LAND OF THE GIANTS

“Deadly Dreams”

by Cindy D. Baker

Steve Burton, his uniform jacket draped on a knob on a nearby root, stopped to wipe the sweat off his brow, being careful not to stain his tee-shirt with his grease-smeared arms. Hearing a bird twitter, he looked up with heightened suspicion. The rays of the summer sun cut through the giant forest’s thick canopy of branches and other than the bird, there was no new evidence of approaching danger. Steve relaxed, his eyes wandering over their meager camp, settling on Spindrift, the small, dented, metallic spaceship they had called home for the past two years.

During those months, Spindrift had been displaced several times by giant hands; friendly and otherwise. The last forced relocation had, inadvertently, been an advantage for the little people for the ship was now snuggled among the intertwining roots of a young tree. Not only did the tree’s lower branches give extra coverage to the spaceship and its immediate encampment, but the other ground foliage so did as well.

The cot and bunk beds were built in between the roots next to the ship, affording extra protection from wind and rain. The strandees were then able to drape a large cloth from Spindrift, over the beds, where it was attached to erected poles, thereby covering a small alcove. Here, in what Valerie had dubbed “the lounge,” they could, along with a permanent fire, now keep what little furniture they had built, with less fear of discovery from passing enemies.

Wrinkling his nose at the smell of burnt olive oil, Steve looked down at the barrel-size engine in front of him. He and Mark had discovered a lubricating substance a week ago when they were out hunting for pliable metal for Spindrift’s repairs. He hadn’t thought anything of it, but Mark had been ecstatic. “We’ve been here long enough where all the seals and engine parts could stand a thorough soaking,” he’d told him. Burton hadn’t argued. As captain of the marooned space vessel, Steve was willing to try and, or do anything if it meant getting his charges back to Earth safely. Including being forearm-deep in a smelly, slick substance.

A deep sigh came from the person sitting not far from him. Steve, hiding a satisfied smirk, turned to Valerie Ames Scott. Back on Earth, she was a rich, jet-setting socialite who got her way every time she wanted something. What she had craved most was excitement, although Steve knew landing on a humongous planet with its equally-proportioned dangers was not what she had had in mind. Yet from hour one of their crashing, she had pulled all of them into numerous life-threatening situations. Ultimately, after a year and a half of being chased, caught, caged and almost stepped on, she had finally learned to obey orders and stay close to the ship. At least, that’s what they had thought.

Several weeks ago she had snuck out in the middle of the night to go take a bath at the waterfall. “I was only thinking of you, Steve, and the other men,” she replied sweetly afterwards, batting her long, dark eyelashes, “having to sit there and guard me while I swim naked in the pond. After all it has been a while….”

The memory of that day still made Steve clench his teeth in anger and annoyance. Yes, it had been a while since any of them had had sex, and there was no doubt about Valerie being a beautiful, attractive women with her big, blue eyes and auburn hair, but—Steve shuddered. He did every time he thought about the aftermath and how close Valerie had come to being dinner for an owl who had targeted her. If Betty hadn’t alerted them, Val, in all probability, would be dead.

Hence her punishment and strict limitation to camp, which, in Steve’s opinion, she was getting off easy.

“How’s it going?” Steve asked as nice as possible, while deep down inside delighted by her misery.

“Fine,” she replied, her eyes bleary, her chin resting on an upraised hand while she mindlessly, with the other hand, stirred a wooden stick in the soft goo bubbling in a pot over a fire. “It’s reaching its pouring stage, which should be in about ten minutes.”

“Good.” Steve didn’t turn away. Still fearful for her well-being, and unable to get the horrible picture out of his head, he was about to lecture her again when voices beyond her at Spindrift’s hatch, drew his attention.

“It’s been too long, Mark. We need to consider it,” he heard Betty saying. Elizabeth Anne Hamilton had been the unlucky stewardess assigned that day to Sub-orbital Flight 612 from Los Angeles. to London. Thin as a willow, blonde and pretty, Steve had worried about Betty’s survival, but his concern was short-lived when she revealed a spine of steel, and a comforting, motherly-type disposition that could—and had—reasoned the men out of many volatile arguments, as well as softened the hardship of their overall stay there. He also considered her, after Dan, the most dependable person in camp.

“For once I agree with you,” Mark replied. He was carrying the two thimble buckets while Betty held the shoulder pole. The buckets would be attached after they got to the recovery site, but for now, it was easier, safer, and quicker to transport the items separately. Mark Wilson had an eminent gift for engineering, absorbing its technical facts like most people drank water. Being born dirt pour hadn’t hampered his talents any. Starting his own company by the time he was seventeen, he increased his holdings to seven by age twenty-four; amassing with it a pride and ego that rivaled Valerie’s. But he too had changed, having been brought down a few pegs, or as Dan called it “humanized,” by having to think of others, and work as a team for the first time in his life.

“Hey,” Steve greeted as they approached.

“We’re going for more oil,” Betty announced with a lopsided, yes-I-know-it’s-obvious type of grin.

“Great! We can use all the grease we can get.” Steve shot a quick look at Val, whom he knew would be pouting. She was.

“Need any help?” Val asked, right on cue, hopping from her perch with a hopeful, pleading smile. “I’d love to go!”

His expression stern, Steve pointed to the pot. “Sit and stir.” There was no joking in his command.

“But Skipper...”

“You’re not going anywhere. Not with those giant campers close by and the grappling hook broken. We’ve no way to rescue you should you get caught, and I’m not taking any chances. Sit!”

“Aye, aye, Captain Queeg.” Her pout again in place, she sat down hard. Snatching up the stick, she resumed her stirring, ignoring the others as she glared angrily at the pot.

Knowing what she was thinking, Steve’s eyes narrowed. “You even think of leaving this camp, I will personally tie you up and lock you in the closet!”

Her escape plans busted, Valerie’s taut face softened in resignation as she shifted the stick from one hand to the other.

Behind the two, Betty and Mark exchanged amused glances. This wasn’t the first time she’d been in trouble with Burton, but she was here, safe and alive and for that they were glad. As annoying as Val could be sometimes, she could also be a lot of fun, adding a charge to the otherwise monotonous days.

