From a Distant Star (22 page)

“My pleasure,” he said. “You just take good care of this guy and it will be payment enough.”

I rummaged in my backpack and got out the keys for the Grand Prix. “If you want to go pick up our car after the agents leave, you can,” I said. “I don’t think they can trace it back to anyone. It was my friend’s barn car to begin with and I’m pretty sure he never registered it.”

Roy nodded and took the keys. “If I get it, I’ll hold onto it for you.” He grimaced. “But judging from personal experience, they’re likely to haul it away as evidence.”

I nodded. “Sounds about right. Well, thank you again.” I started up the engine and it came to life with a powerful roar. As we drove down the driveway, Scout turned to look behind us. When I glanced back, I saw the couple standing together in front
of the house, Beverly blowing kisses and her husband waving. As we turned onto the road, Roy cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Don’t forget to go the way I told you.”

I wasn’t about to forget. We drove down a narrow country road paved in crumbling asphalt. There were no street signs and even the van’s GPS didn’t have a name for the route we were traveling on. It seemed fairly safe, but still I kept glancing in the rearview mirror, just in case.

We drove up behind a guy on a tractor and I veered around him, pretty sure federal agents wouldn’t be driving mud-splattered farm equipment. The tractor driver, an old guy in overalls, gave a friendly wave as we went past and Scout responded, his hand moving enthusiastically across the width of the open window. I sighed. So much for not drawing attention to ourselves.

When we reached the highway, I breathed a sigh of relief and the GPS voice seemed happier too. She cheerfully announced the turn as if pleased to know the name of the main road, although her tone of voice might have been my imagination. “Twenty-seven miles until we get to the Erickson Ryder place,” I said. “When we get there, let me do the talking, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, his gaze straight ahead. “Emma? Do you think the communications to my people came from Erickson Ryder Incorporated?”

“I don’t know for sure,” I answered. “But it’s a strong possibility. I mean, look around.” I gestured. “It’s not like there’s much else around here.”

“Emma?”

“Yes?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“I think you just did.”

It was an old joke, but not one Scout had ever heard before, because a look of wonderment came over his face and he laughed.

“Sorry about that,” I said. “Go ahead and ask.”

He composed himself and said, “Why did you think the people at the Bar None would be scary?”

“Because I saw the motorcycles and old trucks parked outside and I thought maybe it was a biker bar full of scary rednecks.”

“Rednecks?”

“That’s a word that means . . . forget it. It’s not a nice word. I shouldn’t have said it.”

“Why did you think these people would be scary?”

“Biker bars usually have a rough crowd and sometimes things get ugly. Fist fights break out. People get drunk and start pushing people around. That kind of thing.”

“So you know of these fights? Have you seen the pushing?”

“Well no, not personally.”

“Is this something that is reported all the time? On the television?”

“No, I . . .” I stopped to think, but couldn’t recall where I’d gotten the idea that biker bars were bad news. It was just a general sense I’d always gotten. From movies, maybe? “I can’t tell you, Scout,” I finally said. “It’s just a thing people know.”

“But it was not true. All of the people there were good people.”

“You’re right, it wasn’t true at that bar.”

“So maybe it isn’t true at all?”

“Maybe.”

He shook his head. “This is a very confusing planet. People believe things that aren’t true about other people just because of how they look and what kind of vehicle they drive. Why can you not wait and see who they are inside before you make a decision?”

“Because we’re afraid,” I said. “If I had trusted them and they turned out to be bad people, they might have robbed us or attacked us. It’s better to be cautious.”

“That is a sad thing,” he said. “Always thinking the worst of other people.”

“Sad, but that’s the way it is. We have to judge them on how they act and what they wear and how they look. We don’t have any other way of knowing about them except what we can see on the outside. It takes a long time to really get to know someone, and even then, they can fool you.”

“But I knew they were nice,” he said.

“Well, I wish I had your ability, but I don’t.” I tightened my grip on the wheel. Just as Roy had predicted, the road looped around and the terrain was getting hillier too. “People can be a mystery. Like Roy and Beverly Atkins. You told me they were nice and they were nice. I mean, they lent us this van, which is unbelievable, but I’m still confused. Why do they have it rigged to change its appearance? Beverly said it was to shake the feds, but why would an old couple who live in the middle of nowhere need to hide from the law? They’re definitely doing something illegal.”

