August 14, 2009

LAND OF THE GIANTS

“Strangers”

“Relax!” Betty Hamilton ordered in exasperation. She was standing in the camp’s small clearing, between the lean-to and Spindrift’s entrance. Dan Erickson stood in front of her, his arms stretched toward the sky as if being robbed while she clutched the excess material of his uniform’s waistband from behind. “Let your stomach out!” she admonished.

Dan cocked an amused eyebrow at her over his shoulder, peered down at his stomach and snorted, “It is, and I am!”

“Wow.” Betty eyed the fist-full of gray cloth with skepticism. “You want me to take this in? That’s a lot of material.”

“Tell me about it. But I’m tired of holding my pants up while we’re running.” He lowered his limbs to half-mast. “I always said these uniforms should have come with belts.”

“Dan. . . .” Betty shook her head as she adjusted the material. “I’m not sure I can do this.”

“Don’t be so modest, Betty. You’re a wiz with a needle.”

“Right . . .” she said in mock agreement. “Okay, a compromise. How ‘bout a temporary fix until you get back from the outpost, then I’ll see what I can do?”

“Deal!”

“As you request, sir.” She grabbed several loose straight pins from the worktable beside her, gripped them between her teeth, and, heedful not to stick her crewmate, began pinning the cloth. “You know, I don’t think the tailor anticipated you losing this much weight when he fitted you.” Extracting the last pin from her mouth, she stuck it in the material. “Pilots usually put on weight, not take it off.” Taking the needle and thread from the table, she beginning sewing the surplus folds together.

“Yeah, well, we’ve all lost a lot of weight here. Except for Fitzhugh,” his brows folded together. “Have you noticed he looks like he hasn’t lost a single pound after all this time?” he chuckled. “I’m beginning to think he has a hidden stash of food somewhere.”

“Dan, be nice,” Betty scolded playfully. “I could have asked Valerie to do this, you know.”

Dan peeked at her from under his forearm, a look of mock anguish on his face. “And get goosed? No thanks. There’s plenty of surprises here already without her pranks.”

How true that is, Betty agreed via an amused grin. Valerie Ames Scott, once an adventurous heiress on Earth, had managed to broaden her reputation by becoming a renowned troublemaker on this one! And even though Val’s assertive nature had been drastically curtailed since departing their home world, the redhead still preferred excitement to the mundane, and it wasn’t past her to play tricks on her fellow strandees when the odd mood struck her. At least, it helped to satisfy her mischievous spirit.

“There,” Betty announced a few minutes later, tying off the thread and cutting it with the small scissors that had come with the emergency sewing kit. “That should hold till I can work on it.” She frowned deeply. “Unfortunately, we’re also almost out of thread.”

Dan stepped away, running his fingers along the material.

While he tested her work, Betty could see there was still enough room between the waistband and his shirt for him to be comfortable.

“It’s perfect!” Sprouting a wide, mirthful grin, Dan bended a knee, gracefully waving his arms in an embellished bow. “Thank you, Edith Head.”

“You’re most certainly welcome, Sir Erickson,” she grinned back, performing an exaggerated curtsey of her own. “Take care,” she added solemnly.

“I will,” he replied, just as somber. Stepping sideways, Dan nabbed the razor-hatchet off a nearby rock and swung it onto his shoulder. “Well, off to the outpost. Thanks again, ma’am.”

As Betty watched Dan enter the woods from the camp’s small clearing, she felt a twinge of apprehension. But she always did when any of them left home. Dan was several steps past the trailhead when she saw him duck under a giant fern-like leaf at which time he completely disappeared from her sight.

Work needs to be done, she urged herself, turning to the table to gather up the mending gear. It was then she became aware of the dramatic drop of the camp’s decibel level. With the absence of human presence, the sounds and calls of the indigenous wildlife living around her amplified.

Betty was alone and suddenly felt as such.

Her camp mates had taken a break from their work to get water from the spring two miles away. With only the seven of them living there, loneliness was as much a part of their lives as lack of privacy. Moments like this made Betty miss her passengers the most. Even the cranky and annoying ones, she thought wryly. At least, their varied faces and personalities broke up the daily routine, and their conversations consisted of more than, “Did you find any food?” and “Watch out for giants”.

She looked down at the depleting sewing box in her hand feeling the glumness wash over her. “Just one more thing we have to worry about,” she muttered with a disheartened sigh turning toward spaceship.

Entering Spindrift’s central corridor, Betty veered left into the cabin. Heading aft, she passed between the room’s two banks of seats, and into the galley on the left where she stowed away the small, oblong kit.

She was on her return trip, tightening the belt of her pink mini-dress as she went, when she skidded to a stop mid-way up the aisle. Cocking her head in curiosity, she backtracked to the previous row, and there confirmed seeing what she thought she had seen: Steve Burton in the chair, fast asleep, his head resting on his upright arm. She couldn’t fathom how she had missed him on her way in, but seeing him now, so peacefully oblivious to the stresses of their world, brought a smile to her face. It was rare for Steve to shuck his duties as leader of their ragtag group, and she was glad whenever he did so. The man worked harder than any person she’d had ever met, and after everything he did, had done, and probably would do for them, she ardently defended his right to play hooky any time he wanted.

She panned the room for a blanket, spotting one on a chair in the next row up. Retrieving it, she spread it over him with care while watching for signs of movement. To her delight, Steve never even blinked an eyelid.

Her mission completed, she tiptoed the rest of the way out of the room. In the corridor, she stopped at the switch panel that controlled the cabin’s hatch, and flipped the open/close lever up, watching as the shield extracted from its berth inside the ship’s frame. The door had no sooner closed with a muffled thud when Alexander Fitzhugh came bounding up the exterior steps.

“Betty,” he boomed, his haughty conduct foretelling of an inexplicable demand. “Is Captain Bur—”

“Shhh!” Betty ordered, blocking his way as he motioned toward the cabin. “Steve’s in there, but he’s asleep. What do you want?”

Fitzhugh lowered his voice, yet raised his head with implied importance. “It is vital I talk to the Captain. That is his job, is it not? Making sure all our needs are met?”

“Later,” she whispered sternly. “Let him sleep. He needs it.”

“But it’s urgent,” he said, coming to his full height. “Is he not the captain of this ship? Are our problems not his problems? Therefore, all our problems are his responsi—”

“Disturb him, Fitzhugh, and your only urgent business will be to find a giant doctor to patch you up!” Betty glowered, hands on hips. “With Dan and Mark just over colds, Steve’s kept watch at the outpost for four nights in a row—he’s exhausted, he needs his sleep!” Her glare morphed into a sugar-sweet grin. “Unless, of course, you’d like to stand watch for him in addition to hunting for food?”

“I-ah . . .” he stammered, taking a step back.

Betty saw the expected reaction on his face and mentally smirked with satisfaction. For Fitz, the mere thought of spending a long, isolated night in the dank outpost always made him cower. She also anticipated the “urgent matter” would instantly become a non-issue.

“I suppose it can wait,” he resigned as if on cue, albeit reluctant. “After all . . .” his chin shot up, “. . . the health of our marooned colleagues is more important than our mere pleasures of comfort.”

Betty’s eyebrows went high as her expression went from astonishment to amused disbelief. After two years with him, she should not have been surprised by the con man’s arrogance, yet he still managed, howbeit, to catch her off-guard. But she had a job to do and she was determined to see it through. She resumed her sugar-laced smile, raised her arm, and waved it at the main door with the distinct invitation for him to leave.

Fitzhugh hesitated a few seconds as though evaluating her staunchness, and then, without a word, he turned on his heel to disappear down the ship’s steps.

As she watched him go, Betty filled with well-grounded suspicion of him sneaking back in. Folding her arms, she tapped her fingers in speculation. However, she knew Fitzhugh well and without a doubt, he would be back! But she was not going to let achieve his goal.

As she looked for a place from which to waylay him, she heard the loud, angry voices erupt outside the ship. She disbelieved at whom it was and dashed to the main exit hatch where her jaw dropped to the carpeted floor. It was Mark and Barry! During the twenty-four months of their captivity, those two were the least of the seven to butt heads.

Betty’s first instinct was to rush over, but instead, she stayed where she was. Although she had become the unofficial mediator for arguments, soothing over situations, and comforting hurt feelings, she had also learned a long time ago that letting off steam, particularly for the men, was sometimes a good thing. And yet, because Mark was involved, she saw no harm in meandering closer, just in case Wilson’s volatile temper got out of control, which it still often did.

Mark Wilson, their resident engineering genius and all-round repairman, sat at the table which she had used earlier. With his brown bomber jacket draped over the chair back, his dark brown sweater sleeves pushed up, he was using the tabletop to balance his upright hand to pinpoint the small flashlight. The worktable—their only table—was the size of a small desk. Its top was flattened planks of fallen bark supported by crisscrossed tree limbs tied with twine. Four chairs of matching design and material stood scattered around it. Lying on top was one of Spindrift’s solar batteries. The batteries are surrounded by an elongated case made of Herculite, which was a strong, glass-like product that protected the mirrors and cooper filigree inside. At the foot of the table, a halved-walnut shell held their odd assortment of crudely fashioned tools.

Vexed, Mark looked ready to spring at the unusually adamant Barry Lockridge. Just a boy of eleven when their flight crash landed there, Barry had aged fast due to their abundantly stressful life, having seemed to become a teenager overnight. His mental acuity akin to that of a young adult, it explained his recent desire and increased arguments for more mature undertakings.

Adding to this chaos was Chipper, Barry’s beloved terrier. The dog was frolicking around his master’s feet with an improvised toy.

Despite the yelling, the corners of Betty’s mouth went up: Valerie was watching from the safety of the lean-to and, for once, looked happy not to be the instigator of the drama.

“Mr. Fitzhugh can go with me,” Barry insisted.

“I said no, Barry!” Mark hollered, his face as red as his temper. “You’re too young to be going into town to forge for food.”

“I’m fourteen and I know how to be careful! I’ve watched you and Steve and—”

Mark slammed down the flashlight, leaping to his feet. “Barry—”

Hovering close-by, Betty jumped between the two. “Actually, Barry,” she calmly said in her strategy to defuse the tension, “we need you here. Steve was wondering if you’d like to take night watch for him tonight?”

The teenager’s face lit up. “By myself? Guard duty! Honest?”

Betty couldn’t help but smile at his youthful enthusiasm. “Honest. You’d be alone and it’d be for the entire night. You remember how long and boring those watches are, right?” She knew that for a fact because she had pulled a few of them herself. “Think you can do it?”

“Absolutely! I won’t let any giants get close, I promise, Betty!”

“All right then.” She nodded at the shelter. “Go rest up. You have a long evening in front of you.”

Barry’s excited face beamed proudly as he sprinted for the lean-to beds; slowing down just long enough to call over his shoulder: “Come, Chipper.”

Chipper came to an abrupt standstill in his playing; then just as abrupt, snatched up his toy, scampering after his master.

The lean-to stood tucked amidst boulders, saplings, and bushes off Spindrift’s rear starboard side, hoarding assorted supplies, and housing the five home-constructed beds for their male populace. The scrap of a giant tasseled bedspread was tied to the trees to conceal the assemblage. Although the grayish-green material was ugly, even by the women’s standards, it was the perfect camouflage against a giant’s curious eyes.

Mark’s lips pressed tight as he watched Barry leave. When the boy was out of earshot, he turned to Betty, his face simmering with anger. “Steve never said that!”

“You’re right,” she sighed, “but given the circumstances, I don’t think Steve’s in any condition to object at the moment either.”

“He’s only fourteen!” Mark exploded.

“He’s a fourteen year old who’s been living on a planet of giants for two years!” Betty fired back. “Hiding under bushes, eating out of trash cans, bathing in an ice cold brook, and sleeping on a cot made from material we found in a trash heap! He’s already old for his years and getting older by the day, and I think it’s time we treated him like the mature young man he’s become!”

Stunned silent by her unexpected outburst, Mark shut his mouth with a snap.

It had taken Betty a while to prove that she, too, had her limits, and they all knew now that when she reached that breaking point that she could be just as stubborn and forceful as the rest of them. And to Betty there was no higher priority than the health and welfare of her passengers and crew.

“Point made,” Mark conceded, his demeanor softening.

“And by the color of your flushed face,” she folded her arms, her inflection stern, “it seems I need to reinforce a rule I made for you.”

“I will when I’ve—”

“Later,” she commanded in her don’t-to-argue-with-me mode. “Go lie down or the fever could come back, possibly even worse than it was before.”

Mark opened his mouth to protest, but clearly thought better of it. “You win this round,” he said instead. Looking fatigued, he laid the flashlight down and headed for the beds, passing the smiling Valerie as she exited the shelter and sauntering over to Betty.

“I think you missed your calling,” she ribbed. “General Hamilton is more like it.”

“Yeah, well, I feel more like a mother hen herding her chicks around,” Betty chuckled.

“And good luck with it!” Valerie patted her on the back then strolled away.

With the crisis averted, a disquieted thought came to Betty. She scanned the area for the wayward Fitzhugh, but he was nowhere in sight. Nor had he invaded the ship, she decided, otherwise, he and an irritated Steve would have been coming out about now.

Reassured, she picked up the large section of giant twine she had dropped earlier by the steps to attend Dan’s pant problem. Steve had assigned her the job of separating the twine’s intricate threads from each other. The thicker cords would be braided into rope, and the slimmer strands they hoped to use for either sewing thread or dental floss.

She gathered all the elements she needed for the de-threading, stepped onto the metal auxiliary steps propped in front of Spindrift, and made herself comfortable on the lip of the main hatchway. Drawing the acorn bucket filled with water to her, she couldn’t help forming a smug grin. This was the only entrance/exit to the ship. This’ll keep the ole fox out, she mused with empowered delight.

But looking down at her handful of string, her delight faded. It was a monotonous task, yet it was her responsibility, regardless. Betty sighed, dipped the cord into the water which helped the dissecting process, and began pulling the thread from its siblings.

<<<>>>

Betty looked up from her perch on Spindrift’s entryway and flinched. Her shoulders felt compressed and her fingers now resembled prunes. After a while, she had become so efficient at the detangling process that she no longer needed to watch her hands as she worked and had lapsed into automatic mode, her mind traveling elsewhere. She rolled her head to work the stiffness from her muscles and discovered, to her disbelief, that the forest’s shade had ebbed from late morning into early afternoon. She’d been so lost in her memories that she’d never noticed the change.

As she massaged her neck, she looked around camp and saw her fellow strandees in the midst of essential duties of their own. Fitzhugh was over in the lean-to, braiding some of the newly departed twine with the bed’s existing rope-string supports to enforce a more secure platform. Mark and Barry were once again at the worktable. The teenager was holding the Herculite battery in place while the engineer painstakingly used the laser torch to cut through the top end of the container, affording him access to its connector. And Valerie lingered near them, fingering the yellow collar of her blue-gray ensemble in tedium, ready to lend a hand if need be.

Gazing at them, Betty grinned at her subtle victory: she had kept one and all from disturbing their napping captain. But she was tired of sitting. She declared herself finished for the time being and stood, stretching skyward to further rid the cricks from her spine and neck. It was while stomping her foot to eradicate the pins and needles shooting through her leg that she heard the soft buzz of the laser die and peered over.

Mark had shut down the tool and was lifting off his goggles. “That should do it,” he announced.

“Hey, Barry,” Betty called, interlocking her palms and extending them overhead. “How ‘bout you and I go pick some berries?”

“Mark?” asked Barry, sounding unsure about leaving.

Mark had, over the months, slid into the role of big brother when Barry, out of boredom, had regarded the engineer’s innovative repair work with intense interest. When Barry’s genuine curiosity propelled him to ask infinite questions, Wilson, out of irritation and knowing he wouldn’t get any work done otherwise, explained what he was doing. Not long after that, Mark began teaching the fascinated adolescent on how to do the work, as well.

“Go ahead,” Mark said. He didn’t look up; he was already engrossed in the connector piece. Although the solar batteries hadn’t appeared damaged from the crash, they had stopped working soon after, and its failure to perform had remained an irritant to him ever since. “I won’t need you for a while anyway. Not until I can figure out why these batteries won’t charge.”

Barry looked glad for the break as he trotted into the lean-to.

A particular large boulder served as the only solid wall for the shelter. It had a horizontal cleft that formed a natural shelf, making it a convenient place to store supplies, including the spare acorn-bucket.

Grabbing the acorn, Barry rejoined Betty.

“Keep an eye out for that crazy bird watcher,” Valerie said her tone uncharacteristically serious.

Betty put a protective hand on Barry’s shoulder. “We will!” she called as they passed into the forest along the trail.

“Oh, hey!” Valerie jogged to the trailhead. “Where?” she yelled.

Barry did an about-faced and, walking backwards, shouted, “The berry patch due south from here. Betty noticed they were ripe the last time we’d passed by there.”

“Gotcha!” Valerie gave him the thumbs up sign, followed with a brief wave. With hands clutched casually behind her back, she meandered to Mark and stared down at him with displeasure; his nose was pressed into the battery circuits and oblivious to her presence. Shifting on her feet, her hands slid into a tight fold, accented by a noticeable pout. She knew when the brilliant mechanic was immersed in a project that nothing else existed—not her or giants—yet she still couldn’t help feeling a little insulted. Back at home, men would be tripping over themselves to get her attention. When Mark still gave her no mind, Val sighed in rejection and headed for the ship.

She was about to step up into it when Steve unexpectedly appeared on the lip and blocked her entrance. He looked glassy-eyed as he ran his fingers threw his mussed hair.

“Well, if it isn’t Rip Van Burton,” she greeted. “How ya feeling?”

“Groggy,” he replied, stepping down and out of her path. “Why’d you let me sleep so long?” He tilted his head and began kneading his neck.

“Blame Betty. She wouldn’t let any of us wake you.”

She heard him curse under his breath as an irritated expression crossed his handsome face. “Oh, don’t be mad at her, Steve,” she said. “You needed the sleep and we all know it. Well, all of us it seems, except Fitzhugh.” She looked past his shoulder to throw a visual dagger at the subject of her vexation. “Plus,” her demeanor softened as she readdressed him, “you know playing hooky for a few hours isn’t going to bring the giant world crashing down around our ears.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Steve said curtly marching off toward the lean-to.

Surprised, Valerie’s eyebrows went high. Her attention shifted to the placid Mark, who had looked up during the conversation. She gave an agitated shake of her head. “That man never lets up!” she said, throwing her arms into the air.

“And you call me pig-headed,” Mark smirked before returning to the battery.

<<<>>>

A half-mile south of the small spaceship, the closet-sized lookout stood well concealed beneath the huge leaves of an elephant fern.

From inside, Dan’s tense face stared motionless at the two giant men not more than a few giant-yards in front of him. For the last two weeks, the biologists had scoured the immediate southern quadrant of the forest with a fine-toothed comb, just missing the outpost by mere giant-inches. Dan had no doubt that, had the men gone a giant-eighth of a mile north, they would have discovered the disabled Spindrift.

The younger of the two was not much older than himself and had an accent Dan hadn’t heard on the planet before. Slender and dark-haired, this giant meticulously inspected the area with binoculars while his partner, an older man in a tweed hat and permanent scowl, categorized the findings into a journal at the metal folding table in front of their tent.

“Find it, Josh?” the hat man asked, looking up from the log.

“No, Denosha,” Josh frowned as he scanned, “but the Agaricus allensis toadstool has to be here somewhere. It has to be! I know the plant is difficult to locate, but we have been searching for weeks. I am beginning to fear it is extinct.”

“The weather has been crazy this year with its warmer than normal temperatures. Maybe that delayed its blooming cycle,” he suggested.

“Or caused the plant to bloom early,” Josh reasoned, shifting the binoculars to a new area. “Either-or it will not do us much good if we can not find it.”

“See any little people per chance?”

“No, and I do not care to,” he said with disgust.

The older man, Denosha, had his head bent as if pondering something, and Dan could only guess as to what even as he watched the scientist’s hand-pen encircle something specific on the note papers.

“But they’re worth $25,000,” Denosha said. “The government’s desperation has made them quite generous in their payout for the capture of the little people. It could go a long ways in furthering our research.”

“The little things are also highly dangerous,” Josh retorted over his shoulder. “If I should see one, I would more likely want to step on it.”

Dan went stiff with fear. Not sure if the threat was real or not, he didn’t have time to debate it—his peaceful domain was shattered by Steve’s sudden voice blaring over the radio, “Spindrift to outpost, do you read me? Spindrift . . .”

His heart hammering, Dan dove for the handset, his fingers fumbling as he spun down the volume wheel. He bolted back to the hideout’s edge, hugged the rock, staying low, his worried eyes locked on the giants.

“I read you, Steve,” he replied in a bare whisper. “But keep your voice down! They’re real close. Luckily, I don’t think they heard you.”

“What’s the situation?” Steve whispered back, anxious.

“They’re definitely looking for something, but it’s not us. The other good news is that they’re moving farther away from camp.”

“Glad to hear it. I’ll be out in about a half hour to relieve you.”

“I’ll be waiting.” Dan retracted the antenna and placed the radio inside his jacket pocket. As he did so, he saw Denosha glance at his watch; his content expression flipping to annoyance.

“I’m late for an appointment!” the giant announced, scrambling to his feet. Shoveling his research papers into his tattered brown briefcase, he snapped the locks shut, and said, “Josh, I’ll be back around six.”

“Right,” Josh replied distracted, giving a halfhearted wave as his coworker left him.

Dan felt his knee cramping against the hard ground and slid down to make himself comfortable on the outpost’s leafy flooring. He was bored with his tedious assignment, but concentrated on his target like a hawk because, after all, their safety depended on it.

Only a few minutes had gone by when Dan suddenly saw the scientist bring his searching to an abrupt halt. His adrenaline rushing, Dan peered harder: The giant lowered his binoculars, rubbed his eyes then raised the instrument again, zeroing in on the same previous spot, as though he had spotted something of importance. “It can not be!” the giant exclaimed in excited disbelief. “Shayla!!”

Whatever this “Shayla” is, Dan thought with agitation and hope, I wish they’d collect it and get the hell out of the park so we can relax!

<<<>>>

The cave was shallow yet wide. A giant could easily reach in and touch its farthest wall, but it was deep enough to serve for what Steve had planned. The hollow had a raised shelving of packed soil at its rear where from the floor gently sloped away. The entrance itself was narrow with a low threshold and was effectively camouflaged from snooping giants behind a thick flowering hedge. And it was far enough from camp so as not to endanger their lives, yet only a few giant paces from the river that flowed through the park.

A giant can lie in two length-wise halves in the corner. Its label was gone, both interiors scrubbed clean of its contents, and its edges made blunt by Steve’s meticulous efforts during the past weeks.

Despite being in cool shade and out of the already hot, early morning sun, sweat poured from Steve’s face and neck as he dug the hole the approximate span of the can. His red uniform jacket lay nearby, draped over a root that wormed through the wall.

“They’ve been working so hard of late, Steve,” he heard from the side. Betty was perched on the root next to his jacket, separating the giant twine. “And have so little to look forward to. A party would do them a world of good.”

Steve clenched his teeth, driving the shovel into the hole. “I told you—we have more important things to worry about than gathering stuff for a party!”

“But it wouldn’t have to be anything elaborate,” she persisted. “We just passed the second anniversary of our landing here, we could celebrate—”

“I don’t want to celebrate landing here,” he snapped, flinging the dirt farther than he had intended, “and I’m sure none of the others do either!”

There were several seconds of silence before he heard Betty’s carefully tended reply: “All right, we’ll find some other date to celebrate, but they really do need something to lift their spirits.”

Steve slammed the shovel’s point into the ground, hard enough for it to stand up on its own, and whipped around. “Betty! How many times do we have to go over this? We’re not wasting our energy on any party!” He saw her about to reply and beat her to it, his arms slashing the air: “The answer is no! FINAL—that’s it! Now quit nagging me about it!” He spun away before she could answer. Snatching the upright tool from its post, Steve gritted his teeth and concentrated his fury on his chore and shutting out the tension in the air.

The tension was extreme, but after a few minutes, Steve found the silence smothering! He knew he had hurt Betty’s feelings, but he also knew he was right. The only celebrating he, Dan, and Mark wanted to do was to hoist beers and champagne on the day they returned to Earth. The rhythm of the manual labor helped ebb his anger, yet also allowed his guilt to escalate until he could no longer bury his conscience. Steve exhaled a long repressed breath, jammed the shovel into the ground and, with hand resting on the handle, turned.

“Betty, I—” But she wasn’t on the root.

A quick turn around revealed she wasn’t in the cave at all.

“Damn it!” Steve batted the tool, ignoring it as it dropped to the ground with a clang. Staring at the dirt ceiling, he contemplated his next move. He was torn between the project he had set his mind on completing, and making things right with the woman he had wounded. He knew that, given their imprisoned conditions, he could apologize to her later after he had gotten back to camp, except . . . except his conscience wouldn’t let him.

Betty had been right about the low morale among them of late. It was abnormal for her to take her ire or frustration out on the others, or even to confide in anyone when she herself was sad or depressed. However, she was always there for the rest of them, himself included. And more times than he could count she had averted someone’s down-spiraling spirits. Because of that, he couldn’t stand the thought of contributing, even indirectly, to the deterioration of the group’s already hard-pressed fortitude. He was disappointed but, right now, apologizing was more important. Sweeping his jacket from the root, Steve pulled it on, heading for home.

Their improvised camp was on the southeast side of the cave, and Steve was glad he could slip unnoticed into the bunk area, and gladder still to find no one there at the moment. He wanted the chance to think of what to say, plus wash the grime from his hands and face before giving his apologies.

The wash bucket hung on the sapling serving double-duty as one of the anchors for the camouflage, and it only took him a couple of minutes to clean up. When done, Steve draped the towel on the limb next to the bucket then strolled into the clearing where he found Valerie squashing into juice the berries Betty and Barry had picked earlier.

“Know where Betty is?” he asked, avoiding eye contact with the intuitive redhead as he again pulled on his jacket.

Val looked grateful for the distraction as she pushed a strand of hair out of her face and gave him an impish grin. “Inside the ship, but I wouldn’t advise anyone to go in there right now. Not without a weapon any way. Betty’s simmering about something and when a woman is simmering about anything watch out!” She bent her head at him, feigning innocence. “Have any idea what it could be?”

Steve nodded, pointing to himself.

“How boringly predictable,” she giggled. “Care to confide in an objective bystander?”

“No,” he said absently, his focus on the ship.

“In that case . . . when do we get to see your little project?”

“Soon,” he replied. He had barely heard her over his conflicted thoughts. He didn’t want to go in, but he had to. The apology was best done now than later. Steve squared his shoulders, inhaled, and went forth.

In the central corridor, Steve flipped up the control lever to the cabin and waited as the hatch retracted into the frame. Inside, he found Betty near the rear of the compartment, kneeling before two large pieces of giant cloth. She was using the thinnest of the recently separated twine to sew together the cloth’s folded-under edges that, it appeared to him, would soon form a crude tunic.

