CONTENTS
Content Warning Dedication
1. Now or Never
2. Finding the New Me
3. Hello
4. The Questionable Murder
5. Even More Questionable Shit
6. Rules Must Be Followed
7. Initial Encounter
8. Mistakes Were Made!
9. Not So Cold
10. Well Played
11. Attempt Number…
12. Underhanded Tactics
13. Beyond Horrible
14. Promises
15. Defeated?
16. A Shadow’s Soul
17. Together for Now
18. Decisions
19. Untouchable
20. Slightly Childish
21. The Brightness of Night
22. In His Corner
23. Importance of Time
24. Hell
25. Who Are You People?!
26. Morning Brain
27. Not Special
28. An Expensive Pile of Trash
29. Darkest Part of a Dweller’s Soul
30. Unwanted Developments
31. First Word?
32. Don’t Cry
33. Pleas and Forgotten Fears
34. Body Offering
35. Perfectly Calm
36. The Right to Feel
37. Drip Dry for the Win
38. Ever So Lightly
39. Whatever This Is
40. Not Just Someone
41. No Knights Needed
42. Anything
43. Well, That Happened!
44. A Missing Piece
45. Block it Out!
46. Severo
47. Failure and Betrayal
48. Welcome Back
49. A Puppet’s Shadow
50. Ig Ookie
51. D-Day
52. His Truth
53. Hidden Damage
54. Traded for a Cookie
55. Need to Talk
56. Who Are You?
57. I Quit
58. Upside Down
59. Mamma
60. Enough is Enough
61. Bribery and Threats
62. Friend Zoned
63. Always Enough
64. Pie Wins
65. It’s Bigger
66. It’s Perfect
67. Unexpected Call
68. A Mirror of Her
69. Bad News
70. Mother
71. The Biggest Loser
72. Just as He Was
73. Only Good Things
Epilogue - Captured
About Shelby Rhodes
Follow Shelby Rhodes
Also by Shelby Rhodes
I don’t like that you are staring at me—it’s suspicious. Ugh, I suppose you want to hear my story? I’m Seri North. I was your average, highly introverted, slightly nerdy, workaholic male Water Nymph. Until I made the horrible decision to go on a date with a rich, psychotic Shadow Dweller, who just so happened to be in charge of a large criminal enterprise.
That date ended in a whole ton of paranoia, trauma, and pregnancy, after almost six years of captivity. For the sake of my dwindling sanity, you won’t see most of that captivity. You get to see the fun—and not so fun—aftermath.
So, what does one do while heavily pregnant in captivity? Escape, obviously. Logically, I knew HE would come after me. If not just due to his obsession, then definitely to get his hands on my child. What I did not expect was to be accused of murder, and for
the Shadow Dweller that showed up at my door to be an agent with the Cryptid Enforcement Bureau, instead of my ex-captor.
The agent, Severo Ambrose…was not what I expected. Not that I expected him at all. But he was vastly different from what I had come to understand about Shadow Dwellers.
Either way, that is about where this story starts. With poor innocent me being chased by the universal government for a crime I didn’t commit. A story of pain, trauma, healing…and love. The love, honestly, surprised even me. But Severo…as I said, was not what I expected.
This is an Mpreg MM Romance book that contains violence, abuse, kidnapping, imprisonment, suicidal thoughts and ideations, gore, murder, mention of past SA (no explicit details), attempted SA, misgendering, panic attacks, and in general, characters reacting to trauma. Please do not read if you find any of the previous triggering.
Note: While the world the book is set in is darker, the relationship between main characters is not
ThisbookisdedicatedtoAbriandEmma.
Abri,withoutyouthisbookwouldnothavebeenwritten.Sothank youforpushingmetofinallyfinishit.
Emma,thankyouforspendinghourswithmeintheweemorning, goingovermyscheduleandcompletelyredoingitafterthisbook majorlyfubbernuckedmyplansfortheyear.Neitherofourbrains werefunctioningatahundredpercent,butwegotitdone!
Eyes locked on the swirling black ceiling above him, Seri North took a deep breath.
It was now or never…but…if he were to fail… His fear spiked at the thought, a shudder running through him.
Hands shaking slightly, Seri gently rubbed his palm over his heavily extended stomach.
He may not have wanted this child, but he would be damned if he let that bastard hurt them too. He hadn’t much choice about anything since he’d been imprisoned…but Seri had fought back. He had fought back as hard and for as long as he could, before the current situation led to him making difficult choices.
Seri wasn’t in any condition to fight anymore, nor had he been for a while. And…if he stayed longer…
No…he had to succeed, and he had to do it now. If not for himself, then for the poor, innocent baby inside him that Preston no doubt would use to control him further. Correction, his poor, innocent baby.
Okay, as strong as his resolve was to protect the child, and to leave for them both…he was still having issues claiming them as his. Seri was working on it—he swore he was—it was just complicated.
But his emotions didn’t change what needed to be done. Seri had to escape. And get as far away from Preston Chanway as he possibly could. Hopefully, someplace where the man had no power to drag him back. Not that Preston cared about legalities.
Preston—just the Shadow Dweller’s name on his mind brought forth a wave of hatred…and nausea.
Seri had never felt such strong emotions until Preston, even with his shit lot in life. Part of him feared the anger and the fury that had emerged, and continued to grow inside him ever since he’d realized all he’d lost—the life that he’d likely never get back.
Who would have thought a simple date with a rich man would have ended so badly? Seri had lost his freedom, his future goals and ambitions, and he'd been forced to become some spoiled bastard’s captive plaything for five long years…almost six now. By the birth of his child, it would be six…
Those who had known him…had they not wondered?
Okay, he may have been a loner, not to mention, parentless and basically friendless. Seri would even admit he’d been so focused on his goals, he just hadn’t bothered trying to be social between classes and his grant research. Still, there had been professors and classmates, his roommates, coworkers in the lab…
Did no one ever question his absence, or reported him missing? Looked for him?
It was highly probable that Preston had those issues taken care of. Even though he'd been an introvert and a loner…the realization that no one cared where he went had been a bit of a mind fuck. One that he was sort of used to, yet…it still stung. As if he needed more mind fucks, on top of all the horrifying shit that Preston did to him.
