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  "I find that hard to believe. How could another race develop, on another world and look so similar they could pass?"

  "I didn't say we developed separately. There are humans on several hundred worlds we know and hundreds of others with artifacts that show men once lived there. The original world is unknown; men might not even live there anymore. But the evidence says we are all related. On most worlds the humans are still fertile with people from other worlds. That's suggests they are all from the same stock, even if it isn't proof."

  "But, we have evidence that we evolved here," Roger objected. "There are the other primates and fossils." He thought a moment and she didn't hurry to interrupt him. "Maybe our world is where these all originated and you just don't know it yet!"

  "Possibly," she said for now, to avoid an argument, "but there are other worlds that have monkeys and – the bigger monkeys – I can't think of your name for them," she said looking at her computer again.

  "Gorillas and chimpanzees," he offered.

  "Yes and orangutans and bonobos," she said once she found her file. "But there are other worlds with men that have these and others you don't know. There are worlds we found with monkeys, that don't have men. Maybe they did once."

  "But, but – how do you explain that?" Roger asked dismayed.

  "I don't try to explain it. I'm just telling you the facts. If I can make one statement, critical of your culture and science, sometimes you try to explain things from too little data, when they should just say they don't know."

  "So, we might be that original world?" he pressed, stuck on the point.

  "Why is this important to you?" Martee asked, irritated. "We don't know, but since you won't leave this one idea – no, probably not."

  "There are wrecks and artifacts on airless planets, in closer to the center of the galaxy, that seem to be older than any of the human civilizations could be out this arm of the galaxy. There is even an area that had human worlds and lost them when a nova sterilized a volume of space.

  "There are worlds that have the plants and animals of the worlds of men and no sign humans ever lived there. Some of them are real strange mixes, I'd love to tell you about in time. So we wonder, did men take them there? Or did some other race take both men and the plants and animals based on the same biology to so many planets?" she mused.

  "If such a separate race did this, why wouldn't they take themselves and their own supporting plants and animals, instead of us? I have even heard the idea there could be a race based on our biology, who are superior to us, just as we are superior to the apes."

  "I can't imagine why anyone would abandon so many worlds they planted with life, so I very much doubt the idea. At the same time I hope it is false, because I don't want to meet someone that looks at me, the same as I do a bonobo. There are so many ideas, but we don't know."

  "But, what about the really simple forms of life? Didn't any of these planets have life arise in the oceans and then have worms and shellfish and things evolve into vertebrates?"

  "We have never seen any proof of any spontaneous generation of life." Martee assured him.

  "But even if someone spread life all around to these worlds, it had to start somewhere. Don't tell me you are creationists!" he snarled. "I know this world isn't a few thousand years old!"

  "No, we have never seen proof of an organism being created either."

  "Well it has to be one or the other!" Roger insisted angrily.

  "Why?" Martee asked him gently. "You give me two very general ideas, to explain the origin of the known biological systems and then without offering sufficient proof for either, you insist I choose one. Well I refuse. We don't know. We don't know enough to even be formulating very detailed theories. I'm not at all certain we know enough about it, to ask the really good questions yet."

  "Any educated person today will tell you life happened by an accident of circumstances long ago, in the sea and slowly gained complexity until it became what we see today."

  "Have they made that a law yet, like wearing the seat belts?" she snipped.

  He opened his mouth to reply, but thought of how rigid some of his professors were and shut it. It might as well be law he had to admit.

  "Aren't there any worlds that have completely different kinds of life not related to any of the ones associated with humans?" he wondered.

  "Nothing we have found. It's all DNA-based. You are smart people to have figured out DNA. That impressed us. Most of the time you can look at something on these worlds and at least place it in a group you are familiar with, such as a flowering plant or a fish."

  Roger sat for a while, absorbing it all in silence. The universe was not cooperating by being what he expected. Was he really a barbarian?

  "These hundreds of worlds, are they all under the government that sent the policeman, who tried to abduct you?"

  "Oh no," she shook her head, "there are worlds that don't welcome any outsiders, who won't even talk to us and some there is little reason to visit. Worlds with scattered goat herders, or a culture that barely has metalworking. Who needs a source of more goat cheese? There are only about fifty worlds that welcome us, rich enough and with enough people to make us want to visit them regularly," she said.

  "There is very little that makes economic sense to carry between worlds and only six worlds I know, that actually make starships, but all six have been star-faring for more than ten thousand years. They are stable. They make an obsession of stability even and they are very aware that ten thousand years is not very long and they worry why no civilization has been around for fifty or a hundred thousand years, when they can find abandoned habitats and artifacts on airless worlds that old."

  "OK," he said, not because he really agreed, or believed yet, but it was a plea, for time to absorb such a change to everything he believed. He could feel a dull ache already in his back, from jerking the alien cop over the side of his truck. It would probably be worse in the morning. He knew what would help that. "I'm going to have something to drink – something with alcohol. Do you want something?

  "Whatever you have," she said, after she looked at her computer.

  Roger got a couple of short glasses and poured a generous measure of bourbon in both.