Feeling somewhat sheepish, Steve, nevertheless, took a seat purposely on the chair arm opposite her, knowing he would be in her direct line of sight. He was hoping that, once she saw him, it would open up a dialogue. He tented and un-tented his fingers, his nervousness growing as he waited for her to say something—even “hi” would have been a good sign—but she didn’t. Nor would she look at him. Her lips stayed pressed tight leaving him no doubt that he was the last person she wanted to speak to right now, which made him feel all the more worse.

“Betty . . . .” Steve felt inept and tongue-tied, conditions he didn’t experience often. “I’m sorry. It was wrong for me to yell at you like I did and for that I apologize.” He saw Betty bite her lip, her attention remaining fixated on the sewing.

There was a long, awkward silence and he was just about to say something when she said, “Apology accepted.” However, instead of her customary congenial self, he heard a hard, cold edge to her voice. From past experiences, he knew Betty was sincere because she could never be anything else. Yet her abnormally blatant coolness and the casual dismissal of the subject she had been so passionate about just a short while ago, sent him a red flag. He studied her, hoping to learn what was bothering her, but Betty remained stoic.

“I gave you my reasons,” he pushed, hoping to shake something loose.

“And I accepted them,” she said in the same uncompromising tone.

Steve couldn’t recall a time since they’d been stranded there when she’d been so aloof towards him—understanding hit Steve like a Mack truck of just how deep his harsh words had gone. His stomach knotting in remorse, he carefully thought over his next words.

“Betty . . . I’m sorry I hurt your feelings, but this isn’t the right time. You have to understand that.”

“I DO!” she snapped with atypical fierceness, tugging with agitation at a hung-up thread.

Steve waited for her to continue, but quickly realized she wasn’t about to. “Then why do I detect there’s something more?”

“It’s your imagination,” she retorted sharply, “I see no reason to beat a dead horse.”

“Since when?” he snorted in surprise.

“Since NOW!” Betty thundered. Throwing down the material, she jumped to her feet. “I’m tired of arguing with you about everything!”

This raw candor was something else Steve had never seen from her before.

“Parties, materials, procedure . . . isn’t that the way you like it, Captain? Give a command and every one obeys?”

“Come off it, Betty!” He jumped to his feet. “Look, I appreciate how much this party means to you—”

“The party isn’t for me, it’s for THEM!” she thrust a finger at the porthole. “That’s what you don’t seem to want to understand. They have NOTHING to look forward to! The party was to be a celebration of-of . . . life! Of living! Of being alive for over two impossible years. ALL OF US! Haven’t you ever asked why we’ve been able to make it for so long when others haven’t? I have!”

“I explained it to you—”

“That’s right, you did!” she spat, her hands on hips. “We can’t take the chance of going into one of the buried drainpipes for a night and turning on the radio to enjoy music, or to dance and sing, or to maybe forget about where we are for one measly night! That would be too big of a risk! You gave me your reasons, Captain, and I gave you mine, now go away and let me deal with your decision in my own way!”

Before he could reply, Betty charged into the galley where the door immediately slid shut. It wasn’t much of a slam, but the symbolism left no doubt that the discussion was over.

Steve wanted to hit something—anything! He was furious at himself for losing control, and for making matters ten times worse, and for not knowing how to fix it! In his gut, he knew Betty was troubled by more than what she was telling him, but it wasn’t his place to draw her out on it—never had been. His job was to provide food, shelter, and to keep them safe, that was it. Even if it had been my role, she’s not about to talk to me now. Not for a long while any way, he figured.

He ambled to the main hatch where, feeling drained, he leaned heavily against the frame and gazed out at their meager camp.

With the exception of Barry, all of them had had to learn to deal with their own unique problems. For the most part, they had done an excellent job, especially Betty. And yet . . . Steve glanced down the corridor toward the cabin . . . Then why, he asked himself, since he had fulfilled his vow in apologizing, was his conscience still bothering him? He regarded the five individuals scattered about. Each one was doing whatever needed done and all of them, even Fitzhugh, seemed content for the time being; a remarkable feat considering the dogmatic personalities involved and the brutal conditions they endured each day.

“Seemed” content, Steve conceded with a twang of guilt. They had all lost a lot when they crashed there: family, friends, careers . . . . What I wouldn’t give for a piece of pecan pie right now, he frowned wistfully. Suddenly the memories and feelings Steve had kept at bay broke free. Envisioning who and what he had left behind, he longed desperately for the comfort and security of his own bed, craved the simplistic making of a hot meal, and sorely missed the mundane ritual of changing into clean clothes every day. But most of all, as he stared at the blunt yet surreal aspect that this might be his home for the rest of his life, Steve yearned for the personal freedom that had once invigorated his soul.

The heaviness of this reality—incited with the seed of doubt and nurtured by his guilt—made Steve wonder if maybe Betty hadn’t been right after all.

<<<>>>

Betty hit the close button hard! and paced as fast as she could in what the restrictive space allowed. When her fury subsided, minutes later, she dared to venture into the cabin with hopes that Steve would be gone. Peering around, she was relieved and thankful to find that he was. Alone in the deserted, silent room, Betty felt worn-out, melancholy, and emotionally adrift. This was the lowest she had ever felt on the planet.

She wanted to go outside for some fresh air, but just the thought of another confrontation with Steve made her stomach churn. Nor was she in the mood to talk to anyone else either. She wanted—needed—to be alone, away from the others, but there was no other safe place to escape to.

Betty let out a long sigh and then dropped right where she was—into the chair in front of the camp’s chess set, the main door to her back. As she stared out the window, she tried to forget Steve’s earlier words in the cave and the sting she felt when he had said them, but she couldn’t. This wasn’t the first time he had discounted her ideas, nor would it be the last, she was sure, but she was exhausted from trying. Not finding any answers outside, she turned to the wooden chessboard where a cleft in a pawn drew her fractured introspection.

The set and its pieces had been designed and hand-carved by Dan and Barry to help curb the boredom that often plagued the group. The white opposition had been stained using the juice from a milk-salve plant, whereas the black pieces had ended up a maroon color. No matter how many times Barry and Dan had soaked the pieces in the juices of the blackberry-like plant the wood wouldn’t darken beyond its initial staining. The game was set on a hand-hewn table, and now held a permanent place of honor between the two middle window seats on the ship’s portside.

Betty’s jumbled thoughts slipped into a hypnotic stare where, soon after, a new notion began to form. Her interest kindled, she scooted forward. Removing the pieces from the field, she left seven intact. Using four of those figurines, she created an unfinished, triangular diagram, moving the last three pieces to the wayside. After ruminating a moment, she took one of the sidepieces and filled in the bottom row of her improvised pyramid. As she did so, she heard familiar footsteps approach. She didn’t look up, she knew who it would be, she just didn’t care. The appearance of Steve’s red uniform confirmed her hunch.

“Betty, can we try this again, please?” he said softly.

To her surprise, Steve sounded humble. But as far as she was concerned, it didn’t matter how he felt at the moment.

“There’s nothing left to say,” she replied with indifference, her attitude matching her mood, keeping her attention centered on the layout. She took the sixth piece from the edge and with it, topped off the tapered end, thereby finishing the configuration. She looked at the piece alone on the side and frowned.

All the while, Betty could feel Steve’s eyes on her. She didn’t like it and she hoped if she ignored him long enough, he would get the message and go away.

“When did you start learning chess?” he asked.

Betty winced. She knew he was trying to break the iceberg between them, but all he had done was strike another raw nerve.

“I haven’t,” she said with more sharpness than she had intended. I haven’t learned yet, she thought, but she wasn’t about to explain that to him. The way she was feeling, she was afraid of what she might say should she open her mouth. She heard Steve shift restlessly on his feet.

“Seven pieces . . . us?”

Agitated, Betty drew in air while rolling her eyes. Steve was not getting the hint! “Yes,” she said through gritted teeth and forced patience.

“Why the triangle? And why is this one in the corner?” She saw Steve pick up the lone piece and cradle it in his hand. As he waited for her answer, Betty could see by his expression that he recognized her reluctance to confide in him. He looked bothered by it. She didn’t know why it should because it never mattered to him before.

“Come on, Betty, talk to me.”

Betty stiffened at the thought, redirecting her focus to the board and her scenario.

“I promise I won’t say a word until you’re done.” He sounded sincere. And remorseful.

At this moment, Betty didn’t understand him or the game he was playing, which only heightened her already irritated mood. And it was annoyingly clear that he wasn’t going anywhere. “Why, Steve? Why all of a sudden the small talk?”

“Because I’m sorry. And maybe because we haven’t had a real talk in long while.”

Betty’s anger blazed as her head flew up. “We’ve never had a real talk!” She saw him flinch, which gave her a minute bit of satisfaction.

“Maybe it’s time we started.”

Betty couldn’t believe what she was hearing! Nor did she want to. Gripping the armrest, she riveted her concentration to the pyramid.

“Please?” Steve urged.

She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, wishing that Steve would go away because . . . his sincerity was beginning to get to her. Plus Steve Burton never begged—not for any thing from any of them, especially her, so it stunned her that he was doing so now. Her hurt and hostility was waning, and most of all, she too hated the tension between them.

“You said this was the seven of us?” he repeated.

It was also evident that Steve wasn’t going to give up despite her silence. Betty exhaled in resignation then picked up a piece. “Haven’t you ever wondered why we’re the only ones who have survived? I mean, the seven of us, in particular?” She looked at him.

Steve shook his head. “Not especially, no.”

Betty motioned at the pyramid. “Of all the people who could have been thrown together, why the seven of us? We have nothing in common, yet our specific group has prevailed here the longest and remained intact. Why?”

Steve shrugged casually. “I’m hooked. Why?”

“Because each of us has something that is essential to the endurance of the group. Take any one away . . .” she removed the center piece, “and the triangle collapses.” She knocked down the remaining setup.

“Each of us?” Steve lowered himself from the arm of the chair to its edge. “In what way?”

Hearing Steve’s genuine curiosity, Betty felt her cheeks flush. “It’s only philosophical,” she said, leaning in to realign the pieces in no special order. “It doesn’t—”

“No, no, I want to hear it.” Steve crossed his arms. “You’ve got me intrigued.”

“Well . . . .” she hesitated, unsure. Taking the “king,” she placed it in the center of the chessboard. “That’s you.”

“The king,” he chortled. “Mark would love that!”

Betty frowned, ignoring his amusement. “Your expert piloting ability landed us here safely, and your instinctive leadership skills have kept us together, as well as in line. Without that, we all would have scattered a long time ago. Particularly. . .” she moved another piece, this one below the king to start the center row, “. . . Mark.”

Steve shrugged. “It’s just the natural instinct of survival. Without me, any one of you would have taken on the leadership role.”

“Maybe.” She cocked her head in thought. “But none of us could have handled Mark the way you can. Take him away,” she removed “Mark” from the table, “and we lose our best chance of getting the ship fixed.”

“Intriguing theory.” Steve’s brow folded in avid attention. “Go on.”

She returned the piece to its position, setting a new figure beside it. “Dan,” she clarified. “For his athletic agility, as well as a steam valve for you. He’s proven himself to be a natural hunter, and he’s someone you can confide in. Without him, you probably would have murdered all of us in our sleep.”

“You might be right about that,” he said lightly. He reached over, moving the fourth piece below “Dan” to start the bottom tier. “Fitzhugh?”

“Simple comic relief. Without him, we wouldn’t have much to laugh about.”

“He’s also gotten us into more trouble than I can remember,” Steve scowled. “Or care to.”

“Has he?” She looked up at him. “Or does it just seem that way? How many times has he been caught compared to you and Valerie, though your actions were purely for our well-being.”

“I never really counted. Nor do I want to.” Taking the queen, he put it next to “Fitzhugh”. “Speaking of Valerie . . . .”

Betty stared at the queen. She didn’t really want to tell Steve the truth on this one, and searched for the words that would let her circumvent the explanation.

“Come on, tell me,” he joked upon her faltering. “I want to know what value she has to the group.”

“Okay . . . ,” she worded herself carefully, “Valerie is an incentive as well as a distraction.”

“She’s a distraction, all right,” Steve snorted. “But I can’t see her as an incentive unless it’s to get us home faster and get her out of my hair!”

“Just take my word for it; she is.” She reached out for the sixth piece.

“Ahhh, no,” Steve’s arm shot out, staying her hand. “You’re the one who got me interested, I want a full account. In what way is she an incentive to the group?”

Betty debated about giving a mock answer but she wasn’t in the mood to lie. “All right, you asked for it . . . Valerie is the enticement that keeps you, Mark, and Dan fighting so hard to get back to Earth for.”

“Whoa!” Steve jumped from the chair. “You are wrong!”

“Am I?” she asked, eyeing him. “Valerie is a very attractive woman. A man would have to be blind, deaf, and dumb not to be attracted to her.”

“That’s absurd!”

“Is it? God installed a natural drive to cohabitant and multiply, but for the best under the worst given circumstances we’ve been forced to go against our own human instinct. Valerie is a constant reminder that a woman like her could be waiting for any one of you men on Earth where you would no longer be held in such a restraint.”

Betty watched him. Steve had one hand on his chin another on his hip, his expression dead serious as he mulled over her theory. He looked from the pyramid to her. “And what about you?” He sounded concerned. “Don’t you fit into that category?”

Uncomfortable and embarrassed, Betty leaned into the table, quickly saying, “I’ve never deluded myself into thinking I was anything more than the sister-type to you three. No,” she shook her head, “Valerie brings out the chivalry in men, their total feeling of masculinity. I’ve seen it many times on my flights. Men will do whatever it takes to win a woman like her. And anything they can to keep her.”

When Steve didn’t comment, she peered up. “I’m sorry if I broke the illusion,” she said to his troubled look.

“So’kay,” he replied, resuming his seat still contemplating the setup. “It’s not the illusion that bothers me, as much as feeling like a glass window.”

“Oh, Steve,” she sighed, “it’s not just you, it’s all men. When they see Valerie coming, they react like they were born yesterday.”

An uneasy look crossed his face as he quickly cleared his throat. “Changing subjects . . . .” He moved the sixth and final piece onto the row. “What’s your theory on Barry?”

“He was tricky and it took awhile, but his presence forces us to ‘keep up appearances’, thereby, keeping us civilized. Without him, I think we would have torn each other apart months ago. Instead, we’ve behaved ourselves for his sake.”

“I’ll buy that,” he nodded. “And finally . . .” he liberated the remaining seventh piece from the side, and set it on the field, “. . . you.”

Betty shook her head, lost. “I have no idea.”

“You don’t know where you fit in?” he gaped.

She shook her head simultaneous with a shrug. “I’ve tried several ideas, but nothing works.”

Steve thought a moment. “Mother to Barry?”

“No, he’s too old for that now. Older sister is the closest and then he also has Val.”

“A friend for Val.”

Betty did a surprised double take at him. “Valerie is happiest when she’s the center of a man’s attention, not a woman’s,” she said sourly.

“Not even to discuss clothes, make-up . . . complain about us men?” he jested, giving her a wry grin.

Disarmed by his teasing, Betty couldn’t refuse a smile. “Not on this planet,” she said, soberness in her voice as she studied her creation. “Nope. I’ve tried and tried, but I can’t see where my absence would make any difference here. Pretty ironic given that I wasn’t supposed to be on this flight in the first place.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Annie McGillis, my roommate. She was scheduled for this flight when she came down with the flu.”

“I remember Annie,” he smiled fondly, gazing at the ceiling. “A pretty brunette with hair down to her knees.”

“That’s her.”

“Betty, if your theory is correct then you were meant to be here. Annie wouldn’t have lasted a week on this planet.”

“Not good enough. It has to be something more—”

“Still hiding out, I see,” Valerie hollered from the doorway.

Betty swiveled the chair around, spotting the vivacious redhead peeking in from the corridor, grinning from ear to ear.

“Chow’s on! Mark and Fitzhugh stumbled across a turkey and cheese sandwich!”

“On our way,” Steve replied. Getting to his feet, he peered down at her. “Betty . . . just because you can’t think of something doesn’t mean you aren’t important to the group because you are! You do a lot around here, trust me when I say that. You’re one of the few I don’t have to worry about every second and believe me, that’s a big load off my mind.” He lowered his hand to her, hitching his head towards the hatch. “Shall we?”

“You go. I’ll be out in a minute.”

He walked away, but then she heard him backtrack. She looked up, curious.

“Betty, again, I apologize.” Steve’s face was serious, the sentiment sincere.

“I forgive you.” She meant it as well. “Now go. And save some food for me!”

“I will,” he nodded.

As he departed, Betty rested against the cushion, her mind and emotions awhirl over his unexpected and enlightening comments. As much as she wanted to believe him, her confidence was overshadowed by doubt and glumness. “’You do a lot around here’,” she muttered. “Yeah, but is it of any significance?”

<<<>>>

Betty exited Spindrift making a beeline for the lean-to. It was several days thence from her and Steve’s blowup and even though they were comfortable with each other again, she hadn’t brought up the party and neither had he. She glanced at the morning sun, pleased that they were getting an early start, and ducked under the tassels.

Her fellow strandees idled around the shelter, waiting for their departure.

She went to the solitary cot and, per her mental list, began double checking its contents. Assembled were the two green, store-bought rucksacks, one of their hand-sewed backpacks, and two of the four blue canteens. Inside the packs were the usual weapons and miscellaneous gear they had carried when going on an extensive parts-hunting expedition. These included bedrolls, food, compass, extra rope of varying lengths, flashlight, flint, the plastic container of pepper, shovel, crowbar, and extra sacks. To her satisfaction, everything essential was contained. And then she giggled. She always did when she saw the green Gucci rucksacks.

Four months ago Steve, Dan, and Mark needed to exam the wiring that ran through the cargo bay and in order to do so, everything needed to be removed from the hold. When they dragged Valerie’s large streamer trunk out from the lower storage compartment, Val’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “I’d forgotten all about that trunk!”

When she opened it, inside they found all sorts of high-end camping equipment: canteens, knapsacks, battery-powered lights, an over-the-shoulder pouch, among other things.

As everyone looked at her in astonishment, anger, and annoyance, Valerie turned as red as her hair.

“I’m sorry,” she sputtered, radiating her most disarming smile. “I didn’t know that stuff was in there.” Adding quickly upon their disbelief and skepticism: “Hey, I never packed my own suitcases. My assistant always did it for me! I just told him where I was going and what I planned to do, and he made sure I had everything I needed to have a fantastic time!”

The discovery was a celebration in and of itself, and they forgave Val . . . eventually.

Lowering herself to a seat beside the equipment, Betty began tapping her fingers on a canteen in excited anticipation. She hadn’t been away from camp in a long time, and she had much hopes that the change in scenery would do her sagging spirits a world of good. Hearing chatter from the direction of Spindrift’s hatch, Betty looked over and saw Steve and Dan on the steps, the newly recharged radios in their hands. At their approach, she stood, throwing one of the knapsacks over her shoulder.

Next to her, Mark picked up the hatchet and held it out to them. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come?”

Steve shook his head. “No, you’re too close to fixing the solar batteries. I’d rather you keep on it. We have your list of what you need. Besides, the three of us are starting to go a little stir crazy and need to get away from here for awhile.”

“Aren’t we all?” Val giggled. “Just be careful, okay?”

“We will,” Dan replied.

“And we all hope . . . ,” Barry yawned, unable to stop himself, “you find everything on the list and more.”

Betty gazed proudly at him, as did the rest of them. The teen had successfully completed his third night of sentry duty.

“We’ll give it a good try,” Steve said, giving Barry a clap on the shoulder. He hoisted the green-dyed knapsack onto his back as Dan did the same with a third. Adjusting its strap, Steve addressed his two crewmates. “Ready?”

Betty nodded as Dan received the hatchet from Mark. “Ready as we’ll ever be,” Dan said.

Satisfied, Steve addressed the remaining four. “We’ll be back the day after tomorrow.”

“May your food and equipment search be abundant with many rewards!” blessed Fitzhugh.

“What, Fitzhugh? That huge sandwich not big enough for ya?” Valerie chuckled, poking Fitz’s rounded abdomen. Her jolly demeanor faded as she panned her friends. “Take care and give our love to Mr. Bird Watcher.”

“I believe a more fitting term is ‘biologist,’” Fitzhugh corrected haughtily.

Valerie’s expression mutated to one that said she was biting her tongue—fiercely!

“Don’t worry,” laughed Dan, “Ole Birdie and his friend, Snail Chaser, haven’t been around this part of the woods in days.”

“Good,” Mark said with surprising fervent. “Maybe he’s decided to do his researching elsewhere.”

Steve scanned their motley group then gave an encouraging, “Let’s go.” Reaching down, he gave Chipper a pat on the head then started out.

The trio were psyched for the long haul and as they wordlessly made their way to the city-side park entrance, Dan took point, Betty next, Steve coming last.

The section of the planet where the strandees lived was not heavily populated or highly developed, which accounted for the pockets of foliage they had discovered when seeking refuge while in the metropolis. In fact, on that fateful day when Steve had brought Spindrift down for its second emergency landing, he unknowingly had alighted the spaceship near the demarcation between the forest and a modest park. The recreation area paralleled the city and had winding concrete paths, a pond, wooden benches and numerous glades for family gatherings. North and West of this was the forest. The woodlands were dense and far-reaching, the majority of which the little people had yet to explore. There was also a wide, fast-moving, fresh-water river that was perfect for camping and fishing. It also provided for the little people’s water needs, including an occasional bath. Opposite the river, far past Spindrift to the East, was a suspension bridge with the equivalent of an ocean lapping underneath it.

The trek was proving to be an easy one, for which Betty gave a silent, much appreciated thanks. The temperature wasn’t too hot or too cold, nor was the air smothered in humidity, making it the perfect weather for an easy-going hike. On several occasions they had to hide from scavenging animals and early morning dog-walkers, but none of the encounters had been anything near life threatening.

Dan, Steve, and Betty were nearing the park perimeter when they again heard the unmistakable rustling amidst the ground cover. They each automatically dropped to the ground or onto one knee and waited on casual alert, their ears attuned to the environment, and scanning the area for a hidden foe. None appeared, nor did they hear anything other than the indigenous inhabitants. Confounded, they swapped nervous glances.

“I know I heard the bushes move!” Dan pivoted in his visual search of the area.

“So did I.” said Steve, his eyes squinting hard at the greenery in front of them.

“Quiet!” Betty hissed, “I hear something!”

She cocked her head as the two men fell silent. A second later, they too detected a faint, hissing sound, prompting another round of disturbed looks.

“What is that noise?” Betty whispered fearfully.

Dan shook his head, his eyes darting everywhere. “I hear it, but where’s it coming from?”

“Best not to stick around,” Steve urged. He stood; Betty and Dan following suit.

They hastened down the trail, each vigilant for an attack.

Dan, already in lead, rounded the trail’s curve first. He glanced behind to check on his friends, only to discover they were yet several paces behind him. Dan waited, looked and listened, his heart pounding as he did so. He heard something and wheeled, but suddenly his body felt numb, his head woozy. Swaying, he reached for a branch, but failed to grasp it. Dan fell, and was unconscious before his head hit the dirt.

Steve and Betty rushed into the bend and had a bare glimpse of their prone friend before they too dropped like a stones.

<<<>>>

In the shadows of late afternoon, the anxious Barry and Fitzhugh watched Mark gently smack Steve’s ashen face while Valerie attended the comatose Dan. After five minutes, much to the growing alarm of their friends, neither man had yet responded,

“Come on, Steve, wake up!” Mark growled as he lifted Steve’s eyelid to check the pupils.

Valerie, cradling Dan’s head on her lap, passed a dark brown bottle of foul smelling liquid under the man’s nose. Slowly, he began to stir. “Dan’s coming around!” She shouted in relief. She gave Dan a second round of the bottle to which the man wildly flayed his arms in an attempt to push away the offensive odor. “Easy, Dan,” she soothed. “Here, Mark.” She swung the bottle over to him. “Try it on Steve.”

Mark took it, pausing to observe Dan’s reaction.

“Oh, my head,” Erickson moaned as he rolled onto his side from whence he struggled to sit up. He was about to tip over again when Valerie nabbed his wrist and pulled him into a sitting position. Grimacing in pain, Dan bent over, gripping his head in his hands. “What giant stepped on me?”

Mark looked at Burton with quiet amusement in spite of the situation and then positioned the bottle under Steve’s nose, letting him get a good, hefty dose of the stimulant.

Steve jerked, pulled away, and just like Dan, flung up his arms to ward off the stench while frantically scrambling to right himself.

“Captain, it’s okay!” said Barry. “It’s us: Barry, Mark, Val, and Fitzhugh.”

Dan blinked at them through wet eyes. “What hit us? I feel like I’ve been run over by a giant truck!”

“You tell us,” said Mark. “Barry and Fitzhugh found you lying here, oblivious to the world.”

Steve shook his head, instantly sorry he had done so. “I have no idea.” Stretching out onto his stomach, he crossed his arms and dropped his head.

Valerie’s wide eyes whipped from one man to the other. “Didn’t you hear anything? See anything?”

Steve started to shake his head again, but thought better of it. “No,” he said.

“Yes!” Dan shouted with a painful wince. “That hissing sound.”

“That’s right.” Steve gingerly turned his head. “But I didn’t see where it came from.”

“Neither did I.” Dan’s forehead creased as he searched around, concern crossing his face. “Where’s Betty?” His eyes fell to Mark. “Did you take her to camp already?”

“Oh, no!” Fitzhugh drew back in horror.

Dan raised his head as he and Steve looked worriedly among the others.

“Captain,” said Barry, his voice shaking, “Betty wasn’t here when we found you.”

“Are you sure you didn’t see a giant take her?” Mark demanded.

“Positive!” said Dan. “She was right behind me when I rounded the hedge. She and Steve.”

“Then she’s gone.” Valerie’s voice trembled. “And we haven’t a clue as to where she is!”

<<<>>>

Betty was half-asleep when she felt the soft downy covers at her fingertips and smiled with contentment. This was the best sleep she had had since their diverted arrival on the planet. Burrowing her nose in the fresh-scented pillow, she slid her hand over the clean cotton linen. Enjoying its sweet, cool sensation, she tried to remember the last time she had slept on crisp, ironed sheets—her eyes shot wide, her throat tightening in horror. Thrusting herself upright, she saw the room for a half-second before a massive pounding assaulted her brain as though delivered by a sledgehammer. She gripped her head; the pain escalating with every move she made. The room began to spin and Betty dropped to the bed, fisting the sheets in a futile attempt to end the swirling.

She remained prone. For how long she couldn’t tell because the room had no clock. She wanted to brush away her tears on her cheeks; moving slowly, she did so, realizing that the vertigo was dissipating even as the intensive pounding continued. You’ve been through worse than this! her stubbornness rebelled. The training she had had as a flight attendant burst through the recesses of her scrambled consciousness, and Betty swallowed hard then took profound breaths, fortifying her resolve. She braved moving her head, but ever so slightly, until she could determine her limitations.