Seri wasn’t sure how, but one day he would make Preston pay. Along with all the scumbags that fell over themselves to answer the bastard’s beck and call. But that would come later, because first he needed to escape. And it would not be a moment too soon. Though it could possibly be a moment too late…
It couldn’t be helped… For one…it had taken two months for him to come to terms with his new reality of being pregnant. Two to stop trying to change the fact. And after a few poisoning attempts, trying to stab himself, and a bid to jump from the roof…he’d given up, and came to the conclusion there was only one thing he could do…try to escape. Not that he hadn’t tried before. But this time was different.
This time, Seri had spent six months waiting and watching. All the while playing the obedient little doll of Preston’s dreams. And it worked. The less trouble he got into, the more he was free to wander around unquestioned and unsupervised.
Still…Seri should have left sooner, a thought that had gone through his head many times. And he would have attempted it months ago, if he could have risked it. But it was hard to get one over on those who constantly had their guard up. Never having been the biddable type, his numerous attempts over the years were the main reason said guard had been up.
Each attempt had ended painfully with broken bones—and resulted in more guards and greater alertness. But Seri wouldn’t let those failures discourage him—he couldn’t. There was no time.
That was then and this was now. And in the now, those watching him had been lulled into thinking Seri had accepted his fate as Preston’s pet. As if he would ever, Seri thought with a snort. But if there was one thing Preston had proven time and time again, it was that the arrogant could be rather stupid.
And after months of no attempts, his watchers had dwindled from multiple twenty-four hour guards who kept him in their sight at all times, to Preston only making sure that a guard was in the house.
Even if he was pushing closer to his due date, at least these months of waiting had allowed him to accomplish some necessary things. He’d been able to steal back his ID Passbook, not that he’d
be able to use it when he ran. But he couldn’t find it in himself to leave it behind.
Preston had forcefully taken it from him during those first days of his imprisonment. Luckily, the Dweller was so arrogant that he had never bothered to lock away Seri’s things, or really much of anything. He was also so rich that he didn’t even realize when some of his cash, cards, and jewelry went missing.
So…slowly, Seri had snuck away with it all, gathering up pin numbers as he went. Thank fuck for his photographic memory, or remembering all the codes and shit would have been impossible. More so, thank fuck that Preston was so crooked that he wouldn’t dare put up cameras inside the house. Wouldn’t want them falling into the wrong hands…
With the guards dwindling, and the lack of cameras around to catch him, Seri not only snuck around gathering money, but also information. Knowledge he could, and would, use to his advantage when it came time for payback.
Seri took a deep, calming breath before rocking forward a few times, needing the momentum to get into a sitting position on the bed. He had to stop getting lost in thought and get the fuck out of there. Because it really was now or never.
Seri was eight months along, and his movements were becoming increasingly impaired as more days passed. As a Water Nymph, he, at the most, had two more months left. Which was what the questionable doctor Preston had brought to him had told him last week. To say he was well rounded would have been an understatement.
And it wasn’t as if he was going to have another chance after today. It had been sheer luck that Preston had to leave on an emergency work trip yesterday. He’d begun to fear the man would stay there until he gave birth. And no matter how much Seri’s guards had dwindled when it was just him, it didn’t change the fact that the house swarmed with them when Preston was home.
Seri took another deep breath, in through his mouth this time, letting the feeling of the air flow through his gills, calming his nerves before slipping off the bed and standing. Opening the drawer of the
bedside table, he pulled out the small wired tool he had stolen and altered months ago for his needs.
On the table, he rested his left wrist—the one with the seemingly smooth, and unending metal bracelet on it. Turning the bracelet a few times, he held it in place with the weight of his wrist, so he could pry at the small seam that he’d discovered a few months back. A panel on it flipped open revealing a lock mechanism. Smirking, he quickly picked it with the same tool he used to open it.
Seri let out a gasp when the bracelet popped open. A shudder ran through him, and his whole body started to tingle. Without hesitating, he yanked the thing off and tossed it across the room. Taking deep breaths in and out, it felt like he could finally fully breathe for the first time in five years. His dry skin soaked in the moisture in the air.
As his powers came back to him, spreading through his system, the tingling disappeared. Without hesitating, he reached out and attempted to pull water from the air. Nothing happened. There his skin buzzed a bit and there was a slight warming in his veins but… not much else.
Dammit… Frowning, Seri tried again, this time snapping his fingers on one hand to help direct his powers to where he wanted them. The buzzing increased, his veins noticeably warming inside him while blue mist burst from his fingertips in an oddly showy fashion… But while a few molecules pulled together to form some pathetic glowing droplets…that was all he managed.
It appeared he was too out of practice. Likely the pregnancy had weakened his powers as well. From what he'd read, Water Nymphs suffered massive energy loss during pregnancy.
Grimacing, he eyed the medium sized circular glass vase filled with water sitting on his table. He guessed it was on to plan B.
Snapping his fingers, he let out a sigh of relief as a much smoother and smaller stream of mist flowed out of him and into the vase, the water moving up and out almost instantly, it began to glow an eerily light cyan blue. He reformed the glowing blob into a perfectly round ball and held the shape. Sweat formed on his brow as he rapidly began to lose strength at the simple act.
Nose wrinkling, he let it flow back into the vase. Seri obviously couldn’t transport the water on its own behind his back. The distance from this room to the living room, though short, would be too much. By the time he got there, he would be too weak to do what he needed.
Seri sighed—carrying the heavy vase behind his back, it was. He would just have to make sure it didn’t slosh as he…waddled.
Picking it up, he carefully maneuvered it behind his back.
Seri left his gray, black, and white room for the uninspiring gray long hallway leading to the living room. The walls had black and white photographs of barren wastelands…super disconcerting, but still better than if it were the hallway on the sixth floor.
Thank the Goddess he had been able to convince Preston to let him move from the man’s bedroom on the sixth to the first. The room may have been smaller and less fancy, because it had been a guard’s bedroom, but it was also a short distance from the elevator that took one down to the garage. And more importantly, there were no steps.
Seri may have been a Cryptid, which usually entailed a miniscule more strength than humans, but no matter the species, pregnancy and six full flights of stairs did not go together. And Preston, for some reason, had no elevator besides the one to the garage.
The living room was just like the rest of the house. Boringly decorated in grays, blacks, and whites, with zero plant-life or even a touch of color.
The outside of the house was much the same even if he didn’t see it much. A massive colorless, six-floor silver mansion. It was comprised of layers and layers of scalene triangles tilted upward. With a large piece curving outward to form a platform from the third floor that then had a sweeping staircase off it that went all the way down to the ground. It was the only part of the house that actually touched the ground, besides the elevator to the underground parking garage. The rest of the house levitated twelve feet into the air, resting on a floating foundation.