  "Do you want some ice in that?" he offered

  She looked at his and said, "I'll have it the same as you."

  Roger eased himself down in the chair and took a sip of the bourbon. For once Martee did not imitate him closely and with an abstracted look took a deep gulp of the whisky and swallowed.

  "Uh, Martee," he started to warn her, too late. Her eyes got big and she gasped at the sudden fire. She did manage to sit the glass down without spilling it. From the look on her face, he had to admire what self-control that must have taken. The round of coughing he expected however did not happen. She sat and blew her breath through pursed lips for a little while and then took the napkin he had supplied and dabbed the tears from her eyes.

  Rog got some of the ice he'd offered and put in her glass.

  "Let it melt a bit and dilute it. I should have realized you might not be used to strong drink," he apologized.

  "Strong drink?" she asked, her voice a bit husky from the whisky. "I've had alcohol before. We don't have thousands of years old civilizations without knowing – she checked her computer – fermentation. I've had all sorts of fermented grape and berries. I've even had beer, which I know you people make too. But what sort of organism can possibly live, after raising the alcohol level in its environment to this level?" she asked, raising the glass. "There aren't many things worth trading from world to world, but unique plants and cultures that have been breed to an extreme, are worth trading."

  "Actually," he said, embarrassed, "the yeast doesn't get it this strong. We put it in a sealed vessel and boil the alcohol off to a chilled condenser and get it up to about half alcohol, instead of maybe one part in twenty." He decided now was not the time to introduce her to moonshine.

  She asked a couple questions her
computer didn't touch on and shook her head in wonder.

  "It's so wasteful. You spend energy to remove the alcohol, throw most of the original product away, unavoidably waste some fraction of what you want and then, when you go to use it you may dilute it back where you started."

  "Sometimes in the past that was an advantage," he explained, "men grew grain where it was difficult to transport to market and this allowed them to concentrate it into a form that could be carried on animal back to market over rough ground. You do acquire a taste for it – honest."

  "You can't tell me they made this to transport food value more efficiently," she insisted. "This is not liquid bread; it's more like solvent. Can it possibly be healthy to drink much of this?"

  "Well no, it's not nutritious, but it concentrated their labor too. It made economic sense. It's true you probably fry more brain cells when this hits your bloodstream, than being smacked in the head with a brick, but you are not supposed to gulp it down like that. Give it another try – just a sip – when the ice has melted some. What the hell, do you want to live forever?"

  Martee looked at him with one of those rare instances where she understood his humor, without looking it up and laughed like a loon.

  Chapter 5

  After her ice melted and she cautiously sipped a bit of her drink, Roger was astonished how quickly Martee showed the effect of the alcohol. He wasn't a hard drinking man by any means, but one drink didn't leave anyone he knew as plastered as she looked now, even allowing for the stress of the day.

  He brought a pillow from the closet and a wool blanket and suggested she sleep right where she was. She sort of grunted an affirmative and slid down on the couch without another word. Rog tossed the blanket over her and got no reaction at all. She didn't adjust it or try to tuck it anywhere. She was asleep already.

  What else he should do? She had used the bathroom when they were cleaning up supper and thankfully had not had to ask him how to use the fixtures. But if she woke up in the dark it might be difficult for her in a strange place. He decided the bathroom light dimmed real low and the door closed most of the way would be her nightlight.

  His own bedroom door he left ajar so he could hear. The people who'd tried to kidnap her worried him. He hadn't really found out much about their capabilities yet and the fact they had what she labeled a mother ship here, suggested to him there must be a number of them.

  He left his clothing on when he went to sleep, just loosening his shoe laces. In addition to the 10mm on the nightstand he went to the gun safe and pulled out an H&K and laid it, with a shoulder bag of its ammunition, beside his bed on his exercise rug. It had his nightscope mounted, if something should happen during the night.

  Once he was stretched out, he didn't have much more trouble falling asleep than Martee had.

  "Roger?"

  He came suddenly awake – aware there had been a sound, but not what.

  "Roger?" Martee called again softly. There was no urgency to the call, so he allowed himself to curb the alarm he felt at being awakened.

  "Yes Martee? What's up?"

  "I'd like to get washed and I'm having trouble. I can get the water to come out, but it's too hot and I can't remember where you said houseguests were supposed to poke around or not and don't want to offend you."

  It was light out, but the thin silvery light of dawn, before the sun comes over the horizon. She was peeking in at the door he had left ajar and looked a mess. Her hair was all matted and she had on underpants that were beyond utilitarian. They were so ugly and coarse, a Russian peasant woman would turn her nose up at them and they didn't even appear to have elastic. Instead they had a drawstring knotted in the front.

  She had no top on and he could tell from the unconscious way she stood, with no hunching of the shoulders, that her culture was not shy about showing breasts. She was, however, cold and as he got up and got closer to help her he could see not only were her nipples all tight, but there were goose bumps all the way up her arms. She didn't need a bra for support either, because she was quite small-breasted.

  One look at her bloodshot eyeballs told him the tiny indulgence in drink had left her with what was likely her first hangover.

