically. Bethany wondered "what do you think? Isn't Moxy handsome? Does he lived up to his reputation?" Khaz grimaced "hard to say in all these dismal shadows. I should like to see him outside. 'Adonis as contemplated under moonlight' sounds more the thing. I wonder if he's always so penurious. I'd offer to pay him to model for me. But it would probably offend him. The male ego is so easily bruised. Totally impractical," Khaz sighed, heading for the door. "Is it?" Bethany responded doubtfully, considering just how annoyed Teddy might be at her for springing the Daville Shayden meeting on him without warning. She returned to the table alone while Khaz remained at the front entrance. The plan must have been a success, because the waitress, giggling and smirking at the kid, brought him a note which caused him to leave their company. When he didn't return after a while, Bethany explained about Moxy walking Khaz to her car, leaving out the part about Shayden. She also supposed out loud that Khaz had given the kid a ride home. The party broke up shortly after. Dare kissed Bethany goodnight at her car. Then he and Orry made the long walk back to where they had parked. The moon had not yet risen. A dry, dusty wind came in from the northwest, flinging particles of sand in little sarcastic bites at their legs. As it rose and fell, the blowing noise complained to them of an eternity of old bones, ground to choking powder, the painful burden the wind carried and lost again. Sometimes a whiff of creosote or sage wafted a moment and dispersed. More often the acrid smell of a brush fire came over the expanse, a reminder of the violent sky that rained forked fire upon the land dwellers, alive and dead alike. The two men walked alone in an expanse of extinguished flame and weary timeless wind. The ghost of Victor Grey seemed the most likely of companions. Ted Dare asked Orry after awhile, "what's that Shayden character after, do you suppose?" The doctor replied thoughtfully, "well, I've done a little math. Let's say Victor Grey had a thousand first editions. And they're worth maybe a hundred bucks a piece. Give or take a little. Assuming Shayden would have to offer a fair price to Grey's heirs, and the probability of reselling the volumes is next to nothing. He'd either have to be a chemistry fan of major proportions, or have a hospital library he was interested in stocking..." The policeman nodded agreement, "possible, yes. Probable? I don't know..." he concluded doubtfully. After a moment, Dare began "what was with the kid? I mean, usually he seems to like, to get along with, well, nearly everybody..." Orry nodded agreement "I know what you mean. The way he was acting, you'd think he'd got something against Shayden." The policeman continued "do you suppose they know each other from somewhere before?" Orry said "beats me. Sure seemed that way, didn't it? I mean to ask him, just as soon as I see him next. Can you tell me, what do you know about Victor Grey?" Dare replied "The Berke Corporation, which Beth inherited a major interest in, was started by her grandfather as a feed and fertilizer supply company. I remember Victor Grey and Mr. Berke, Bethany's father that is. Knew them both pretty well. Old timers. Best of friends. More like partners than boss and employee. Berke was practical. Financially sound. Interested in selling a good product and making a profit. Grey was scientific. Interested in the excitement of discovery, practical or not. The two of them made a great team, right up to the end when they had a terrible falling-out." Orry wondered "what happened?" Dare continued "well, Grey was more and more interested in environmental issues. Berke had a tendency to dismiss any conservationist concerns as idealistic and unrealistic. But Berke and Grey thought they had a winner they could agree on. When a young biologist at the Corporation came up with a nucleotide sequence for a molecule that was toxic to fire ants. But not dangerous to other insects. Berke figured that the product would be a best-seller down South where fire ants are both a danger and a financial liability. And Grey was thrilled with the environmental aspects, the ability to kill the invader species, while leaving the native fauna safe in their habitat." Orry said "sounds ideal. How could it go wrong?" Dare shook his head and continued "the head of the molecular biology department for the Corporation tried to fire the young inventor. Called him a trouble-maker. Not a ' team player'. The head honcho claimed the rights to the scientist' s discovery belonged to the department. There was a lot of angry noise and shouting. Berke sided with the department head, who was a senior person with plenty of publications and impressive credentials. Grey sided with the biologist inventor. He knew the young man personally, had pretty much taken him under his wing, and was impressed with his talent and dedication. Grey told Berke that firing the inventor was killing the goose that laid the golden egg. But Berke let the department head have his own way and fire the inventor. The young man felt betrayed. Committed suicide in his car in the Corporation parking lot. Poisonous chemicals from the lab, easy to get. Cyanogen bromide or some such. An ugly death. Grey was