Elevation stones were certainly an interesting, if highly simple, invention. He’d broken down the formula many years ago out of
boredom. The strength and the use all depended on what the Pixie who supplied the dust intended it to be used for, mixed with the various chemicals needed to create the stones. Really, a pissed off Pixie could fuck up a lot of things, if they wanted to. It was a pity their dust had been wasted on what honestly looked like a fucked up pinecone.
Now that he thought about it, Seri was the only colorful thing in the house, with his cyan hair, and the obnoxiously frilly and colorful dresses Preston forced him to wear. Seri hated dresses.
The current monstrosity he had on was the color of pink cotton candy. The dress cinched at the waist, and there were lacy frills on the front that gaped, showing parts of his chest, the design repeating on the long sleeves. He’d have found something else to escape in, but all of them were equally bad, and this one at least had pockets.
Standing at the opening of the living room, he stared at Leal—his one guard. At least, the only guard close enough to do anything.
The male was sitting on the plush gray leather couch with his feet on the triangle steel coffee table, reading on a tablet. With black hair and reddish-brown eyes—that Seri knew glowed red when angry—Leal, like all his guards, was in a full suit. The man was so consumed by his reading, it took him a full minute to even notice Seri.
Leal flicked an irritated glance his way before returning his gaze to the table as he absently asked, “What? Decided to grace me with your presence?”
He wanted to snort and roll his eyes, but held it back. Something Seri tended to do when it usually ended up with him on the other side of a fist—or a leg, a boot, or pretty much anything they could hit him with. He had held back quite often.
Well, maybe Seri only started doing it when he had become pregnant… After he had gotten past the ‘trying to rid his body of his rapist’s child’ phase of the pregnancy. Those had been some pretty dark days. Who was he kidding? Every day trapped there had been a dark day.
When Seri remained silent, Leal—who continued to look away— huffed, clearly exasperated. “Go back to your room if you plan on standing there like you’re brain dead.”
Yeah, Leal was a bit of an asshole. Then again, all the guards were. Who else would accept an illegal job? Generally, nice people did not help bad people keep others as sex slaves. The maids…he wasn’t sure about them, as they mostly ignore him, and only appeared once a week to clean.
He smirked—though Leal being an asshole was going to make the next few minutes quite fun for Seri.
Without hesitation, Seri brought the vase from behind his back and chucked it at the man’s head as hard as he could. And being a Cryptid creature, he could throw pretty fucking hard, at least harder than a human could. The vase shattered on impact.
Leal yelped in pain, sputtering as water cascaded down him before he launched off the couch in a rage, eyes glowing red. Seri had never figured out what the man was. Something canine, maybe. But he sure as hell had no plans to find out now.
Before Leal could even take a threatening step towards him, Seri snapped his fingers on both hands at the same time he called to his powers. His veins heating, a spark of blue mist flowed from his fingertips and into the water covering Leal. As the water began to glow, without a single word, he bent it to his will.
Leal had most certainly caught on to what he was up to. Seri could recognize that through the widening of the other’s eyes—but it was too late. The water surged into Leal’s mouth and nose, completely blocking his airways. Leal gurgled and clawed at his throat to no avail, before launching a last-minute attempt to attack him.
Seri may have been pregnant, but he could still move faster than he’d been letting on. Adrenaline pumping, he avoided Leal’s uncoordinated bull rush by jumping out of the way, using the end table nearby to help keep himself stable. While he may have been faster, he was not very coordinated at the moment.
Seri scurried over and then around the back of the couch, until it was between him and the other man. Leal spun, no doubt intending
to try again, but the Cryptid’s knees suddenly buckled, his eyes rolling back before toppling forward with a hard smack onto the marble floor.
Even so, Seri held on to his control, sweat beading on him as each second drained more of his energy away. Heart beating like crazy, he grabbed the lamp on the side table with shaky hands and yanked its plug out of the wall.
Seri slowly approached. He stopped a foot away from Leal’s head. Taking a calming breath, he snapped his fingers again. The water rushed from the man’s mouth and nose—and nothing happened…
Seri began to fear he had killed him, when Leal’s body suddenly jerked. The man coughed up water and began taking gasping gulps of air.
He signed in relief before slamming the lamp down on Leal’s head. It made a satisfying thudding sound as it connected but didn’t break, so Seri did it a few more times for good measure. When there wasn’t a single peep from Leal besides his breathing, he let the slightly bloody lamp slip from his hands, and tried to take a few deep breaths through his mouth to calm down. With each pass of air through his gills, his heart started to slow.
Trembling from the exertion, and his own violent actions, he swiped some tissues off the coffee table and cleaned the blood off his hands. As much as he hated Leal, hated everyone who kept him here…he hadn’t enjoyed that as much as he thought he would.
But it was done…and he had more to do. Shuffling closer to the unconscious man, Seri tried to lean over, intending to go through his pockets. He huffed in frustration on finding his belly wouldn’t allow it.
Sighing, Seri crouched down instead—oh, he so hoped he would be able to get back up.
Patting the man’s chest, he found Leal’s car fob in his front jacket pocket, along with his wallet. Pocketing the fob, he removed all the cash he found in the coin pouch of the wallet but left the cards behind. He didn’t have any pins for them, so they’d be useless.
The fob really was all he needed to escape at this point anyway. At least, he hoped it was. Having been in a few of the guards' cars before, on the very rare occasions he’d been dragged out of the house, each of them seemed to have a remote to automatically open the gates on the property. Seri could only hope that Leal kept his remote in his car. He was not looking forward to ramming the four gates standing between him and freedom the man didn’t.
Crouched, he attempted to stand and found he could not. “Fuck a duck!” he cursed with a huff.
Getting down on all fours, Seri crawled around Leal to the closest end table. Latching onto the edge, he used it to hoist himself up.
Taking a calming breath, and trying to not feel put out about what he’d just done, Seri slowly backed away.
He stopped right before the man would be out of sight…staring hard to make sure that Leal remained there unmoving, before toddling around and rushing back to his room. He put on a fuzzy black winter coat over his dress, and slipped his boots on. He wasn’t sure why Preston had bought either of them, since Seri had been outside maybe five times over the last five years, but they’d come in handy now.
Prepared for the unusually cold Kansas November, he grabbed the small black suitcase full of clothes, and his original mini backpack purse that he had taken back from Preston filled with his stolen loot. Marching forward, Seri didn’t dawdle and went straight to the side door off of the living room—the one that led to the elevator into the garage. Punching in the code he had seen the guards use time and time again, he glanced down at his large baby bump and gave it a gentle pat. “Time for us to get the fuck out of here.”