“It is the drink,” Scout said. “The drink that they make. They need the van to transport it.”

“What drink?” I glanced over to see him looking ahead, a dreamy expression on his face.

“I can’t tell you what it was called. It was an odd word, like two words together.” His forehead scrunched and when he couldn’t remember, he waved the problem away. “They make the drink and drive it places in this van and people buy it.”

“Did Roy tell you that?”

“Oh no, but I knew. He was thinking about the drink. He thinks about it
a lot
. They make it on their land, in these big metal . . . kettles? It looks a little like Eric’s mother’s tea kettle, but much bigger and the kettle is connected to other metal containers,” he continued. “You add different things and it makes the drink. And when you drink it, it gives you a kick.”

Realization dawned on me. “They make moonshine?”

Scout grinned. “Yes! That is the word. They have made it in Roy’s family for a long time. His father and his father’s father and all the way back. And now he makes it with his son. It is a . . .”

“Tradition?”

“No, that’s not it.”

“Pride. That is the name of it. They will say, ‘I’m going to brew me up some Pride.’” Scout’s voice deepened like Roy’s when he did the quote, reminding me of Lucas when he used to do impressions. He’d mimic scenes from movies, doing all the parts, even the women. Sometimes he made me laugh so hard I’d be doubled over, praying I wouldn’t pee. “Roy tells the customers, ‘This here Pride is the real deal—one hundred and twenty proof and pure. White lightning. Not the kind that would make you blind, so don’t you worry about that.’”

“I didn’t know people still did that,” I marveled. “I can’t believe I met an actual moonshiner and now I’m driving his van. Unbelievable.”

“Oh no, it is believable,” Scout said. “I can tell you that it is real and it happened, so you can believe it.”

“Okay,” I said and didn’t even bother to explain.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Scout was quiet for the next half hour, and I didn’t talk either. I couldn’t speak for him, but my silence had to do with the nervousness of driving toward our final destination. What were the chances two teenagers would get anyone at a research facility to take them seriously?
Not likely
, I thought. I was starting to question this whole outing, but I’d already defied federal agents, had Scout lie to Mrs. Walker, and borrowed a van from moonshiners. I didn’t have a better plan, so I had to see this one through.

Trees lined the sides of the road and, at one point, we passed what had to be a Christmas tree farm. When the GPS directed us toward Ryder Drive, it turned out to be just one more country lane. The road went on for at least another mile and I was starting to doubt we were on the right track when the building came into view and the GPS announced we’d arrived.

Nothing about the outside of the place looked top secret. As office buildings go, it was on the large size, taking up about two city blocks. It was three stories tall and flat on top. The square windows were spaced evenly apart, like in a child’s drawing, and the glass was tinted to keep out glare. The lines on the parking lot were bright white, as if they’d recently been painted onto the asphalt. I managed to get a space a few rows back, not too far from the front entrance. It took some maneuvering to pull in backward, but
I thought it was worth it so we could leave quickly if we had to. The front of the van faced the building. We sat for a second, looking straight ahead. “This is it,” I said, not knowing if the obvious was obvious to someone from another planet.

“Erickson Ryder Incorporated,” he said, his voice flat.

“Yes.” I reached over and touched his arm. “If we’re lucky, they’ll agree to send out a signal right away. Do you have any idea how long it would take for a message to reach your planet?”

“I don’t know. Not very long.”

It just now hit me that I didn’t know exactly what I expected to happen from here. First, we had to get through the door, and then we had to get someone to listen to us. If all went well and the Erickson Ryder people admitted that they’d been the ones sending the friendly signals, it was just one more step to get them to agree to send a communication about Scout. And what would Scout’s people do? Send a ship for him? That’s how it worked in
E.T.
, but of course, that was just a movie. “Once they find out you’re here, how long will it take for them to come get you?”

He turned to look at me and I saw terror in his eyes. “I don’t know if they will come for me. I did not follow the proper procedure.”

“You mean because you ejected? You think they might leave you behind just because you didn’t follow the rules?”