To her guarded enthusiasm, the vertigo had ended and the headache had alleviated to the point where she could sit up and move around with little discomfort—fury, dismay, and embarrassment collided all at once! She had been re-dressed from her pink mini-dress and tights into light summer pajamas of green cotton gingham! Forcing back her emotions, Betty checked herself over and found, to her relief, that she had suffered no additional injuries or pain, other then that of the dull headache.

Adrenaline fueling her anger, Betty sat up, swinging her legs over the edge to survey her surroundings. She was in a huge four-poster bed in a large room that was bright, airy, and painted in various hues of moss green and beige. There were white curtains on three windows, and the furniture consisted of a make-up table, armchair, tall dresser, two bedside tables, and a short bookcase. Of the two doors she saw, one lead to a hallway and she guessed the other to be a closet.

The place was beautiful, but . . . , she discerned, her heart thundering in her chest, nothing in the room is larger than I am or man-made improvised! It was all normal-sized! The air rushed out of her lungs as she realized the only thing out of place was her.

“I’m in a dollhouse, I must be!” she cried aloud, needing to hear her own voice. “But how?” Shutting her eyes, she pressed her fingers to her temple. “Think, Think! The last thing I remember is—” her eyes flew open, “Oh God! Steve, Dan, where are you?” A fresh stab of pain struck at the base of her neck and she bit her lip to control it. God, let them be all right! Terrified over their fates, her fears and anguish grew.

And with it so did the headache and disorientation.

Forced to yield to the unbearable pain and its crippling effects, Betty crawled onto the covers and closed her eyes, but she couldn’t stop asking a thousand questions, none of which she found an answer to. Eventually, release came when she drifted off into a restless sleep, her last thoughts being with Spindrift and the people in it.

<<<>>>

It had been twenty-four hours since Steve, Dan, and Betty had first left camp for the hunt; except now Steve and Dan lay motionless on the lean-to bunk bed, cold compresses on their brows to ease their throbbing heads. Barely able to move since their initial awakening, the men’s forced confinement had only added to their helplessness and frustration.

Chipper lay napping on the ground, serving as unofficial sentry for the two men, when a new sound perked up his ears. Raising his head in rapt concentration, Chipper’s tail began to wag in friendly recognition, followed by a short welcoming yelp.

Valerie stepped into the enclosure, gave the dog a doleful, “Hi, Chipper,” then veered to the bunk beds. She started with the top bed, placing next to Dan a shallow dish containing two fresh ice packs. Lifting the corner of his current pack, she whimsically asked, “How’s the head, Dan?”

The pilot cringed, turning away from the abrupt brightness. “Have you ever had a concussion?”

“No, but how ‘bout a hangover after a three-day party?”

“Bingo!”

“Ouch!” Val grimaced. “You have my sympathy, brother.” She exchanged the warm pack for the cold one, delicately replacing it over Erickson’s forehead and eyes.

She next squatted down to Steve on the lower level. “How ‘bout you, Skipper?” she asked, repeating the procedure. “How ya feeling?”

“I’d rather listen to Fitzhugh bellyache,” he said without humor.

“Now that is bad.”

“I resent that!” Fitzhugh bellowed as he entered the shelter, followed by Barry.

Chipper let out a happy bark as his master slid onto the single cot nearby and scooped him up onto his lap.

“Chipper,” grumbled Dan, “you do that again and you’re gonna end up a rug!”

Val looked between Fitzhugh and Barry. They and Mark had been out searching for Betty after having brought Steve and Dan back to camp. “So,” she asked with guarded optimism, “how’d the search go?”

Mark appeared before the two could answer; his deflated expression and sagging shoulders saying it all. Without a word, he carelessly dumped the hatchet and grappling hook on the ground, and took a place next to Barry on the cot where he dropped his head into his hands.

Watching him, hope faded from Valerie’s eyes. “You were gone for so long, we had thought maybe—”

Mark’s head shot up, his face contorted with angry irritation.

Steve, having not heard an answer, raised the corner of his compress. “Anything?”

“You don’t see her, do you!” Mark jumped to his feet. “Don’t you think I would have—”

“Mark, chill!” Valerie ordered.

Mark glared at her and was about to retort when she gave a subtle nod at the cot behind him. He half-turned, saw Barry, and with understanding dawning, defused his explosive disposition. “No. There’s been nothing in the newspapers, on the radio, or at SID headquarters.”

“Damn!” Steve cursed, letting the pack’s corner drop.

“Don’t worry. We’ll find her somehow,” said Valerie. “We always have in the past.”

“And just how are we supposed to do that?” Mark growled. “We’ve nothing to go on this time!”

Val’s stance went rigid; she was about to reply, but Fitzhugh beat her to it: “Has it ever occurred to any of you, good people, that the young lady may have become tired of playing rat and turned herself in, in exchange for a warm place to sleep and a decent meal?”

“Fitzhugh!” Mark and Valerie chorused as Dan ripped off his ice pack, his face furious.

“Fitzhugh,” he growled, wincing as he leaned over the side, “the only one who tends to be the rat deserting a sinking ship around here is you! And if I ever hear you say that again about any of us, especially Betty, I’m going to sink your ship myself! Is that clear?!”

“Like a window,” the man sulked.

“We’re not just gonna give up, are we?” Barry’s eyes held fear and disappointment as he looked at each of them. “We are gonna keep looking till we find her, right?”

“No, Barry, we’re not gonna to give up.” Mark squared his shoulders. “We’re gonna get a few hours rest, brainstorm where else we might try, then go out and search some more.”

<<<>>>

Betty woke up blinking her eyes against the sun’s radiance, and was about to open them fully when she remembered—and froze in terror. Her heart racing, she pushed aside her fears and uncertainty, and began analyzing the facts and her options. Having rested, she felt more clear-headed and composed than she did when she had first awakened, and was, therefore, better able to deal with the dilemma. She bit her lip. She didn’t know what to expect, but the one thing she did know was that she had to face this world sometime. Steeling herself, she took a lungful of air, opened her eyes, and remained stock-still while studying the room.

She was in the same four-poster bed and green-beige bedroom as before which afforded her an odd sense of comforting affirmation. And as far as Betty could tell, nothing had changed since her last rousing, except the hallway door was now closed. All the furniture was of a matching maple design. Frilly lace curtains gently fluttered over the floor-to-ceiling windows, the vanity had a skirt made from the same material as the curtains, and an oriental rug partially covered the varnished wooden floors. A silver, ornate frame containing an 8 x 10 photograph sat prominently atop the bookcase, whereas the occasional rose-patterned accessories gave the room a distinct feminine feel. Overall, its style reminded Betty of the Victorian homes on Earth.

Betty wanted answers and there was only one way to get them. Dismissing her doubts and ignoring her shaking legs, she got out of bed. She had only taken three steps when the vanity’s three-way mirror caught her attention with a startling image.

Harboring disbelief, she went over. Her reflection proved she was thinner and paler than she remembered being. She had been slender to begin with but now she looked anorexic. Her strawberry blonde hair was cut shorter, too, and badly at that. “God, I’m a wreck . . . .” She closed her eyes to ward off the disparaging sight and then intentionally turned her attention to the room.

Betty roamed about, examining the room’s contents, coming to the quick conclusion that everything she touched, picked up, or inspected—the side table, bedpost, linens—were all unequivocally made to normal human size and not dollhouse replications.

“I’m not . . . little anymore. I’m a gi—” but her breath caught in her throat. “But how?”

A din of animated chatter and hearty laughter came to a crescendo outside the window. Curious and desperate, Betty went over and found, as expected, that she was on the home’s second story. A lone leaf, imbedded in the screen’s edging, flapped with a gentle breeze.

Betty leaned closer, studying its size and structure. “I am a giant, I must be,” she mumbled in dismay, her spirits sinking with its meaning. “No technology, not even on Earth, can shrink full-size leaves . . . or water, or fire, or any material for that matter.”

She peered at the street below where waves of people, looking-to-be her size, journeyed to and from a specific destination to her right. She guessed them to be part of a college crowd. Most of them were in their teens or early adulthood, several looking to be in their fifties and sixties. The majority of them carried briefcases or book bags, with a variety of about three to four books each.

The fragrance of flowers, carried by the warm breeze, filtered in through the screen. Raising her chin, Betty closed her eyes as it swept over her; wanting desperately to savor the delightful sensation and commit the delicate scent to memory. At home, their camp was so low to the ground that only an exceptionally strong zephyr could break through the dense undergrowth and wooden barriers.

Abruptly, Betty felt the oppressive, painful throb at the back of her head, but ignored it. She was finding, despite her precarious predicament, that she was enjoying (even a little thrilled) by the normalcy of it all: of having a colorful rug under her bare feet in place of dirt or grass; to go without shoes instead of having to wear them twenty-four hours a day. Of soft sheets on a real mattress rather than a rough hammock; four solid walls instead of trees or Spindrift’s metal hull around her. And to feel the direct warmth of the sun on her skin instead of the perpetual semi-twilight created by the blockage of the trees.

A hissing cat somewhere in the neighborhood jolted Betty out of her escapism. Reaching up, she fingered the lacy curtains. “How can this be?” She felt her fears seeping through. “Or have I totally lost my mind?”

Betty was not going to let her fears win! She swung around, lifted the screen, and leaned past the sill to view the community and gain her bearings—yet immediately she zeroed in on the large green and brown canvas far to the left. Could that possibly be . . . , she wondered, our park? Except there was no way she could recognize it from this angle, given the fact that they were always looking up, not down.

One thing Betty couldn’t deny—as much as she wanted to—and that was her throbbing head was growing worse. Cringing, her throat clutched with a sudden sob. At that moment, more than anything in the world, she wanted to be back there . . . at their primitive settlement . . . in Spindrift . . . with Steve, Dan, and the others.

But she knew wishing wasn’t going to get her anywhere. She swallowed her misery, pushed past the intensifying headache, and continued her mental note-taking.

The avenue curved outward on both sides of the house giving her an extended view of the area. Established homes with trees and gardens were to the lower left of the road, upper left was the park, and directly across the street were more beautiful houses. However, to the right of those residences was a parking lot. It seemed strange and out of place until she looked to the lower right, to the block next to hers. Past a line of shade trees stood a solitary three-story, concrete building. An institute of some kind, it was the obvious destination of all the traversing people. Four columns marked the entrance of its simple façade. The institute’s property was doted with elaborate black lampposts, which continued down the road further than Betty could see. The sun glinted off one particular post near the main entrance; the lamp appearing to be rust-colored.

Betty angled closer, recognition dawning, her pulse jumping. She and her companions had been to the city’s lone university on several occasions, specifically its Science Building. The only instance where they had hidden in a copper light fixture was at this center. It was memorable because afterwards they had teased Mark about the way he had drooled over the metal.

“Could it be?” Excitement caught in her throat. If this is the Science Center than this park was their home base, albeit their camp would be on the farthest side of the recreation area from this street.

Betty bit her lip, restraining her hope. She concentrated, thinking back to those trips to the university. She began recalling significant landmarks in detail when the headache ruptured into excruciating bursts of light, eradicating her thoughts and shredding her memory.

Violently dizzy, her legs quivering, Betty stumbled to the four-poster where she crawled under the covers, laid her head down, and forced herself not to think—about anything!

The torment eventually receded but with no clock in the room, Betty had no idea how long it had been. She massaged her temple (the dull ache being nearly gone) when a soft knock at the wooden door startled her. Not sure what to do, Betty did the only logical thing that came to mind: “Come in.”

A dark-haired man entered. He was carrying a food tray and paused at the threshold wherefrom he gave her a big, warm smile. “Good morning, darling. I am happy to see you are finally awake.”

He was clean-shaven and slightly older than herself she noticed. She was immediately struck by his familiarity, but her foggy brain couldn’t clarify as to where, why, or how she might have known him. Her distrust and cautionary instincts already on high alert, Betty scrutinized him closely as he placed the tray on the dressing table. She was an excellent judge of character, and despite her pain, she detected a repressed nervousness under his cheerful mannerism.

“I was not sure if you would be hungry after your ordeal, but I thought I would at least bring this in and let you decide for yourself,” he explained. He came to the bed, hesitated half a second as if not wanting to frighten her, and then gave her a soft kiss on the forehead.

Betty didn’t protest insomuch as she wasn’t sure if she had a reason to or not.

When she didn’t object, he grinned at her again, sat down on the bed’s edge, and tenderly encased her hands in his. “How are you this morning?”

The man’s tone was gentle, courteous, and he gazed at her with affection, suggesting to Betty that they had been quite close at some point; yet she couldn’t remember being intimate with anyone like him. Suddenly the dull ache sharpened, yet did not worsen.

“Ordeal? What—” she tried to ask more, but her tongue became knotted in a dozen questions.

“All in due time, darling.” His pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. “And yes, you’ve suffered through an ordeal. I brought you home from the hospital the day before yesterday. Do not worry,” he reassured her with a soothing smile. “The doctor said you would be very confused and most likely, you would not remember anything, even as short as a few hours ago. You were in a very bad car accident several months back and had a severe head injury. For a while, you even thought you were someone else. But you are home now where I can take care of you.”

His hand tightened, but not to the point of hurting her, she noted.

“I promise I will not let another bad thing happen to you ever again.” He sounded determined and sincere. “Now . . . are you hungry?”

“No—yes!” Despite her fear, Betty couldn’t deny her hunger any longer. Nor could she remember when she had last eaten.

“That is a good sign,” he nodded pleased, standing up. “Your memory was so badly affected you had forgotten to eat, literally, over the last few months.”

Questions galore ran through her mind as she scooted to sit up. The man retrieved the tray and placed it before her. It was a simple meal of a fried egg, two pieces of buttered toast, and a glass of orange juice.

He must have seen her puzzlement because he said without prompting, “Even though your physical injuries have healed, your mind is taking longer to repair itself. That is why the doctor insisted you should do nothing but rest. Also—and do not be alarmed—but because your head injury was a serious one, you will continue to experience terrible headaches and disorientation for a while.”

Thoroughly perplexed, Betty’s brow furled in concern as her hand went to her hair. She didn’t recall having any scars there, nor did she remember any car accident.

“Eat your breakfast and rest,” he said. “I have to go to the University for a while, but I will return home soon.” He bent down, giving Betty another kiss on the forehead. Taking the glass of orange juice from the tray, he placed it in her hand. “Drink up,” he urged. He headed to the door where Betty saw him stop and turn to watch her, his hand resting on the doorknob. By the time she finished the juice, his face was beaming. “We are going to be very happy again. Sleep well, my love.” He blew her a kiss then pulled on the door.

“Wait! Ah . . . ,” Betty fought to come up with a name, “um . . . .”

“Josh,” the man said, fighting an amused grin.

“Josh, um . . . ,” she felt the heat come to her cheeks and she was almost too afraid to ask, “who-ah, changed my clothes?”

“The nurse did. The one who has taken care of you since I brought you home. Now that you are getting better, I shall call the hospital and tell them her services are no longer necessary. Get some rest now. You need it.” Josh closed the door softly behind him.

Betty felt like she’d been dropped into a dream, but her common sense proved, beyond a doubt, that this was reality. Her tension was overriding her appetite, but she forced herself to eat regardless, much to the gratification of her growling stomach. As she nibbled on the toast, she looked about the room, and before long, her gnawing fear and anxiousness began to grow. The room lacked of familiarity, and was absent of any personal belongings. On a lowest level of the bookcase, she spotted unexpected hope in the form of a telephone book. That should give me some answers!

She thrust aside the tray and blankets and slid from the covers. At the shelf, she was about to kneel down to the book when the ornate frame caught her eye. Something about that photo did look familiar to her, and as she reached for it, understanding struck! Betty’s chest tightened and hand shook as she beheld the frame. It was a wedding photo. The jubilant couple had their arms around each other, and the inscription on the picture read: “Josh, may I always be as happy tomorrow as I am today. Love, Shayla.” The groom was the man whom delivered her breakfast, and Betty was the bride!

“This is not real! It can’t be!” Further cries choked in Betty’s throat as the persistent pain violently erupted, slashing into her already disjointed memory. I have to know! Cringing, she swung the phone book into her arms, flipping through it like a mad woman, her pounding heart accelerating with each turn of the foreign page.

“This isn’t Los Angeles or London! It’s not even—” The ache in her skull exploded, obliterating everything and driving Betty to her knees where the darkness took her.

<<<>>>

Steve awoke to the sun’s rays pinpointing through the camouflage and, heedful of his movements, sat up gingerly. So far, so good. With calculated care, he swung his legs over the side, and began putting on his socks. It had taken four days for the agonizing headaches to let up enough where he and Dan could get out of bed without keeling over, and four more days before they could join in on the searches. Even then, the relentless throbbing lingered for another three days. Now, thankfully, the throbbing was just a dull reminder at the base of his neck. By tomorrow, he figured, the discomfort should be completely gone.

Gone. The word echoed loudly in Steve’s head. He straightened up, but his whole body felt heavy. It had ever since Betty disappeared. Wearily, he drooped forward, his elbows on his knees, absently rotating his shoe end-over-end. A second hadn’t passed where he hadn’t thought of her. Most times, like now, he was racked with guilt, regret, and a deep sense of loss. Other times he remembered her with fondness, respect, and admiration.

And she’d been right when she said they hadn’t talked in depth. The deepest exchange they had ever had was during the storm incident when she had worn that damn white dress! Yet even after that, he never bothered to ask her about her private life. Nor had she of him. Maybe we were afraid to, Steve considered. Afraid we’d get too close. Or was it an odd way of denial? If we didn’t share our life stories then we remained casual working acquaintances on a short flight to London, maintaining the hopeful chances of a quick rescue.

Steve looked up at their humble campsite. One thing he couldn’t deny, no matter how he tried to rationalize it, the place was unmistakably different: quiet . . . and empty.

“You all right?” Dan called from the upper bunk.

“Yeah,” Steve replied as he finished tying his shoes.

“You’re thinking about Betty, aren’t you?”

“How could I not be?”

“Don’t berate yourself, Steve. There was nothing you or I, or any of the others could have done to stop it.”

“I know.”

“Then what’s eating at you? You’ve hardly said anything since she disappeared.”

“Nothing—EVERYTHING!” Steve leaped to his feet, frustration, anger, and helplessness eating away inside and began pacing like a penned lion. “I can’t stop feeling responsible. I was in charge of keeping her safe and I failed!”

“No, you didn’t—”

“I know!” he snapped, pacing harder. “I know I’m not to blame! Deep down in my soul I know this, but I can’t let it go. One minute she was here, the next minute she was gone! I worry if she’s being tortured, pampered, fed . . . .” he stopped, shook his head; his hand shooting to his yet sensitive temple. “I have nightmares about it. I wake up expecting to see her bringing water to camp, or sitting off under a fern leaf quietly working on something. Maybe even humming to herself like she sometimes did. But she isn’t here. And camp . . .” he waved a hand, “I can’t explain it, but it just isn’t the same without her.”

Dan gave a sorrowful nod. “She left a void we didn’t realize she filled.”

“If she had been captured or killed, I could have dealt with that, Dan, but she wasn’t. She’s just gone.” His shoulders sagged as he looked at him. “The day before she disappeared, Betty came up with this theory. She believed there was a reason why we were all here, the seven of us, in particular. She compared us to a pyramid: take one of us away and the whole scheme collapsed. It was an interesting concept that,” Steve laughed bitterly, “actually made sense.” His returning somberness trounced the chuckle. “Yet Betty couldn’t figure out where she fit in. Now she’s gone and we’re all at each others’ throats!”

“She had a stabilizing effect on us.” Erickson’s tone held compassion and sadness.

They went silent for a moment, but Steve felt Dan’s questioning eyes on him and sensed what was coming next.

“Come on, Steve, tell me,” he prompted. “What else is bugging you?”

A fresh source of guilt hit Steve as he stared down at his interlaced fingers. He didn’t want to burden him with this, but he had to tell someone, someone he trusted; otherwise, he felt as if he would explode and Dan, after all, was his best friend.

“I’m scared, Dan,” his voice came out thin. “One minute she was there, the next she was gone. If we don’t know what was used on us during this attack then how are we supposed to stop it from happening again?”

“And again, and again, and again . . . .”

Steve solemnly nodded. “Yeah.”

Dan’s eyes narrowed with determination, “We protect ourselves the best way we know how, that’s all we can do.”

“And what if we can’t! How do I explain this to Barry, Valerie, and Fitzhugh?”

Dan vaulted off the bunk, cringing upon landing. “You tell them you’re human and that you don’t know what’s going on. You lay out the truth, you hand them a hatchet, and you tell them to do whatever they have to do to protect themselves! And if anything does happen, you vow to them—just like we’ve always done—that we will hunt for them until they’re home again! And if that doesn’t reassure them then you remind them that we’ve survived over two years in this hellhole, and we will keep on persevering for as long as it takes. And considering our motley group has lasted the longest of any of ’em, I think that’s cause for celebration!”

Steve felt liked he’d been punched in the gut.

“What?” Dan asked, alarmed.

“That’s what Betty wanted to do before she disappeared,” he frowned deeply, “have a party to celebrate our survival.”

“And?”

Disheartened, and feeling like the ultimate jackass, he dropped heavily onto the cot. “And as usual I said no.”

“And you feel guilty about it.”

“Dan, if anyone else had come to me . . . Valerie, Barry, even Fitzhugh, I would have listened, but instead, I chewed her out. I dismissed her entire point without even considering it, without listening to what she was trying to tell me.”

“That’s one heavy bundle to carry. No wonder you’ve been so down.”

“Yeah. She was right too.” Steve grasped a pebble near his foot and chucked it hard at a tree. “I should have listened to her, Dan. Now I can’t even make it up to her. And maybe never will.”

“Steve . . . ?”

He looked up in surprise. Not only had Dan hesitated, but he sounded apprehensive.

“Could there maybe be something more serious going on here?” Dan asked, his expression one of concern.

Steve stiffened at the idea of where this might be going. “What do you mean?”

“I-ah,” Dan looked uncomfortable, “noticed things have been a little . . . different between you and Betty for a while now. Sometimes awkward, sometimes tense, but at the same time, you seem closer than you were before. You didn’t have a fight, otherwise you would have told me, so what’s the deal?”

“It’s nothing, Dan.” Steve looked away, not sure what to tell him.

Dan cocked his head thoughtfully at him. “But there was something. Or maybe you’re missing her for reasons you don’t want to admit to.”

“Come on, Dan,” he insisted sharply. “You know there’s no romantic connection between Betty and me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,” Steve restated with unfaltering resolve.

“But how do you know? You haven’t been apart in two years.”

“I’m just worried about her, that’s all. Same as I am when any of the rest of you are missing.”

“All right, ole buddy.” He patted Steve on the shoulder. “I just needed to hear it. And now, I’m gonna go scrounge up something to eat.” He took a step then turned back. “And Steve,” he spoke with undeterred tenacity, “we will find her.”

“But in what shape, Dan?”

“Alive! And in one piece. And in decent spirits. You have to believe that!”

“I’ll try.” Steve looked up, giving his friend a cautious smile. “Thanks, Dan.” As he watched him leave, Steve prayed that he was right; otherwise, he wasn’t sure how he’d be able to live with himself.

<<<>>>

The departing sun cast a sepia glow over the forest, attributing a haunting dimness to Spindrift’s settlement, but the remaining two people at camp were unaware. Barry stood firm upon the ground, his face knotted in concentration as he exerted his body to weigh down one side of a giant carrot. Meanwhile, at the other end, Valerie was pushing down with all her strength on the hatchet’s blade like a guillotine in her third attempt to slice it. The results were the same . . . faint indentations on the surface.

“How did Betty ever do this?” she grunted through gritted teeth.

“Need some help?” a masculine voice asked behind them.

A joyous grin sprang to Val’s face as she whipped around, abandoning the chore in flavor of the returning men. But her expression instantly faded, and neither she nor Barry needed to ask what the results were, they could see it their dismal faces.

Silently the foursome slid into seats around camp; Steve angrily slamming the hatchet down as he did so.

“Nothing at the zoo or the carnival,” Valerie stated with knowing weariness.

“Or at the Research Center,” growled Mark.

Barry picked up Chipper, holding him close. “It’s like she’s disappeared off the face of the planet.”

“Don’t say that, Barry!” Fitzhugh gasped. “Of course . . . ,” his forehead furrowed, “there is one other explanation.”

“Shut up, Fitzhugh,” Dan warned, his glare as menacing as his words.

“We have to be realistic about this!”

“I said shut up!”

“As you choose not to believe she walked off on her own, the only other logical explanation is one of—”

Dan flew off his seat. His face contorted in unbridled rage, he grabbed Fitzhugh with both fists and slammed him against the tree root before anyone could stop him. But seeing Fitzhugh shuddering in terror under his hands immediately doused his fury. Dan slowly released the frightened man, his demeanor morphing into abashment.

“I’m sorry, Fitzhugh,” he muttered, every word heartfelt and remorseful. “That was uncalled for.” Crestfallen and avoiding all eye contact, he resumed his place on the rock.

Fitzhugh raised his head high and straightened his tie, reestablishing his dignity. “It’s understandable. We are all distraught over our absent comrade. I will not take it personally, Mr. Erickson.”

Dan flashed him a grateful smile; one clearly overshadowed with embarrassment and regret.

“You keep forgetting one thing, Fitzhugh,” said Steve from atop a rock next to Barry. “If an animal was involved, why didn’t it take Dan or me?”

“I never claimed to be an expert on this planet’s animal habitude!” blustered the man. “I merely suggested it as a possibility!”

“You were doing more than suggesting, Mister Fitzhugh,” Valerie glowered at him. “And from here on—”

“—keep the possibilities to yourself!” Mark chided, a clear threat in his voice

“All right, that’s enough!” Steve yelled, loud and stern. “It’s been a long day. We should all turn in. I for one could use the sleep.” He stood and only got several steps when he heard Valerie giggle behind him, and thus did an about-face.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” she said to his bemusement, “I’m a little punchy.” She tried to stifle her laugh, but couldn’t. “The vision of Betty ferociously guarding the ship’s hatch so you could sleep popped into my head and struck me as funny.”

Steve peered at Dan, who shrugged, I’m lost, too. Both looked to Valerie.

“We’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Steve said, shaking his head.

“You had fallen asleep in the passenger cabin and Betty had sat on the entrance steps, refusing to let anyone enter the ship upon threat of death,” she giggled. “Don’t you remember? It was only . . .” her expression dropped like a rock, “two weeks ago.” Her face filled with sorrow, her shoulders slumping.

“It was right after your four nights of guard duty,” Mark picked up. “Betty found you in the chair and was determined to make sure you got all the sleep you needed, come hell or high water.”

Steve nodded, his expression grim. “I remember now.”

Barry’s mouth crinkled in amusement. “I remember when Valerie cut my hair too short on one side and Betty had to fix it.”

“Thank God she could or we’d all be in real trouble,” Fitzhugh teased lightly.

“I’ll . . . ah,” Valerie’s voice fluttered as she forced a reassuring grin, “do better from here on out, fellas. I promise.”

“And when I had appendicitis,” Barry added solemnly, “she constantly sang to me to keep my mind off the suffering.”

“She did that for all of us at one point or another,” volunteered Val, resting her sober head atop her folded arms on the root.