“WAKE UP!”
Leal Craft groaned as the words yanked him from sleep—they seemed to echo around his throbbing head. Opening his eyes to a
mere squint, he thought about telling whoever it was to fuck off, until he realized it was not just anyone, it was his boss.
Preston Chanway’s blue eyes were completely black with fury, his jaw clenched—a muscle twitching. It was a look one did not want to see on such a man, as usually what followed required a lot of cleanup.
That was when Leal remembered what had happened. For the first time in his life, fear washed through him, his body trembling with it.
Eyes widening, Leal sat up, throbbing head be damned. “I—”
He would have said more, but at that moment, his very own shadow slithered up from the floor and wrapped a hand around his throat, cutting off his air. Leal instinctively tried to grab at the shadowy hand, to rip it off, but one couldn’t really grab something that had no physical form.
Preston unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat down on the couch, crossing his legs. The anger had disappeared to be replaced by a terrifying smile. “Do you remember what I said to you when you first joined my employment?”
Leal desperately tried to answer, but nothing came out. His vision was already starting to cloud. He flopped back on a wordless croak.
“You don’t? That’s fine. I don’t mind reminding you.” Preston laughed. “I told you that I could make you rich beyond your wildest dreams. Which I have. If you think about it. I kept my end of the bargain quite well.” The Dweller tsked. “This is the part you forgot. I would make you rich, but in exchange, if you ever fail me, your life is mine to do with as I please.”
Preston stood again and crouched down, the man’s face hovering over his. “And Leal,” the demon of a man growled. “You. Have. Failed. Me.”
Those were the last words he heard before the shadow’s grip tightened, and then there was nothing. Nor would there ever be anything again, as the shadow had wrenched Leal’s neck.
Seri took a deep breath as the van lowered to the ground and beeped, letting him know he was parked. Gaze flicking around the parking lot, looking for anyone who seemed suspicious or familiar, Seri slowly got out of his vehicle. Though the speed was more because of how hard it was for him to get out, rather than the paranoia.
His frantic search for danger continued while he pulled his hood up and wrapped his scarf around his face. Clutching the closure of his puffy gray coat, he started to make his way towards the restaurant.
It wasn’t unbearably cold out, only low fifties, even if it was December. But then, he was in Nevada. Which was not as far away from Kansas as he’d liked to be after a month on the run but…shit was complicated. His hunching, along with the hood and scarf, while
overkill at this temperature, was more to keep himself hidden, and make himself feel safer—even if no place was truly safe.
Not seeing much besides a slightly empty parking lot and buildings further down the road, Seri waddled as fast as he could towards the entrance of the small diner in the middle of fucking nowhere.
Bracelin, Nevada was literally a small town. Somehow it had survived the overpopulation, and successfully avoided the upward creation of stacker houses that the cities were plagued with nowadays. He hadn’t seen a single house hovering over another while he wandered around town the last two days.
Though, he supposed, during the Cryptid-Human War five hundred years ago, a lot of towns had been laid to waste. Maybe this had been one of them? Destroyed and then rebuilt.
He eyed the levitating diner he was approaching. The building was a squashed rounded cylinder shape, with a fenced off porch around it. It kind of looked like an edged bow turned upside down.
Circular shaped buildings and random geometric shapes merged together was what was popular these days, architectural wise. Seri didn’t get it, he preferred the styles from years before he was born. At least one in particular. Over a hundred years ago, for a short period of time, they created buildings that looked as if they were grown from trees. The style hadn’t been in favor long, and soon enough, boxy, geometric, and round shapes had returned.
The restaurant had green moss growing out of the roof. Otherwise, it was beige all over, with a large, unending off-center window that ran on both sides of the door around the building, that he was going to assume went all the way around it. Luckily, the window was tinted copper so no one could see inside.
White glowing words ran vertically on repeat by the perfectly circle glass door, seemingly cut out of the glass, saying Crazy Six Diner. From the door and off the fenced in porch, a set of steps swooped down to the ground. But there was also a copper lift box right next to the start of the steps.
Approaching the box, the oval door opened automatically. Seri stepped inside. It closed around him and drifted up, stopping on the
platform at the top of the steps. He got out when the door reopened. Taking a deep breath through his mouth, feeling it flow through his gills, he pushed inside the Crazy Six Diner, flinching at the chime that sounded as he entered.
Seri eyed the people inside, but not a single person even glanced up or towards him. It was busy, but not crowded.
The inside of the Crazy Six was a bunch of curves. The walls and floor inside were stone, and through the continuing window on the outer wall you could see out perfectly. Plush brown booths lined the wall with the window, while copper tables and chairs made up the seating near the other wall.
With the diner being tube-like, to see the full restaurant you had to keep walking, following the curve because the center was blocked. In the middle there was a counter for checking out, and behind that was a doorway saying StaffOnly. There was also a sign on the center curved wall with an arrow that said restrooms this way.
Thanks to his scarf, he wasn’t forced to fake a smile when the hostess approached him.
“How many?” she asked brightly.
“Just me,” Seri murmured softly.
The woman, whose name tag said Lilika, nodded, before asking, “Booth okay?”
“Yes.”
“Follow me.” She grabbed a menu from a stand nearby, and Seri followed her around the curve, noting that there were booths along the center curve on this side. She took him to one of those.
“Your waiter will be right with you,” Lilika said as she sat the menu down and walked away.
Seri slowly lowered himself into the booth with a sigh, sagging a bit once fully seated. Removing his hood and scarf, he stared blankly ahead, not really seeing or hearing anything. With him being on the run, it was probably not a good idea to zone out, yet…he was so tired…not to mention stressed, achy, and swollen in various places. Maybe also a bit paranoid and traumatized.
Seri started to chew on his right thumbnail.
Okay, so the paranoia and trauma was more than a bit, or just a maybe. Seri, apparently, now had a new fear of shadows and darkness. A fear that hadn’t developed fully or appeared while in captivity. But now that he was on the outside, it had bloomed into full blown panic-induced paralysis, paired with him screaming in terror at things that weren’t fucking there. Not fun…not fun at all.
Honestly, it felt like he was five again, trying to hide from the monsters in the darkness. Except this time he knew his monster was very real, and out there looking for him. Frankly, at the moment, shit was not going his way.