His head drooped and he didn’t answer. My heart ached for him. “Come on,” I said firmly, opening the door on my side. “Let’s get you home.”

We both got out of the van, me still hanging onto my backpack and him carrying the cloth bag containing his pod. A small sign next to the front walkway said “Erickson Ryder Incorporated,” but there was nothing indicating what kind of business was conducted inside. I held the door open and Scout walked through slowly, like a man heading to the gallows.

“It’s going to be okay,” I said. “I’m not going to leave you.” And then he did something that startled me. With his gaze still ahead, his fingers found his way to mine and he grasped my hand. He did it just like Lucas used to, and if my heart was starting to break before, this finished the job. We were two broken people trying to find comfort from the other. Neither of us had signed up for this madness, and yet, here we were together, trying to make the best of it.

Inside the glass doors, a wide reception desk dominated the space. I’d never seen so much white and chrome in one spot before. Off to one side, a white leather couch was pushed up against a wall behind a chrome coffee table. Both pieces were stark and new-looking, like they were part of a furniture display. A young woman, not much older than me, sat behind the reception desk. When we walked in, she had her feet up on the desk and was leafing through a magazine. As we approached, she closed the magazine and sat up. “Welcome to Erickson Ryder Incorporated,” she said primly. “What is your business here?”

I was relieved to see we were off to a good start; the first person we came across wasn’t at all intimidating. Besides looking so young, the woman had fair skin and freckles, with brown hair chopped unevenly like she’d cut it herself. She glanced over to a closed door to the right of her desk that had a sign saying, “No one admitted beyond this point.” On the left side of her desk was another door, this one with the universal silhouettes indicating it was a unisex bathroom.

“We’d like to see one of the scientists,” I said. The air-conditioning was on so high that I felt a sudden chill. The pants and dress shirt I’d had on originally would have been a better choice. Too bad they were crumpled and sweat-stained.

“One of the scientists?” Her forehead furrowed, like she had no idea what I was talking about.

“Yes.”

“Your names please?”

I spoke for both of us. “Emma Garson and Lucas Walker.”

She didn’t write anything down, but her mouth twitched from side to side like she was considering what to do next. “What is your business here?”

This was the second time she’d asked that question. Apparently, she worked off a script. I said, “We’d like to talk to one of the scientists. It’s regarding some signals sent to outer space from this building.”

“Signals sent to outer space?” She repeated the words slowly.

“Yes.”

I matched her stare until she blinked. I leaned over to Scout and, out of the corner of my mouth, I whispered, “Is she okay?” He nodded an affirmative.

After a long, uncomfortable silence, she said, “So, I’m sort of new here and so far I’ve only had to sign for deliveries. No one told me what to do about visitors. If you take a seat, I’ll call someone.”

We sat down on the couch, side by side. Scout squeezed my hand and I edged closer to him and whispered, “The second something feels wrong, let me know.”

“What should I say?”

“Say, ‘It’s time to go, Emma.’”

“What will we do then?” he asked.

“We’ll leave. Fast.”

The girl behind the desk spoke animatedly into the phone, her eyes flickering across the reception area to where we sat. For once, I wished I could read lips. I was willing to bet she was giving someone a description of us and repeating what I’d said. When she finally set the phone down and addressed us, her smile gave me hope.

“Dr. Kessler can be with you in a few minutes.” She smiled. “He said you’ll have to wait because you didn’t have an appointment and he’s finishing up a meeting, but he’ll be happy to talk to you.”

“Okay,” I said. My heart pounded with a mixture of fear and anticipation. Maybe I shouldn’t have used our real names. It was, I realized, entirely possible that Erickson Ryder had been contacted by the agents and would try to detain us. So stupid of me. She didn’t ask for IDs, so I could have told her anything at all, but I didn’t. I glanced sideways at Scout who still held my hand and was now playing with my fingers, gently running his thumb over each knuckle, one at a time, while watching as my fingers flexed back and forth like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. I whispered, “It’s going to be okay,” and he lifted his head to meet my gaze. His eyes were all Lucas’s—hazel green with gold flecks and blond lashes longer than any guy should be allowed to have—but the expression was all Scout, weary and lost. He nodded, but I’m not sure he believed me.