“How much did you get done inside,” Steve asked, nodding toward the ship.

“All the main seals around the hatches,” Betty told him with a pleased grin, “including the cargo bay. That was the easy part.” Betty, although blessed with the patience of a saint, was never long for sitting. She always managed to find something that needed to be done around camp, nor was she afraid to tackle some of the more difficult, and dirtier, challenges.

“The rest of the ship will be trickier,” Mark continued, “but doing this was necessary, and it happened at a good time. The cargo seal was starting to crack. Had we entered space the way it was…”

“The seal could have blown out all together,” Steve said, his throat tightening. “Well, then,” he gave them a impish grin, “I guess it’s a good thing then we found that stuff. Just be careful, okay.”

“We will,” they called over their shoulders as they disappeared into the stems, leaves, and sprigs of the undergrowth.

-/-/-

Three hours later and two miles down the trail, their task finished, Betty and Mark were on their way home. The two buckets, filled to capacity, were now suspended from the bar strung across the shoulders of the two gatherers.

“Hold up,” Mark gasped behind her, “my arm’s cramping up.”

They lowered the giant thimbles without spilling a drop. Mark, perching himself on a nearby rock, stretched out his arm, and began to massage it.

Betty, her nurses training kicking in, stepped behind him. “How much more do you think we’ll need, Mark?” she asked, taking over the kneading process.

“For now, I’d say only three more bucketfuls. That should be enough to lubricate the entire—” Mark froze, his intense expression matching Betty’s. Both had heard the rustling and breaking sounds that could only be made by an approaching giant.

“We’re too exposed here, we have to get off the trail,” he urged, coming to his feet. With their lives endangered, they wasted no time moving away from the well-worn animal run and deeper into the brush.

They hadn’t gone far when both heard the loud twang. Nor was there time to react as the fine wire-meshed net flared up around them. Pulled off their feet as the trap lifted them high off the ground, their bodies twisted and tangled, Betty screamed, pushing air out of her petrified lungs.

“You okay?” Mark asked a moment later, trying to forget his spinning head and flipping stomach over the bounce-jolt of their enmeshed cage.

“I’m not hurt, if that’s what you’re asking,” she said, in between deep breaths, her fingers digging into his arm.. “But if this thing doesn’t stop movin’, I’m gonna be sick!”

Further thoughts and comments were obliterated by the appearance of a giant with slicked-down black hair and dressed for the woods in a bright blue flannel shirt over a white tee-shirt. Donning a big grin, he reached upwards above his head for the support rope, which brought the net to a jarring halt. Peering in, his huge, rounded eyes were barely level with the bottom of the net.

As their stomachs and minds recovered, fear and anger began to seep in. Mark looked at Betty and she at him. “Can you get to the radio?” she whispered, hope in her voice.

“No. It’s pressed between my back and the net.”

Gawking at his catch, the man beamed, his smile getting bigger. “You’re not what we were after,” he ogled, “but you’ll do. Oh, how you’ll do!”

Unhooking the trap, the stocky man carefully lowered his prize, hurrying away.

Not far from Mark and Betty, other members of their team were also making their way along the trail.

“How much farther is it to camp?” Fitzhugh demanded of the black man in front of him, “I can’t carry this much further.”

His gray jacket slung over his shoulder and carrying two new giant safety pins as well as the razor-hatchet, Dan Erickson purposely—as he had for the past hour—ignored the whining from the older man.

“Mr. Fitzhugh,” Barry sighed, his demeanor that of a patient parent to a disruptive child, “Dan, told you a few minutes ago it was about a hour to home.” At age twelve, Barry Lockridge was the youngest of the Flight 612 strandees, yet was more mature then his unlikely best buddy in that of Commander Alexander Fitzhugh. Barry, raised in a military family, had immediately befriended the “commander” within hours of the crash. Although disappointed that Fitzhugh had been nothing more than a con man impersonating an officer, the boy had urged Fitzhugh to find the courage Barry alone knew the man possessed. To everyone’s jaw-dropping astonishment, Fitzhugh had, coming to the rescue in a desperate situation. By saving the lives of his companions, he had won the admiration of the young boy he now beheld as a little brother.

But there times when even Barry’s endless patience was pushed to the limit. “It’s really not that long, Mr. Fitzhugh,” he explained. “Not when you think about something else as we walk.”

“It’s hard to think about anything when my arms feel like they’re being pulled out of their sockets!”

During their food search, the trio had stumbled onto an old handkerchief. It was size of a tarpaulin that would cover a small boat, and for the “little people” it was a gift from God. It would be used for many things, including and especially the gathering of food. With everything being oversized in this world, food, even though it lasted longer, no matter how small the amount, could be bulky and heavy to carry. Peas were the size of melons, eggs like small boulders, cookies almost the size of a twin bed, and grapes larger than basketballs. With proper nourishment hard to come by, they were reluctant to leave any morsel behind yet had to do so on more than one occasion; the food being gone when they had returned. With the handkerchief, they would be able to devise a carrier to take back to camp as much food as they were able.

For right now, the cloth was strung between Fitz and Lockridge like a hammock. Cradled in it was a slice of apple, a giant baby carrot, and small celery stick. It was the front end of this tarp Fitzhugh now struggled to hold onto.

“Mr. Fitzhugh…” Barry once again sighed in trying to reason with him. After two years, he was the only one who still called him Mister Fitzhugh, more out of endearment than respect. To all the others, he was just “Fitzhugh,” or “Fitz,” and on very rare occasions, “Alexander.”

A loud crackle off to their right made their heads whip around, freezing them to the spot. More underbrush snapped and crunched from the sounds of someone walking through it.

Dan sprinted back to Fitzhugh, whispering, “Get down!” at the same time, nudging him towards a tree and the ground cover that grew at its base.

Fitzhugh, when it came to danger, did not need to be told twice. He ducked under the leaves as Barry, too, swung under the cover while Dan pushed the middle of the handkerchief out of view. Done, Dan pivoted around, dropping to one knee, his questioning brown eyes scanning the area for the giant.