While escaping had been almost too easy, the rest…well, not so much. Draining the cards he’d stolen to their limit…sure, that went fine. As had buying and filling the prepaid credit cards with it all. Though…it had been a pain with the amount he bought. The number of stores he had to visit…ugh.
But there had been no choice. It wasn’t as if he could keep it all in cash. They’d be able to track him once Preston realized the accounts had been drained.
The Universal Dollar, while nice because it could be used anywhere in the discovered parts of the universe…was also very easy to track. But all of that had still been easy, even if it was a pain.
The hard part, on top of his handy dandy new psychological problems, was that he currently had no way to get a fake identity. Had he latched on to every bit of information Preston had revealed, including locations of where he could get such things? Yes. Yes, he had.
But, for some reason, it hadn’t occurred to past him that Preston being connected to these places meant they were in no way safe for him to go near. Something he only realized after having visited one and finding Preston’s men waiting for him when he returned. It was pure luck that he hadn’t been spotted.
So, Seri’s current dilemma…while he had the money to live comfortably for a long-ass time, he had no way to purchase or rent any sort of home. In today’s world you can't buy or even stay at a hotel, motel, apartment, condo, or house, without having your name listed somewhere, along with forking over your ID Passbook. So
currently he was living in the van he'd purchased with cash off some random ass guy he found online.
The whole ordeal had been super sketchy. Both the location where they'd met, and the way he’d just handed over money for a van and a nameless title that he wasn’t sure was real or not. Yeah, it was possibly stolen. But he did have a note from the guy he bought it from, stating that it was his, signed and dated… Lot of good that would do him if it was stolen…
Seri sighed again. He glanced up when a waiter walked over, making him realize that he’d just been sitting there staring off into space, instead of looking at the menu.
“Hello, welcome to the Crazy Six Diner. I’m Quill, and I’ll be your waiter today. What can I get you to drink?” the man asked with a bright white smile and a nice pair of fangs.
Quill was wearing the same brown coveralls that the hostess had been wearing. The man had medium brown skin, long bright lime green hair pulled up into a high ponytail, startling purple eyes, and very pierced pointy ears, along with one in the middle of his lip. Frankly, even though the guy was smiling, his size was enough to put Seri on edge.
Quill was huge. It was hard to tell how big he was, since Seri was sitting down, but yeah, the man was way over six feet tall.
Seri went to answer, but flinched back at the sound of the door opening again. His head snapped in that direction, but he couldn’t see the door from where he was at…
He managed to force himself to relax when the hostess came around with an older man following behind her.
Looking back at the waiter, with a tense smile on his face, he asked, “Do you have any phosphorus infused ginger water?”
Seri wasn’t sure why he was asking. This place likely didn’t cater to Cryptids, let alone his specific species. But…phosphorus was good for the baby’s development, and ginger usually helped settle his stomach.
Quill’s smile dimmed a bit, or maybe it had been dim before he even asked the question… Seri’s brain was just so tired, he wasn’t noticing shit that he should. Which was bad… Fuck, was it bad. He
needed to get it together. Missing anything could put him and his child at risk.
“We do have some… But…is everything okay?” the man asked hesitantly.
“I’m fine,” Seri said, way sharper than he meant to. Luckily his stomach chose that moment to rumble. “Just hungry.” He rubbed his protruding belly.
“I see… Are you ready to order?”
“No…”
“Right. I’ll be back with your phosphorus infused ginger water.”
Seri sagged in relief when Quill walked away without another question. Ugh, what was he going to do? Seri’s mind didn’t go far, as his bladder made an immediate decision for him.
Bathroom… Yes, that was what he was going to do. Using the restroom before he peed himself would be a good option. Seri used the top of the table to slide back out of the booth, and waddled as fast as his poor swollen feet could take him towards the sign that said restrooms—that luckily was close by.
Pushing into the gender-neutral bathroom, he rushed inside a stall and did his business as fast as one could when nine months pregnant. Walking out of the stall, he froze at the sight of the waiter standing right there, arms crossed, waiting for him. Quill…had to be near seven feet, he thought as he stared up at him with a hint of fear.
Seri took a step back, hand moving protectively over his stomach.
“Woah, there.” The guy’s hands went out, which had him tensing. “Wait… I’m not going to hurt you. You…” Quill’s gaze swept over him with a wince, and he slowly lowered his hands to his sides. “Shit… I just.” He cleared his throat. “You just… Do you…do you need some help?”
Seri blinked in confusion before his paranoia began to rise up. Gaze narrowing, he eyed the man suspiciously. Who the fuck would follow a random stranger into a bathroom and ask if they needed help? Was he one of Preston’s men? He didn’t look familiar. But that didn’t mean anything.
It wasn’t as if Seri had gotten out much. Though, he couldn’t recall Preston having anyone so…colorful. He hadn’t seen a single person without black, brown, or blond hair. And definitely no piercings. Preston seemed to like everyone working for him to be as dull as the interior of his house. Too bad he didn’t feel the same about the people he wanted to sleep with.
“Why do you ask?” he accused stiffly.
The waiter took a step forward. Seri took one back.
Quill grimaced. “Okay…I get that cornering you in the bathroom was not a good idea. But I’m really not a bad guy. And I’m not planning to hurt you. You just looked like you needed some help. Like…you are afraid of something.”
Seri eyed the man closely. Again, he had never seen him before, and at that height, it wasn’t as if Seri wouldn’t have noticed him.
Was the guy just a concerned…stranger?
Wow, concerned and stranger just didn’t even remotely pair well in his head. But…what if the man could help? Fat chance…
He sighed. “There is nothing you can do to help me.” Seri needed a whole new identity—something mostly just criminals could pull off.
Quill’s brow rose. “So you do need help?”
“Does it matter? I already said you can’t help me.”
“Why don’t you tell me what you need and we can go from there?”
Seri huffed, and was about to rub his head at the tension headache beginning to grow when he froze, remembering he hadn’t washed his hands yet… Ugh and he had touched his belly already ew…
Hands falling to his sides, he stared. What could the harm be? He was in trouble. At this point, he was avoiding Preston and his men by luck alone. What Seri needed…was to leave this planet. To go to one where Preston didn’t have as much power. Hell, he’d settle for a place to live at the moment.
Fuck it. “I need the kind of help that creates a new me. Because too many are looking for the current me.”
Seri frowned, what the fuck had he just said? Did it even make sense? His brain was too tired for this.
He shifted on his sore feet as Quill stared down at him silently. When the man nodded and turned away, leaving the bathroom without another word, Seri’s frown deepened. He stood there for a few moments, unsure of whatever the hell that was, before moving to the sink to wash his hands and wipe off his belly.
