A Day in the Life of Marine Captain Cross before the Zoastra Affair Part Fourty One
He expected to leave a message. But a sleepy Jeannie answered. “Alain, it’s good to see you again.”
He cleared his throat and spoke in his home language, French, again. “I have a storage locker in Syracuse.”
“That’s on the American side.”
Facing this gave him closure. “There are no more countries, Jeannie. Locker seven, three-five seven is everything I own from when I was married. I hope you find whatever it is you seek.”
“Lucas needs a father.”
Cross refused to get sucked into this topic. It was too deep. “He had one. We all had a life before the carnage. I’ve helped you all I could.”
“I suppose he did.” She nodded. “Thank you, Alain. We’ll keep you in our prayers and thoughts.”
For one second Jeannie’s voice froze him. She had a lilt in her voice, like Daphne. But his wife was dead. On this mission, his crew needed every ounce of his energy, and he called to relieve the guilt.
But he felt empty still. Finding the aliens who populated the Earth, Rewa and any other outlying planets they might discover suddenly seemed like a bad idea. What if instead of searching for something good, they were searching for the worst? Perhaps not knowing meant keeping the part of humanity, that called for them to better themselves, completely human and not the work of some alien life form.
Either way, his idealistic shipmates needed him. Someone had to keep an eye them. Someone had to keep it real.
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