Quick on his feet and even quicker at adapting to the hostile land, Daniel Erickson came off more as a trained solder than the former athletic he was. A gold metal Olympiad runner, his career had been cut short during the prestigious games when an accident left his right leg broken in two places. Dan, now grounded but missing “being in flight,” turned to flying aircrafts instead. After flight school, he signed on with a commercial airline where he met pilot, Steve Burton. Fast friends since their initial introduction, the friendship had elevated everyone’s chances of survival on the planet.

Dan, his hand balanced on the ground, suddenly scooted deeper under the branches. “Giant’s coming,” he warned.

Feeling the ground shake, the little people waited, each holding their breath. A moment later, they watched as a male-giant appeared. Silently they prayed not to be discovered. Then Dan raised his head higher. His eye narrowed. He had seen that look—the over-joyous look of anticipation—before. And there was something about the way he was holding his hands….

Well hidden under the greenery, the man never gave them a glance as he hurried past.

“It looks like he’s holding something,” Barry whispered to Dan, as he cocked his head to try and see better.

Nodding, Dan slowly emerged from the plants. “Yes, but what?” he asked, hands on his hips, his eyes locked on the giant retreating into the woods.

“Who cares?” growled Fitzhugh swatting at his dirt-stained pants. “We succeeded in our mission. It’s time to get back to camp!”

“We will,” Dan answered in deep thought, still watching the fading giant. “Just as soon as I see what he’s holding,” and jogged after his target despite the aggravated “No!” from Fitzhugh.

“That man is going to get us caught!” Fitz fumed with a blustery wave of his hands. He then looked at his buddy.

Ever the quiet one, Barry gave him a “there’s-nothing-else-we-can-do-so-we’d-better-follow-him” shrug, then trailed after their leader.

Emitting a nauseated groan of disgust and reluctance, Fitzhugh, too, followed.

-/-/-

The forest was a favorite place to do scientific research and today was no exception. This site, with its large tent, folding table, and complicated equipment, resembled the numerous other camps the little people had encountered over the two years they’d been there and had learned to avoid at all costs.

The giant, cradling his prize, rushed into the clearing, making a beeline to a gray-haired man at the table.

“Doctor Raggal, look!”

“What is it, Benard?” The doctor had been examining a specimen under the microscope. Raising his head, he adjusted his wired-framed glasses, peering into the net.

On the ground, the pursuing trio reached the clearing’s edge. Dodging under nearby thorn bushes, they looked up just in time to see their prey proudly revealing the trap to the older man.

Squinting hard, Dan leaned out from under the shrub branch, straining his ears to hear the conversation or, at the very least, to maybe see what was in the trap.

“Little people!” Raggal exclaimed, leaning closer to the none-to-happy Betty and Mark. “You actually caught two of them!”

“I can’t hear what they’re saying,” Barry whispered, shifting his tilted head. “Can you?”

Dan, a taut expression on his face, shook his head.

At the table, Raggal sprung to his feet. “We’d better return immediately to the laboratory. These two are way too valuable to risk losing them out here. Get the container.”

Raggal, grabbing a pair of heavy, work gloves set beside the scope, put them on as Benard pulled out a cage from under the table. This one resembled a lobster trap. Oblong and made of silver metal, it had a narrow, round opening on its top. Disentangling Betty and Mark from the net, it was into this opening, the doctor slipped them through. Next, he pushed the box to the center of the table where it would not only be safe from getting accidentally knocked off, but be in clear sight of the scientists at all times.

The table itself was located in the center of the clearing, at least five car lengths from the three little people. Not far for an Olympic sprinter, but once Dan reached the table, there was no place for him to hide, other than the legs, as the giants were quickly whisking away everything that was stored below the counter.

Nor was there any coverage in the space between the two points.

Dan stared hard at the men, silently calculating his chances of making it without being seen.

“You’re not really going to be stupid enough to try it, are you?” scowled Fitzhugh.

His jaw clenched, Dan turned. “Fitzhugh, will you shut up and let me think!” Looking back, he found the giants now preoccupied with the tent which was located on the far side of the table.

“Barry….” he said, his eyes intense. “I may not need to get close to have a clear look, but…” he pulled the small unit off his belt, handing it to the young man. “Broadcast on the radio to see if you get an answer. Remember keep it low, I don’t want the giants alerted.”

“Right, Dan,” Barry responded, raising the antenna.

Dan ran forward. His eyes darting between the scientists and the table, he adjusted his course to stay out of the giants’ sightline, while searching for the best advantage point for the cage. He paused a third of the way out. His body rigid with concentration, he took in everything he could in the few tense-filled seconds allowed before sprinting back.

“Can you tell what’s in it?” Fitzhugh asked, anxiousness in his voice.

“No,” Dan replied as he jogged under the branches. “The angle was too bad to get a clear look.” He indicated the small handset. “Anything?”

“No,” Barry frowned, “no answer. Nothing from Steve and Spindrift either.”

“Something must be blocking the signal.” Dan peered between the site and the radio, indecision clouding his face. “I don’t know, I have a bad feeling—”

“I know a way we can find out…,” and before Dan could ask, Barry cupped his hands, yelling at the top of his lungs: “Chipper! Chipper, where are you?!”

Panicked, Dan shoved him and Fitzhugh to the other side of the shrubbery where he uttered a silent curse and a pray.

Betty, her eyes widening, looked at Mark and he at her. Both had heard the call. Scrambling to their feet, they scanned the area below, but could not see the others.

At the tent, the giant in the blue flannel shirt stopped mid-step causing the older man to almost run into him.

“What’s wrong, Benard?” asked Raggal, pulling down the orange hunters vest that covered his dress shirt.

Benard’s voice was tense. “I thought I heard someone calling.”

The doctor’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing as he panned the surrounding area with penetrating scrutiny.

“Hey! Giants!” Mark shouted at the top of his lungs. “Let us out of here!”

“You! Giant,” Betty added, having caught on. “Won’t you please let us go?”

Ignoring the voices on the table, Raggal shot his assistant a warning look. “No one must know we have the two Earthlings.”

The two men, anxious to get out of there, sped up their pace.

Not feeling any approaching footsteps, Dan peeked out from the bushes. The scientists, he discovered, were too set on breaking down camp to care about anything else.