devastated. And furious with Berke. Told him it was his fault. Equivalent to murder. The whole thing made the newspapers. Grey resigned and disappeared to Europe. Then Berke found out that nobody could duplicate the inventor's findings. Everyone was screaming for the dead man's research notes, which were missing. The departmental secretary remembered a package mailed to Grey's home by the young man immediately before his death. Rumor had it that Grey absconded with the valuable research notes, planning to sell them overseas for his own personal profit. To this day, the secret to the insecticidal molecule remains hidden. The product hasn't shown up on the market. Berke stroked out soon after Grey left. Never really recovered from the whole thing. And Grey died of metastatic cancer during his travels. Beth thinks Grey may have come pretty much unhinged, dropped right off the deep end. He kept sending her father dozens of picture postcards with all kinds of cheerful babble, as if he and Berke were still the best of friends. Maybe he forgot they had quarreled. And maybe he forgot he had the inventor's notes for the million dollar discovery. Maybe he never really had them at all. Who knows?" Benjamin Orry shook his head, "sounds like the kind of horror stories Moxy likes to tell about life in research. It's hard to believe that the scientific world is so rough. I always have the notion that the kid makes up the spicy stuff, just to make his stories better." TD replied seriously " my impression is the exact opposite. That we outsiders hear about only a fraction of the dirty moves that go on in the research community. You can believe anything of modern science right up to and including mayhem and murder, and it won't be an exaggeration." "Something of a contact sport, huh?" Orry laughed, shaking his head. Dare continued somberly, "I don't like the idea of Bethany being in the middle of it all. This is one case where ignorance is definitely not bliss." Orry had trouble taking Dare's worries seriously. He joshed, "maybe I should take out a life insurance policy on the kid, being in such a dangerous profession..." TD retorted "well, the job almost got him killed already, if I can believe your stories." "Yes, but now that he's back home..." Orry started, then paused. Dare's stern concern had at last made an impression on the doctor. Generally, his friend was not given to idle worries. Orry shelved the conversation. They drove out of the city and up into the foothills. The moon rose, huge and glittering over the peaks, towering ahead. Orry relaxed into their kindly hold. In returning to the mountains, he always derived a soothing sense of defense against attack. The mountains represented to him a monumental benevolence, a gigantic patron force that nurtured him and offered peace against invaders. In their shadows' cover, he had an unshakeable sense that wrongs could be righted, illness could be cured, kindness could prevail, and evil intentions could be dispelled. His workday had begun before dawn, and the peace of the night was irresistible. The doctor dozed as Dare drove through the opalescent moonlight. TD enjoyed the drive in his own way. The car was a 1934 Phantom II, a fine antique vehicle, beautifully maintained. It's engine purred evenly over the deserted highway, and climbed without effort toward Dare's clinic complex. TD gave an approving nod in the direction of his old friend, knowing that his rest was well-deserved. The policeman derived a real satisfaction from providing for his chief of staff's creature comforts. When they arrived at the clinic parking area, he regretted awakening Orry, knowing that the doctor would just as likely return to work as retire to bed for the night. He watched for a moment as Orry walked away, and in fact the doctor headed straight for the main clinic's emergency entrance. TD smiled as he shook his head at his friend. Orry thought he might as well see if there was any action in the ER before he hit the rack for the night. He noticed with undeniable disapproval that the kid' s dirt bike was still parked out front. Moxy was now living in the resurrected line shack that perched precariously on the cliffs overlooking the clinic complex. Access to the shack was limited to a single narrow trail that wound back and forth up the cliff's side. The kid motored up and down the trail in good weather and bad, at breakneck speed, teetering on the brink of hundred foot drops, and enjoying himself immensely. The presence of his bike at clinic level meant that the kid was still on the prowl somewhere. Orry was determined to wait until Moxy came back for his bike. He was worried about the kid' s knee. And he wanted to ask him about Daville Shayden, whether the two had ever met before, and what Moxy had against him. It could be a long wait. There proved to be nothing much in the way of action in the ER. The graveyard shift hospital police officer stood quietly surveying the parking lot, sipping a cup of coffee, and enjoying the spectacular moonlight. He was a wirey old gent, seemingly of retirement age, but defiant of anyone or anything that dared to limit his daily dose of action. "Chief Maldonne," the doctor nodded to him. The guard smiled knowingly at the surgeon, "good evening, Dr. Orry. Looking