“lf I change my mind I’ll look for you around Austin. Or on the evening news.” She kissed him again.

De la Vega looked on benignly. “I am sorry, my friend, but I have never seen one so beautiful as this wondrous Caroline. Or so big.”

“Forget it. I owe her a van. Buy her one.”

“A van? But she can have a Ferrari, or a Rolls.”

Caroline was smiling again. “Take my advice and make it a van,” Ross advised him. “You can give her that. All I have to offer her is a dead alien.”

Their host crawled forward and pointed. “If you go that way you will reach the kitchen. Go through to the back door. There is a gate in the perimeter wall for service deliveries. The fighting seems to be concentrated here. You should have no difficulty reaching the jungle. If you make it out, head downriver and eventually you will strike the ocean. Oh, and help yourself to anything in the cupboards.”

“Thanks. You think you’ll be all right?”

The other man nodded. “I have confidence in my people. I have never understood these Japanese pajama-men who think they can heat machine guns with swords and sharpened Christmas ornaments. It is all very balletic, but I think maybe they watch too many of their own movies. Give me a good Russian rocket launcher any day. If you would like something to take with you…?”

“That’s okay. If I don’t have a gun I’m not a threat, and maybe nobody’ll shoot at me. Also, while it seems I’m generally considered expendable, nobody wants to risk damaging Jed.”

“So valuable.” For a moment the grower gazed longingly at the Texan’s immobile three-armed passenger. “Good luck to you, my friend.”

“Right. So long, Caroline.”

She saluted with her cola. “Fare thee well, Ross Ed Hager.”

“Whatever.”

Charging out from behind the bar, he made the sharp left turn that de la Vega had suggested. Sure enough, he soon found himself in the deserted kitchen. While the thick walls muted the sounds of battle, he madly shoved dried fruits, nuts, packaged foods, and anything else small and portable into his pockets. Many of the labels were unfamiliar and indecipherable, but he doubted any of it would prove inedible. Not in the jungle and on the run.

Then it was out the back door after a quick look around revealed no sign of combatants. The continuing conflict did seem to be confined to the opposite side of the compound. Locating the small service gate, he slipped through and found himself once more in unpopulated ruin forest.

Reaching the river without incident, he headed downstream and ran for another hour before he felt it was safe to stop and rest. A river-washed granite boulder provided a smooth seat relatively devoid of voracious insects.

Propping Jed carefully against the rock, he dipped his face into the river and took long, deep drafts of the cool water. When he’d slaked his thirst he took a seat and began sorting through his hurriedly acquired supplies. A small box instantly caught his eye.

Sugar Frosted Flakes. The label was in Spanish, but there was no mistaking either the grinning tiger or the front of the tooth-numbing sweetness of the contents. Munching the dry shards, he could feel the sugar rush starting.

“Well, after all this it looks like it’s just you and me again, Jed.” Around him the rain forest seethed and cried with extravagant life, but there was no sign of soldiers, rebels, drug dealers, or ninjas.

“I’m sorry, Ross Ed. I guess I’ve complicated your life. Maybe you ought to just stick me back in another cave somewhere. I don’t think anyone will find me here. But then, I didn’t think anyone would find me where I was before, either, and you did.”

“Hey, I couldn’t do that. You may be dead, but you’re conscious again.”

“That’s easily fixed,” the little alien replied. “I’ll tell you which Culakhan contacts to disconnect and then I’ll be a hundred percent deceased again.”

“Is that what you really want?” Ross had lowered his voice. “Final death?”

“What I really wanted was peace and quiet. Death was only one option, which circumstances forced me to accept.”

“I think you ought to give it some thought.” Leaning back and putting his hands behind his head, the Texan gazed up into the sunstruck canopy. “Might as well. I’m beat and I need to rest a bit.”

As the regular evening rainstorm gathered strength, the sky began to cloud over. He relaxed against the granite and closed his eyes. In seconds he was fast asleep.

He dreamed of hard work in the hot Texas sun, of putting his modest savings into a wildcat operation and bringing in a gusher big enough to make the old-timers forget even Spindletop. His silent musings turned to thoughts of good food and happier times, when he wasn’t running from belligerents from all over the world, not to mention from off it. For the first time in days he rested easy.