“So we can go—”

“Shush!” Dan snapped at Fitzhugh. Cocking his head and still unsure of what he heard, Dan took a several steps out and away from the rustling of the underbrush. A moment later, his shoulders slumped, a deep frown coming to his face.

“That answers that question,” he muttered. Even from this distance, Betty’s high-pitched tone carried far. About to retreat, he stopped. Doing a double-take, his expression grew even grimmer. “And another.”

Another what, Dan?” asked Barry, trying to hide his worry.

Dan pointed to an area just left of the tent. “There’s a full-size pickup truck over there…” Fitzhugh and Barry peered in that direction, “…and on its door is a big, round, yellow circle… and inside that circle is big, black letters spelling out… ”

“… Harriman Scientific Research Center,” Fitzhugh and Barry finished in dread-filled unison. Since their landing, the little people had become well acquainted, unwillingly so, with the facility on several precious occasions.

“At least we know where they’ll be,” Dan said, leaning against a sapling, trying to figure out the next step. A minute later, he said, “Barry, give another yell. Let Betty and Mark know we’re here, and that we know where they’re going, but be careful the giants don’t see you!”

“Right,” the boy nodded. He thought a moment and then, while Dan kept a wary eye on their foe, he stepped from the safety of the bushes, re-cupped his hands and shouted, “Chipper! I know you’re here! I’ll find you soon!”

Dan, poised to move if need be, relaxed when the giants showed no reaction. “You did good,” he said, giving the boy’s shoulder a squeeze. Taking a last, long look at the camp site, the man exhaled deeply. “We’d better go inform Steve,” he said. He headed off down the trail, failure and regret written on his face.

Barry and Fitzhugh, somber at the realization and possible consequences, followed without a word.

Inside the cage, Betty and Mark again searched the area below, but still could not locate their friends. With the hope of being rescued diminishing, Betty leaned wearily against the wires. “At least they know we’re here,” she said, giving Mark an encouraging smile.

“Yeah, at least.” With a dejected frown, he dropped to the floor of the cage. There was nothing to do now but wait—wait to either be rescued or for a chance to escape.

-/-/-

Assembled under the protection of the lounge’s canopy, everyone listened as Dan reported the grim situation. Steve, his jaw clenched and foot propped up on the lower bunk, gave Dan his rapt attention.

“. . . there was no way we could rescue them. Fortunately, the name of the laboratory was on the door.”

“Unfortunately,” Steve said, straightening. “it’ll take over an hour to get there.”

“Yes, but it’ll also be dark by then, so we’ll have at least one thing in our favor,” offered Dan.

“Well…,” Steve pulled his jacket off the bunk post, putting it on, “the sooner you and I get started, the better. The rest of you stay here and—”

“—we know,” parroted Val, “stand by the radio.” She then broke into a triumphant grin. “And you thought I’d be the one to get caught.” Knowing Steve’s reaction, she batted her eyes with feigned innocence.

“At least they’re not owl bait,” he said as he stepped past her to help Dan pull together the rescue gear.

-/-/-

Harriman Scientific Research Center was a plain, block-style, five story building adjacent to the city’s largest university, which was another place the little people had reluctantly become familiar with.

The office door swung open and into it hurried the two scientists. Benard placed the now cloth-wrapped cage on the desk, pulling off the cover as Raggal securely shut the door behind them, then veered to a gray, upright file cabinet in the corner.

The small office, besides the desk, chair, and file units, had stacks of paperwork stewn everywhere there was an open space. Opposite the main door that faced the corridor was the lab. Within were two long, slate-top counters holding numerous pieces of scientific equipment.

Raggal returned with a large magnifying glass. Leaning down to the cage, he studied the two captives, his eyes widening with fascination. “Benard, they are magnificent!”

The eager Benard moved closer, bending forward but stopped. His eyes smoldering, his mouth a tight line, he raised up. Raggal held the instrument so close to his own face, it was impossible for the assistant to share the magnified view. Snatching a clipboard off its station behind the desk on the wall, Benard gave the older man a heated glare before writing down what observations he could make on his own.

“They look exactly like us!” Raggal exclaimed, unable to hide his exultation. “In every way! They’ll make excellent test subjects for the project.” Straightening, he said to Benard, while replacing the magnifying glass to the cabinet, “When you separate them, put one in a beaker in the chemical lab. I don’t want one influencing the other, understand?”

Raggal then left the office without so much as a “good-bye” or backward glance.

Betty’s paled as she moved closer to Mark, gripping his arm in fear. “They’re going to separate us!”

“Hey!” Mark shouted, his face tight with anger. “Hey you!” he yelled, taking a step forward. “Talk to me!”

Benard, his expression taut, ignored Mark like the lab animal he perceived him to be. Opening the cage latch, the assistant reached his hand in for the specimen. Terrified, Betty backed into a corner as Mark, wanting to protect her, stood defiant. “Will you just listen to me?!” he shouted, punching the giant hand as it neared, even though he knew it would do no good.

With little concern, Benard took hold of the engineer, putting him in a glass specimen jar at the end of the gray desk, returning next for Betty. Frightened, the woman gave Benard quite a chase despite the confined space, although in her heart she knew it was just a matter of time before he caught her. Infuriated when he did, she bit him with all her might.

“Stop that,” he sneered as he carried her into the lab. There, he lowered his hand into a wide-rimed beaker. Opening his hand, Betty slipped out, landing gently to her feet on the bare bottom of the glass.

As the giant retreated into the other room, the former stewardess examined her surroundings. The room, twice the size of the office, was very much like that of her high school science lab: two slate-covered counters, sink, refrigerator, periodic table, element chart and pH scales on walls, numerous chemical bottles in different shapes, sizes, and colors, with various items of glassware, hardware, and other experimental apparatus stored in or on cabinets or corners. The long table she was situated on was pushed into the far back corner. Next to the beaker was a pencil, notepad and Bunsen burner. A lone chemical book faced her, but it was propped up at a lean, bridging the gap between this counter and the room wall.

