Chapter 13

Ellsworth Fletcher had not aged well at all, even though he was only 35 years older than Rosie's video archive. If the unruly mop of gray hair on his head was any indication of what lay underneath, then the reason was because his brain had not fared all that well either. He sat in an overstuffed chair wearing a maroon quilted smoking jacket, legs crossed, reading a paper-bound version of H.G. Wells' "20,000 Leagues Under the Sea." Wild and confused looking, visually he was a cross between Howard Hughes, the reclusive billionaire of the twentieth century, and Albert Einstein.

His body seemed relaxed and frenetic at the same time. It was actually a wonder he had the attention span to read at all. His eyes widened and narrowed at random as the muscles in his face contorted into a different expression from one second to the next. He turned the pages of the book quickly; his eyes scanning each page almost like a copy machine.

The module, or room within as it were, was as equally contorted as Fletcher himself. An odd mix of some early twentieth century furniture with present day technology thrown in.

It was almost a page out of the very book that Fletcher sat reading. A Tiffany floor lamp with its ornate glass hood of different colors stood next to one side of the chair, ancient incandescent bulbs glowed from beneath its shade and through the glass. A dark wood table on the other side had many books piled on top. There was also a gun-like object on the table as well. The opposite wall had a large shelf of books with an eclectic assortment of hardbound paper; some had ornate gold trim, like the one Fletcher now read, while others were clearly technical or scientific in nature.

Garth and Red sat in two chairs next to each other, unconscious, with their hands bound behind their backs. Garth's space suit was off and hung on a special rack by the airlock door, making it look like an empty human. Both helmets sat on small shelves above the suit racks.

Slowly, both of them began to move as they woke up. Red, eyes still closed, sluggishly rolled her head around and then, as if shoved and quickly regaining balance, she opened her eyes. Without saying a word she instantly assessed the situation. She strained against the binders that locked her wrists behind and to the chair. With her shoulder, she shoved Garth to try and wake him faster.

Fletcher did not look up from his book. If he did notice them, he made no motion of any kind to acknowledge their presence.

Garth quickly opened his eyes and shook his head sharply to try and shake it off. "Oh, man. What was that?" He also tried to move his hands and found them fastened to the chair. "What the heck is goin' on here?"

"Shh. Keep it down. It looks like we're company and that," she said looking coldly at the sitting man in the chair, "is our host. A Mr. Ellsworth Fletcher."

"That's Fletcher? He looks much older than he should be from the digi-pix I've seen of him."

Red looked at him like he was an idiot, "Oh really? Ya think it could have anything to do with the fact that he looks like he's not quite firing on all thrusters?"

"I suppose that could have something to do with it."

"What I want to know more than that is what happened after the digi-pix." Red grimaced a little trying to resist the restraining straps. "Because if we do find out bus... I mean Garth, and live to tell about it then we are going to become quite popular."

"What do mean?" asked Garth.

"Think about it. The mystery of The Fletcher solved. Fletcher himself found being held prisoner in the Kohlner Zone. This has got to be the biggest news story since the rest of the ship was destroyed. Not to mention that there had to be some kind of conspiracy behind it."

"Except that if we don't live then who cares, we won't have any way of proving it," said Garth.

Thwump!

Abruptly, Fletcher shut the book and looked up at his captives.

"You are correct Mizz Fargo when you stated if you lived. Because the odds are that you won't."

Red twisted her bound wrists together to try and relieve some of the pressure. As she did her thumb brushed against the suit control panel. A flash went off in her head.

The control panel. Yes!

"You know it's rather rude of the host to sit reading while his guests are waiting," Red stated somewhat matter-of-factly.

Fletcher rose from his chair, placing the book on the table and slowly walked toward the two of them.

"Well," he began looking up at the ceiling and clasped his fingers together in front of his chest. "Since I am far from being your average host I guess that excuses me then." He suddenly stopped in front of Red and swung around wildly to face her. "Doesn't it!"

Red didn't flinch from Fletcher's sudden movement, as she was sure he was testing her. Her nostrils flared slightly as she caught a whiff of him, which could only be described as musty. He even smells old, she thought. "So Mr. Fletcher, or should I say Captain Nemo," Red spoke out loud, "could you fill us in on the gory little details. Hmmm? And by the way, how is it that you know our names?"

Fletcher turned and started to walk back toward the bookshelves. "Thank you for the homage to one of my favorite literary characters. Do I look like an idiot Mizz Fargo? Your name is on the outside of your suit and I heard you call the gentleman next to you by the name Garth. Short for Garth... ," he paused, not really sure what Garth might be short for. "... tholomu or something like that I'm sure."

Behind the chair Red strained her hand trying to reach the button on her suit. Her thumb passed over the double row of five buttons, counting until it reached the third button on the bottom row and pushed it.