Dan hitched his chin at Mark. “I’ll never figure out how she got you to settle down after Delta effect disaster. We thought you’d kill yourself trying to repair the equipment damaged by the device.

“And trust me,” Steve joked on purpose, trying to disperse the stress, “when I say none of us wanted to go in after you.”

The truthfulness of his statement made the others laugh. Each then fell quiet, remembering the Delta’s near-mishap, its after effects, and the averted outcome in their own way.

“Mark,” said Dan, “I’m curious. Just what did Betty say to get you out of there?”

The engineer looked down at his hands as if weighing his words, then peered at his waiting audience and said: “Nothing.”

“Nothing?!” exclaimed the incredulous Fitzhugh.

“That’s right, nothing. I talked, she listened.”

Valerie gave Mark a disbelieving look. “You don’t talk. What did she do? Put Fitz’s revolver to your head?”

“No.” Mark gave a single shake of his head, followed by a brief knowing grin. “She handed me a glass of wine and—”

Fitzhugh shot upright. “My wine! She fed you my wine! The wine O’Reilly gave me!”

Steve, Dan, and Val scowled at the man, relaying their message of “shut up,” to which the con man promptly complied.

“Like I started to say,” Mark shot Fitz a hard look, “she handed me the wine glass then said ‘drink it and don’t argue.’ So I did. After a few minutes and several glasses, Betty said the right word—I don’t remember what it was—but I was running my mouth off like a broken water facet while she just sat there and listened.”

Dan nodded with thoughtfulness. “Betty could talk the birds out of the trees like no one I’ve ever met before.”

“Or Mark, in this case,” Steve chuckled, “which is the worst of the two evils.”

Mark grinned briefly in amused, albeit guilty, agreement.

“I miss her singing,” said Barry, his eyes downcast.

The group grew quiet, lost in their own somber memories, and finding themselves missing the woman more than they had ever believed possible.

Steve looked among his solemn companions. He knew this impromptu memorial service would make them feel somewhat better, but he was also sure it wasn’t good for morale in the long run. He stood. “If we’re gonna go searching tomorrow we’d better get some sleep.” He stripped off his jacket as the others started to make preparations for bed. “Night, everyone.”

Valerie, the last one remaining, rose slowly from the cot. “Night,” she said.

Sensing something wasn’t right, Steve turned at her words, watching her as she headed for the ship. She was more subdued than usual and that worried him. But it was a problem that could wait till morning.

A few short hours later, Steve shifted on his bunk for the hundredth time. Nightmares—past, present, and drastic scenarios of the future—plagued him endlessly, making sleep anything but restful. Jolting awake during the latest one, he rolled onto his side in another futile effort to get comfortable and was startled to find they were not alone. “Valerie?” His heart pounding, he squinted at the figure in the darkness standing between his bunk and Barry’s bed.

“I-ah,” she shrugged in the moonlight, “was lonely.”

Dan, rousing at the voices, peered down from his upper bed as Mark, Barry, and Fitzhugh also now awake, adjusted their positions to look. The woman had several of their blankets in her arms. Mark made a move to get up, but Barry leaped from his bed first.

“Betty taught me,” he said his head high, “that a gentleman always gives up his seat to a lady.”

“Thank you, Barry,” Val’s voice shook as she handed over the covers.

The men watched as Valerie settled in and the young man made a place for himself on the ground; none of them having the inclination to contradict Betty’s teachings, nor felt the need to rob Barry of his moment of chivalry.

<<<>>>

The days passed with no further trace of their missing friend. The little people, having no new outlets to search, doggedly revisited places that had surrendered information in the past, including Kobick’s office, the police building, and the public notice board at the park’s entrance. To their disappointment and discouragement, none of these sources yielded fresh leads to Betty’s whereabouts, or told them of her fate.

<<<>>>

Betty again paused in her chewing to relish the taste of the food. Each mealtime Josh brought a tray to her, surprising her with something different. This morning it was scrambled eggs, bacon, and croissants with jelly. She was still baffled as to why she should be so starved for flavor. It wasn’t like she hadn’t had food in a while and a variety of it at that, yet she always appreciated it as though it was her last meal.

The first few days home, she had been disorientated, anxious, and besieged by freakish nightmares. But those quickly went away once she’d listened to Josh’s suggestion in that the best way to rid herself of the incapacitating headaches was not to delve into or question the facts about her ordeal. He had explained that her recovery was similar to someone caught in a fog bank. Everything covered by the mist appeared surreal especially to her; so much so that she had taken on a new name (Betty Hamilton) and hallucinated about being one of the planet’s dreaded little people. Per Josh (per the doctor in the hospital), this dual personality was her psyche’s way of coping with her cranial injuries while the headaches acted as an incentive mechanism to force her back to reality.

To her delight, once she concentrated “on reality” her painful symptoms vanished, the horrible nightmares weren’t as frequent, and the distressing flashbacks had become mere flashes. Betty began to feel like a new person and would have cherished the thought had she not been haunted by one troubling problem: even though her present mentality and senses had returned to full clarity, her memory remained lost. She had no recollection of life with her husband or of her world prior to their marriage. Even her name, Shayla, didn’t feel right. However, Josh, like always, was more than happy to clear up any questions she’d had about her life, before, during, and after the accident.

Like a doting parent, Josh sat beside her on the bed, chuckling as she savored her meal.

Blushing, Betty smiled in amusement over his amusement about her. A warm fuzzy feeling surged through her, and she realized that . . . she liked what she was seeing and how she felt around him. He had a strong, slender build, deep brown eyes that always sparkled when he looked at her, and light olive skin that suggested to her a Mediterranean heritage. He was patient, attentive, and catered to all her needs while giving her endless encouragement. Her speedy recovery was all due to Josh’s ardent mission to make her well. She also had noticed that the more her health improved, the more Josh relaxed, giving testament of his genuine affection—his love—for her.

“Again,” Josh went on, sounding like a tutor, “what is your name?”

She was happy to reply: “Shayla Hoffsman,” her response mirroring her gleeful spirits.

“And how long have we been married?”

“Seven years.” She sipped the orange juice then shook her head. “So why does everything feel so strange to me. I don’t understand. If this is my home, why don’t I recognize anything?”

“Do not worry, darling.” Josh squeezed her hand. “Simply enjoy the thrill of exploring the house, and what it holds for you. All that matters is that you are here and safe.”

“But visions of that other person I pretended to be still keeps popping into my head.”

“I told you,” he persisted with tenderness as he removed the tray, setting it on the floor. “It will completely disappear in a few more weeks, and you will remember none of her. But you must be patient and I . . . ,” he leaned forward kissing her lightly on the lips then studied her reaction. When she gave no indication of pleasure or distaste, he frowned for half a second then broke into an understanding grin, “. . . must go to work.” Yet he did not move as he caressed her fingers and gazed at her face.

Betty felt warmth come to her cheeks. He doesn’t want to leave me.

“Maybe in a few days I will be able to move back in again, eh?”

Her blush deepened as she abruptly shifted her attention to the window to avoid answering. “Think it’s okay for me to take a walk? I could use some fresh air and new scenery. After all, I’ve been cooped up here for over a week. ” She looked at him, hoping for a ‘yes’.

Josh had already voiced his concerns about her having one of her episodes—and possibly injuring herself—when he wasn’t home; timorous to the point of her where he wouldn’t even allow her to go downstairs without him. But that changed yesterday when he hovered nearby while she made her way to the living room and back upstairs again. All without incident.

“Maybe it’ll jog something in my memory?” she titled her head in sweet pleading.

Josh placed a hand on his chin. After a long moment, he nodded. “You seem to be doing well on your feet. I think you are right and that a stroll around the neighborhood would do you good.” His expression turned stern. “Just do not go too far. Your headaches, remember?”

Betty burst into an ear-to-ear grin, crisscrossing a finger over her chest. “I promise!”

Josh gave her another peck on the forehead then departed for work.

She watched him go, listening to his footfall on the stairs. Suddenly, the house seemed quiet, lifeless, and cold. She missed him. And she didn’t know why but of late, she had felt isolated and distant from people. But Josh was changing all that. And she was liking what she was feeling.

Betty bounded out of bed. It took her only a few minutes to wash up and change into a casual tan tunic and brown jeans. Combing her hair before the mirror, she still couldn’t shake the unyielding feeling that everything she did—walking, brushing her teeth, taking a shower—were unnatural, foreign to her, surreal. But she quickly dismissed those feelings in favor of Josh’s explanation that these were merely a residual of her injury.

As Betty returned the brush to the drawer, a bird landed on the window sill—instantly she drew back in fear. And then she laughed at herself. “Why should I be so traumatized by a little bird?” She crept up to the window, the young robin regarding her with suspicion, yet staying. She came eye to eye with it, enjoying the moment, when it flew away. As she followed its path, Betty caught a glimpse of the vast green in the distance. The park mesmerized her, yet she couldn’t understand why it should. She tried to reason out the fascination, but her logic couldn’t override the emotional magnetism.

“Maybe it’s time I paid it a visit.” She pulled down the screen and put on her sneakers.

Fifteen minutes later, Betty stood on the park’s manicured lawn, her head raised to the sun, her arms stretched wide to capture the ray’s warmth. A gleeful grin went from ear-to-ear as she deeply inhaled, immersing herself in the scents and sounds encompassing her.

When she had first left the house, however, Betty had been struck by a moment of anxiety. Not fear in leaving the home itself, but more of paranoia as in expecting someone to prevent her purposely from doing what it was she wanted to do. But the second she entered the park she was filled with exhilaration at the privilege to roam free! To her, this feeling was confusing in and of itself, and she couldn’t deny the fact that even walking alone felt alien to her. Betty was tempted to analyze it, but her fear of bringing on an episode made her drop the idea. Rather, she set her worries free and let herself get swept up in the pure pleasure of meandering.

The ambling carried her through the park, over the concrete walkways to the worn down, mulched paths of the forest. Distracted by nature’s seasonal beauty, Betty wasn’t aware of the trail diminishing into dirt, nor that it had lead her into the denser part of the woodlands.

<<<>>>

“Fitzhugh!” Valerie hung the sloshing water bucket on its post, her angry eyes darting between him and Spindrift. A strong wind had blown through a few days ago leaving the ship’s bare orange hull glistening in the sun. “Steve told you to collect dry leaves so we could re-cover the ship and shelter!”

“Madame, I did the best I could!” Fitzhugh flung up his hand in exasperation, his face bright red. “Despite being made of light material, they are giant-sized, and therefore, heavy! In addition, madam, there were few leaves untouched by this morning’s heavy dew, making them undesirable for the captain’s needs!”

“You’ve got nothing better to do,” she hissed, “go out and find some!”

“I tell you I—”

“Hey!” Dan’s shout came from just beyond the trailhead. “Stop yelling! You want the giants to hear you?” He and Mark broke from the woods, lugging a ring of barbed wire between them. Behind them followed Barry, carrying a beach ball-sized potato.

Val gave an irritated sweep of her hand. “Our resident con man here was supposed to bring back dry leaves and didn’t.” Her eyes drilled into him. “He was probably inside the ship napping!”

“I resent that!”

“It can wait!” Mark barked, dropping his side of the load. “Right now he can help us cut this up.”

Fitz’s chin went up. “Captain Burton made it perfectly clear—”

“I’m not gonna argue with you, Fitzhugh!” Dan scolded. “If it were perfectly clear, there would be leaves on that ship. Now go get the cutting tools! And the radios,” he added with forethought.

“Someone should make up his mind!” Fitzhugh mumbled, sulking away.

“Speaking of the captain,” Dan looked around, “where is Steve?”

Valerie jabbed her index finger at the ship. “Attacking the auxiliary control system.”

“He was supposed to wait until . . . ,” Dan’s growl trailed off as he hurried into Spindrift, to the elongated room located at the right rear of the passenger cabin. At the Engine Room threshold, he paused, observing Steve on the floor near the back wall. The man was lying stretched out on his side, parallel to the auxiliary bank’s end-cap, which had been pulled away two inches from the back hull. Steve’s arms were hidden inside the panel’s workings. It was an awkward position at best, and Dan had arrived just in time to hear the screwdriver clatter to the deck and Steve’s furious cursing as the tool rolled out from under Burton’s elbow into the main floor. As he watched his friend’s hand grope the floor in search of the elusive tool, Dan’s irritation turned to mild amusement.

Steve, unable to find the instrument, cursed again then dropped his head onto his arm in defeat.

“Using dynamite would have been easier,” Dan said lightly, “Or you could have just waited for us.”

“I thought I’d get a head start.”

Dan reached down, pulling Steve to his feet, both falling silent as Burton directed his attention to the solar battery encasement unit, directly left of the end-cap. Power was no longer reaching the light panel so even if they did get the batteries recharged, they’d have no idea how much juice the cylinders held or for how long.

Dan watched and waited a moment before his rising annoyance got the best of him. “So, is this how you’re gonna deal with the Betty situation? By working yourself to death?”

“What are you talking about?” Steve didn’t look over.

“I heard you get up in the middle of the night. You were checking the wiring to the ship’s oxygen tanks, weren’t you?”

Steve slammed a rag at the equipment. “I want to get us home, Dan! Home before something else happens.”

“And you think killing yourself is the way to do it? I heard you mumbling in your sleep, tossing and turning. You haven’t had a full night’s rest since she disappeared and it’s getting worse!” He saw Steve’s expression go taut, his eyes filling with a haunting gaze Dan hadn’t seen before.

“What am I supposed to tell her family when we get home?” Steve looked at him. “That we lost her and never found her again? I don’t want to lose anybody else, Dan. And the only way to do that is to get this ship off the ground!”

“And just who do you think you are? God?” Dan stepped closer. “No! You’re a human being. You can’t do any more than you already have! And you’ve done a great job as it is, but there comes a time, Steve, when you have to remind yourself that you are only human, and that the rest is in God’s hands!”

Outside, Valerie, Barry, and Fitzhugh had been assigned watch duty by Mark and each currently stood, handsets ready, about a giant yard beyond camp at triangular points around the spaceship. Mark had started dissecting the wire with the cutting tool, and although the grinding was faint and couldn’t be heard fifteen feet past him, he had elected not to take chances.

Chipper had been commanded by Barry to “stay with Mark,” to which the animal obeyed by making himself comfortable at a spot near the lean-to. Now, a distant crackle in the woods made his head shoot up in alarm; his ears rising and dropping with the sounds. With a short yelp, he jumped to his feet, dashed to Mark’s workstation, and abruptly halted. His body immobilized in awareness, he raised his nose sniffing at the air. Slowly his tail began to wag until it was slapping back and forth like a whip. With another yep, Chipper leaped about, his barking incessant as though he were playing a game with his master.

“Quiet, Chipper!” Mark ordered. But the dog ignored him. He bent to grab its collar but he stopped midway; it suddenly dawning on him that Chipper was acting more like he was greeting a friend as opposed to warning them of an attack. He set down the tool, peered into the woods, and listened for the telltale sounds of movement from a visitor, any visitor. “Chipper, I said quiet,” but his attempt was half-hearted as he tracked someone running towards him from beyond the rear direction of the camp. Seconds later Barry burst from the woods through the small alley between the ship and the washing tree.

“Giants?” Mark asked, his stance tense.

“No, not yet,” Barry panted as he whisked up his pet. “Hush, Chipper! We can hear you!”

To Barry’s surprise, the dog fought hard to get free, nearly causing his owner to drop him.

Valerie, too, having heard the dog, came rushing into camp. “What’s wrong?” She asked looking among Barry, Chipper, and Mark.

“Nothing, yet,” Mark replied, scanning the foliage surrounding them.

Inside the engine room, Steve paced. “Dan, I know I’m not God! Betty’s absence has triggered an anxiousness I can’t shake. All the fears, the worst case scenarios we’ve buried away are playing in my mind like a film that won’t shut off. The regrets . . . the could-have-been . . . the what-will-happen-if stuff . . . .” Steve stopped and turned to his best friend. He could no longer deny that he felt lost, dispirited, and afraid. “And it’s not just about Betty, it’s for all of us.”

Dan stared hard at him. “Something . . . did happen . . . between you two.” Steve’s hesitation was all he needed to confirm his suspicions. “Look,” he said evenly, “I can figure out for myself that it wasn’t anything serious, but something did happen, didn’t it?”

Knowing he couldn’t lie any longer, Steve let out the air he’d been holding. “We kissed.” He held up his index finger. “Once. Several months back.”

Dan gaped then closed his dropped jaw. “A brother-sister-type kiss?”

Steve gave a short, terse chuckle. “Not even close.”

“Well, that explains some things.” Dan cut him a dubious look. “Just once? And nothing’s happened after that. Not in all these months?”

“Nope. Nothing. We both acknowledged there was no chemistry, no attraction between us . . . no guilt, no regrets,” he shrugged. “Nothing to be ashamed of and we let it go at that.” Steve watched Dan as he tried mentally to decipher the timeline, but couldn’t quite figure it out.

Dan raised his arms and shoulders in surrender. “How? When?”

“Three months ago when that freak storm shot through here. You remember it, you and the others came home to found a tree branch atop Spindrift.”

Thinking back, Dan nodded. “Yeah, you two were alone, all right. And the kiss?”

“We were hiding in the cabin when the tree fell. We were both scared out of our wits so we turned to each other for comfort.”

“Yet neither of you ever gave a hint that something romantic had happened.”

“Dan, it wasn’t romantic, it was terror! We couldn’t escape the ship. If we tried, we would have been pummeled to death by the raindrops or drowned in the flashflood. For all we knew, it was our last moment on Eart—alive. Nothing more happened outside of that one occurrence.”

“Yet it was enough to trigger your nightmares and guilt. Are you burying some heightened feelings for her?”

“No,” Steve shook his head. “The only thing heightened from that experience was my respect for her.” He saw Dan arch a questioning eyebrow. “I was berating myself in the cockpit when Betty came in and told me everything was okay, and that there was nothing personal between us.” Thinking about the rest it, Steve looked away, uncertain if he wanted to share it or keep that memory to himself.

“But . . .” Dan prompted. And when Steve didn’t answer, he did. “Come on, Steve. I know you well enough to know there’s more so give it up.”

“But . . . ,” Steve raised his chin, “to make a long story short . . . on that day Betty had to change clothes and the only thing available was a white evening gown. Dan, Betty looked sensational in it! Had we been on Earth, every man would have turned his head when she walked into the room, even if she had been with Valerie. Every man, Dan!”

“Wow!” Dan leaned back. “That must have been some dress.”

“It was.” Sadness filled his face. “But she can’t wear it . . . not for a night out on the town or to impress her boyfriend.” He waved his hand at the porthole, “Val can’t go skiing in the Alps, Mark can’t invent new technology, Barry can’t play baseball with his friends, you can’t buy that Cessna you always talked about . . . and now she’s disappeared.” He looked his friend with sincerity and guilt. “That vision is what keeps me going, Dan, makes me feel like I’m still alive, whereas everything else at home . . . my music, bosses, favorite books, ex-girlfriends . . . are starting to fade, you know.”

Dan nodded. He knew.

“But that beautiful woman in the white dress is here in front of me,” Steve looked off as though reminiscing, “and when I need to I can easily picture her in it.” He looked down at his hands. “It’s wrong of me, I know. But . . . .”

“It isn’t wrong of you, Steve,” Dan jumped in. “You do whatever it takes to get through this hellhole. But it does complicate things a bit.”

Steve again looked at him. “The bottom line is . . . I’m afraid . . . if that vision is truly gone, I’m afraid I’ll lose my hope—my strength—my belief that we can ever make it home again.”

Outside, Chipper continued his vehement struggle to free himself from Barry’s arms.

“Take him inside, Barry,” Mark ordered.

Barry turned, shifting his arms for a better grasp on his insistent pet. “What’s got into you, boy?”

“What is wrong with him?” Valerie peered anxiously upwards at the trees, then at the dog. “I’ve never seen Chipper act like that especially when giants were about.”

Mark, also analyzing the dog’s behavior, shook his head, “I don’t—”

Chipper broke free of Barry’s arms just as the teen’s foot touched the ship’s auxiliary steps. Landing on the ground, the animal’s playful yawping intensified.

“Chipper, stop it!” Barry demanded as he sprinted after him. But the relentless canine avoided capture at all his attempts.

Valerie joined in on the chase, but Chipper evaded them both.

“What’s all the ruckus about?” Fitzhugh shouted, hurrying from his post just beyond the left side of the lean-to.

Mark, however, remained immobile, his eyes darting between the commotion and the forest. He spun suddenly toward one direction, his body rigid. “Freeze!”

The three did as commanded, their bodies posed with tension.

Mark listened for a half-second then charged into Spindrift to the cabin hatchway. “STEVE! DAN! Giants!” he shouted.

Valerie sprinted up the steps behind him, but Mark nabbed her arm, pulling her from the ship and toward the shelter.

“Where! . . . Which!—” Fitzhugh cried, circling the table in befuddlement about what direction he should run in.

“Into the lean-to!” Mark hollered. “Barry—!”

“I know, I know!” He needed to do something and do it fast. He grabbed a sock and switched tactics, distracting Chipper in a game of pull-toy. As Chipper, his teeth implanted in the material, growled in playful, mock fighting, Barry walked backwards, leading the dog to the bunks.

“Good job, Barry,” Valerie whispered, patting his back as the four of them hunkered down.

But their triumph was short-lived. Within seconds, the giant invader appeared. They watched with wide-eyes, heart-racing fears, and breath-held hope that it would pass them by, but the giant walked straight into their clearing as if directed there.

Steve and Dan, having heard Mark’s yell of “Giants!”, raced to the exit hatch and were about to leap over the metals steps from the ship when a shadow loomed above them, freezing them in their tracks. A glance confirmed their obvious fears. Instinctively, they turned in unison, flew to the cockpit, charging straight to the flight panel. Angling over the instrumentations, they craned their necks upwards in search of the intruder.

In the lean-to, Barry’s mouth gaped as panic rose in Valerie’s throat, “My God, it’s Betty! What’s—”

Mark clamped a hand over Val’s mouth. “Shhh!”

From the cockpit, Steve and Dan watched aghast.

“It’s impossible!” Dan exclaimed for both of them.

<<<>>>

Betty’s breathe caught in her throat as she stared down at the orange spacecraft and the miniscule camp in front of her. Had the ship been the only thing present, she could have dismissed it as a child’s toy, but the inventiveness and precision of what she saw went beyond the creativity and skills of a young mind. There was a doll-sized table and chairs tied with tiny rope, an improvised acorn tool bucket, and clothe that had been stretched tight over a thick root and tied with the same rope to make a shelter.

“Little people . . . ,” Betty uttered in hushed horror, not daring to move. Josh had told her they were vicious creatures and not to be trusted. She did fear them. So much so that she wanted to run, yet she couldn’t; instead, she moved nearer as if pulled by a magnet. Frightened, bewildered, she shook her head. “But how could I have found . . . .” but the thought slipped away. There was something undeniably familiar about the place.

As she inched closer, she became aware of the vague, brutal pain forming at the back of her mind. But Betty pushed on, she had to! Kneeling down on one knee, her hand shook as she reached it out. Warily, she touched the cold metal of the ship—a distinct vision of its interior and intimate knowledge of the craft flared in her mind! Betty jerked her hand back as if it’d been burnt.

“This can be! It just can’t be!” Her eyes filled with tears as the agony in her skull magnified. “What is wrong with me?”

She clambered to her feet, her body swaying as she did so. Pressing her fingers against her throbbing temples, Betty gave a last tormented look at the grounds before stumbling away. But after a few short feet, she felt like her legs were about to give out from under her. Her head swimming; disorientated and blinded by the unbearable pounding, Betty shouldered a tree for support, forcing herself to breathe rhythmically.

But this time the exercise couldn’t keep the darkness at bay.

Steve and Dan, their faces pressed against the inward slope of the cockpit glass, were stunned beyond thinking or talking. Visually they tracked the figure as she stumbled away, but when she abruptly dropped from sight, they tore out of the ship; Steve automatically seizing the hatchet from the side of the ship as they exited.

It was easy for them to find her, and just as a quick, their friends joined them. All were too awestruck to say a word.

Steve pressed his hands to the giant woman’s wrist, feeling for a pulse. “She’s all right,” he announced to the collective easement of those around him. “She fainted.”

“Unbelievable!” Fitzhugh gaped as Barry starred in awe, struggling to keep Chipper contained.

Meanwhile, Mark, Dan, and Val moved closer to the giant’s face, each tilting their heads in various angles, scrutinizing her features. Steve was doing the same thing, a few paces back.

“It sure looks like Betty,” Mark finally said.

“But how can we be sure?” Dan looked from the giant to the others.

Valerie cocked her head in the opposite direction. “It has to be Betty! She looks exactly like her!”

“It can not be!” Fitzhugh shouted, his arms flying in exaggeration. “She’s giant-sized!”

“So were you and Captain Burton once,” reminded Barry.

“Jodar left months ago for the Institute of Advanced Studies, remember?” said Steve.

“I don’t care!” Valerie’s voice was on the edge. “It looks like Betty to me!”

“Hold it!” yelled Dan. “There is one way to find out. Does she have a scar or birthmark any of you know about?”

“She has a mole in the middle of her lower back,” Steve announced without thought, the proclamation garnishing different reactions from those around him, ranging from surprise to curiosity.

Seeing their reactions, Steve exclaimed, “She told me about it!” This raised additional eyebrows from casual disbelief to dubious wonderment. “Look, this is not the time to discuss it,” he said, annoyed. “Until we’re sure, I want the three of you . . . ,” he pointed at Barry, Val, and Fitzhugh, “back at camp and in the ship by the radio. If it isn’t Betty, she knows its location. You may have to pack what you can and get out of there. Barry, go and bring me back the grappling hook.”

“Yes, sir,” he answered with military sharpness before taking off.

“Valerie, let me have your radio.”

With puzzlement, she looked down at her hand as though, in all the commotion, she’d forgotten she had it and handed it to him. “Steve?” She hesitated. “Let us know as soon as you know it’s her, ’kay?”

He nodded grimly, “I will.”

Val turned, passing Barry as he came jogging back with the grappling hook.

Barry handed Steve the tool. “Be careful, you three,” he warned as he trotted away.

“You, too,” admonished Dan. He turned to Steve and Mark. “About her identity . . . .”

“Even if she has a noticeable scar anywhere on her body, for example, her arm,” Mark dictated, “it’ll take time and effort for us to pull up her sleeve and check. Time I don’t think we have.”

“He’s right,” Dan said. “There’s gonna be no easy way to find out if this is Betty or not.”

Steve, hand on hips, stared off in thought. “No, there isn’t. We’ll just have to wait till she wakes up.”

“And do what afterwards?” Mark asked, sharp and sarcastic. “Talk to her?”

“That wouldn’t be a bad idea,” said Dan. “If it is Betty, we shouldn’t have to worry.”

“But if she’s not, she might crush us out of fear!”

“So let’s hear your idea!” Dan scowled.