Betty drew in a deep breath, taking her time letting it out. There was plenty of stuff around to aid her in escaping—“Damn it,” she muttered—had she been able to get past the tall, smooth walls of the glass container. And knowing from past experiences that there was no way to escape unless she could fly, Betty made herself comfortable on the cold, slick flooring.

Staring at the room and the equipment, Betty felt a vague terror seep into her mind. She and Mark were test subjects, that’s what the man with glasses had said. But a test for what? she wondered, her stomach tightening. And will it hurt us? Or kill them? Betty shuddered. Drawing up her knees, she wrapped her arms around her legs. Dan and Steve know where we are, she forced herself to remember, and they’ve beaten the odds in successful rescue attempts before…. Betty felt herself smile. Her friends hadn’t failed them yet, and she was confident they wouldn’t falter now.

The light of day had merged into darkness by the time to the two tiny figures reached the curb that ran in front of the Harriman Center and marked the border of the university’s campus. Climbing up the curb’s water drain to the sidewalk, the two paused to get their bearings.

“As I recall,” Dan said, pointing with the rope, “the first floor is where the research laboratories were all situated.”

“They are,” Steve replied grimly. His eyes were locked on particular lab, the room with its lights already on. “You don’t suppose they’re in that one, do you?”

“Only one way to find out.”

Burton and Erickson pushed on hard, slipping past the shadows that concealed them, not stopping again until they’d reached the backside of the building where they knew the building’s drainage grate waited.

Winded, the companions hunkered down beneath a bush by the entrance of the Center.

“We made good time,” Steve gasped, glancing at his watch, regulating his breathing. He and Dan had wasted few seconds getting there. “You remember how to get in?”

“Right over there,” Dan said, poking a finger over his shoulder. Even his breathing was laborious. “Just around the corner is the good, ole drainage shaft. That’s where I scraped half the skin off my thumb, remember?”

“I remember,” Steve said, amused. “I never heard you curse so much in all the years I’ve known you.”
“Well, it hurt, man.”

“Yeah, but you never curse!”

“Then I would say my time was due!”

“Absolutely!” Steve grinned, even though it was too dark for Dan to see it. A moment later, he took a last deep intake of air then turned to his friend. “Ready?”

“Let’s do it,” replied Dan, climbing to his feet.

Proceeding, the rescuers halted at the corner of the building, acclimating themselves to the exterior, and interior of the building.

Steve, hands on hips, stared thoughtfully at the darkened, chest-high grate in the faint moonlight.

“Any ideas how to find them?” Dan asked, memorizing the direction of their entry and stepping back to count the windows in the immediate row above the opening.

Steve shook his head. “None other than to check every room, starting with the lit one.”

“That could take some time.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, a little discouraged, “but least we know they won’t be going anywhere tonight.” Dropping to one knee, Steve cupped his palms.

“First floor here we come,” Dan quipped, as Steve boosted him up to the round, metal cover.

-/-/-

In the office, the ceiling light illuminated the desk, reflecting off Benard’s oiled down black hair, his head bobbing as he hurriedly scribbled onto the experiment’s clipboard log all the pertinent information about Wilson he had just finished observing.

During the surveillance, Mark had remained stretched out on the bottom of the specimen container, his arms and legs tightly crossed, his expression stony, with no inkling of moving. He knew to do so would only aid the peering giant’s assemblage of research.

“Well, little man,” Benard said, laying aside the pen. “I’ve gotten all I can from you and your female companion.” A grin spread across his face. “It’s time to see how good my mixture is.”

Mark felt his spine stiffen, his pulse jump. I must have heard him wrong, he insisted. It can’t be time. No one conducts experiments this late at night! But watching Benard, Mark’s fear grew as the giant leaned across the desk to snatch an aerosol can from its corner. Popping off its lid, Benard drew back to Mark and the jar.

Alarmed, Mark leaped to his feet. He can’t do it yet, his mind argued, despite what he saw. His boss isn’t here!

Just then the door burst open, admitting a breathless Raggal. “Have you started the test yet?” he asked excitedly. “I got delayed by a telephone call.”

“I was just about to,” Benard replied, his slight frown replaced by the gleam of anticipation. Reaching into the drawer, he pulled out two primitive gas masks. Holding one out to Raggal, both men held the apparatus’ in place with a hand.

Mark’s heart raced. “What are you gonna do?!” he thundered in a flooding panic as Benard aimed the nozzle downwards. “What is that stuff?!” Now beyond terrified, yet resigned to fate, an uncontrollable anger erupted in Mark, the likes of which he himself couldn’t remember experiencing before. Making a fist, he pounded the glass. “You… miserable… irresponsible… bastards!” He continued to scream over the hiss of the spray. Feeling the vapor, Mark dropped his head, hoping, if nothing else, to avoid getting it into his eyes.

It took a few seconds for Mark to comprehend the effects. As it sunk in, he slowly looked up. What happened? he asked, double-checking his environment. Above, the scientists were still leaning on the desktop gawking at him. He took a tentative sniff of the air and smelled—nothing. Then holding up his arms, Mark looked himself over from head to toe, his forehead creasing with bafflement. There was nothing on him. Not his skin or his clothes. Not even a wetness from the mist. As far as he can tell, nothing had happened: there was no smell, taste, or effects to his eyesight. Nor did he feel any physical or mental difference. At least not at this time.

“Same reaction as the mice,” Benard mumbled with disappointment.

“No immediate reaction anyway,” Raggal replied with knowing expectation. “Let’s test it on the female.”

Hearing this, Mark’s anger exploded once again. “Hey!” he shouted, pounding the glass with his fist. Even if the puny sounds were heard, he knew the giants would ignore him as they’d been doing since their capture. But it was the only thing he could do and at the moment he had to do something! “Why don’t you leave her alone!” Betty’s blood-curdling screech brought him to a halt. Helpless to do anything except listen, Mark bared down on their voices, hoping to catch something, anything, about her fate.

In the laboratory, Raggal leaned in close to the jar as beside him, Benard, clipboard in hand, dutifully marked down the outcome.

“No immediate result from her either,” Raggal commented expressionless, “as per our statistics.” The little woman was looking up at him with the same puzzled expression of her male counterpart.