  Roger rolled out of bed, bracing himself for the pain, but it could have been a lot worse. He'd done some harm lifting the dead body, but experience told him it would be healed in a week, if he didn't aggravate it. A couple pain pills would carry him over for the next few days.

  "This is the linen closet," he showed her and handed her a bath towel and washcloth, explaining what each was used for. She looked at him like she was a little put out, he was explaining the obvious, but he honestly wasn't sure what was obvious. Maybe they dried themselves with a blast of warm air at home for all he knew

  "Help yourself to anything in here, or the kitchen. Just leave the wet things in the bathroom and I'll get them for now. I'll get you some things to wear, so we can wash your clothing. Watch me," he instructed and demonstrated how to adjust the temperature in the shower and hesitated and then made sure she knew what the soap was.

  He hurried out, not sure if she would care about stepping out of her pants in front of him, but not ready for that himself. Truth was that he was kind of a prude, probably a reaction to his parents, because they were so very indifferent to modesty. That and being an only child, which he was certain warped him in any number of ways, besides that minor matter.

  Back in his room he considered the problem of dressing her. She was so much smaller. He sometimes didn't wear any underwear at all. Sometimes he wore briefs. They would be silly on her and hang loose. He ended up with a pair of very thin long thermal underwear since it was fairly cool outside already this fall, they had a huge stretch range and a pair of drawstring sweatpants on top. He'd leave the heat down in the cabin and dress warm himself.

  She would be too warm in that to wear much on top, so he picked a plain white t-shirt. If the local folks didn't like her being braless under the t-shirt, it at least wasn't anything shocking they didn't see on city folks. Maybe just an open flannel shirt would fix that. He had one that had shrunk and he was glad he hadn't ripped it into rags. He finished it off with a pair of dress socks. They were thin, but very stretchy. Any of his bulkier socks would be too big for her. He took it all in the bathroom and left it on the corner of the vanity for her to find. There was the sound of the water, but no acknowledgement from the shower.

  He didn't want to waste a lot of time on breakfast. There were a great many things to do today. So he just put on a pot of oatmeal. He hated the mushy rolled kind, so he bought the steel cut variety, which meant he had to drive all the way to Cooperville, where there was a health food store that had bulk items, to get that kind.

  That’s where we’ll go today, he thought, to get some clothing for Martee, where hopefully her people would not think to look for her. The oats, a pot of coffee and some orange juice should hold them until they could get some lunch in town.

  When Martee was done she came out. She had figured out the proper order of everything, but was still carrying the socks and the flannel shirt, squinting a bit at the bright sunlight flooding the kitchen.

  "Do you have a bit of a headache today?" he asked her.

  "Hurt in the head you mean? Yes. How did you know? That is unusual for me to hurt here," she said laying her hand by her ear.

  "The whiskey does that sometimes to those not used to it. I have something called aspirin, that will ease it a little. I'll put a couple by your plate."

  "It's too warm for this," she said holding the flannel shirt up. "May I wait to put it on until we go outside?"

  "Sure and you don't have to button it all up. The sleeves can even be folded back, but I hoped you could wear it in town, because your nipples will show through the t-shirt," he demonstrated on his own chest, "and some of the local people are pretty straight-laced. They don't like it when city people dress that way and what's worse is it will make them remember you."

  "They're not the
only ones who might be remembering me. I'm not sure it is a good idea for me to go back into the town. I think my people may be still be searching for me."

  "I figured that. I had in mind we'd drive a ways, to a bigger town and buy you some clothing. There are a few other things I have in mind to buy too. Do you think that will be safe, or will they be look for you over a wide area?"

  "No, they don't have enough people to watch that many places and I think they would assume I went back to my ship and will sit in it hiding, until I can't stand it anymore and try to run away, or run out of supplies on board and finally just give up and surrender myself.

  "A lot of our people have been happy to get away from this world after the full shock of it hits home. I didn't understand that before. If they do suspect the agent disappearing had anything to do with me, they will probably assume whatever fate he met got me at the same time, not that I had a part in it," she said with a sad face.

  "This world has a reputation as unbelievably dangerous. That wasn't the first agent that has disappeared by any means. They have had agents disappear in broad daylight, in the middle of your biggest cities."

  Roger laughed easily. "Oh Martee, the middles of our biggest cities are some of the most dangerous places on the planet. I'd rather go into the woods and find a grizzly bear to wrestle, than walk down the street in LA if I didn't know what gang holds the territory and how I should be marked or dressed to show I respect them. As outsiders they were probably lambs to the slaughter."

  Martee understood that well enough even without her PDA, to shudder.

  "Let me get cleaned up now and we'll eat after I shower and do some things. Breakfast is simmering. Help yourself to some coffee if you want."

  When he was clean, he didn't feel free to cut off his guest by doing his therapy in the bedroom and he didn't feel free to invite her in there to talk. He grabbed the heavy rug and took it in the living room to solve that. The dining table was in the short side of an L that was open to living room. A wall and counter set the kitchen off.