Quickly doing both, he left the bathroom and found himself hesitating right outside the door. He should leave… This was too questionable. It could be a trap, yet…
Hands clenching, even though he had the urge to flee, Seri walked back to his booth and sat down. He eyed the glass filled with a yellow tinged liquid sitting on the table, wondering if it was actually phosphorus infused ginger water or something else…
Seri jumped when a plate was suddenly set down in front of him. He glanced over and found Quill standing there. “I-I…didn’t order anything.”
Looking down at the food, it appeared to be seared salmon and rice. Strangely, if Seri had gotten to read the menu, it’s exactly what he’d have ordered, due to it containing the exact minerals he needed to promote a healthy pregnancy.
“It’s seared salmon. You’re a Water Nymph, right? Before you get suspicious, when I was growing up, I lived near a Water Nymph settlement. It was one of the meals they often fed those of your kind who were pregnant. But if you don’t like it, I can get you something else. Either way, your meal is on me.”
Plausible explanation, still…he wasn't sure how he felt about someone ordering for him…or paying… “I…I have money.”
“Save it,” Quill said as he slid a folded piece of paper onto the table. Again, without a word, the man turned and walked away.
“What in the hell…” Seri rasped.
Gaze flicking to the paper, he snatched it off the table. Angling a bit in the booth so no one could see what was inside but him, he unfolded it.
What he found inside was two words and a phone number. Save me… The paper said save me. He frowned and rotated it…brow raising. Due to the odd way the words were written, holding it this way it read, I’mFine.
Another random document with no related content on Scribd:
"We have reason to believe, Doctor, that this man is wanted by the Interstellar Police. We have received a communication from I.P. headquarters warning us that Dr. Allen H. Dale is actually a man named Leland Hale."
"Who is Leland Hale?"
"A criminal, Doctor. He is wanted so badly that the I.P. is actually sending a contingent of men here to apprehend him," said the lieutenant-marshal.
"A criminal, yes—but what kind of a criminal?"
"I gather," said the lieutenant-marshal drily, "that he steals things. I imagine he's after the Dachboden original."
"That's ridiculous! He couldn't possibly get into the Museum! It's surrounded by—" His voice choked off as he realized that he, himself, had already extended an invitation to "Dr. Dale" to come to the Museum. "But—but—I spoke to Dr. Dale for over an hour! He can't be a thief."
"Possibly not," agreed Lieutenant-Marshal Dilon. "The Interstellar Police aren't always right, and I must say I don't care for their highhanded manner at times. Nevertheless, we'll have to take proper precautions. I'll see that the guard around the Museum is reinforced, and send out a pickup order on Dr. Dale. If there's been any mistake made, it will be the fault of the I.P. Meanwhile, I would appreciate it Doctor, if you would come to my office. We've got to make better arrangements for the protection of the time capsule."
And thus the call went out for Dr. Allen H. Dale.
He wasn't found, of course. By the time the police got to the hotel, he had "mysteriously" vanished. By the simple expedient of shaving off his beard and removing the gray from his hair had changed his appearance enough so that a mere change of clothing was all that was needed to completely dispose of Dr. Allen H. Dale. Leland Hale
was never one to be caught napping; he was never one to be caught at all.
Naturally, a planet-wide alarm went out. Even Sudapfahl, warned that the "arch-criminal" might attempt to steal the contents of their own time capsule, sent out word to all local police forces to be on the alert.
Two days later, a fast, fully-armed Interstellar Police cruiser settled to the landing pit of the spaceport in Grosstat, Nordapfahl, and disgorged a squad of eighty I.P. troopers under the command of Captain Bradney W. Whitter, a tough, shrewd law officer with twenty years of experience behind him.
Whitter had been up against Leland Hale before; he still carried a white, puckered scar on one leg, a reminder of Leland Hale's ability to use a megadyne handgun. If Leland Hale was actually on Apfahl, Captain Whitter intended to get him.
In the office of Dr Mier, the captain called a conference. Present were himself, Dr. Mier, Lieutenant-Marshal Dilon, and several others, high officers of the I.P., the museum staff, and the Nordapfahlian State Police.
"Gentlemen," Captain Whitter said determinedly, "we are going to get Leland Hale this time. We've got him."
Lieutenant-Marshal Dilon lifted a heavy eyebrow "I'm afraid I don't quite see how, Captain." He made an all-inclusive gesture toward the window. "He has a whole planet to hide from us in. A great part of it is still wilderness, jungle, desert, and arid mountains."
The captain's granite face turned toward Dilon. "My dear Marshal, it is obvious that you don't know Leland Hale. He is not the type of man to hide out in the hills forever. I doubt that he even took off for the hinterlands; I wouldn't be surprised if he were right here in Grosstat."
The marshal shrugged heavy shoulders. "I'll admit it's possible. This is a city of three-quarters of a million people. He might be difficult to find."
"The galaxy is a damned sight bigger than that," Whitter pointed out. "Hale could have hidden out long ago if that were the way he operated. But he doesn't. He hits and runs and then comes back to hit again. A louse he may be, but I never underestimate an opponent; he's smart and he's got guts. And he's got pride. And that's what will catch him."
"I'm afraid I don't understand you," said Dr. Mier.
Whitter glanced down at the director. "Your time capsule seems to have aroused quite a bit of interest in certain parts of the galaxy, Dr. Mier. That Dachboden carving, especially, has made news on the older worlds—even on Earth, I understand. And now that it is known that Leland Hale has practically announced that he wants that Dachboden, the news services will be watching to see if he gets it."
He grinned sourly. "And believe me, Leland Hale won't turn down a challenge like that."
Marshal Dilon looked more than mildly skeptical. "Do you mean that you think he will attempt it in spite of the precautions we have taken?"
"I do." He looked at the quiet group around him. "We'll have to lay a trap—one that will get Leland Hale when he tries to steal that statue. And he'll try, believe me. I know Leland Hale."
The captain was right, as far as he went. Pity he didn't know Leland Hale a little better.
Leland Hale, smooth-shaven and black-haired, leaned back in a comfortable chair and blew a large smoke ring into the air. He watched it swirl in on itself and slowly dissolve into nothingness.
"Your Excellency," he said, "I must admit that your southern tobacco has more flavor than the milder northern type. This is an excellent cigar."
Hinrik Fonshliezen glared down his long, pointed nose at the big man in the overstuffed chair. "I'm glad you enjoy them, Mr. Hale," he said bitterly. "You may not get them in prison."