Steve’s arms cut the air. “All right!” he snapped. “We hide for starters to see how she acts when she wakes up, and we try to talk to her if the opportunity arises, otherwise, we follow her. Agreed?”

“Agreed.” Dan pointed to a huge, bushy fern. “We can hide over there.”

Mark motioned for Steve to go ahead; his way of conceding to the plan.

When Steve joined Dan behind the plant, Dan whispered to him with blatant annoyance, “I thought you said it went no further than the kiss!”

“Dan,” Steve sighed as if it were a silly question, “the dress had an open back.”

Mark was no sooner beside them when they heard the giant groan.

<<<>>>

Betty could feel coldness against her cheek as her fingers made contact with a granular, musty-smelling surface beneath her. Her eyelids were heavy as lead, but she pushed them open. Being groggy, it took her several seconds to process where she was: in the forest, on the dirt ground. Her arms trembled as she forced herself into a sitting position. Weary, she slid to a nearby tree to recline against it. Lightheaded and head hurting, Betty closed her eyes to gather herself. When the world stopped spinning, the fog over her memory cleared and she remembered the walk in the park.

“Little people,” she groaned, biting her lip. “I saw their ship. But how . . . . ” She peered in its direction, her face squinting in anguish.

Dan whispered to Steve and Mark, “Well, there’s one sign: Betty had a habit of gnawing her lip when she was troubled by something.”

“Yeah, but what’s wrong with her?” Mark’s forehead was creased with worry. “She acts like she’s never seen the ship before.”

“Unless she’s not Betty,” Steve said with concern.

Betty desperately wanted to go home and despite her quivering legs, she persuaded herself to give it a try. Rooting a hand on the dirt for leverage and support, she was ready to push upwards when a flash of light near her feet caught her eye. Puzzled, she grasped the item and to her astonishment it was a tiny hatchet made from a matchstick and razorblade. She flinched at the pain in her head.

“What idiot left the hatchet behind!” Mark growled.

“I did,” Steve snapped, in a you-want-to-make-something-of-it tone.

“Well, she didn’t scream her head off,” Dan commented. “I’m gonna go talk to her.”

He took a step, but Steve latched onto his arm, whispering, “Wait. I want to see what she does next.”

Captivated by the tiny tool, Betty thoughtfully rolled it between her fingers, massaging her temples at the same time.

“Shayla!” Josh’s frantic voice burst through the woods. “Shayla, answer me!”

“Here, Josh!” She shoved the tiny hatchet into the waist-high pocket of her tunic. “I’m over here!”

The three men tensed as they heard the giant sprint through the bushes, their anxious eyes watching as Betty teetered in her scramble to get to her feet, and her crying out as she fell, saved only by Josh’s timely arrival.

“Shayla, darling!” Josh pulled her to him, cradling her in his arms.

Mark dropped his head in defeat as an angry Steve retreated, throwing an agitated punch at a dangling leaf. But Dan stayed put, keeping a sharp eye on the couple.

Betty, her eyes huge as saucers, clutched Josh’s forearms. “Josh, I want to go to the doctor—today!”

“Why, my darling?” Josh asked, caressing her hair.

Her mouth fluttered. “I-I saw something!”

Dan’s hand shot to Mark as Steve whipped around; all three exchanging alarm.

Josh’s brow folded deeply. “What did you see?”

“A small spaceship.”

The three men went rigid, hardly daring to breath.

“A small spaceship . . . .” Josh gave a brief laugh. “Are you sure it wasn’t a toy?”

“Yes, it wasn’t a toy!” Betty pulled away from him. “I touched it! It was made of metal, not plastic.”

Josh pulled his wife back to him. “It is okay,” he soothed. “Everything will be okay.” He pressed her into his shoulder, his expression hardening as he visually scoured the area at his feet.

Steve, Dan, and Mark ducked down behind the fern, and stayed immobile.

“The doctor said you would experience hallucinations for a while, remember?”

“But it—”

“Hush, Shayla!” Josh ordered, putting a finger to her lips. “As your husband, I refuse to let anything upset you.”

“Husband!” Dan and Mark exclaimed in unison.

“You have had a slight set back; that is all. Nothing important enough for us to argue over. What is important now is to get you home to rest.”

Steve, Mark, and Dan watched with doubt and suspicion as Josh made another blatant sweep of the undergrowth before guiding his wife down the path.

“Hey!” whispered Dan. “Isn’t that the environmentalist?”

Mark looked from Dan to the departing couple. “Yeah, so?”

“Doesn’t it strike you strange that he should have a wife identical to Betty at the exact time Betty disappears?”

“Dan, you’re loosing it,” Mark snorted. “Did you hear the man? He called her ‘Shayla’.”

“That doesn’t mean a damn thing!” Dan shot back.

“Both of you, look!” Steve commanded, pointing at the couple

Mark and Dan turned to see what Steve had seen: Josh continuing to canvass the ground with every step they took.

“Why is he so nervous?” Steve asked.

“What giant isn’t nervous when they meet us?” replied Mark.

Steve turned to them. “Yeah, but he’s a professional. He’s dealt with forest animals before; he knows how to act around them.”

“He also knows he could easily step on us should we be a threat,” Dan stated sourly. “So do we follow them or not? Is she or is she not, Betty Hamilton?”

Steve put a hand to his chin. “I’m still not sure. Mark?”

“Well, Chipper did bark as if he knew her.”

They both looked to Dan, who gave a short nod. “I think it is Betty. Let’s go with the plan and follow them. If nothing else, it’s the only way to be sure she isn’t.”

“Let’s do it then,” Steve said, turning.

The threesome sprinted, quickly catching up with the couple. With scant foot traffic at that hour of day, they were able to trail them with little trouble. The journey brought them to the residential section that bordered the park.

Racing across the street, they ducked into a low evergreen hedge that edged the corner lot. Catching their breaths, they watched the giant Betty and the environmentalist enter the property’s white Victorian house.

Dan bent over, resting his hands on his bowed knees, glancing at his watch. “Only twenty minutes from home,” he grinned wryly in between gasps. “I can live with that.”

Steve and Mark, having collapsed to the ground, nodded in concurrence.

After a few minutes, they were ready and anxious to follow, but were forced to wait further when a sudden onslaught of passing students and teachers trapped them there. Once the sidewalks cleared and the threat gone, the trio rushed to the house to begin a search for a way inside. They soon found an air duct on the lower part of the brick foundation near the front wooden stairs.

<<<>>>

Betty felt a peaceful sense of comfort and security as Josh ushered her upstairs to her room. His grip never faltered the entire trip home, gave her support when her shaking knees couldn’t, and chose direction when her lingering lightheadedness blinded her judgment.

“You must lie down for a while,” he insisted. Setting her on the bed, he swung her legs up onto the cover.

Betty felt fatigue wash over her, eliminating any desire to argue with him.

“I have some things to finish at my office. It shouldn’t take long and then I will be home to tend to you for the rest of the day.” He leaned in, hesitated, and then kissed her, his lips lingering gently on her lips. When he pulled back, he studied her reaction.

Betty smiled warmly at him. This time her reaction was sincere.

Josh’s face bloomed. He gave her another kiss and with obvious reluctance, left her side.

<<<>>>

Steve, Dan, and Mark made their way through the piping system until a streaming light led them to an open grid plate. The vent opening faced a hallway with a staircase on what was clearly the first floor.

The home’s entrance was centered on the anterior wall in an off-centered foyer. A long hallway traversed from the foyer to the back. The den was to the front right with the dining room adjacent to the rear. An ornate staircase arched from the foyer to the second floor with the kitchen just past the staircase. Paralleling the long hallway on the left, divided by a support wall, was a large, rectangular living room with a fireplace. The vent was built into this support and had a double-side opening: into the foyer and into the living room. A lamp table stood over the grid on the hall-side.

Dan, Steve, and Mark were surveying the floor plan, getting their bearings, when they heard someone start down the staircase. Hustling back into the vent, they ebbed into its darkness from whence they watched the scientist pass them and exit the house.

“What do we do now?” asked Mark.

“Spy on her,” said Steve, matter-of-factly.

“I-ah. . . ” Dan’s lopsided expression displayed his discomfort with the idea, “think I’d prefer searching the house myself.”

“That’s a better option,” agreed Steve. “Let’s take that room.” He poked a finger at the front doorway connected to the vestibule. “It looks to be an office.”

“That’s where the men I know keep their deepest, darkest secrets,” chuckled Dan.

The three sidled through the vertical slats to the hallway floor, jogging to the den.

A carved mahogany wood-like desk stood before the window at the street side of the room. Against the sidewall was a brown leather couch. Beside it were three dark-varnished wooden filing cabinets. The standard chrome lamp and ebony rotary telephone sat atop the desk.

In a matter of minutes, they summated the desk’s surface via the usual mode of climbing: the telephone cord. Steve had gone first, and as Dan and Mark joined him above, each sniffed the air, in turn recoiling, just like Steve had, at the permeating odor.

“Whoa! What is that and where is it coming from!” Dan asked, pinching his nose.

“The drawer,” Steve grimaced with aversion. “I don’t want to look, but I guess we have to. It might have something to do with Betty.

They found a metal letter opener next to the phone, its length a little taller than themselves. Carrying it to the ledge, they inserted it into the drawer’s slightly ajar lip and pushed with all their might; nearly tumbling into the compartment when, to their unexpected astonishment, it slid open with amazing ease. Coughing and waving, the men staggered back as the unpleasant smell assaulted them en mass from inside the desk.

“Whatever it is, it sure is potent,” hacked Dan.

“Yeah!” Mark gasped, pulling out his handkerchief. “We may want to stand back and let it air out a bit before going down there.” He clutched the white cloth over his nose and mouth.

Mark didn’t need to suggest it twice as the threesome hurried to the far end of the desk and away from the odor. When the smell had dissipated, the men, bearing reluctant, disquieted looks, jumped down into the compartment. None were surprised to discover a small, brown bottle filled with the offending liquid, its cap loosely sealed.

“What would somebody use this God-awful stuff for?” Steve asked, covering his mouth and nose with his hands.

“Vitamins?” stated Dan.

Steve did a double take; Dan answering with an impish grin and quick shrug.

Mark read the bright green label then shook his head. “I don’t know the name of this drug—not a big shocker there considering there’s lots of chemicals on this planet I don’t know anything about. Since I have to guess, I would say that this is Jodar’s growth formula in liquid form. The formula had a distinct odor, and those pills and this liquid smell too much alike to be a coincidence.”

“I think you’re right,” said Steve. “Despite all the flavoring Jody added to it, it’s not a taste I’m ever likely to forget, that’s for sure. However, right now that’s only a theory. We still don’t know for sure if she is Betty.”

“Fellas . . . ,” Dan called, “check out what’s under the bottle.”

He had meandered deeper into the drawer and was now tapping the object he was standing with the tip of his shoe. Underneath the bottle was a leather-bound book. As Steve and Mark encircled him, they discovered a name stamped on the cover.

“Doctor Joshua Hoffsman,” read Steve. “Hoffsman,” his brow folded. “Hoffsman, why does that name sound familiar? Either of you remember it?”

Dan shook his head. “Not me.”

“Me neither,” said Mark.

“Looks like we’ve hit a dead end,” Dan frowned, his attention captivated by something at the back of the bin.

“I guess we now try talking to her,” Steve said.

“I was afraid you’d say that,” pouted Mark. He watched Dan, and then threw a questioning look at Steve, who looked just as baffled as he did.

Dan had ducked under the top’s edge, going still deeper into the drawer. At the far end, he dropped to his knees and draped his left arm over the top lip of a long, black can, and looked as though he was searching for something. The can was snug against the way-back and not easily seen by a casual glance.

Curious, Mark and Steve strolled as far as the edge of the desktop overhang. From there, they bent over and peered at their friend. Dan shifted, his other arm disappearing beyond the can’s top. They heard him grunt followed a loud but brief hiss of air—Dan tumbled back. Hurriedly scrambling to his hand and knees, he retreated to his companions; each of whom grabbed an arm and lifted him to his feet.

“Well, that answers that question,” Dan said, his eyes glazing over. “That aerosol can contains the knock-out spray that we never saw coming.” His started to drop, but Steve and Mark held him up. “I think I need to sit down.”

<<<>>>

Betty watched Josh leave with disappointment, and even before she heard the downstairs door close, she missed him. Alone in the silence, her mind flashed to the spaceship, and she shuddered. No! I am not going to think about that thing!

She obliterated the tiny craft from her thoughts as she felt weariness setting in. With a yawn, she shifted onto her side to get comfortable, but a pinpoint stab to her rib prevented her from doing so. Annoyed and curious, she traced the needling to her waist pocket, shoved her hand in, and grimaced at the sharp slash into her fingertip. Pulling her hand out, she found blood on her index finger and the forgotten razor-blade hatchet in her palm. As she contemplated the weapon, she felt the familiar dull throb make its presence known.

There was no way Betty could sleep now. Not with the weapon’s intrigue and the aching discomfort plaguing her mind. She stowed the small instrument in her pocket, and sat up to locate a book to read for a distraction. However, to her disappointment, the bedroom held no books.

There’s gotta be books here some where, she decided, heading for the door.

Her hand skimming over the polished wooden banister on her way downstairs, Betty slowed to admire the beautiful intricate balusters, the damask wallpaper, and the thick, pylon runner carpeting the steps. She had always dreamed about living in a home like this when she was a little girl and was thrilled to actually be doing it.

At mid-curve, she gawked at the picture decorating the stairwell wall. The oil painting was of pink, purple, and orange abstract flowers and fruit. She cocked her head one way. And then the other, crinkling her nose in aversion.

“Whoever picked this one out sure had bad taste!”

Betty then regarded what she could see of the first floor, biting her lip in debate. Before today, she didn’t have the inclination or the energy to walk around. But now she was quite curious to see what the rest of the place looked like; at the same time, she was nervous and reluctant to do so. Even though this was her home, she still very much felt like a stranger in it, a trespasser.

But it is my house, she reminded herself. Betty raised her chin, squaring her shoulders. “Yes, it is my house and I could enjoy a little exploring. After all, I have nothing better to do for the time being.” With renewed stamina, she targeted the living room as her starting point.

After Dan had recovered, he, Steve, and Mark had shimmied down the telephone wire, arriving at the den threshold just as Betty’s light footsteps touched the stairs. Backing up against the jamb out of sight, they were waiting for her next move when they overheard her comment.

“Exploring!” Mark shot an alarmed look at the others.

“Her house,” groaned Dan. “That complicates things in more ways than one.”

“We can’t trail after her all day,” Mark groused. “We’ll be exhausted within an hour!”

“You’re right.” Steve said, pivoting to study the first floor. “We’ll just have to find a place and wait her out.” He pointed to the grid face on the hallway-living room support wall. “The vent we came in through would be a good spot. It’s central to the house.”

“It gets my vote,” said Dan.

Prepped to run, the three first checked the area around their destination. With the woman no where to be seen, they had a clear path to the hideout. Taking off, Dan arrived first and when Steve and Mark reached him, they saw Erickson’s brow scrunched in thought.

“What?” Steve asked him, suddenly uneasy.

“Why would she have to explore her own house, if she really was this Shayla woman? The spray proves she’s Betty and yet she seems to believe she’s Shayla.”

Steve looked at the living room. “You know . . . she has been acting a little odd. She didn’t seem to remember the ship at all.”

“Or the camp for that matter,” amended Mark.

“But I had no problems with memory loss when I was a giant.” Steve looked between them. “Neither did Fitzhugh.”

“Well, we have to keep an eye on her anyway, maybe we’ll learn more,” suggested Dan.

“I hope so,” said Mark. “I hate sitting around doing nothing.”

“And don’t we all know it!” grinned Dan, clapping him on the arm.

As the trio made themselves comfortable in the confines of the piping, Betty freely ventured the house. Enchanted by the home’s old fashioned charm and posh furnishings, her intruder feelings soon faded away.

Returning to her starting point, the living room, she caressed the couch, delighting in its delicate trellis-rose pattern. I wonder if Josh chose the style himself or did he hire someone? She picked up a palm-sized, gray porcelain kitten from the maple side-table, her smile widening. Well, whoever the decorator was, I love their style; it’s so similar to my own—cold fear engulfed her: she was supposed to have been the decorator! Yet she hadn’t recognized anything in the building: not the paintings, window treatments, furniture, rugs, nor any of the knickknacks she admired.

Betty closed her eyes and slowly inhaled, putting at bay her fears and the wetness coming to her eyes. “Josh said my memory was affected.” She exhaled just as slow. “And that I wouldn’t remember things like this. But why then—,” she choked back a sob, “do I remember the interior of that damn spaceship!”

In the vent, Steve, Dan, and Mark sprinted to their feet, leaning outward to hear more.

“Maybe it’s similar to an aircraft we have on this planet. That’s it,” she inhaled again, pulling confidence from her soul’s recesses. “Josh and I were on a trip somewhere, to a carnival or something, and my mind is doing a flashback to that ride. It’s just a strange coincidence, that’s all.”

Feeling reassured and recomposed, with her fears now vanquished, Betty looked past the foyer at the den. It was the last room to investigate. “Oh. . . I’ll check it out later,” she said, massaging the blossoming throb in her temple. “Right now, I’m hungry.” She headed down the hallway to the kitchen.

Steve and Dan, their faces awash in astonishment, dropped heavily into sitting positions while Mark continued to gape out the metal slats.

“Betty has amnesia!” Dan exclaimed in a stunned whisper.

“It all makes sense now,” said Steve.

“No, it doesn’t!” Dan snarled. “You didn’t forget, so why should she?”

Betty entered the kitchen, expecting to feel the accustomed comfort of intimately knowing this room; instead, she felt the same recurring alienation she’d been experiencing since waking up two weeks ago.

“Coffee,” she muttered in wonderment and desire, panning the huge room. “Strange I can’t remember the last time I made myself a cup.”

The room had one side wall bordered with windows connecting to an arched doorway that lead into the formal dining room toward the front. Two other walls had cabinets and appliances, while the fourth hosted additional cabinets, decorative shelves with knickknacks, and the wall-mounted telephone.

Betty started with the closest unit, opening cupboard after cupboard in search of the necessary ingredients. Failing to find it, her frustration spiraled and tears fell. “If this is my house, why don’t I know where anything is?” She snatched the plastic napkin holder off the table and stared at it as if it had the answers. “I’ve never seen this before! Yet I supposedly bought it and everything else here, yet I don’t remember any of it! Why!”

Drowning in her scrambled emotions, Betty threw the holder against the wall. It hit with a thud, bounced off, and landed unbroken on the floor. She gawked at it in disbelief, letting out a curt laugh.

In the hall vent, startled by the crash, Steve wheeled around as Dan and Mark clambered to their feet. Without a word, Dan grabbed the grappling hook, following the other two as they bolted from the piping; each afraid that Betty may have fainted again and possibly have injured herself. Halfway to the kitchen, the doorbell buzzed. The men halted. Still as statutes, they waited to see what happened next.

“Coming!” Betty yelled from the other room.

Having their answer, they had no choice but to run back. They reached the table over their hideout, yet hide behind the legs instead; all in silent consensus of being tired of the cramped quarters.

Betty wiped the tears away on her way to the front door. Drawing it open, she found a dark-suited man, tall and blond, about her age, standing there.

Seeing her, his face lit up. “Josh said you were back.” His easy smile transformed into a suggestive smirk as his eyes blatantly roamed her body. “I wanted to come and see for myself.”

Immediately Betty’s interior alarm went off. But she didn’t want to offend Josh’s colleague so, despite her uneasiness, she gave him a polite, reserved smile. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember you.”

“You don’t remember your man Lex?” he pouted, feigning hurt. His expression went taut. “Don’t play those games with me, Shayla. I know you too well.”

Before Betty could protest, he shot past her, shoved the door closed with his foot, and snagged her into his arms, kissing her hard. She pushed at him with both hands, but he held fast, wrapping his arms tighter around her as she struggled.

Raising his head, he leered at her. “You aren’t Shayla.”

“Yes, I am!” Betty yelled in his face. She shoved with all her strength, but he was determined to keep her pinned.

“Ah, no,” Lex grinned, like a wolf with his sights on a lamb. “Shayla was as warm as a pampered kitten and just as complying. She ran off with some guy from the research facility. She may have fooled Josh,” he kissed her again, “and you may have fooled ole Josh, but you’ll never be able to fool me!”

“Take a hike!” Betty yelled. She grounded her heel into his foot, jabbed an elbow into his solar complex. When his grip loosened, she pushed him away, grabbed his arm, and threw him over her shoulder.

Under the table, the stunned men stood shocked and terror-stricken.

Dodging past Lex, Betty felt his hand latch onto her ankle and found herself falling. When she hit the floor, he scrambled over her, seizing her wrists. In the span of a heartbeat, he rolled them over, positioning her on top.

“If you really are Shayla, prove it!” he laughed, enjoying the fight.

“Go to hell!”

She bent down to bite his nose, but he countermanded her maneuver by inverting them; now on top, he gained the advantage. He gripped her hair, slamming her head against the floor. Betty cried out as flashing stars and tears blinded her sight.

Dan grabbed Steve’s arm in a vice-grip. “We’ve got to do something!”

Jerked out of their dismay, the Spindrift men sought a weapon. Mark glanced around and spotted it via the vent opening into the living room. “The poker at the fireplace!” he yelled, pointing. They shot through the vent, the shortest route. At the metal stand, they discovered the spike was too heavy to budge, and too long and unwieldy for them to carry anyway.

“Over there!” Dan led the way to the other side of the hearth where a tall box of matchsticks stood. He unfurled the grappling hook’s line and Steve threw the hook past the gap between the box and wall to Mark on the other side. All three pulled, upending the box with minimum effort. Each man seized a match that was as long as they were.

“So tell me,” they heard Lex say as they raced to the foyer, “how is ole Josh enjoying you?” He was too busy tormenting Betty to notice their approach. Steve, Dan, and Mark flicked their matches over the textured wall. As the heads ignited, they swung the sticks over to the giant’s ankles, setting afire the dangling edges of his pant legs. The burning spread fast and the three wasted no time in falling back to a safe distance; jogging to a stop in time to see Lex yelp in surprise and panic, then roll off Betty to frantically beat at the flames lapping up his legs.

Now freed, Betty scrambled to her feet, dashed to the kitchen, snatching the wall phone off its hook. As she dialed, she looked to see where her attacker was, in case she had to run outside, and nearly dropped the receiver in disbelief—Lex’s pants were on fire! She gawked at the bizarre scene, and in the three seconds it took for her to speculate on how it could have started, she discovered the answer just beyond Lex: three little men holding matchsticks!

Lex tore off his suit jacket and wrapped it around his legs, denying the fire of its fuel. The flames extinguished, he looked around, a wild gleam coming to his face. “Little people!”

Recognizing the threat, Steve flung his arm out, yelling: “Scatter!”

The trio ran in three different directions as, behind them, the giant jerked off his coat and then rolled onto his knees. Steve, blocked from their hideout by Lex, raced for the grid opening on the living room side of the hallway wall while Dan and Mark made a play for the den.

Questioning where his foe was, Steve glanced over his shoulder, surprised to find he wasn’t being chased. He jarred to a stop, his chest hammering with fear: his friends had miscalculated how far it was to safety and were now vulnerable. His terror rose as the giant smirked arrogantly at the two prey, leaving Steve had no doubt that Lex would harm them if he got the chance. And if he didn’t find a way to help them, the giant would be within striking distance in seconds!

The giant swept up his coat, advancing on his chosen target!

Dan peered over his shoulder—the giant was on a knee, poised to throw the jacket! He listened as he ran; drawing from his Olympic training to time his maneuvering for when the right moment came. A heartbeat later, he heard the material rustle overhead, and just before its darkness engulfed him, Dan dove, rolling out from under the cloth before its edges touched the floor. Free of the material, he charged full out. Behind him, he heard the giant’s awkward scrambling on the polished wooden floor, and by the air movement about him, he knew the giant was making desperate attempts to nab him. Dan narrowly escaped into the den-foyer vent and just before he did, he felt a finger brush over his back . . . .

Searching for a weapon, Steve heard a violent pounding and whipped around; his mouth dropping in horror, bile welling in his throat—the enraged giant was pummeling the coat in fury. “How could I have missed him!” Lex yelled. Steve nearly collapsed in relief, but his solace was short-lived: The giant had stopped mid-strike, broke into a sardonic smirk then pounced!

Mark had never been as fast a runner as Dan and as hard as he pumped, he couldn’t keep up with the athlete. Suddenly Dan looked back then abruptly stopped, waiting until Mark caught up with him. When he did, Dan yelled, “Keep going!” and stayed behind to act as a decoy. Mark didn’t like it, but he knew better than to argue. Because the giant was going after Erickson on his right, Mark had to veer left towards the stairs, a longer distance to safety. He prayed Dan hadn’t made a mistake. His prayers were answered when he heard Lex swear and right then Mark knew that Dan had escaped. But that also meant he was in trouble! Mark zigzagged, hoping to evade capture from coat or hand. A second later, something flapped over his head. He ducked and dodged right. He was clear of the jacket, but to his horror he had run smack into a corner! He wheeled to face his attacker.

Lex sneered as he bent closer, his hand stretching for his reward.

With hatchet in his hand, Mark brought the weapon down with all the strength and animosity he possessed! The blade hit the giant’s finger, drawing blood and a grimace from his chaser. The paper cut-size wound only stopped Lex for a heartbeat, but it was long enough for Mark to re-strategize. He swung again, this time aiming between the fingers. The hatchet went deep and he felt it hit bone.

Lex’s face scrunched in momentary throe and he cursed without restraint, gripping his bleeding hand tightly.

Mark didn’t wait around, taking off like a gunshot for the stair grid. And when he got close to it, he dove past the vent bars into its safety.

Betty gnawed her lip, fearful for the little people. Josh had told her they were dangerous, but she had yet to understand how they could be, being the size that they were. And they had just saved her from Lex so how bad could they be? She heard Lex curse, looked over and almost crumpled to the floor in horror as he furiously pounded his coat. But then came his “missed him” revelation and he bolted to the staircase.

At least one must have gotten away, she reasoned as she got her racing heart back under control. A breath caught in her throat. The one in red was on this side of the living room’s threshold, and if Lex saw him, he’d have no chance to escape! Betty ran forward. Scooping up the startled man, she cut into the living room, dropped to a knee and quickly, carefully, shoved him into the vent.

Steve landed on his feet and spun around—his eyes met Betty’s! For an instant, she displayed recognition. But then it vanished when her squinted in distress, her expression intensifying into acute pain. Remembering the torturous recovery for him and Dan, Steve’s heart went out to her as contempt and hatred blazed for the man who had caused her this hell. On the den side of the wall, he heard Lex break into a second tirade, and he shot to that opening, his body rigid with fear.

Infuriated, Lex kicked at the vent plate, screaming, “You’re not free yet!” He bolted to the living room.

Steve leaped back to the living room grid face in time to see Betty jump away from Lex as he stormed past her to the telephone. In her hand she wielded the fireplace poker and looked primed to use it. What surprised him was that Lex didn’t even notice her holding it.