Benard finished scribing, dropping his arm and log to his side. “It’s going to be hard waiting the few days for it to take effect,” he frowned.

“But wait we will,” Raggal replied, looking at his watch. “It’s late and time I went home.” He turned, going into the other room, his assistant trailing after him. “Lock up and go home yourself,” he ordered over his shoulder.

“Yes, sir,” he said dryly. Benard paused beside at the desk, watching his boss like a hawk. “Have a good night, sir,” he called to Raggal’s exiting back. When the door closed, he scurried into his former seat in the chair, eager to jot down on the clipboard additional comments.

Mark watched him, his eyes narrowing with hate. Suddenly, exhaustion engulfed him. Rubbing his swollen hand, with a deep, reluctant frown, he sat down also. Once again to wait for his rescuers.

-/-/-

The Center’s drainage system was the same as most of the other buildings the Earthlings had been in. Rounded vents in which they could walk single-file in the center without worrying about hitting or having to bend their heads. A half-foot to the side, however, was different story.

Making their way forward through the dark tunnel, Steve and Dan found themselves at a junction. Scrutinizing at their options, they hunched down to double-check their positioning.

“Recalling the floor plan of this place,” Steve waved in the direction they’d been heading, “that’s taking us to the north side where we want to be. But by my reckoning, this isn’t even close to the front of the building.”

“Ah huh,” Dan agreed, in deep thought. “We have to turn left somewhere, but this is just too soon.”

Steve cocked his head. “Wouldn’t hurt to check it out though.”

“I’m with you.” Dan followed Steve, being careful not to ding his head on the oval ceiling. “A second escape route is always a good plan.”

They moved inward a few feet to the grate. There, they stood upright. Their necks even with the opening, they peered around at their dark surroundings.

“It’s a hallway,” said Dan, doing a visual sweep for future sake. “Looks like for more laboratories.”

“The vent’s are probably for overflow.” Steve’s eyes went to his watch. “Come on, let’s get going.”

Backtracking, they passed several more adjacent vents, but this time didn’t stop to investigate.

“Hold up, Dan,” Steve said, stopping at the latest junction. He looked behind them. I’ve counted five other tunnels, there can’t be much more.”

“Well, this would be as best a place as—hey…” Dan leaned toward the left extension, “I think I see lights that way.”

“Think that’s the room we saw from the street?” Steve asked, straining his eyes down the dark pathway.

Dan shrugged. “Maybe. It’s certainly in the direction and place where we want.” He stood, Steve doing likewise.

“Let’s just hope it’s the lab we’re looking for,” Steve said, taking off down the connection.

Quick investigation of other connections they passed revealed the vents were part of an elaborate expulsion system.

“Hey,” Dan grinned, pleased. “Better escape routes for us.”

Continuing on their original trek, within minutes, the two reached their destination.

“This is it.” Dan peered up, blinking, at the light that shone down from the ceiling fixture.

Exchanging crooked, apprehensive looks, the two drew deep breaths, then cautiously stood up. Coming to their full height in the illumination, they again found, to their dismay, that they were exposed from the neck up. Dan shot Steve a trouble look, who returned it with his own nervous glance. Each remained statute-still as they discreetly studied the room, including the dark-haired giant working at a gray, metal desk only a few yards from them.

Dan, his face lit up, signaled Steve to descend. “That’s one of the giants I saw!” he said, having a hard time keeping his voice at a whisper.

“And did you see what was right in front of him?” Steve added, having a hard time reigning in his glee. “A jar large enough to hold Betty and Mark.”

Standing, the two were about to lift themselves out of the floor grate when Benard pushed back his chair. Simultaneously, Steve and Dan dived, landing flat on their stomachs. Holding their breaths, they looked at each other then waited. Above them, they heard Benard get to his feet, yank open a drawer, then drop something large into it. Next, they were swamped in blackness, followed almost immediately by the sound of a door closing. A second later came the clicking of a key, and the giant’s footfalls fading down the corridor.

Once the footsteps were gone, both looked at each other and began to chuckle.

“Wow, that was close,” said Dan, glad to be breathing again.

Steve climbed to first to his knees, then feet. “Yeah. Hopefully, he’s gone for the night.”

As their eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness, they found the only light now was from the emergency exit sign hanging over the office entry. But for the Earth people it was enough.

The two wasted no time scrambling from the air duct. Running to the desk, both noticed the partially opened drawer. With skill that only comes from experience, Dan tossed the grappling hook, its curved edge catching on the exposed edge on his first try.

Steve waited as Dan scurried up the rope then began his own ascent. Near the top, he took Dan’s outstretched hand, feeling the tension in his friend’s arm even before the man spoke. “Steve! Betty isn’t with him!” Steve went rigid, dread gripping his throat as they ran to the oversized specimen holder.

Mark was asleep sitting up, and as yet, completely oblivious to their presence. They scanned the room with frantic hope, yet saw no evidence of her.

“Mark!” yelled Steve. “It’s us. Wake up!”

Finding a paperclip the size of his arm, Dan rapped it hard against the glass. Mark awoke with a start. Seeing his friends, his shoulders relaxed. “I’d almost given up—.”

“Where’s Betty?” Steve cut in, anxious for his missing crewmate.

“The other room. They separated us.”

“She all right?” Dan asked.

“I’m not sure, but I think so.”

Dropping the coiled rope from his shoulder, Dan turned his back to the jar, lowering his voice. “I don’t like this at all.”

“Neither do I,” said Steve, taking the rope, his tight expression matching Dan’s.

Dan watched this time as Steve swung the grappling hook. It also made it over the lip on its maiden try.

Erickson climbed up to the lip. At the top, his rear end balanced on the edge, his leg braced against the glass, he tossed the line below to Mark. In less than two minutes, the engineer had joined Dan, and both were now on their way to freedom.

Steve, although thrilled when Mark landed beside him, gave him a quick glad-you’re-safe pat on the back, then lead the way down.

On the floor, the threesome sprinted to their second destination. At the laboratory’s threshold, Mark pointed to the farthest and longest counter. “I think she’s on that one.”

Scouting out the table, they found a heating unit wire dangling down the far side, which would give them easy access to above.