Hale glanced up mildly. "Prison? Oh, but I never go to prisons—at least, not for long. I'm allergic to them. They give me a pain—here." He patted his hip pocket.
"If I don't get that statue in time for the opening of our time capsule," said the State Portfolio coldly, "I will at least collect the not inconsiderable reward for your capture."
Leland Hale stood up leisurely and stepped toward the other man. He pointed a finger at Hinrik's face, stopping with the fingertip a scant eighth of an inch from the other's nose.
"Now, listen," he said softly, "I don't care for threats of that kind. Not that they bother me; they don't. But they make me suspicious of my confederates, and that makes me uncomfortable, and I don't like to be uncomfortable. Is that clear?"
Hinrik Fonshliezen backed up a step to remove his nose from the vicinity of the finger. "Don't try to bully me, Hale," he said. But there was a slight waver in his voice.
"Fair enough. I don't bully you, you don't bully me.
"And don't call me your confederate," added Fonshliezen, somewhat encouraged by Hale's manner.
"I'm damned if I'll call you a comrade-in-arms," said Hale. "Would 'assistant' suit you better?"
Fonshliezen reddened. "One of these days you'll push me too far, Hale!"
"When I do, you'll fall," said Hale, in a voice like chilled steel. "You and I have made a deal. I get that Dachboden for you, and you pay me half a million stellors. That's all there is to it."
The Portfolio of State was not a man to be pushed around easily, but he also had sense enough to know when he was up against a stronger opponent than himself.
Shortly after the original announcement about the time capsule had come from Grosstat, Leland Hale had come to Fonshliezen to offer his services. If Hale stole the Dachboden original, and gave it to Hinrik Fonshliezen, then Sudapfahl could steal the glory from its
northern neighbor by claiming that a second capsule had been found. When the northern capsule was discovered to have no statue in it, the pride of Nordapfahl would suffer a serious blow.
But now Fonshliezen was worried.
"But how can you get it now?" he asked. "The planet is full of Interstellar Police agents; the time capsule is tightly guarded. If only the secret of Dr. Dale's identity hadn't leaked out!"
Hale chuckled and settled himself back into the chair.
"Hinrik, old toad, do you know how the I.P. learned about the bogus Dr. Dale?"
The Portfolio had stepped over to a highboy to mix himself a stiff drink. "No," he said, glancing at Hale. "Do you?"
"I do. They got an anonymous message. Of course, they traced it; they know that it was actually sent by an acquaintance of mine on Vandemar, a chap who might have good reason to inform on me."
"How do you know all this?"
Hale blew another smoke ring. "Because I had him send it."
"What? Why?"
Hale shook his head slowly "You just aren't very bright, Hinrik. Not bright at all. See here; what would have happened if my name had never come into this at all?"
"I should think—"
"I agree. You should. But you don't." Hale dropped the remains of the cigar in an ashtray. "Just suppose that no one knew I was here on Apfahl. On the day the time capsule is due to open, the Nordapfahlians find no original Dachboden in it. The next day, you open a capsule that no one has ever heard of before, and you find a Dachboden. Wouldn't that look rather suspicious? It certainly would."
Fonshliezen considered that point, then asked: "And how do you propose to do it?"
"It's all set up, Hinrik. Now they know that I am here. They know that I will try to steal the carving. If I succeed, why should they suspect you? You will demand a troop of I.P. men to guard your own capsule, too. You will issue a statement saying that all national differences must be submerged in order to capture Leland Hale. And, in the end, you will have the carving, and Nordapfahl will not—which will prove that Sudapfahlians are better guards than the northerners."
Hinrik Fonshliezen nodded slowly, and a faint smile crossed his pointed face. "I see. Yes—I see. Very clever, Mr. Hale, very clever." Then the smile vanished again. "But I don't see how you're going to get at the capsule with that guard around it."
"I managed to plant that capsule of mine under your capitol building without being detected by the local citizens. Don't worry, I'll manage."
Hinrik snorted. "There was no guard around the capitol when you planted your bogus time capsule; there most definitely is a guard around the one in Grosstat."
"Let me worry about that," said Hale. "All you have to do is have that half million ready. And remember, I can always sell the Dachboden elsewhere. I won't get as much, I grant you, but I'll still make a tidy profit."
Hinrik Fonshliezen grimaced. "Suppose—just suppose—that you don't get the carving. Where will that leave me?"
Hale shrugged. "No better off, and no worse. You'll simply have a time capsule of no importance. After all, you haven't claimed that there actually is a Dachboden in it, while Dr. Mier has definitely made the claim that there is one in his capsule."
"Such a thing would not make me popular with the people of Sudapfahl, however," Fonshliezen pointed out. "And that is what this whole thing is supposed to do."
"It wouldn't make you unpopular, either," Hale said. "And neither would it cost you five hundred thousand stellors. You'd come out even." Hale stretched elaborately. "But you don't need to worry; you'll get your statue."
"When?"
"On the day the capsule is due to open. Not a minute before. Meanwhile, I shall make myself comfortable here in your home, where the I.P. won't look for me, and I'll go on making myself comfortable until I'm ready to pull off my little job. Mix me a drink, Hinrik; there's a good fellow."
The Museum of Cultural History in Grosstat, Nordapfahl, positively bristled with arms and men. Its stone walls looked like those of a fortress instead of a museum.
Captain Whitter had taken every precaution. No guard over six feet in height was allowed within a block of the building; Hale couldn't disguise his height. Inside the building, technicians with sensitive equipment hovered over dials and meters.
"It's possible that he may try to tunnel under the building," the captain explained. "It wouldn't be too difficult with modern equipment. But if he tries it, we'll have him."
Around the capsule itself stood an honor guard of a dozen picked I.P. men; around them stood a second ring of Lieutenant-Marshal Dilon's men. All through the building, lights blazed brightly as the guard kept on a round-the-clock watch.
Precision detectors scanned the skies for any sign of flying craft after a State Police order grounded all aircraft within five miles of the Museum. Special illumination projectors were set up all over the area to pick out anyone wearing an invisibility suit, although the I.P. didn't mention anything about that, since at that time the invisibility suit was supposed to be an official I.P. secret. Nevertheless, Captain Whitter didn't bypass the possibility that Leland Hale might have laid his hands on one of them.
Captain Whitter surveyed his work and found it good. "We're ready for him," he said. "All we have to do is wait for him to come."
They waited.
And waited.