The giant, sucking on his injured hand, spun the phone’s dial plate then shouted into the receiver, “Get me SID headquarters!”

Steve’s knees went weak. But all he could do now was hide and to search out Mark and Dan.

<<<>>>

Betty paced the living room fiercely; trying to sort out a direction while plagued by every emotion known to women, especially hatred for Lex and everything he had done. Turning, she caught sight of his smug, egotistical grin as he lingered by the phone, and lost it! She stormed her attacker holding the poker high; gaining some pleasure at seeing him shrink, and drop into the nearest chair, at her approach.

“You will call my husband,” she ordered, “and tell him to come home. Afterwards, you will never, ever come near me or speak to me again! If you don’t comply, or make trouble for me, I will tell Josh about our supposed affair.” Her eyes narrowed into a hard glint. “And considering the way he feels about me, along with his prestige at the university, it’s a certainty you will lose your job!”

Betty watched Lex’s arrogance crumple with silent satisfaction. His expression taut, he sized her up, glanced at the poker, then back to her with reined respect. She knew, too, the capture of the little people was upmost in his mind, and she wasn’t surprised when he nodded his agreement.

“Now, this is what we’re going to tell Josh when he comes home . . . .”

With gut-retching apprehension, Betty resumed her pacing; twirling the poker like the baton she had once handled in high school. The heavy metal made her feel safe, allayed her nervousness, and allowed her to feign the little people as the reason for holding it. Her stomach clutched—SID was coming to her home! Josh had warned her about them, too. About their militaristic tactics and their ruthlessness to citizens who had reportedly helped the little people. She wished there was something she could do to keep them from coming, but being it was Lex who had placed the call, her hands were tied.

But that’s not what worried Betty the most. When Josh got home, he would see her injuries and no doubt ask about them. Feeling dread well up, she swallowed. She didn’t remember her “past”, but she was ashamed of it regardless. And she adored Josh, she knew that now. She threw a murderous glare at Lex, disgust permeating her. I will make it up to him—starting now! Even it takes the rest of my life! She heard the front door fly open, and there in rushed Josh, his face flushed and breathing heavy as though he had run the block from the Science Center.

Finding her in the living room, Josh clutched her hard, giving her a quick kiss on the lips.

“Are you all right?” he asked alarmed.

“Yes. I—”

“Lex,” he acknowledged with a simple nod. “Darling, you look pale, you must sit down.” He drew her to the couch. “I will return in a moment.”

He then left before she could protest. Betty watched him beeline to his den, exit a brief minute later, only for him to disappear to the rear of the house where he was gone for over fifteen minutes. Worried, Betty was about to search for him when he re-appeared carrying a tea service on a wooden tray.

<<<>>>

Within a half hour of Lex’s initial call, and mere minutes after Josh’s return, the house was swarming with SID men probing every conceivable hiding place for the tiny intruders. During their sweep, the squad supervisor secluded Betty, Josh, and Lex in the living room for questioning, and to keep them out of the searchers’ way.

From their station on the couch, Betty and Josh watched as several men stampeded up the foyer’s staircase.

“Shayla,” Josh said, pouring a second cup of tea, “you said you were exploring the house when you spotted the little people. What were you doing at my desk?”

Betty stared at him. “Your desk? Which one?”

“The one in the office.”

She shook her head, and then dropped it onto the ice pack she had in her hand; her arm propped upright on the couch’s armrest. “I never got to your office.” The ice was to ease the bruising that was already showing near her mouth. “I couldn’t even tell SID what furniture you have in there.” Suddenly Betty felt dead tired and wanted to go to bed and sleep.

“Was Lex in there?”

Betty raised her head to look at him. Josh sounded worried and by the grave expression on his face, she suspected it was about something other than her. Pain shot through her skull. “No.” She restored her head to the ice pack. “He was too busy chasing the invaders.”

“I see.” Josh dropped a spoonful of sugar into a cup and handed it to her.

“Thank you,” she said, accepting it. She gave him a brief grin, but guilt made her look away. A twinge of pain shot through her sore jaw and she winced, flashing back to the reason for the bruises. Her hand shook, rattling the teacup, but then strong fingers slide under her own. As Josh stabilized her wobbliness, her eyes found his. She smiled broadly, compelled to do so, despite her contusions.

“I have yet to understand how you could have fallen into the door,” he next whispered.

Betty’s smile faded as his questioning eyes searched hers. “When I saw the little people, they startled me, I tripped on the carpet. It was just one of those things.”

Voices across the room made them both look over. Betty frowned, watching Lex as he performed his well-perfected role of innocent bystander to the young officer jotting down notes. “. . . I came to see Doctor Hoffsman. When Mrs. Hoffsman let me in, I spotted the creatures in the foyer. Obviously, they were in search of any destructive information they could get their hands on.” He gave a nonchalant shrug. “Mrs. Hoffsman was too upset to call so I did it for her.”

“We’ll need you to come in and sign a report.” The officer flipped closed his notebook.

“Yes, sir, I will.” Lex looked over. He snuck her a sly grin and a conspiring wink.

Heat came to Betty’s face. She turned to her husband but Josh’s taut expression was on his co-worker, his eyes smoldering with fury. “Josh, what—”

A swift knock at the door caught everyone’s attention and before anyone could answer it, the imposing figure of a man in a dark suit marched in. Tall, blond, and wearing gold wire-framed glasses, he went straight to the officer in charge, who looked unnerved by the man’s presence.

“I’m in a hurry so just tell me one thing,” Kobick fired off, “did you catch them?”

No, Inspector, but I’m positive one of them is the one you call Burton.”

“Let me know the minute you have them.”

“Absolutely, sir,” the officer replied with a brisk nod.

Kobick turned to leave when he sighted the blonde woman on the couch and did a double take. Having been appraised of the case earlier, he presumed her to be the professor’s wife, but something about this woman struck a significant cord in his mind. He scrutinized her, but nothing jogged his memory. His eyes narrowing in thought, he walked over.

“Mr. and Mrs. Hoffsman, I’m Inspector Kobick, head of the Special Investigation Department. Mrs. Hoffsman, have we met some place before?”

The man’s intimidating presence sent a wave of paralyzing fear through Betty. Despite knowing she had no reason to be afraid of him, she was at a loss for words. “I, ah . . . .” She looked to Josh for help.

“Inspector,” Josh said as he slid a protective arm around Betty’s shoulders, “my wife is recovering from a terrible accident. Her many injuries include severe head trauma and amnesia. At this moment, she could not recognize her own mother.”

He listened with his usual intense scrutiny, and detected no lies in Hoffsman’s deportment. “I’m sorry to hear that,” Kobick replied as genuine as he could muster, albeit not caring one iota. “I hope your recovery is quick, Mrs. Hoffsman.”

“Thank you, Inspector.” The woman gave him a tight, gracious smile.

Kobick looked over the scene and his men. Begrudgingly satisfied all was being done that could be, he left the house as briskly as he had entered it.

At the curb, he slid behind the steering wheel of his black sedan, and sat there for several minutes, pondering the elusive Mrs. Hoffsman. He had a hunch about her and his hunches usually paid off. Plus he liked challenges. A wry grin formed. All I have to do is a little bit of digging, he decided as he turned over the ignition.

It was late by the time the rest of the SID team left. Betty waited for Josh in the foyer as he closed the door behind the last of them. Coming beside her, he slid an arm around her shoulders then directed her to the kitchen. “You should eat something, dear. You have not had a morsel since breakfast.”

“I can’t.” Her voice sounded as hollow and laden as her spirits felt.

“But you must.” Josh steered her into a chair where he took her hand.

“I’m too upset. The thought of food makes my stomach churn.” She saw his expression bloom into a flirtatious smile.

“I’ll fix it myself?”

“Please, Josh, I’m too tired. I just want to go to bed.”

“All right, darling. Maybe what you need is a long night of uninterrupted sleep. Several nights, in fact.” He swung a chair beside hers, sat down, and then slid her over onto his lap.

Betty didn’t protest. In fact, she felt very safe, secure, and comforted in his embrace. She sensed he was up to something and she looked him over. To her weary surprise, she found a hint of mischief on his face. “What . . . ?”

“I have made arrangements,” he said proudly, brushing aside her hair, “to take several months Sabbatical from work . . . .”

<<<>>>

Mark had quickly withdrawn into the vent’s shadows as Lex furiously kicked at its entrance, yelling, “You’re not free yet!” And when all had gone suddenly quiet, Mark knew from past experiences that, at that point, it was best not to stick around. Carefully, he had made his way through the dark piping until a sliver of light lead him to the kitchen vent where he heard a mix of voices. He only needed one quick peek at a uniform to confirm it was SID looming about. With them in consideration, he concluded that staying put and keeping silent was the smarter plan of valor. To insure his safety, he moved deeper into the vent system, enough where he could understand what was said in the giant room, yet couldn’t be seen if someone looked in the grill. And then, with a bored sigh of resignation, he made himself comfortable for the interim.

Mark looked at his wristwatch, dropping his arm in agitation. Hours had past since he had arrived: his butt was numb from sitting and he was tired of doing nothing. The house, too, had been quiet for the last fifteen minutes, making him wonder if SID had finally left, and if he should go in search of Steve and Dan, or continue to wait and see if they found him. Hearing the word “Sabbatical” from the kitchen ended his debate. He shot to his feet, bowing out as far past the vertical slats as he dared to catch any additional information.

“A Sabbatical!” Betty gasped; suddenly petrified it had something to do with her illness. “Whatever for?”

“Well,” Josh’s impish grin grew, “considering all that has happened, I thought it would be nice for us to go away for a while. Say . . . on a second honeymoon?”

“Honeymoon?” she squealed with glee. A romantic time . . . alone . . . with her husband. Betty she couldn’t think of a sweeter way to begin their relationship anew. As it was, their past was nonexistent and, in actuality, she didn’t know this man. Yet, in her heart, she had no qualms about being with him. Even if it was for the rest of her life.

Unable to contain her excitement—or feelings—any longer, Betty threw her arms around him. “How wonderful! When? Where?”

Josh mirrored her exhalation. “An ocean cruise,” he smiled, caressing her shoulder. “It is all arranged. The first day out the Captain will marry us. All you need is a white dress and flowers.”

“I can’t wait!” Betty stared into his eyes, her heart racing. Josh always treated her with the respect, tenderness, and, without doubts, his love. He made her feel secure and content, and the prospect of renewing their vows genuinely elated her. Past or no past, she decided, to me it no longer matters. Betty pulled Josh to her, kissing him deeply.

“Hey,” Josh reluctantly broke them apart. “As much as I am enjoying this,” he grinned wolfishly, “I had better get you to bed.” He set her on her feet. “You have had a hectic day, and we want you to be well for our trip.”

Betty wound her arm around his waist; Josh doing the same as they headed upstairs.

Mark watched the ecstatic couple depart. His jaw clenched tight, he slammed his palm into the vent faceplate—with them, so went his hopes. Debating what to do next, he stared hypnotically down the long, dark passage searching for an answer. A moment later, his mind made up, he took off through the metallic maze, praying he found the others soon.

It didn’t take Mark long to reach the junction and a few minutes afterwards to arrive at the stairway vent. He listened first and then peeked out, spotting two familiar figures lingering in the hallway.

“Steve! Dan!” he yelled. He gave them a wave then sprinted.

“Glad to see you’re still alive,” Mark greeted, the threesome converging in the center of the room.

“The feeling’s mutual, believe me,” Dan replied with unconcealed delight.

“I’m thrilled too!” said Steve, grinning ear-to-ear, “but for a different reason. I remembered where I heard the name Hoffsman. When Fitzhugh and I became giants, Jodar’s professor, the one I borrowed the clothes from, was named Hoffsman!”

“Then odds are high that he knows about the formula,” said Mark.

“And he’s using it on Betty!” spat Dan.

“If it is her,” Wilson corrected.

“The aerosol can—” Dan argued.

“It is Betty!” Steve exclaimed, joy blatant on his face. “And its not complete amnesia either. She recognized me when she shoved me into the vent.”

Dan’s brow folded. “So if it isn’t amnesia, what is it?”

“Maybe it’s a side effect,” Mark suggested. “Different forms of chemical delivery result in varied outcome. That’s why developing new drugs is such a long process.”

“Okay . . . ,” Dan said, “so this Professor has a warped obsession with her. What do we do about it?”

“There’s more to it than that,” Mark announced his face solemn. “He’s taking her on an ocean cruise. They’re to be married on the boat.”

Steve and Dan’s expressions turned to alarm. “How soon?”

“He didn’t say. So if you have any ideas, you’d better work fast.”

“Now how are we gonna convince a woman with amnesia that she’s a little people . . . person,” Dan stammered, flummoxed over the usage.

“Reason with her,” Steve said, in no uncertain terms.

“Next stupid question,” said Mark sarcastically. “What if you do convince her, but she, of her own free will, doesn’t want to come back? She has a pretty nice life here. What if she wants to stay?”

“And do we even have the right to ask her to come back with us?” amended Dan.

Steve shifted on his feet. “Right now she’s living a lie, so we have to tell her the truth.”

“Why?” Mark glared at him.

Steve glared back. “For one thing, Betty doesn’t like lies. For another, we don’t know what influence the drug will have on her over the duration. It might totally eradicate her memory, or she could become so immune to it that eventually the effects wear off and she recalls her past on her own.”

“Or . . .” Dan hesitated, not wanting to think about it, “it could kill her.”

“Right,” Steve nodded. “Whatever the outcome, we could be long home by then.”

“And if she decides to stay?” asked Mark.

“Guess we’ll have to deal with that when we come to it. Until then,” Steve aimed his thumb over his shoulder, “I’m gonna go to the University to see if I can’t find some answers. And maybe some help. Better call the others and tell them what’s going on.”

“Right,” Dan replied, pulling out the radio.

<<<>>>

Betty snuggled into the bed covers that night with her spirits flying, and her smile just as broad as when she had first come up. Drifting off, she dreamt of white lacy dresses, cascading bouquets, and gentle ocean breezes.

But as her sleep deepened, the images changed: there was a crash, screams, and a fog. The surrounding forest grew ten times her size and she was running: first with other people, and then she was alone. As she dodged through the massive undergrowth, she looked back and saw a gigantic Inspector Kobick pursuing her. Startled, she gasped and ran faster. She peered over her shoulder again—Kobick was now Josh. Stunned, she tripped, diving headlong into the dirt

Betty jarred awake, her hand shooting to her chest as she swallowed the lump of terror in her throat. Needing reassurance, she turned on the light and was ecstatic to find she was in her bedroom.

But I’m now wide awake and there’s no way I’m going to sleep after that, she vowed, shuddering at the thought. Her heart still galloping, Betty got up, put on a robe, and went down to the kitchen to make herself a hot drink.

Dan and Mark stood cautiously by the vent’s grill, watching while she did so. They had sprung awake the instant she had activated the light.

“Maybe we should talk to her,” Dan suggested, unsure. “It couldn’t hurt to try.”

“Be my guest,” Mark invited with a wave of his hand.

“Okay . . . compromise then. We observe first, approach later.”

“Agreed.”

“One thing’s for sure,” Dan said, his tone serious, “we’d better wait till she’s sitting down before calling to her.”

“No kidding,” replied Mark, just as serious.

They didn’t have to wait long, and once Dan saw she had settled in the chair, he cupped his hands together and hollered out: “Betty!” His husky yell exploded in the deadness of the night like a firecracker causing Betty to jump. Terrified, she twisted in the chair, searching the room while her free hand stabilized the clattering coffee cup.

“It’s the little people,” Dan called again. “We’re in the air vent.” Dan glimpsed between Betty, as her eyes searched for them, and Mark, who was already slithering out of the grid. He followed. “Oh, my God,” he heard her gasp as his feet hit the linoleum. Turning, he gave her a casual wave.

Betty snapped her gapping mouth shut while dropping to her knees, intentionally scooting back half a foot.

It was a maneuver Dan and Mark couldn’t fail to notice; each presuming she wanted to maintain a “safe” distance from them.

“Betty, don’t be afraid. We won’t hurt you,” Dan called; muttering to Mark from the corner of his mouth, “Never thought I’d hear myself say that!”

Betty pulled back in dismay. “I’m sorry, but my name is Shayla Hoffsman.”

“No, you’re not, you’re one of us,” Dan shouted. “You’re Betty Hamilton, a stewardess with my airline company.”

“That’s impossible! You’re little people and I’m a . . .” she trailed off, lost for the word.

“I’m Dan Erickson. We work together. I’m the co-pilot on the flight you worked for.”

Betty shook her head, caressing her temple. “I don’t work for any airline, and I don’t know you.”

“How ‘bout me? Mark Wilson, the engineer. I was a passenger on the spaceship you and Dan crewed on.”

“No! How could I know you? You’re little people!”

“So are you!” Mark yelled, irritated. “Hoffsman has turned you into a giant.”

“He’s my husband! He would never—”

“He isn’t your husband!” Dan burst out, having no patience left. “He may love you, but he’s not your husband.”

“It’s not true!” Betty winced, pressing her fingertips hard to her forehead. “Go back to wherever it is you live, and leave us alone!”

Betty shot to her feet, and instantly Mark and Dan knew something was wrong: she squinted in agony and had both palms pressed tight against her head in an attempt to allay, what they could only guess was an excruciating headache. They watched helplessly as she began to sway. She reached out to try and grab the table, but careened into it instead. As she did, she blindly grasped the chair’s frame, but it was too late. Her unbalanced, falling weight brought her to the floor where she landed awkwardly on hands and knees; the tumbling chair crashing with a loud scuffle next to her.

Dan and Mark darted towards her, but then they heard Josh’s thundering footsteps down the stairs and draw back. Within seconds, as they dove into the vent, Hoffsman’s cry of “Shayla!” was atop them. They wheeled; saw Josh whisk Betty into his arms and bolt from the room.

Mark looked at Dan and Dan looked at him; both too disappointed and discouraged to say anything more.

<<<>>>

It was Mark’s turn to serve sentry duty while Dan, curled up and substituting his jacket for a pillow, slept beside him. He beheld the house brighten with the upcoming morning, and it wasn’t long before he heard footfalls in the hall. From his vantage point at the slats, he saw Josh enter. Bored from the many hours of inactivity, Mark watched with indifference while the giant prepared breakfast; thinking nothing of it when he left the room, returning a scant minute later. As the giant went to the counter, he caught a glimpse of something reflective and did a double take. Alarm filled him: in Josh’s hand was the bottle from the den, its bright green label unmistakable. He fell back on his haunches, stunned. “Well, I’ll be damned!”

The words ricocheted off the metal enclosure. Dan shot up, instantly alert. Mark put a finger to his lips, gave the okay sign then pointed to the kitchen. Silently, Dan sidled over where they both bore witness to the scientist putting several drops of the liquid drug into a glass of orange juice.

Dan’s jaw dropped. “That’s the bottle from the drawer!”

“Sure is,” Mark replied deadpan. “What do you know about brainwashing?”

“Not much, but I think we’re gonna find out real quick!”

“Hello, Criten Exterminators?” they heard Josh say. Their pulses galloping, the two men peered past the opening with upmost caution. Josh was pacing off to their right, the telephone against his ear, scanning the room as he walked. “I need you to come to my house as soon as possible. Yes, I will hold.”

“You get the feeling he’s desperate to get rid of us?” muttered Dan.

“Sure he is, otherwise we could ruin his whole scheme.”

When Josh’s look swept toward them, they jerked back into the shadows.

“Tomorrow. That will be fine,” Josh said after a beat of silence. “Thank you.”

A heavy clunk told Mark and Dan that Josh had hung up. They inched to the slats, saw the giant leave with the food tray, and audibly tracked his footsteps through the hall and up the stairs.

“Tomorrow . . . Christ,” Mark groaned.

A sudden noise behind them made them whirl; the terror dispensing when they found it to be Steve.

“’bout time,” Dan jokingly berated him. “We were beginning to think you’d gotten caught.”

“It’s a long story, but I finally wound up calling Jodar at the Advanced Studies Institute today and he confirmed our theory. Not only did Hoffsman know about the growth synthesis, he helped Jodar perfect it. But Jody never developed it into liquid form. He did, however, remember that Hoffsman was working on a formula for the army.” Steve broke into a huge smile. “A new drug that would help soldiers forget the traumas of war, except . . . ,” he held up a finger, “further development was abandoned when one of it’s a side effects—excruciating headaches—incapacitated the men for days on end.”

“That sounds familiar,” Dan said bitterly.

“What about women?” Mark asked. “What effect did it have on them?”

Steve shook his head. “Jodar couldn’t recall. He’d been sent to the Institute by then. Also . . . the men’s memories remained intact, rendering it useless as a weapon and a cure.”

“That coincides with everything we’ve seen and experienced.” Mark hitched his chin at the kitchen. “Hoffsman slipped that drug into Betty’s juice this morning, so whatever’s wrong with her has to be due to that chemical in the brown bottle. More likely than not, that’s the brainwashing formula,” he added.

Steve crossed his arms over his chest, lowering his head to take in all the information. When he looked up, his face was grim. “She’s not going to be easy to convince.”

“Try next to impossible,” confirmed Mark. “We tried talking to her last night.”

“And?” Steve asked with flickering hope.

“She didn’t recognize either one of us,” Dan said, disappointed, “nor did she believe she was a little people . . . person.”

“If we can get her to stop taking the drug,” Mark offered with thought, “the effects could wear off enough where she might listen to what we have to say.”

“And the only way to convince her,” Steve said pointedly, “is to look her straight in the eye.”

Dan raised a suspicious eyebrow. “And just what did you have in mind?”

<<<>>>

Betty awoke to the brightness of the late morning sun streaming in the window, and as she washed and dressed, she relished the vigor and joy she had despite the ordeals of the day before. Reflecting on the reason why, she smiled. Josh had stayed, holding and comforting her through the entire night. Exhausted, her sleep was wonderfully deep and dreamless, and she woke up just once when Josh had brought in her breakfast tray. When he warned her about the exterminators, she anxiously managed to talk him into cancelling it.

“Between the SID being here, and you knowing their presence, it’s too dangerous for them to stick around,” she argued. “I’m sure they’re long gone by now.” Reluctantly, he gave into her wishes, much to her relief.

Betty cheerfully hummed as she made her way downstairs, straightening up things as she went. SID, in their furious search for the little people, had thrown stuff about, not caring what happened to it, and by no means returning items to their places. She entered the living room just as the telephone rang and therein two strides had the receiver in her hand.

“Hi!” she greeted, her spirits soaring at Josh’s voice on the other end. “. . . Papers in the den, gotcha,” she nodded, pausing as he went on. “All right, I’ll expect him.” No sooner had she dropped the handle on its cradle when the doorbell chimed. She hurried to the door, but when she touched the knob, she flashbacked to Lex’s attack. I will not let him make me afraid!

Betty steeled herself but then played it safe by first peering through the curtains. An older man with a distinct scowl and a battered tweed hat stood waiting on the brick stairs. Her distress melted away; he was the visitor Josh had called her about. But a new fear overwhelmed her. This man was the first of Josh’s colleague’s whom she would meet on an official basis. Quickly, Betty checked her hair and clothes. Psyching herself into the “dutiful wife” role, she squared her shoulders and opened the door.

“Mister Denosha?” Betty smiled with a guarded friendliness.

“Yes.” His words were clip, his attitude impersonal.

Betty’s enthusiasm sank, along with her smile. She remained on alert; studying his every move, as well as poised to slam the door or run (even fight) if she had to. The man’s behavior was cold, his eyes daunting and judgmental as he looked her over from hair to foot. A chill ran through her and she wrapped an arm around her waist. He wasn’t anything like Lex, but his animosity elevated her edginess just the same.

“Josh told me to expect you,” she said with forced politeness. Betty stepped aside, pulling the door as far open as possible, indicating the other room with a nod. “He said the papers were in—”

“I know where they are!” Denosha snarled, pushing past her and barreling toward the office

Betty clinched her teeth and reluctantly followed. Insulted and distrustful, she went as far as the threshold and no further. I can watch him just fine from there, she decided with a tight crossing of her arms.

Denosha pulled open a drawer, retrieving the papers he sort. As he shoved them into his interior coat pocket, he scrutinized her again, long and hard.

Betty began to feel naked under his penetrating glare. But she had dealt with men like him in the past, and she refused to be intimidated. “Why are you staring at me?” she demanded, matching his stare.

Denosha, his expression silent and unchanging, approached her.

Fearful, Betty retreated several steps. A flicker of surprise crossed the Professor’s face and he jerked to a stop. Then, to her own surprise, she saw his attitude soften and his mouth curl in a faint knowing grin.

“You’re not Shayla,” he stated plainly

“Yes, I am,” Betty growled, irritated by the haunting comment.

“No.” Denosha shook his head, his frostiness fading. “Shayla was . . . a slut. She’d come on to any man who came within arm distance of her. Even me,” he snorted. He shook his head again. “You’re not her. You’re different. I’ve seen many changes in Josh since you . . . came home. And all of them for the better. Whoever you are, you’re making him happy. And I sincerely wish it to continue for you both.” He broke into a smile and said with bona fide pleasantness, “Good day, Mrs. Hoffsman,” then gave her a respectful tip of his hat upon his departure from the house.

Betty watched in stunned silence as he strolled away. Closing the door, she leaned against it, replaying what had just happened. Her befuddlement morphed into an ear-to-ear grin: this man, whom Josh highly regarded, approved of her! Her morale went through the roof! And just as quick, nose-dived. But he also said I wasn’t Shayla. She felt panic rising as she quickly reviewed his comments. The accident must have changed me somehow, she concluded, the fear draining away. The transformation, from what Denosha indicated, was dramatic and seemed for the better! Betty grinned broadly. And that was just fine by her!

As she basked in her euphoria, her attention slid to the window. It was gorgeous outside: brilliant, balmy, with the aroma of flowers and a gentle breeze. Betty longed to be a part of it. She had always loved the outdoors and had missed communing with nature, and yet she found herself leery about leaving the house, especially after what had happened the last time in the park.

But, she simpered, feeling a rebellious streak pervading, the weather’s too beautiful to remain indoors, and as long as I stay on the park side of things, I should be fine. She pushed off the door, grabbed the house keys from the nearby hook, and left.

As vowed, Betty focused her roaming deliberately to the concrete paths within the established park, thereby avoiding the forest section altogether. Contentment rolled over her as she strolled, reveling in the glorious sun, the peaceful atmosphere, and the intoxicating fresh air. Her wanderings soon brought her to a huge pond and a lone wooden-concrete bench. She sat down and took pleasure in watching some frolicking kids on the opposite shore to the right. Behind her left shoulder, Betty heard someone approaching, but she didn’t look over; she was enjoying herself too much to care. Then she felt the stranger join her on the bench. The unexpected company unnerved her, but she dismissed it with a mental shrug. It is a public place after all, she thought casually.

“Mrs. Hoffsman?” a male voice said a moment later.

Betty froze in terror, her heart pounding, until reason told her the voice wasn’t Lex’s. She relaxed, remaining vigilant as she peered over. “Yes?”