Climbing up first this time, Steve paused, listening with intent scrutiny for any sights or sounds of an approaching foe. So far there were none. Satisfied, he hurried to the beaker and to his great relief, found Betty. Within, she was curled up in the fetal position, fast asleep.

Wearing an ear to ear grin, Steve sprinted to the counter’s edge, calling down to the others, “She’s here!” Desperate to free her, he followed Dan’s example by using a mental clip to tap on the glass. The resounding metal hurting his arms and ears, Steve’s concern turned to alarm when, after a succession of rapping, the woman failed to show any signs of responding.

“Come on, Betty,” he growled, swinging the clip with all his might. “Wake up!”

At the rope, Mark and Dan, hearing Steve’s desperate urging, felt a new-found worry assault them.

What’s wrong?” asked Dan, jogging up beside him.

“She won’t rouse!” Steve lowered the clip, turning to Mark. “What’s the matter with her?”

“Could be the experiment,” he offered.

“What experiment?” Steve and Dan asked in horrified unison.

“The scientists. They never said what the experiment was about, but we were both sprayed with a gas of some sort.”

“Any idea what it was?” asked Steve.

“No. It was colorless and odorless.” Mark shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t feel any different now than I did before we were caught.”

Dan turned to Steve. “Let’s get her out of there, and worry about it later,” he said, letting the coil drop into his hand.

“Right,” agreed Steve.

Searching for a way to reach the container lip, Steve hopped upon the Bunsen burner, but it wasn’t tall enough.

Dan, eyeing the leaning book, nodded at it. “Think we can push it over?”

Steve shrugged. “We can give it a try.”

“Yeah,” added Mark, having gone over the calculations in his head, “we should be able to.”

Letting out the lifeline, Dan swung it over the top of the hardback, the hook catching perilously on the cover’s rim. Dan, keeping hopeful that the hook didn’t come loose, waited as his friends took up sections of the rope.

“Okay,” Steve grunted, “start pullin’.”

After a hard game of tug-of-war, the determined rescuers were able to pull the book into very wobbly standing position.

“Move away,” Dan groaned, his eyes locked on the hard cover. If caught off guard, they could be squashed like bugs.

“Do it, Dan,” he heard Steve say a moment later. Taking a deep breath, Dan tugged with all his strength. Not sure if the book was falling or not, the athlete was not about to stick around and find out. Sprinting towards the others, he dived. Just behind him he heard loud crash as a whoosh of air rolled over the countertop. Rolling onto his back, he saw the book had landed exactly where they hoped it would—on top of the Bunsen, its top edge now waist high from the glass lip.

Steve’s smile was a mile-wide when he looked at the others. “Let’s get our stewardess and get out of here!” Giving Dan a pat on the arm, he jogged up the man-made mountain.

Mark, in the meantime, picked up where Steve had left off with the paperclip.

“Come on, Betty, wake up,” Dan yelled as Wilson swung the arm-length office item. This time, the young woman stirred. Raising her head off her folded arms, Betty looked at them and blinked, giving no degree of recognition.

“You’re not dreaming, honey, it really is the three Musketeers,” Dan assured her. “It’s time to wake up,” he urged, “so we can take you home.”

Up top, Steve jumped down, landing beside her with a thud. To his amazement, Betty gave no hint of being startled. Instead, she turned around, giving him a blank, glassy-eyed stare.

Seeing her disorientation, Steve dropped to one knee, looking her in the eye. “You okay?” he asked, his concern growing by the minute.

“Yeah,” she nodded dully as Steve helped her to her feet. “I was in a real deep sleep.”

“There’s an understatement,” he muttered. “You just took a year off my life!” Holding her arm to keep her steady, Steve watched Dan make his way to the summit of the tilting book. He then gave Betty a leg up, waiting his turn as his cohort pulled her out, then lowered her to the other side to Mark.

Within minutes, they were traversing the building’s vent system to freedom.

-/-/-

The week flew by quickly. After a warm welcome home, Mark and Betty were more then happy to put the harrowing experience behind them, and in no time, the camp had settled back into normalcy.

Later that night, everyone had retired and Mark, in particular, was enjoying his first real, deep—and pleasant—sleep since his and Betty’s ordeal. At first the dream swirled around him in a haze until it slowly evolved into a solid image taking the form of Mark’s own test center in one of his companies back on Earth. Dressed in his old, familiar lab coat and cradling his personalized black clipboard in the crook of his arm, Mark looked comfortable, confident and perfectly at home in the room filled with various electronic devices, machinery, and boards. Before him in the middle of the test stage, stood a generator the size of a small garage. Checking calculations against its instrument display, Mark glanced over his shoulder at sound of the steel door sliding open, doing a double-take at the oriental woman who had entered. A beautiful woman, her waist-long black hair was in stark contract against her white work coat. Approaching her counterpart, her demeanor warned of scientific seriousness that rivaled Mark’s own.

“I hope you find the calculations correct, Mr. Wilson.” Her voice was surprisingly smooth and gentle.

Mark looked at her, his eyes beaming with admiration. “Linda, they couldn’t have been done better if I’d done them myself.”

“Now that is a compliment,” she said, a mischievous smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

“However,” he pointed to schematics, “this notation doesn’t make sense.”

“It’s a new deviation I’m trying. I’ll be glad to explain it to you over dinner.”

Mark hesitated, then smiled at her. “You’re on….”

-/-/-

Bright and early the next morning, Steve, sporting an impish grin, entered Spindrift. Pausing before the cabin entrance, his smile got bigger as he rapped forcefully several times on its closed door. “Time to get up, ladies,” he announced loud enough to be heard outside. He then rapped again, only because he knew it would irritate Valerie, then continued on his way.

Inside the passenger compartment, a groggy Miss Scott sat up. “Yes, Skipper, we heard you,” she shouted, the anticipated annoyance plain in her voice. Extending her arms overhead as far as they would go, she arched her back in a much appreciated stretch. Sliding off the hammock, and coming to her feet, it was then she noticed Betty was still dozing. The corners of her mouth turned down. With a look of regretful, Val gave her roommate a gentle shake. “Come on, Hamilton, time to wake up.”