Too easy. Opening his eyes, he noted with interest that he was floating twenty feet above the top of the tallest tree and rising through a pale yellow efflorescence.

Jed was nowhere to be seen.

TWENTY-THREE

Struggling violently, he found he was able to twist and tumble but could do nothing to slow his ascent. Which was just as well, considering that he was now a couple of hundred feet above the forest floor and accelerating. One spin allowed him to catch sight of Jed. The motionless alien was forty feet overhead and rising at a comparable speed. Moments later he disappeared into a white hole in the underside of a storm cloud. Rain fell all around, but not a drop penetrated the cylinder of yellow light.

His calmness surprised him. Obviously the Culakhan had discovered Jed’s ruse and returned. Somehow they had tracked the little alien down a second time.

There wasn’t much he could do, except be thankful that whatever happened now, Caroline was safely out of it. He hoped she and de la Vega would be happy. As he rose he vacillated between hoping the lift beam would be turned off and praying that it would not. If he fell, there was a chance that the dense forest cover would break his fall, although at his present altitude it would be more likely to break all of him.

Codes of Conduct or not, the Culakhan couldn’t be happy with the ruse that had been played on them. This time they might not prove so hospitable. He stopped thrashing around and tried to enjoy the view. If it was to be his last glimpse of Earth, he wanted to remember it clearly.

Rain forest and rain clouds vanished as he rose into the interior of a silver glove. The mirrored surface reflected back several distorted versions of himself. This chamber was different from the one they had arrived via before. More secure, perhaps. The aliens would be taking no chances.

The lift beam vanished and he found himself standing on a solid surface. Lights embedded in the walls bathed him in bright, near-carnival radiance. Taking a step forward, he stumbled and heard voices urging him on. The translator headband was in his pocket. Pulling it out, he strapped it to his head. He wondered what de la Vega would make of Caroline’s. Probably think she bought it at Wal-Man, he decided with a rueful grin.

The mirror sphere opened onto a much larger chamber whose walls were solid instead of glassy, multihued instead of green, and rife with sharp angles instead of flowing curves. There wasn’t a Culakhan in sight. Instead, waiting hands reached out to assist him. Real hands and not prehensile lips or modified tail-hairs. Of course, they weren’t human, either.

Their owners barely came up to his waist. Each had three eyes, arms, and legs, a sharp keel running down the center of its face, and no tail. Allowing for mundane individual variations, they were virtual clones of Jed. Ross straightened.

So these were the Shakaleeshva. Cute little fellers.

He wondered if the translator band would work on their ship. Certainly they were as technologically advanced as the Culakhan, and had the ability to compensate for settings he couldn’t begin to adjust himself. There was one way to find out. He tapped the strap.

“Does this gadget work for you guys?”

This prompted hurried consultations among several of the attending tripods. Three-fingered hands manipulated delicate instrumentation. Their actual speaking voices, he noted, were so soft as to border on the inaudible, but the headband brought their meanings through sharp and clear.

“Yes, we can understand you.” The Shakaleeshva who had spoken edged out from beneath the burden of Ross Ed’s left arm. “Or rather, you should now be able to understand us.” Triple arms stretched and quivered. “Can you now stand by yourself? You constitute a substantial organic mass.”

“Hey, that’s me,” he replied cheerfully. He was still recovering from the realization that instead of having been recaptured by the brooding, vengeful Culakhan, they had been rescued by Jed’s people. “Just your average Texas organic mass.”

“We know. The Enlightenment has told us.”

“The who?”

For an answer the Shakaleeshva turned and pointed with two arms toward the far side of the welcoming chamber, where a host of colleagues were swarming the limp, unmoving form of Ross Ed’s deceased companion.

“Jed? He’s the ‘Enlightenment’?”

“Assuredly. What did you think he was?”

“Dead, mostly.” Maybe the translator band wasn’t accurate all the time, he decided. It was all very confusing. But then, pretty much everything that had happened since he’d dragged Jed out of that cave in New Mexico had been confusing, so why should this be any different?