The man wore a black polo shirt under a dark beige sports jacket with khaki trousers. His hair was a dark brown, cut short, and he had a strong, square chin. He looked familiar, but Betty couldn’t place him from where.

“Or is it Betty Hamilton?” he said.

Fear and anger shot through her. Betty refused to go through this again and leaped to her feet, but the stranger’s gentle grip on her wrist stopped her from running away.

“Please,” he said quickly, “I didn’t mean to offend you. Please, sit down.”

The man wasn’t desperate, but he did sound anxious, and he was pleading, she acknowledged. Betty bit her lip. She was reluctant and wary, but his sincerity sounded genuine. And although she would have preferred ignoring him, something inside told her she should stay.

“Who are you and what is it you want?” she demanded.

“All you have to do is listen, Mrs. Hoffsman. There’s no harm in hearing me out. You may not like what I have to say, but I’m asking you to at least consider it.” When Betty hesitated, he added, “Please, sit down. I have no intention of attacking you like Lex did.”

His words jolted her. How did he know?! Feeling her legs going weak, Betty lowered herself to the bench, but she couldn’t bring herself to face him. She was too afraid of what he had to say and she felt the onset of a headache.

“Believe it or not, I’m a friend,” he began. “We know each other. We used to work together.

Betty heard no threats in his tone, just patience and earnestness. She swallowed. “All right.” It came out in a whisper. “Go on.”

“You’re not Shayla Hoffsman, you’re Betty Hamilton, a flight attendant with the airline I work for.”

“I’m tired of people insisting that they know me when they don’t!” she snapped. “I am Shayla Hoffsman and I not your Hamilton person!” Betty caressed her forehead as the ache worsened. “Why don’t you,” she squeezed her eyes shut, “go find somebody else to harass.” She, instead, felt him slide closer.

“You’re getting a headache. Every time you have an inkling, an acknowledgement of who you really are the headaches start. And when you choose to forget your past life, it goes away. That’s the effect of the drug Hoffsman is giving you to make you believe you’re his wife!”

“No!” Betty growled. “Betty Hamilton is the name of the person I pretended to be when I had amnesia. I asked Josh about her and he told me everything!”

“He lied! What he didn’t tell you is that Betty is your real name, and that you’re one of the little people. You never lost your memory; at least not until Hoffsman captured you in the forest several weeks ago.”

“Oh, this is so ridiculous!” Betty fiercely rubbed her temples. “Do you know how insane you sound? I have a wedding picture from when Josh and I were married.”

“That was his first wife, his true wife. The drug he’s giving you makes you—forces you—not remember who you are.”

“NO! Josh loves me. He has no reason to do such a thing!”

“He would if it were the only way to hold onto the woman he hallucinates to be his wife.”

“You’re out of your mind, Captain!” Betty bolted, but got only few feet when her wrist was snagged and she was spun around to face the stranger; his hands grasping her forearms so firm she couldn’t run.

“Then how do you know I’m a captain?” he demanded as she struggled to pull free. “I didn’t tell you my name, or my rank as a pilot.”

Betty stopped dead. Distraught, she looked away in desperate attempt to rationalize his comments; her soul filling with terror when she couldn’t.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

She heard his demand, but she also heard tenderness and sympathy in his voice. And his grip wasn’t hard enough to hurt her, she realized. She slowly met his eyes.

“Yesterday you were attacked by that scum Lex, but you told your husband you had tripped on the carpet and hit the floor.”

Betty’s jaw dropped as the breath went out of her.

“He had you pinned to the floor when his pants caught fire and that’s what allowed you to escape. That fire was set by me and my two friends. You then saved me when I was caught in the open. I was wearing a red uniform, do you remember? You picked me up and put me into the air grate. You never told anyone about the attack, and the only witnesses were Lex and us three little people. If I was little yesterday and now I’m a giant then what I’m saying has to be true!”

Betty went to speak, but no words came out because she had no answer. Her chest pounded, her head was splitting, and she wanted to go home! She tugged to get free, but the man held firm, his eyes searching her face as if hoping, it seemed, for some sort of recognition from her. But she couldn’t remember him; her thoughts couldn’t get past the excruciating pang in her head.

“All I ask,” he continued, “is that you avoid taking the drug for a week.

“I’m not taking any—”

“Hoffsman is putting the drug in your food and drink. When you stop ingesting it, your real memory should come back. When it does, you’ll know how little people can become giants and vice versa.”

Betty nodded, despite her pain, her sight blinded by her anguished tears.

Seeing Betty in so much torment, Steve didn’t have the heart to retain her any longer and wished there was something he could do to help her, but he’d done all that was possible. His hands slid from her arms. “Do you want an escort home?”

Betty gave him the slightest of headshakes before hurrying away.

This time, Steve didn’t try to stop her and filled with apprehension as he watched her disappear around a clipped hedge. His mind bombarded with concerns, frustration, and fears, he returned to the bench they had just vacated. Sitting down, he rested his weary head in his hands.

Beneath the wooden structure, Mark and Dan emerged from the safety of its legs to stand between Burton’s feet.

“How’d I do?” Steve asked, dubious of his performance.

“Convincing,” Mark said, albeit combative. “But convincing is one thing, returning to this wretched life is another.”

“At least she sounded like she might do it,” Dan encouraged. “And thank you for putting us down first. That would have been one hell of a ride when you ran after her.”

Steve shook his head with a deep frown. “I didn’t even think about you when I chased her. I could have killed you had you been in my pocket.”

“Yeah, well, we weren’t and you didn’t so don’t worry about it,” Dan ordered.

Steve nodded, feeling as tired as he sounded. “We were in such a rush to follow her after we rendezvoused, I didn’t get the chance to ask if Jodar left the antidote.”

“It was right where he said he would leave it,” offered Dan.

“You’re lucky he was passing through town today,” said Mark as Dan dropped to one knee and began untying a canvas sack he had liberated from his shoulder. “Were you able to get those supplies I asked for?”

“I managed to find some food, but not much more than that. Without money, I didn’t have a lot of options.”

“Well,” Mark frowned, “some is better than nothing.”

Dan pulled out a bright yellow tablet the size of a manhole cover, cautioning Steve as he handed it up to him, “We have to use these judiciously or you both could end up living your life out as a giants.”

Steve accepted the disk, walked several feet to the edged border of the park, and veered into the forest’s thick, publicly shunned underbrush. From his pocket, he pulled out the green plastic trash bag Jodar had put the clothes in, and arranged it among the ground ferns so that the opening was facing upward. Tossing the pill into his mouth, Steve chewed (appreciating Jody’s forethought to make the formula tasty when he designed it) then swallowed. It wasn’t long before him felt himself shrinking away. He stepped into the bag, the clothes cascading in as he vanished. Within minutes, Steve was once again among the land of the little people.

The three of them tugged the bag closed afterwards so the wardrobe, barring anyone finding it, would remain safe and dry for Steve’s future use.

In a library across town at that same moment, Inspector Kobick pushed aside the book he’d been flipping through to draw a new one toward him. Unable to forget the haunting Mrs. Hoffsman, he had extended his sedulous search to a dozen resources on famous women.

<<<>>>

Steve left the cave hoping the long, solitary walk to the homestead would abate the glumness that was weighing him down. But when he arrived, forty minutes later, he felt no better. Entering the lean-to’s far side, he gave a quick look around, glad to find that it was empty.

The project’s almost done, he brooded, pulling his draping jacket off his arm. Dropping it on the bunk, Steve went to the water bowl and raised his hands; staring at his dirt covered limbs, the corners of his mouth tugging down in regret. He was going to miss the intense physical labor, having come to enjoy, as well as appreciate, how much it eased his tension and distracted his rollercoaster mind. And with the way I’d been feeling lately, I could have rebuilt LAX Airport by myself and I would have been glad for the release.

But he was here.

Steve bent down and washed off the grime. Toweling off, he hung the cloth on its peg then ducked under the tasseled edging of the shelter’s canopy to rejoin the others.

“Hi, Captain,” called Barry, causing everyone else’s head to turn or look up.

“Hey, Skipper,” Valerie echoed as he approached.

“Everyone,” he greeted. Steve quickly quelled the frown he had started to make, not wanting to add more bleakness to the already sullen group. As it was, Barry lacked his usual cheeriness and Valerie’s effervescence was gone as well. He lowered himself onto the rock near her, reclining against the massive tree root. He’d left early that morning, before the others had awakened, and observing them now, he found them more subdued than usual, the atmosphere thick with malaise. Mark, Dan, Fitzhugh, and Barry seemed lost in their own thoughts as they concealed the ship with fresh leaves, and Valerie wore a blasé expression as she stirred the black pot containing, what he guessed was, their sparse leftovers from the day before. At her feet, Chipper encircled her legs pleading for whatever it was she was cooking.

“Chipper, darling, you’re starting to get annoying,” she sweetly warned. “Go to Barry, Chipper. Go!”

The terrier gave a whimper than trotted off to his master.

No one has much enthusiasm—myself included, Steve admitted silently. It had been like that for weeks now; an unforeseen consequence to Betty’s disappearance. But the mood seemed even heavier since their meeting with her yesterday, and he couldn’t stop wondering—and worrying—that if Betty didn’t come back to them, was this the way things were going to be, gloomy and apathetic, from here on out? Knowing the persistent angst was doing him no good, Steve shook it off by focusing on the workers at their task

The covering was soon completed and as the foursome broke up, the men wordlessly gravitating toward Steve while Barry grabbed the rubber ball and began throwing it to Chipper.

Dan, curious, leaned over the pot and took a deep whiff. “Smell’s . . . interesting.”

“Just the odds and ends of what we had left,” Val said with an apologetic shrug. “Bits of meat, vegetables, and that gravy-like liquid,” she frowned. “Anybody hungry?”

“Starved!” Fitzhugh bellowed.

Dan and Mark shook their heads with disinterest while Barry pretended not to have heard as he continued his game of toss-and-retrieve with his pet.

Valerie gave a lazy wave towards the ship. “Go get a dish for yourself, Fitzhugh. Looks like you’ll be the sole diner tonight.”

A grin creased the man’s face. “With pleasure! Especially as it is my night to do dishes.” He performed a jubilant about-face then hurried to Spindrift.

Steve’s troubled mind was lost in the crackling of the fire when he heard Dan say: “So, Steve . . . that project of yours, is it done yet?” But Steve wasn’t fooled; it was an obvious attempt by his co-pilot to break the low mood everyone was in. Thinking of his far-fetched, almost laughable, invention, Steve faintly grinned. “Anyone interested in a hot bath?” he asked, glancing about his campmates.

Valerie’s face lit up. “You made a bathtub! That’s fantastic!”

“All by yourself?” Mark said with genuine surprise.

“Wow, a bathtub! That’s what Betty said she—” Barry’s expression collapsed, “—missed the most.”

Mark, the closest to Barry, laid a fatherly hand on his shoulder. “When are you going back to see her again, Steve?”

It was the haunting question on everyone’s minds.

“Not for a few more days yet,” he replied, eyeing Barry with concern. “I want to give her a week. Hopefully, that’ll be long enough for the effects of the drug to wear off.”

“You think she’ll come home?” Valerie’s tone reflected her fears.

“I’ve no idea,” Steve said, fingering a leaf on the bush next to him. Disturbed over the prospect of Betty not returning, he threw the leaf into the fire, watching it spark.

Dan strolled over, taking a spot next to him, “So give us the details. When did you decide to start this bathtub of yours?”

The two men shared a long, understanding look; Steve knowing Dan was conniving to distract him along with the others.

“Well . . . I don’t know how long it’ll hold up, and we’ll have to be careful when we use it, but I thought a long soak in some hot water would do us all a world of good.” For Steve, the truth be known, he was thankful for the diversion.

<<<>>>

Betty chewed her lip as she hypnotically stared at the white ceiling over her bed; her thoughts bouncing between fact and fantasy, truth and lies, and should she or should she not listen to the man, and therefore, do as he asked. She cringed as she swung an arm over her eyes to shut out the world and narrow her focus. The fierce headache had kept her bedridden since her return from the park yesterday, and had taken almost twenty-four hours to subside enough where she could comprehend what the Captain had told her.

I supposedly had the accident several months ago, she surmised, recounting the timeline of her “recent” life, so why don’t I remember anything between then and now? I wasn’t in a coma and Josh said I had this alternate personality, but I don’t remember any of that life either.

A sudden idea occurred to her. Something that had been bugging her since her first awakening yet had kept slipping from her mind. She threw aside the blankets and went straight for the vanity, forgoing the chair to arc over the table toward its three-way mirror. She snatched a comb from its drawer and began parting her blonde hair, checking every inch of her scalp. With each new divided sector, her distress mounted. The search revealed no telltale scars that would be undeniable evidence of a recent injury.

“Maybe I knocked my head hard enough to cause a concussion, but not to break the skin,” she argued with her mirrored self. “The skull doesn’t have to be fractured or broken for that.” But staring at her reflection, her belief faltered. She knew what the more rational, logical explanation was and watched her shoulders droop under the weight of its reality.

With tears in her eyes, Betty took a seat on the edge of the bed, withdrawing the tiny hatchet from the drawer of the bedside table. “All right, Captain . . . ,” her words choked in her throat, “I’ll do as you ask.” But with all her heart, she hoped he was lying.

Over the course of the week, Betty did all that she could to avoid taking the drug: she ate when Josh wasn’t home, and when he was, she gave the excuse of “being full or not hungry” to eat little dinner. She dumped out the drinks he handed her whenever possible, taking small sips when it wasn’t. She would also cook meals when Josh would let her, and regardless of who cooked, Betty watched Josh like a hawk to see if he slipped anything into her food or drink.

<<<>>>

For the remaining little people, the week dragged by with agonizing slowness.

<<<>>>

Kobick’s murderous stare was fixated on the wall of his SID office, his jaw clenched, his blood boiling. The group eluded my department again! They’ve been doing that for months now, he fumed, but how? He hated to lose and above all, he hated losing to Burton! There has to be ways of finding them! What am I—

An abrupt knock at the door ended his internal ranting, and he looked over to see a gangly officer in a dull beige uniform, entering. With a stiff look of restrained fear, the young man laid a report atop his desk, dictating its content: “The sighting of little people turned out to be false, sir. Just some kid’s finger puppets somebody had thrown out.”

“Thank you, Officer.” Kobick glanced at the report with little interest. “You may go.”

The subordinate gave him a short nod then rushed out.

He returned to his little people rumination, but the new report goaded him. Debating over continuing with the LP dilemma or handling the report, he picked up a pencil, flipped it end-over-end—and then impatiently swung the chair to the desk. He grabbed the paperwork, giving the inside report a dismissive once over, before tossing it onto an already overflowing pile. Reluctantly, he eyed the mound. With an irritated frown, he acknowledged the overflow, grudgingly got to his feet, folder in hand, and went to the filing cabinet where he opened the drawer labeled Little People. As he lifted out a large, bulky accordion folder, it slipped from his hand, scattering its reports and photographs everywhere as it toppled to the floor.

“I have better things to do then this!” he shouted, discharging his agitation. He kneeled and swept the contents towards him, doing a double take at one particular sheet. His instincts triggered, he picked up the photo, studying it with intent interest. It was a picture of two little people, a man and woman: Alexander Fitzhugh and Betty Hamilton, whom he knew to be in Burton’s party. The two had been captured (easily for once) due to the fat man having broken his leg.

Kobick grinned with sardonic recollection, giving himself a mental pat on the back for insisting their picture be taken for official records. But then another documented fact bombarded his celebratory thoughts. His complacency transposing into blazing anger, he dropped to the floor, searching through the paperwork like a crazed madman. Finding several pictures of interest, he rushed them to the desk. Dumping them on top as he sat down, he pulled a magnifying glass from the center drawer, scrutinizing in-depth every photograph there. After several minutes, his ominous smile displayed his ultimate satisfaction: the photos confirmed that Betty Hamilton and Shayla Hoffsman were one and the same woman.

But his smug triumph exploded into indignant rage when a new realization hit him: “If I ever find out how . . . .” He slammed down the intercom button. “Sergeant, I want Doctor and Mrs. Hoffsman pulled in for questioning—now!”

<<<>>>

The beautiful warm afternoon of a week ago repeated itself on the day of the meeting, but Betty barely noticed as she rested her arms atop the park’s stone bridge, absently twirling the daisy in her hand. She felt numb as she gazed at the swishing water below, wishing the rushing creek would take her misery with it. Hearing someone approach, she couldn’t keep herself from frowning. She didn’t look up, she didn’t need too because she knew whom it would be. From the corner of her eye, she saw the Captain take a spot on the rampart next to her.

“We found your message. Thank you for coming,” he said. “How are the headaches?”

“They’re almost gone.” Betty felt her throat tighten and swallowed. “You were right. I caught him dropping something into my food and drinks. Even though I have stopped taken the drug, my mind’s still blanketed in a thick fog. I don’t know what is truth and what isn’t any more.”

“It’ll come back to you in time,” he assured her.

Betty threw one of the flower petals into the water, and thought of the old children’s verse, love me, love me not. “Captain . . . Burton?” she asked, uncertain. “Do I have anyone back there?”

“Your friends . . . there’s six of us.”

“No, I mean . . . ,” she looked at the daisy, “someone special . . . waiting for me.” Her stomach clutched as she waited for his answer; one which was long in coming.

“No,” he finally said.

Betty heard genuine regret in his voice, but it didn’t ease her troubled mind at all. “Thank you . . .” her words caught in her throat, “. . . for being honest with me.” She bit her lip hard, hoping to forestall the tears. She stared down at the daisy and thought of all the wonderful dreams she’d been having of late. Wiping her cheek, she threw the flower into the creek.

A loud, hollow click sounded behind them. Curious, they both glimpsed over their shoulders, simultaneously wheeling in surprise—Josh was pointing a revolver at them, its six-bullet chamber fully loaded!

“Even now you deceive me!” he yelled, his face distorted, his eyes wild with jealousy. “I thought you had changed after your accident, but I was blindly mistaken. I promise you, you will never cheat on me again!” He swept the barrel toward Burton.

“No!” Betty screamed.

She jumped in front of the Captain, but he snatched her arm, yanking her behind him; his steel grip holding her there.

“She’s not your wife!” he yelled. “Not your real wife. You know that.”

“She is my wife!”

Steve felt Betty jerk free of his grasp. He spun and tried to snag her again as she ran past him, but she skirted out of his reach. He sprinted, made a wild grab for her, but the warning shot whizzing past his ear brought Steve skidding to an immediate halt.

Startled by the ear-shattering sound, Betty, too, jarred to a stop. Standing halfway between the two men, her terrified eyes darted from Steve to Josh. “Don’t, Josh,” she pleaded.

Steve saw her expression soften as she reached her hand out to her would-be husband.

“He’s one of the little people.” Her voice was dead calm and sincerely reassuring, “And he’s going back to them right now.”

“You lie!” Josh’s shaking hand lifted the revolver higher.

“I’m not! And you know I’m not,” Betty’s arms dropped, her shoulders sagging, “because I’m one of them, too. You captured me; you stole me away from them. You know I’m telling the truth, Josh.”

Steve kept his sights on Hoffsman, who’s steely, unwavering eyes stayed glued on Burton, his face full of hatred for the man he perceived to be his rival.

“Please? Josh?” Betty stepped nearer to him. “Let him go.”

“He tried to steal you from me!”

“No one can take me from you, Josh.”

Steve heard an odd inflection in Betty’s voice, one he’d never heard before. And he saw the answer, clear, on her glowing face. Waves of fear shot down his spine. Then his alarm skyrocketed!—Betty had taken another step, positioning herself to jump between him and Josh if she needed to! And Steve was going to make damn sure that she didn’t have to!

“Let him return to the others. They need him,” she continued.

“And you?” Hoffsman’s words had softened; his attitude no longer harsh and cutting.

“I’m here. With you.”

Josh’s eyes shifted to Betty, but Steve didn’t move—he didn’t dare. He was afraid if he did, it would startle Hoffsman enough to make him pull the trigger. Betty smiled at Josh; it was warm, heartfelt, and loving. Under her tender gaze, Josh’s anger vanished all together. As he lowered the gun, Betty swept him into her arms.

Slowly, Steve came to his full height and although the two seemed oblivious to his presence, he observed Betty subtly turning Hoffsman and the weapon away from him. At that moment, he knew and became flooded with sorrow: Betty wasn’t coming home.

Betty lifted her head to him and said, “Go.” But Steve refused. When he didn’t move, her request became a stern command: “Go!”

But in all good conscientiousness, Steve couldn’t. Not only was Betty an intricate part of their team—one of which he wasn’t about to lose yet—but her size-transformation had also resurrected his own nightmare of when he and Fitzhugh had become giants. That ordeal had nearly ended in disaster! He and Fitz had been arrested and thrown in the city jail, and would have faced life terms in SID prison had Mark and Dan not rescued them. What reassures do I have that Betty’s life will turn out any for the better?

Frantic yelling at the far end of the path seized Steve’s attention. He strained to see past Josh and Betty, who had also looked over—his blood turned cold: “Kobick!” he gasped. His heart pounding, Steve saw the Inspector motion to his men and heard him shout: “Search this whole park! I want her and Hoffsman found without delay!”

Betty’s euphoric expression broke into fear. “It’s SID, Josh! They know what Steve and I look like. If they find us—”

“We can hide. I know a place.” Josh grabbed her hand, hastening her down the path in the opposite direction from the searchers.

As Steve sprinted after them, he heard someone yell behind him: “There they are!”

A shot ricocheted off the sidewalk in front of the threesome’s route. Terrified, they run full out. They passed a hedge, cut right at its corner, enabling them to disappear from SID’s viewpoint.

“Hurry! They’re getting away!” Kobick shouted enraged.

Ahead of Steve, Josh tugged Betty off the path, drawing her into a copse of neglected flower trees, thick undergrowth, out-of-control berry bushes, and then through a dense curtain of vines. Concealed beyond the draping greenery and secreted from the casual stroller was a cave. Inside, a filtering band of sunlight revealed a hideaway the width and depth of a pickup truck. The three reached the back wall in minimal strides and reigned in their panting while their eyes adjusted to the darkness.

Steve looked up from his bent-over position. As he strategized his next move, he was unable to dismiss his angst about Kobick. The officer was relentless in hunting them down, and Steve wasn’t comfortable in simply hiding out. The instinct in his gut was too strong to ignore. He jogged to the entrance, craning his neck to listen to and keep tabs on the running feet and angry shouting outside. He was there mere seconds when the chasers come to an abrupt stop somewhere near the anterior of the hideout. Steve went rigid as he heard Betty gasp, “Oh, no!” at the far end of the cave.

“They must have taken the trail through the garden!” one of the men outside yelled.

“I don’t care where they went just find them!” retorted the vexed Kobick. “You! Clear the park of everybody in it! Sergeant Eson, call in extra men! I want every inch and space of this place searched for those three!”

Steve felt his stomach turn over and said a silent prayer, then glanced at his watch.

Several nerve-wracking minutes later, the stomping feet and jumbled voices finally faded away.

“I think they’re gone,” Steve said, letting out the lungful of air he’d been holding. He stepped out into the plant life and carefully pushed aside the vines, tilting his head for better reception. But he heard nothing. The pursuers had left.

Behind him, Steve heard a horrified cry of “Josh!” from Betty and whipped around. Josh appeared to be holding her, yet he was sinking to the dirt floor, his dead weight dragging her down with him.

“Josh?” her voice trembled.

Even in the semi-darkness Steve could see that her eyes were enormous with fright. He sprinted over as Betty shuffled into a sitting position, placing Josh’s lolling head on her lap. Kneeling, Steve tore open the man’s jacket, cringing at the sight as Betty let out a startled gasp: Josh’s shirt was soaked in blood, a small, pronounced bullet wound in the center of his chest.

“If-if, ah, we use his coat,” Betty stammered, “we mi-might be able to stop the bleeding.”

Josh’s breathing was laborious as he reached over and clutched her hand. “Don’t,” he pleaded his dazed eyes on her. “We both know how bad it is.” His hand wavered as he raised it to grasp Burton’s and said, “From you I took her, to you I return her.” He placed Betty’s hand into Steve’s.

Betty jerked her arm away, seizing both of Josh’s into her own. “I don’t want to go with him! I want to be with you!”

“You do not belong to me.” He let out a tattered gasp. “You never did. That is now evident to me.”

“Josh, don’t die, please?” Tears cascaded down her cheeks. “We’ll leave here together,” she said, her grin flickering. “We’ll go someplace where we’ll never be found.”

Josh managed a faint, loving smile. “You do not know how happy your words have made me.”

Steve watched as Josh raised her hand to his lips, giving her fingers a lingering kiss. “Good-bye, my darling.” Hoffsman’s head turned to his rival. “Take care of her.”

Steve nodded, feeling a new respect for the man.

Professor Josh Hoffsman shuttered, and was gone.

“Oh,” Betty whimpered. She looked up at Steve in disbelief then at Josh. With tears falling, she brushed gently at his hair then slid her fingers over his face, shutting his eyelids.

Watching the two, Steve took in a long, controlled breath: his apprehension was rising and he feared they didn’t have much time. “Betty,” he said as kindly as he could, “I have to contact the others. We have to get away from here.”

“We can’t leave him, not like this.” She looked up with a silent plea.

Steve couldn’t refuse her. He would have preferred moving Hoffsman just before they shrank, but looking at Betty now, he decided having the body here would only torment her more. “I’ll move him to where I’m sure he’ll be found.”

Betty nodded as though on automatic.

Steve hurried to the opening, pausing to listen. Hearing nothing, he pushed aside the vines. Outside, he saw nothing and heard even less. SID was gone. He hurried to the back of the cave and with extra care hoisted up the body. At the entrance, he paused again and again heard nothing. The serpentining concrete path lay yards away and beyond that was a five-brick tall flowerbed. He knew it well because they had hid behind that structure several times on the way to and from town.

With upmost caution, Steve slipped through the concealing foliage. The area was devoid of life, and he suspected it would remain so while SID conducted their blanket search of the park. It also meant he could leave the body in the open without worrying about a child finding it and be traumatized for life. With care, he stowed the body amongst the flowers.

Turning around, Steve jerked upright in surprise: Betty stood immobilized at the cave entrance, her expression blank, her glazed, red eyes locked on her lover. He hurried to her, delicately ordering: “Go inside, Betty.”

But she didn’t move.

Gently Steve took her by the shoulders and steered her back inside, setting her down at the far end. Gazing at her, his throat tightened and his shoulders sagged over her consuming grief and his incapacity to help. He wanted to stay with her, but he had to leave on an errand of importance. Slowly, he drew away from her. When she gave no reaction, he hastened to the entrance. There, he listened, heard silence, and stepped out past the draping vines. Keeping an ear out and a vigilant scan of the area, he pulled the miniature radio from his pocket. “Steve to Spindrift.”

In the spaceship, the anxious strandees loitered restlessly between the corridor and the cabin, and all were within range when Steve’s sudden broadcast blared from the open intercom system.