for Mr. Youngblood?" That obvious? Orry laughed at himself. The cop continued "you might find him on the Lake Road." Orry nodded acknowledgement as he stepped out into the night. There was a familiar sensation of being at home, which was comfortable. What puzzled Benjamin Orry as he walked along was how Moxy had become part of the place, part of the doctor's sensation of belonging to it. Orry knew if Moxy wasn't there, this rightness would be wrong. That was puzzling. How had the kid managed to take such hold of Orry's attention, he wondered. He worried about the kid, more than he felt he ought to for a patient. But more than that. When folks praised the kid' s work, Orry felt pride in him. Like he had a stake in the kid's existence. He'd seen this in friends, colleagues who had children. But that made sense. And this didn't. Orry shook his head. Moxy really had a hold on him. The how and the why of it was a mystery. Who cares anyway? Orry asked himself. Moxy didn't seem to mind Orry watching over him, giving him advice. Possibly the death of the kid's father had left a vacancy, and Orry was filling part of it. Orry didn't really want to be a father, cringed at the notion. Maybe an older brother... now that he could deal with. Although he already had a mess of sibs, older and younger, brothers and sisters, who didn't seem to need Benjamin anymore than the occasional phone call, family get-together, or holiday celebration. It was a big family, comfortable with each other, together or apart. Moxy, on the other hand, seemed alone in the universe, close to no one, and sometimes quite in need of someone to watch out for his welfare. By custom, Orry walked in the woods silently, and big as he was, did it well. So he heard Moxy before he saw him. It sounded as if the kid was telling someone a long, convoluted joke. Every once in a while, there was a response, a softly feminine laugh. Khaz? Orry thought. Yes. Khaz laughed and then Moxy would resume the narrative. As Orry drew quietly closer, however, he noticed that the kid's breathing was noisy as if with the effort of exercise. And too, there was a measured sound to the lady's breathing. A certain rhythmic sigh that was unmistakable. Orry stopped stock still. What's the definition of a conversation piece? Sex while talking. Orry chuckled to himself as he back tracked. Fast work. Score one for the kid. Or, was it score one for Khaz? She'd had a slightly predatory look to her this evening. And in retrospect, Bethany Berke's comments to Moxy seemed somewhat calculating. Women's team sport? Catch the kid. Orry had a favorite place to sit lakeside. A rocky bar that extended well out into the water. The brilliant moonlight glowed over the stones, lighting them as clearly as day. He scoped the area for water snakes before hunkering down, and settled comfortably to wait. From this vantage he could see the hood of Khaz's four-wheel-drive vehicle, parked on the Lake Road. Probably she'd come ready, complete with a sleeping bag. Maybe Khaz had been a scout as a child, and had followed the old injunction to be prepared. The beauty of the night filled the doctor's tired body. Again he relaxed and dozed where he sat, a semi-dream state in which he heard the sounds of the night, but focused on nothing except tranquility. A vision of Khaz, glistening in champagne shades, nude in the nacreous moonlight, nestled on a field of fleece and down, presented to Orry 's imagination. The lady's hair fell loose and fragrant around her cheeks and over her shoulders. The warm essence of cream and rose, her breasts, animate in sighing motion, trembled under a caress. In the privacy of the night, the onlooker participated, his belly tightened and he felt a hot rush of pulsing blood with a thrill of animal urge. The image continued There was Moxy, with all the awkward grace of a teenager, golden skin, fine and taut over the new-grown muscles of adolescence. The feeling of power, strengthening to the use of passionate action. Khaz with her artist's eye, appreciating every inch of youthful perfection surging over her. Laughing at his good humor. Fingering his thick black hair, and wondering at his strange pale eyes framed in sweeping black lashes. The full sensuous curve of his mouth lingering upon her delicate pout. Orry's pleasure was palpable. It tasted and felt perfect as it glided in and out, a tangible silken image weaving itself in delicate threads of lunar light. Three figures coupled in ecstasy. And then, damn and double damn. Being a doctor. Orry cursed himself in the embarrassment of non-existent voyeurism, since he was now nowhere near enough to see or hear the lady or the kid. His vision, of course, showed Moxy kneeling. Pounding away at his bad knee. The one the surgeon had repaired not all that long-ago. Serve you right, he told himself. Not like you couldn't get some action of your own if you put half an effort into it. Imaginary sex. And he wasn't even anything but an onlooker in his own fantasy, Orry laughed at himself. Now the night shifted gears. He heard the car door slam. The engine came to life, and the vehicle roared off back down the Lake Road. Orry told himself if he didn't get up, his nether portions might freeze to the stones soon. He opened his eyes to note that the