Eventually, the spaceship Quinsen, out of Denebola arrived and several genuine staff members of the Interstellar Museum disembarked, followed by reporters of a score of news services. They were carefully checked and kept well beyond the outer perimeter of the guard. And the guard went on waiting.
Came the eve of the day of the Grand Opening, the day when the radio-decay clock would release the lock on the time capsule. Captain Whitter was in a nervous sweat by this time, as were the others.
"He'll have to try it tonight," the captain stated positively. "We'll double the guard and sweat him out."
But only the guard did any sweating. The night passed peacefully, if somewhat tensely, and the sun rose on the most jittery bunch of men this side of the Lesser Magellanic Cloud.
And still nothing happened.
When the hour came for the lock to open, the representatives of the Galactic Museum demanded to be let in, but Captain Whitter was as adamant as cast tungsten. No one would be allowed near the capsule until Leland Hale had been captured.
At the final hour, the guards stood nervously around the big metallic cylinder. Within the ring of armed men, Captain Whitter, LieutenantMarshal Dilon, and Dr. Rudolf Mier stood, looking at the capsule and waiting.
Something inside the time capsule clicked softly. A door in its side slid neatly open.
Dr. Mier gasped and ran forward. "It's empty! It's empty!"
Whitter and Dilon were practically on his heels.
A look inside showed that the Director was not quite correct: the capsule wasn't absolutely empty. Inside there was a single sheet of paper; printed on one side was the following message:
Gentlemen:
I'm sure that the late R. Philipp Dachboden appreciates the trouble you have gone to. If it wasn't successful, don't blame yourselves; you tried.
As for the statue and various other objets d'art, I'm afraid they are now
Respectfully mine, Leland Hale.
A short time previous to the flamboyant opening of the capsule in Grosstat, and several hundred miles away, His Excellency, Hinrik Fonshliezen, State Portfolio of Sudapfahl, sat nervously in his office. If the I.P. men were sweating, Fonshliezen was absolutely soaked in his own juices. He sat at his desk, looking from his watch to the telephone and back again. He was expecting a call.
Even so, when the phone rang, he jumped. Then he grabbed the instrument. "Hello! Fonshliezen here!" he barked hoarsely.
"Hinrik, old spirillum, I have your merchandise. You know where to meet me. And—ah—remember what I told you."
"You got it? Where have you been? You've been gone for two days! What—"
"That's none of your business, Hinrik; just come on. And remember— none of your clever foxiness."
"I'll remember," Hinrik said.
There was a click as the instrument was hung up.
Hinrik Fonshliezen frowned worriedly and glanced at the briefcase on his desk that held half a million stellors in Interstellar Bank drafts. How could he be sure that Hale actually had the carving? He glanced at his watch again. The news should come through soon. Hale had told him to wait for the news from Nordapfahl.
He was well prepared for any tricks on Hale's part. He had put a special lock on the briefcase; if Hale just tried to take the money, it would be too bad for Hale.
On the other hand, Hinrik Fonshliezen was well aware that he, himself had better not try anything foolish. If Hale were killed or reported to the police—in other words, if he didn't make a clean
getaway—certain audio-video recordings would go to the I.P., disclosing Hinrik's complicity in the deal.
The whole thing had to be on the up-and-up.
The phone rang again. His Excellency picked it up and identified himself. He listened. A broad, wolfish smile spread itself over his face.
"So Hale actually did it?" he said. "Well, that's too bad, my dear fellow. Of course, we must take the utmost precautions ourselves."
He hung up, and, whistling softly to himself, he picked up the briefcase and left his office.
For all of half a day, there was great rejoicing in Sudapfahl when it was discovered that the time capsule in Grunfelt had opened and had disclosed a marvelous collection of two-century-old artifacts, including a Dachboden original. His Excellency, the Portfolio of State, was the man of the day.
But it didn't last more than half a day. When the art experts pronounced the Dachboden a phony, the popularity of Hinrik dropped; when it was proved that the whole time capsule, with contents, was actually the one that belonged in Grosstat, Hinrik's popularity collapsed completely. He was held by the I.P. for questioning and confessed all.
By that time, Leland Hale was a good many parsecs away in his own private ship.
An excerpt from the report filed by Captain Whitter contains some enlightening information.
"What happened became obvious after the fact," the captain wrote. "The whole buildup was a phony from beginning to end. Hale had heard of the time capsule in Grosstat, so he went to Apfahl with a duplicate time capsule, which contained his note. He tunneled underneath the Museum and switched capsules. It was not until after
he had made the switch that he planted the forged Dachboden note for Dr. Mier to find.
"There never had been a Dachboden carving in the capsule; that was all a figment of Leland Hale's imagination.
"Dr. Rudolf Mier couldn't understand why Hale had done it. 'Why did he make me think there was a statue in there?' he kept asking me. 'Why did he do this to me?'
"I think the answer is simple. The records show that Hale was on Kessin IV three years ago, during the war there. I believe that he actually was swindled himself; someone sold him a bogus Dachboden. Remember, the art-swindler Fenslaw was killed at that time.
"Hale, therefore, had a phony Dachboden on his hands that he had to unload to save his pride. More, he had to make a very big profit on it.
"He knew that he couldn't just try to sell it anywhere. Even if he found a sucker who would accept it as real, there wouldn't be enough money in it to make it worth Hale's time.
"He couldn't have sold it to Fonshliezen without the big buildup. If he'd just produced the carving from nowhere, Fonshliezen would have been suspicious. A few simple tests would have shown that the dynak wood was less than ten years old.
"Obviously, Hale had to get Fonshliezen into a position where he would accept the carving without testing it.
"Hale, therefore, planted an empty time capsule, with his note inside, under the Museum and took the real capsule with him. By bombarding the time lock with neutrons, he managed to increase the radioactivity enough to keep the lock closed for an additional twentyfour hours, so that he could palm the real capsule off on Fonshliezen as a phony which he had presumably set himself.
"Then he arranged for Dr. Mier to discover the forged note which Dachboden presumably wrote two centuries ago. He had no reason to suspect a forgery, since there was no obvious way for anyone to profit by such a thing.
"What followed from then on was as automatic as the clockwork in the time capsules."
If the Captain was a little bitter, he had a right to be; he'd been made a fool of, just like the others. But he was luckier or hardier than they. He didn't blow his brain to bits with a handgun, as Fonshliezen did; he didn't die, broken and disgraced, as Mier did.
On the other hand, he didn't get off scot-free with a half million stellors to spend, as Leland Hale did.
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