Dan, in the copilot’s chair, shot a relieved look at Mark, who, surprised, had ceased mid-action his repairs to the cockpit door control. Dan flew to the radio station as the others came sprinting in, gathering at the hatch jamb to wait for the latest news. He pulled up the mike, flicking up the radio on/off lever. “Spindrift here. Where are you, Steve?”

“In a large cave west of the pond bridge, but it’s hidden from view by overgrown shrubbery, trees, and vines. It’s opposite the brick flower bed. Do you know the one I mean?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Bring my clothes and Betty’s as well. She’s coming home with us.”

Jubilation flooded the cabin: Valerie hugging Barry in unrestrained joy as Fitzhugh clasped his hands, yelling, “Yes! Wonderful!”, then clamping Mark on the back.

“Fantastic!” Dan replied. “We’ll be there soon.”

“Be careful! Kobick and his men are all over the place looking for us!”

“We will,” Dan said solemnly. “See you soon.”

Steve shut down the radio and returned to the hideout where he found Betty exactly where he had left her: reclining comatose against the rocky wall, her legs tucked under, arms wrapped about herself; she hadn’t moved a single muscle. As he approached, he saw a befuddled expression cross her face. Her distraught eyes zeroed in on his chest, growing bigger with each of his steps. She looked up, her horrified eyes connecting with his, but when she tried to speak her words choked in her throat.

Steve peered down, startled—blood covered his jacket, shirt, and hands. Hearing a stifled sob, his head shot up. Betty’s mouth was moving but nothing was coming out as she gawked at her own blood-smeared hands. Her breath quivered as she fought to remain in control, but when she wiped her hands on her pants, she found fresh blood there, too. Betty’s demeanor crumbled. She sobbed openly and before Steve could get to her, her palms shot to her mouth to smother her own tortured cries.

Whipping off his jacket, Steve flung it around her shoulders then dropped beside her. Wrestling her hands from her face, he pulled her tight to him, forcing her to cry into his shoulder instead, and then stroked her hair as she did so. He didn’t say anything. He knew no words could comfort her at this time. Steve never felt so utterly useless in all of his life.

<<<>>>

Steve glanced at his watch: forty-seven minutes had passed. Betty’s head rested against his chest, and only an occasional sniffle did he hear; otherwise, she had no tears left. He continued stroking her hair, having shifted his legs from time-to-time to keep the circulation moving. But impatience was starting to creep in. He hadn’t heard any SID men since their stopover at the entrance and he was anxious to get going before that all changed.

“Steve!”

The faint yell had come from the cave opening, and he recognized the voice to be Dan’s. He could barely make out the two small figures running through the shadows toward him. “Hey, Dan!” With upmost care, he disentangled himself from Betty. At one point, she looked up at him, but didn’t say anything or react in any way.

Two-thirds of the way to the front, Steve met his friends. Dan held the same canvas sack as before, plus two sets of shoes while Mark carried two apparent bundles of clothing: one encircled by red, the other vivid orange. Both men were staring past him at Betty.

“What’s wrong?” Dan asked with blatant alarm.

“I’ll tell you later,” Steve whispered, holding out his palm. “Let’s move. I want to get out of here before Kobick and his men find us.” Pills in hand, he returned to Betty. He helped her up then showed her the disk-like antidote. “This will make us small again. And here are your clothes.” He pressed the orange clothing into her arms, watching her intently. “Can you do this?”

Betty gave him a blank stare then nodded.

“Okay, then.” He handed her the yellow tablet. “Let’s go home.” At first, she gaped at it then slipped the formula into her mouth. Steve waited, making sure she swallowed it, before taking his own.

The transformation, as always, was quick and within minutes they were restored to their normal, Earth-size. Steve redressed in his uniform while Betty put on a neon orange waist-shirt with matching slacks (the only pant set Valerie owned), along with the gray boots that had once been an official part of her airline attire.

The journey to camp was solemn and silent. Mark and Dan exchanged anxious looks several times yet said nothing, knowing Steve would apprise them of the situation in due course.

Meanwhile, Steve kept a protective arm around Betty the entire journey from the cave. She hadn’t spoken a word since her emotional release, nor had he tried to coax her; this wasn’t the time.

Barry was sitting on the steps of the ship, teasing Chipper with an old rag, when he heard the crackling of bushes. Alarmed, he leaped to his feet to scan for intruders. His dread turned to elation at spotting the distinct red of Steve’s uniform blazing through the green-brown colors of the foliage. He bolted to the shelter and, unable to contain himself, yelled at full volume: “Valerie! Mr. Fitzhugh! They’re back!!” Too thrilled to wait for an answer, Barry sped back to the arrivals, plowing past the men to capture Betty in an exuberant bear hug.

“You’re home! You’re really home! When we couldn’t find you, we were scared that. . . .” His words caught in his throat as worry, fear, and confusion washed over him. Betty wasn’t returning the sentiment! In fact, she looked abashed, awkwardly aloof, and stared at him as if she’d never seen him before. Barry suddenly felt like he was holding a stranger. He let her go, stepping away just as Valerie rushed into the covey and pulled Betty into her own tight hug.

“I never thought I’d hear myself say this to another woman, but am I ever glad to see you back!” she bubbled. “I almost killed them with my cooking!” But instead of a happy, genuine greeting in return, Valerie received a bland, uninspiring welcome. Her sparkle fell away, replaced with bewilderment, concern, and disappointment. She shot a fearful look among the three men, and was surprised to see their collective gloominess. She started to ask something, but it went unvoiced as Fitzhugh, the last to arrive, shoved her aside in his zeal to get to their friend.

He snatched Betty’s hand up and with an exaggerated flourish of showmanship, bowed, declaring festively: “On behalf of us all, I wish to give you our most heartfelt greeting of ‘Welcome Home, Miss Hamilton’!” He kissed her hand with elation, but when he straightened up, his ear-to-ear grin dropped away: Betty was gaping at him, looking stunned and fearful. Fitzhugh panned the others; quickly catching on that something was definitely amiss.

“I-ah . . .” Betty fumbled, “. . . I, um . . . .” She turned pleading eyes to Steve.

Steve hastened to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “I think it’s best if she lay down for awhile,” he said, looking over the others.

“Sure,” Valerie replied, giving him a fleeting, uneasy grin.

As the couple departed, those left behind watched in constrained silence. But as soon as the two disappeared inside Spindrift, Val, Barry, and Fitzhugh pounced on Dan and Mark in a heartbeat. “What happened? What’s wrong?” they chorused.

“Hoffsman is dead,” stated Mark.

<<<>>>

Valerie sat on the log leaning into the dying campfire. Her eyes were transfixed on its flickering, a deep frown betraying her discontented thoughts. An owl’s sudden screech pierced the quiet of the dark night. Startled, her rumination disrupted, Val swung her gaze from the fire to the spaceship behind her, then at her male companions around her. “It’s been a week now and she’s hardly said a word to any of us. I’m worried about her.”

“She’s grieving,” said Fitzhugh. “She just lost her . . . whatever you want to call him.”

“She’s also confused and frightened,” added Dan. “She’s lost in a limbo between two worlds. In the true sense of the word, we’re still strangers to her.”

“Well, somebody has to talk to her! They have to make her understand she belongs here.” She peered expectantly at the men as they looked expectantly back at her. Understanding dawning, Val’s mouth dropped open. “Me!? I wouldn’t know what to say to her!”

“You’re a woman, aren’t you,” quipped Mark.

Her face lit with delighted gratitude as she turned to him. “Nice of you to notice,” she said, batting her eyes. “But . . . ,” the smile slid away, “I was never good with the female gender. It’s a miracle I got stranded here with a woman I don’t despise, let alone have actually become friends with. Otherwise,” she shook her head, “sewing clothes, housekeeping tips, and heart-to-heart talks are just not my thing.”

“Well, we know Mark’s out,” Dan joked lightly. “If it isn’t about technology, business, or science, he’s lost.”

Everyone laughed, looking at Mark for his reaction.

“Sad, but true,” he confessed with a shy grin.

“What about you?” Steve waved a lame hand at Dan. “You and Betty have a good rapport going.”

“I thought about it,” Dan nodded in serious consideration, “however . . . ,” he looked at Steve, “for whatever reason, you’re the one she remembers most out of all of us.”

Their eyes held for a moment; Steve understanding Dan’s silent comment although it carried no malaise or accusation. “I was afraid you’d say that.” Steve peered down at his hands in thought.

“Well, you do like to remind us that you’re the one in charge,” Mark needled.

Steve’s head whipped up. Seeing the deadpan look on the engineer’s face, he grinned. “I have been known to say that on occasion, haven’t I?”

Val cocked an eyebrow. “On occasion?” she said in amused skepticism.

Steve grinned briefly then exhaled, long and deep. “All right . . . ,” his demeanor was serious as he put his hands on his knees and pushed himself upward. “As captain of this motley group I will go see what I can do.”

“Good luck,” Dan said.

<<<>>>

After the brief evening meal, Betty excused herself from the others to once again seek refuge in Spindrift’s cockpit, just as she had done every night since her return.

Sinking into the cushion of the co-pilot’s chair, she immediately felt safe. The room was dark, confined, possessed a comfortable chair, and had the largest window onboard. Her view was untainted by the flicker of the campfire, by the sight and sounds of the people outside; nor were her thoughts disrupted by the harsh interior lights blinking on announcing someone’s presence.

Gazing past the view port, Betty let the sedation of the ebony emptiness lull away her compounding troubles.

But no sooner was her body relaxed, her mind free, when her elusive, disjointed memory flashed by like several bad movies edited haphazardly together. She bit her lip, closed her eyes, and tried to rationalize her way through the pandemonium; hoping to bring cloaked facts out of the fog. But the only thing vivid and whole from the chaos was her relationship with Josh. Everything else remained a disembodied jigsaw puzzle.

Betty suddenly felt very lonely. People who called themselves “friends” surrounded her, yet she felt no connection to them despite working every day to integrate herself into their daily routine. Even “Earth” was an ambiguous concept as she fought to remember it and her life there.

With a futile sigh, she opened her eyes to the nothingness ahead, feeling comforted in the fact that sheltered away in this room she was released, temporarily, from the pressures of trying to fit in, and of making intimate conversations with those outside.

But most of all, Betty didn’t have to conceal her anguish over losing Josh, or hide her fears of never regaining back her full memory.

Betty heard the hatchway open behind her and went tense. It was probably someone coming to tell her it was time for bed, she figured. But she didn’t look over, nor did she care to. To her surprise, a hand holding a juice glass of white wine appeared beside her. She shook her head.

“Take it,” Captain Burton insisted. “You need it.”

Betty did so, sniffing it with caution before taking a small sip while Burton leaned upon the pilot’s chair to her left.

“How’s the memory?” he asked, partaking of his own glass.

“Improving,” she replied, quieter than she had intended. She purposely kept her attention directed at the forest. She didn’t want to talk and hoped that the lack of eye contact would tell him so. From her peripheral sightline, she saw him peer at his wine as if preparing to say something he didn’t want to say, and she felt her stomach clutch.

“At the bridge,” he said matter-of-factly, “you had decided not to come back. For what it’s worth, you would have been—you were—terribly missed around here.”

Betty drew a long sip of wine to hide her hurt. She had resolved enough of her scrambled memory to know where she stood in this community, and the truth was she didn’t stand very close. Not wanting to give a detailed explanation, she simply stated, “Josh needed me.”

“So do we!”

“One less person to worry about,” she said, feeling sad at its truth.

“Betty!” Burton’s ardent amazement startled her. “With you gone, our troubles would have doubled! You’re the closest thing to a doctor we have!”

“Oh, come on!” she snapped, unable to help herself. “They all know you’re the real doctor around here, not me!” Her bravado vanquished as quickly as it had come. “Anyway,” she said softly, “you would have figured out something, you always do.”

“Figured out something?” He sounded aghast, indignant, and even a little angry. “You’re the one who—”

“—Look, Captain—”

“—It used to be Steve,” he said as she turned to him.

Instant confusion wiped out her anger. In the flashbacks it was always captain. “Steve . . . ,” she fumbled, swiveling toward to the window again. “Being needed and being wanted are two different things.”

“Under normal conditions, yes, but these aren’t normal conditions. This whole camp went to hell while you were gone.”

“You – still – survived,” she emphasized. “Don’t you understand? Nothing really changed. You went through an adjustment period, that’s all.”

Steve gaped at her. This wasn’t the woman he knew: cynical, rigid, and distant. “You weren’t here. You didn’t see how things were,” he pursued. “You are important around here, Betty. You keep us on an even keel. You . . . you . . . you smooth over our arguments, you sew our clothes so they’d last longer, you take care of us when we’re sick . . . cut our hair—”

“I was everybody’s mother!” she shouted. “Nothing more! Any one could have done those things. And you probably did.”

“No, damn it! You’re more than that. I can’t explain it, but trust me, please, when I say you held us together.”

“You still survived. Without me.”

“You’re not essential, is that it? That-that you contribute nothing to the group’s welfare?”

“I can’t explain it,” she ceded in a near whisper. “Nor would you understand even if I could.”

“Try me!”

When she didn’t answer, Steve felt his heart drop. Betty’s expression remained sad, lost . . . and empty.

“I don’t know you,” she said suddenly, her voice shy and thoughtful. She nodded in the direction of the campfire. “Or them. Is it so much as I don’t remember you? Or because I don’t know you? Strangers on a lost planet . . . all this time to talk and yet we don’t . . . didn’t.” He saw her shoulders sag. “I don’t belong here, I don’t belong there. At least, I belonged with Josh.”

Steve clamped his jaw hard. Enough with the gentle persuasion! He sprang to her side and whirled the pilot’s chair to make her to face him. “You do belong here, that’s what I’m telling you.” He snatched her glass, setting it on the console. “Come with me,” he commanded, pulling her out of the chair before she could protest.

He led her into the cabin, ushered her into the chair in front of the chessboard then sat on its armrest to block her from leaving. He pointed to the board: the six-piece triangle was the same as she had left it all those weeks ago. No one had had any inclination to play a game after her disappearance.

“The day before you disappeared, you set this up. It represented the seven of us. Take one away, you said . . .” he stretched forward, removing the centerpiece from the layout, “and the triangle would collapse, but your theory was flawed because you couldn’t figure out where you fit in. Each of us possessed a uniqueness that was crucial to the group’s survival, you said, making all of us important. Except for you.”

He swiftly rearranged the pieces to form a circle of six with the last figure in the center. “I agree with your theorem, in general; however, you forgot one vital element: no matter what its size, every group, village, organization, et cetera, needs a center; some person or governing body to hold it together in order for them to persevere and thrive. You, Betty, are our center, our heart.

“What?” she laughed with skepticism. “You’re crazy. You’re the leader of the group. You’re the one who’s kept us alive these years, not me.”

“I may lead the group, sure, but over time I’ve come to share that leadership role with the rest of you. Mark and Dan, primarily, but it is shared. You, however, are our emotional center because none of us can do what you do. You keep us human . . . civilized.”

Betty slowly began to shake her head. “I don’t see how—”

“Because you contribute something directly to each of us as individuals; thus reinforcing our durability to live in this ruthless world.”

She looked up at him. “And what do I give you?” she asked with suspicious sarcasm.

Steve laughed. “Peace of mind. You’re the only one I never have to concern myself about.” He saw her doubtful eyes return to the diagram. “You’re the best cook out of all of us,” he rushed on, “you’re the best with a needle, you get us to vent our emotions when we don’t want to, making you our resident psychiatrist.” He looked down, watching her digest his words only to see the same subtle disheartened look as before.

“Wait here,” he ordered. He sprinted to the aft right of the cabin into the Engine Room, returning within seconds with a crudely fashioned wooden box the size of a laptop computer. “Here,” he said, dropping it on her lap as he returned to his place on the armrest.

“What is this?” she asked, lifting its lid.

Inside, on top, was a thick, black leather book. Beneath it were giant-sized sheets of paper now hewn down to fit into the compartment. On it were handwritten notes. Betty’s notes.

“That’s a German Medical Book you and Fitzhugh are translating.”

“Me and Fitzhugh?”

“Well, I certainly don’t have the time. Because of your tenacity to learn what’s in that book, you now tell Dan, Mark, and me what we need from the pharmacy and we bring it back. We don’t tell you—you tell us! I may do the surgeries, but you take care of everything else medical and that, as far as I’m concerned, makes you the doctor around here, not me.

“The point is, Betty,” he rushed on, “the listening, the sewing, the translating may not seem important, but they are! Dan was sick for two days after Valerie cooked for us. And speaking of Valerie, all she and Fitzhugh did was bicker the entire time you were gone. Even Barry was getting fed up with it. And Barry . . .” he trailed off, shaking his head. Bringing up the teenager reminded him of a new worry. “He has something on his mind, but he won’t tell us. He kept saying he’d rather wait till you came home.”

“Barry’s going through puberty,” she said off-handedly. “He’s confused about things.”

Steve’s jaw dropped as he stared downward at her. “You remembered that!”

“No-I . . . not really,” she sputtered, her face flashing beet red. “It just came out.

“Puberty . . . .” Steve leaned back against the cushion. “I never even thought—” he suddenly felt ashamed. “I never noticed. But don’t you see?” He swung off the chair, down onto one knee to look her straight in the eye. “That proves this is where you belong. You’re the only one who knows about that. You’re the only one Barry will talk to about it! And he’s just one out of the six of us you’ve helped so far. This is your home, Betty. We need you here.”

She gazed down at the chess board. “Maybe I am important,” she said.

But to Steve it sounded more like resignation than of a true belief.

“I just don’t remember it,” she frowned.

“There’s no maybe about it!” he impromptu chuckled. He paused to assess her reaction and he could tell by her expression that she was silently struggling with it—with something. Then it hit him: “Josh,” he said.

Betty shifted as though he had struck a nerve.

“Look, I know you miss him.” Steve got to his feet. “We all know it. You liked the guy, we get it—”

“It’s more than that,” she said quietly. “How do I explain this to you? How do I make you understand that there’s a difference between wanting someone and needing them.”

“What’s there to understand?”

“Josh needed me—”

“I told you—!”

“Josh needed me because he loved me, Captain, that’s the difference! Of his own free will, Josh wanted me with him. I was what made him happy and not because we were forced together for survival’s sake or that somebody had a shotgun to his back or because he was desperate to be with any woman he could find.”

Steve was too stunned to respond as Betty slid out of her chair onto her feet.

“He loved me, Captain. For me and what I was,” she looked him point blank in the eye, “not for what I could do for him.”

She went to slide past him, but Steve didn’t move. “Josh didn’t love you, Betty, not in the way you wanted him too.”

“Yes, he did. He—”

“He nearly shot you—both of us—because he thought you were cheating on him!”

“He was afraid.”

“He was crazy!”

“He was crazy because he loved me!”

“The hell he did!” His ferociousness made Betty step back. “He loved his wife! The one who ran out on him. He was obsessed with you only because you were a twin to her!”

“No! He—”

“—kidnapped you, drugged you, kept you a virtual prisoner, and told you nothing but lies! That’s not love, Betty, that’s possession!”

He watched her stumble backward and drop down hard into the second chair where, in her disbelief, she tried to pull the pieces together.

“But there was tenderness, too,” she said aloud as though validating the memory to herself. “And kindness. We were planning to go on a second honeymoon.” She looked sharply at him. “We were gonna be married on a cruise ship. Why would he do that if he didn’t love me?”

“Betty,” Steve sighed, “how could he love you that much if he’d only known you for three weeks?”

“Three weeks!” she blanched.

“That’s all you were gone.” He shrugged. “Three weeks, give or take a day.”

“That can’t be right,” she muttered, although he could see her analyzing it. She brought a shaking hand to her mouth. “I remember him kissing me, it was wonderful! A tight passionate embrace.” Her forehead crinkled. “I was wearing a white evening gown—”

Steve startled: “—a long one with sequins, halter top, with a slit up the side.” He was surprised she remembered the incident, and even more surprised at himself for being elated in knowing she had found it to be wonderful.

Betty nodded slowly. “Yes, but when? If it’s only been three weeks . . . and I know I haven’t worn it recently . . . .” Her lost eyes turned to him.

Steve felt his face grow warm. “It wasn’t Josh you were kissing in the white dress, but me.”

Betty gaped, her eyes wide in shock. “No!” she yelled horrified, jumping to her feet. “No, it wasn’t you. It was Josh!”

“You had changed into the gown because you had fallen into a pond and had nothing else dry to wear. Then a fierce thunderstorm struck and you were petrified. I found you hiding in the galley under the counter. We held each other, and then we—”

She shook her finger at him. “No! That wasn’t you! That man was tender and loving and caring. That fits Josh, not you!”

Steve didn’t grin even though he wanted too. “We were scared.”

“I don’t care!” she shouted.

She skirted round the table in an attempt to flee, but Steve stood ready. He blocked her escape, taking her wrists when she tried to push past him. “Betty,” he said calmly.

“It was Josh, not you!” she cried, drawing back; Steve letting her go. “I fell in love with that man!”

“Well, you may have fallen in love with Josh,” he said lightly, oddly enjoying this, “but it was me you kissed with a passion.”

She again gawked at him. “I don’t believe this. I kissed you?”

“Well, actually we kissed each other,” he confessed, feeling no shame at all.

“Oh, my God.” Betty lowered herself into the nearest chair, dropping her head into her hands. “Did you hate me for it?”

“What?” Steve gaped in disbelief.

Betty’s head snapped up, her eyes drilling him. “Did you hate me for kissing you?”

“No, like I said it was mutual.” Feeling like he had missed something, Steve shook his head. “Why would I hate you?”

“Because of your rules, your reasoning,” she sighed, leaning against the chair, her eyes fixed unfocused on the opposite seat.

“Which is . . . ?”

“Judgment becomes cloudy, objectivity is gone, priorities are changed, emotions are intensified, new complications created—complications you feel that should be avoided at all costs.”

Steve was stunned she knew so much about his secluded ideology, so much so he had to sit down himself. “I never told anyone that. Not even Dan.”

“You didn’t have to. That’s just the way you are. Almost military-like in thinking. In short, you don’t like complications and that incident was definitely a complication you would have preferred to forget.”

Her vehement reaction and denial was not what Steve had expected, and the joy he felt a moment ago vanished quickly, replaced by disappointment. But this was not the time or place to analyze his feelings, he decided staunchly. He had a homestead to maintain, therefore, his personal pursuits would have to wait until they were back on Earth.

“Betty,” he said with as much reassurance as he could muster, “we both said there was nothing between us. No romantic notions. We’re friends. And if nothing else, the kiss brought us closer as friends, with a new respect and insight into each other, so you have nothing to worry about. Or complications to be wary of.”

She looked at him, worried and doubtful. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “I’m sure. And to prove it, I have yet to give you a proper ‘welcome home’ so . . . .” Steve stood. Opening his arms to her, he motioned for her to stand up.

Betty was hesitant for a moment, but then when she came to him, Steve noticed, she held him just as tight as he held her. “Welcome home, Betty Ann Hamilton,” he said sincerely. His cheek nestled against her hair, Steve felt awash with a deep-seated relief he hadn’t experienced in weeks . . . and overwhelming happiness. “I’m glad you’re back, we all are.” I just can’t tell you how much.

Betty closed her eyes and held onto Steve for dear life. She desperately wanted to prolong the moment for as long as possible; to savor every fleeting second of this security and serenity, as well as bask in the intimacy of another human being. She felt a tear drop from her cheek. This feels wonderful—too wonderful, she thought with dread. “Do the others know?” She heard her voice tremble and hoped it didn’t betray the fact that she’d been crying. “About the kiss, I mean.”

“Not at all,” Steve lied, feeling safe that Dan would keep their secret. “Moving on . . . ,” he said abruptly, wanting to leave this subject, “I remember you suggesting we should have a party?” He looked at her and grinned from ear-to-ear. “But before we talk about that, let me tell you about our new bathtub. . . .”

<<<>>>

In a gopher hole deep underneath the world of giants, isolated from the perils of the city, the burning stub of a candle illuminates the cavernous dirt room. In a corner, a discarded match box serves as a banquet table. Arranged on top are the beverages and treats Steve had scrounged up in town while masquerading as a giant. One of these is the thimble-bucket, currently doubling as a champagne bottle for easier access. Next to the box, along with Mark’s creation of bongo drums, flute, and a kazoo, sits Dan’s trumpet just waiting to be used.

The flames erratically highlight the seven people standing near it. With plastic beverage glasses in hand, their faces brim with excited anticipation over the forthcoming celebration.

“It’s been two weeks since we were reunited,” Barry proclaimed in a solemn and very mature voice, “and two years since we landed on this oversized monstrosity of a planet. And despite our hardships, dangers, illness, lack of food, we have survived—all of us.”

He looks at Betty and smiles, his friends doing likewise. “Most importantly of all, we still have hope. Hope that we will still, someday, return home to our own planet of Earth. Until then,” his mouth tugs at an impish grin, “we humbly pray for the continuing health . . . strength . . . patience . . . power . . . and everlasting friendship of . . . ,” he breaks into a jubilant smile as he raises his glass high, “of the Spindrift Association for Marooned Travelers!”

His companions burst into laughter and then drink. Dan finishes his quickly, hurrying to his trumpet. It’s been months since opportunity has allowed him to play it, and he doesn’t want to waste another minute. Barry, coughing from the champagne, hastens beside him. “People really drink that stuff?” he asks, picking up the drums.

Mark, waiting in expectation for the music, leans into Valerie, whispering, “You helped him with that speech, didn’t you?”

Val playfully shrugs. “Well, ‘friendship of all of us’ just didn’t sound exciting enough.”

Beside them, Steve and Betty, too, are gleefully smiling as they watch Barry and Dan warm up.

Betty glances at Steve, her smile fading a bit. “Thank you, Steve,” she says in seriousness.

Steve peers at her, uncertain. “For what?”

She nods at the others. “For this. I haven’t seen them this happy in a long time.”

Feeling guilty, Steve looks down at his glass than at the musicians. “You were right. They did need this. I was the one who was wrong.”

“And you’ve already apologized for that,” she laughs and then crinkles her forehead. “I think. And again . . . thank you”

“For what now?”

“For saving my life,” she shrugs, taking in a deep breath, “for other things . . . food . . . shelter . . . taking care of us.”

“It’s my job. And for times like this, it’s well worth it. I need a refill,” he says suddenly, “would you like one?”

Betty shakes her head. “Not right now, thank you.” She watches him go, disappointment seeping through her joy. She frowns; plagued by misery and confusion that secretly cloaks her heart: Who am I really in love with? Josh or Steve? And if it’s Steve, I can never tell him. Not here anyway.

“Remember to go easy on the champagne, everyone,” Valerie sings out, “‘cause the hangover remedy is back on Earth!”

As Steve refills his glass from the thimble-bucket, the music starts up behind him. Turning, he catches sight of Betty. Her face is beaming as she loses herself in the music. A ping of regret and longing causes him to ask for the hundredth time: Would it really be so disastrous if I gave into my feelings?” But he, sadly, already knows the answer. Yes, because here you can’t walk away if a relationship goes sour . . . .

=/=/=/=/=/=/=/