face of the moon was now covered in clouds. And the wind that had been hesitating, complaining on and off all evening, now blew with surprising determination and steadiness. Stirring and standing to shake circulation back into his cold extremities, he faced the spot where the kid and the lady had lain. There was a glow emanating from the vicinity. The after effects of red hot passion, Orry laughed and then worried. Had Moxy lit a campfire? Surely he wouldn't leave it untended with the wind blowing at the embers. Was Moxy still there, then? Orry took a few steps and then hesitated. The light was growing in area but not in brightness. Brush caught fire? Orry started forward again. Now the movement of the glow flowed like fog. But the wrong direction. Orry shook his head in confusion. Fog rises off the water, not the land. The doctor's feet moved more slowly, mired in the illogic of the situation. As he stood indecisive, the flowing pale fog caught up with him, flowed around his feet,engulfed his ankles, and then his knees, grabbed at his thighs. It seemed to his confusion that the fog had a name, an identity that he had forgotten. In places, it thinned to mist, and now it began to have a sound. A roaring like a torrent over jagged rocks. In the places nearest his feet where the fog dimmed to mist, Orry stared down and a face stared back at him. He shouted with the sudden terror of a face at his feet, and the face moved its lips and shrieked back at the doctor. The torrential roar thinned to formed sound, and thinned again to a choir of voices that moaned and chanted. Individual voices waxed and waned around him, surrounding him. Now it was a nursery rhyme sing song: "a doctor, a doctor, anyone call a doctor? Mama called the doctor, and then the doctor said, ' no more dead folks jumping on the bed!' " Some laughter and then a voice complained "doctor, I'm in pain, such pain. Don't let me be in pain. Please can't you do something?" it pleaded. And then another voice snarled, "damn all doctors, filthy bastards," and another taunted "a doctor was the death of me," and another cried "I lay upon my back after they ambushed me, nights and days of agony, and never a doctor to help me, oh how slowly I died." Orry saw the face of the speaker before his own, a young bearded man with his scalp torn away, and the grubs crawling through the raw bloody wound. Then the doctor perceived that the fog was all made of the forms of the dead, layer upon layer, forming and shredding, congealing and spreading. Orry ran forward, oblivious to the danger of missing his footing and falling into the black water. He stumbled between two rocks and almost fell. Recovered and ran forward again. The noise rose to roaring and subsided to individual voices over and again. " The wife died in the blizzard of '57," one cried, and another moaned "I watched as a mob hung my brother, twasn't right, twasn't just," and yet more "after the baby died, we lost interest in the world, in each other, just gave up and let death take us too." Orry covered his ears with his hands and scanned the distance. The faces swirled before him, images beating at him, tearing and clawing for attention, clamoring to let their stories be heard. In the distance was a place where the voices and images converged in a dense vortex, and beyond that was clear night and pure peaceful oblivion. He struggled through the spirit storm, closing his eyes, shielding his ears, groping blindly with his feet. Stumbling, falling, righting himself and struggling forward. He paused to find the clear space of freedom that he had sighted earlier, but was so deep in the density of demise now, that he could no longer gauge direction. They moaned and shrieked at him, "they said I was mad, kept me locked in the dark 'til I died in the heat of a horrible drought, with no water for my cracked and bleeding lips..." "I died in a barn fire when the whole roof came down upon us, such a quick horrible, searing death, no time even for a prayer, no time for anything at all." Orry shouted, struck out all around him, and tore forward until he stumbled again, despairing of finding his way beyond this assemblage of ghostly creatures. His head hung down, he panted his exhaustion, and he opened his eyes upon Moxy Youngblood, lying still at his feet. It was the exact opposite of a dead body with live squirming magots feeding upon it: the live body of the kid, lying there with the dead clinging to it, crawling over and around it, drawing strength from it. At this vision, the doctor screamed in a fury, angrily scraping the dead away from Moxy's still form. Orry grabbed the kid up off the ground and ran blindly into the horrible wall of wailing death. It formed a clinging shroud over him with a sickening odor of rotten flesh. Still carrying the kid, Orry fled, ran into a stand of brush, extricated himself, then ran into some low hanging limbs, backed off and started, again and again. He kept running until his toe caught a root and he crashed headlong forward, losing all hold on the kid's body, flung away. The earth rose solid to slam into Orry. He lost the air in his lungs and the light of his senses. At last, all that remained of conscious thought also left him.

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