Walking away, she slowed, turned around, then hands on hips, eyed the woman with a raised, curious eyebrow. Betty, usually a light sleeper, hadn’t moved a muscle, not even the twitching of an eye.

Val back stepped, shaking her several more times. “Betty?” The woman still doesn’t rouse. Valerie’s jostling increased with the intensity of her alarm. “Betty, this isn’t funny!” she berated, biting her lip, in fear and indecisiveness. Betty didn’t usually play games, she argued with herself, at least not this type. She glanced uncertain at the hatch. She was about to turn for help when the stewardess’ eyes flickered open.

“Finally!” She shouted happily. “You had me scared to death! That must have been some dream.”

Sitting up and stretching, Betty’s face unexpectedly glowed; a great smile on her lips. “I dreamt I went home to my parents, and introduced them to my fiancee.”

“Ahhh,” Val grinned with a tease, “Anyone we know?”

Betty’s smile faded. “No,” she said, her forehead crinkling with bafflement. “Funny, it was nobody I’d ever seen before, but…” her smile returned, “he sure was handsome.”

“In that case…” Val took Betty’s arm, pulling her to her feet, “… next time you have a dream like that include me!”

Elsewhere on the ship, Steve, having found the tool he needed in the utility room, backtracked to the hatch where he ran into Dan on Spindrift’s outside step. “Mark ready yet?”

Dan shrugged. “No sure. Last I saw him, he was still in bed.”

“Still in bed?” Steve gaped in disbelief. “On search days he’s usually up before any of us!” Perturbed, curious, and annoyed, he made a beeline to his right and to the lone cot Wilson had taken for his own. There, they found the engineer still in bed, oblivious to everything around him.

Dan gave the man a poke in the shoulder. “Mark, time to get up, it’s morning.” But just like Betty, it took several minutes of prodding from the worried Dan before Mark began to stir.

“Oh, it’s you,” he muttered acidly, rubbing a hand across his glazed eyes.

“You okay?” Steve asked, concerned and suspicious.

“Just fine! And thanks for the interruption,” Mark scowled, swinging his legs off the cot. “Not only was it the best sleep I’ve had since we landed on this rock, but it was the also the best dream I’ve ever had in my life!”

Steve, on edge since his companion’s rescue from the Harriman Center, felt a wave of relief flood through him. It had been just deep sleep, he mentally reasoned, at the same time stunned at how tense he’d been until now. The nagging shadow of fear and wonderment evaporating from his mind, he grinned widely. “I promise,” he chuckled, holding his palm up, boy scout-style, “next time we’ll check first.”

Leaving Mark to get ready, he and Dan went to grab a quick breakfast of celery and carrot, leftovers from Dan, Fitzhugh, and Barry’s foray into the woods.

-/-/-

It has been a normal busy day of forging for food and supply materials. That evening, the little people lazed about the burning wooden embers, enjoying the satisfying aftereffects of a rarely found, but much appreciated, giant hot dog for dinner.

Everyone except the belly-aching Fitzhugh. The pudgy man had caught a spot of poison ivy, and its itching—and scratching—had kept him (and his bunkmates) awake most of the night before.

“Good thing that lubricating oil makes a great calamine lotion,” Valerie joked as Alexander had headed for bed, “otherwise we’d have to kill him to stop him from scratching.”

With peace in the air once more, the small group, mesmerized by the tranquil flickering of the flames, lost themselves in their private thoughts.

Betty, also, was looking wiped out. Her complexion pallid, she had deep bags under her eyes. Half hour later, she rose to her feet, breaking the silence. “Well,” she said, with a yawn, “I’m going to bed, too. I can’t keep my eyes open any longer.”

“Night,” Steve, Mark, and Valerie replied together, their eyes following her with concern.

“Night, Betty,” waved Barry, his hand returning to Chipper’s head resting on his lap.

No until Dan saw the cabin’s lights go out did he turn to the others. “That’s the third night in a row Betty’s gone to bed early. I hope she’s not coming down with something.”

“It must be the changing of the seasons,” offered Mark. “I feel pretty tired myself.”

Steve, his eyes on the fire, tilted his head in thought. “But she didn’t walk three miles, or scale in and out of a two-story garbage pit like you did today.”

“Oh, no. . . ” Valerie sang, getting to her feet and approaching Steve with arms crossed, her sweetness merging into acid as she spoke. “Nooo… we only hand-washed all the clothes in the pond a mere two miles away; made a second trip to that same said pond where we each brought back two bucketfuls of water, then dragged home that culinary treat you just had for dinner. Good night, Captain,” the redhead growled with a knife-encrusted smile, then spun on her heel towards Spindrift and bed.

When she had disappeared from sight, the men, including Barry, let out the laughter they’d been so desperate to hold back.

“Steve, when are you ever gonna learn?” stuttered Dan, wiping tears from his eyes.

“I don’t know,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “Maybe we should ask her if she’d want scout out the new garbage pit with us.”

“She’d probably like the climb,” Dan said, half-seriously.

“You’re right, Steve laughed, tossing a twig into the fire, “she probably would.”

“Well…,” Mark announced, standing up, “since we are going to do some walking, climbing, and hopefully, hauling tomorrow, I’m saying good night.” With a wave, he turned toward the shelter.

-/-/-

Just after dawn, the sun hadn’t penetrated the forest’s covering yet and was still somewhat dark when the strandees, one by one, began to wander into the lean-to, partaking of their breakfast consisting of fire-cooked hot dog.

“Good morning!” Fitzhugh bellowed in a voice so loud and cheery, those who were standing almost fell to their knees in amazement, while others had to pick their jaws up from the ground.

“Have a good night?” Dan asked with a raised eyebrow.

“The best!” he shouted. His grin went from ear to ear. “I didn’t itch—and look!” he ordered, pointing to his wrist, “the rash is almost gone… I didn’t have nightmares about being crushed by a giant, I feel totally… ” rocking on his toes, he flared out his arms, “refreshed! I don’t know what’s in that gel, but my fellow Spindriftees, I think when we get back to Earth we should patent it! We’ll make millions!” he clasped his hands in elated anticipation.