“Travis is worried about you, Jubal.”

“I know dat, me. He t’ink I’m crazy.” He touched the depression in his head, the awful wound given him by his father.

“I don’t think you’re crazy.”

“Tanks, mon cher. T’ank you fo’ dat. But he worried, Travis. He plenty worried.”

“About what?”

He sprang to his feet and hurried to the plywood desk. He swept papers aside until he came to the notebook he wanted. I could see him writing his home-school lessons in a book just like that one.

Looking over his shoulder, there was very little I saw that I could relate to. I knew it was math, but it was Greek to me. Actually, a lot of it was Greek. I recognized the letter pi, and theta. I didn’t think it meant he was pledging fraternities. I saw a few equals signs. A square root radical. That was about it. Nothing else was familiar.

“What is this?” I asked, without much hope.

“Dis de Vaseline drive.” Vaseline? Oh, right. VASIMR. The ion drive the Ares Seven were currently using to get to Mars.

“Slow, but steady, right?” I asked.

“Should be, oughta be. But is it slow enough, hah?”

“What do you mean?”

“Dey in a big hurry, yes dey are. Dey aimin’ to get dere, get back to home fus’, steal some glory, oh yes.”

He looked into my eyes with an intensity I’d never seen before. This [153] was Jubal the genius. This was Jubal zipping, flashing, flying through regions I knew I’d never even crawl through. This was a Jubal to stand in awe of, and believe me, I did, from that moment on.

“Look, rah cheer,” he said, and pointed at his notebook, talking so fast that even if he spoke fluent Floridian I’d probably never have understood. That notebook led to another. Stacks of printouts toppled as he bored through them, hunting for the diagrams he wanted. I tried signaling him that I was in way over my head, but he was off in his own world. So I stood there and tried to soak up at least an idea of why he felt the American Ares Seven was doomed.

IT TOOK HIM half an hour to make his presentation to what was, for all practical purposes, an absent audience. Absent, as in the space between my poor ears. I mean, I wasn’t even fit to pound the erasers in Jubal’s classroom.

“You see, Manny? You see why it so important?”

Anyone but Jubal, I’d be wondering if he was just rubbing it in. Because I didn’t see, might never see… and my appraisal of my own prospects for an education in science had never been lower.

On the other hand, how many people get tutoring from Albert Einstein’s smarter brother, and how many could keep up?

“I see that you think there’s something to worry about, Jubal,” I said.

He nodded, absently chewing on the end of another pencil. The eraser broke off and he took it out of his mouth and frowned at it, as if wondering how it got there.

“Travis, he t’ink dis idea of us all buildin’ us a spaceship an goin’ to Mars, he t’ink dat a stupid idea.”

Us? First I’d heard of it. All of us?

“I dunno. Travis, he know a fis’ful more ’bout de ‘impractical amplications’ of t’ings dan I can do, oh yes.” He tapped his head, shrugged fatalistically. “Maybe getting’ dere fust, maybe dat ain’t important. But dem Ares Seven folks, dey gonna be in a heap a trouble. An dat means de mother a his two sweet little girls, yes. We gotta go out dere, Manny. We be de onliest one’s what can be dere to help out, de time comes.”

[154] “I’m convinced, Jubal.” All of us? When do we start?

“But not Travis! Manny, I…” he trailed off, muttering to himself.

“Go ahead, Jubal. Say it. We’re friends, you can ask me anything.”

He studied me. Jubal had never completely trusted anyone but Travis, which was why he was finding it so hard to go against him.

“Travis, he ain’t talkin’ to me, Manny.”

I thought it was Jubal who wasn’t talking to… Well, I knew the same story often looked entirely different to two different people.

And I knew that was exactly the sort of problem you didn’t want to get in the middle of. Never in a million years. No way, Jose! Include me out.

“Would you go talk to Travis, Manny?”

“Sure, Jubal. Sure I will.”

SURE I WILL. Jubal. Sure.

I got as far as the tennis court and stopped. I looked back. I looked forward. I was about halfway between Travis’s house and Jubal’s barn and I had no idea where to go from here.

I’d parked the Triumph on the tennis court. I got the cell phone out of the sidecar and dialed Kelly’s work number.

“Strickland Mercedes-Porsche-Ferrari. How may I direct your call?” At least it wasn’t a mechanized phone menu. But it was supposed to be Kelly’s direct line.

“I’ll take two Boxsters and a Testarossa, to go.”

“You want fries with that?”

“Put me through to Kelly, please, Lisa.”

“Manny, I was told-”

“Lisa, you know how pissed she’s going to be if you don’t put me through. And you know we won’t tell on you.”

There was a silence. I didn’t envy her, stuck between the boss and the boss’s daughter, neither of them being the type of person you wanted to mess with. She sighed, and I heard Kelly’s phone ring.

“Jubal?” she answered, sounding worried.

[155] “Me, Kelly. My call didn’t go through.”

She sighed.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. Just my dad being an asshole again.”

“Yeah, but your caller ID thought this was Jubal calling. It’s his phone. The one in the sidecar that he never uses. So he’s blocking calls from Jubal, too.” Not that Jubal would ever call, but Mr. Strickland probably didn’t know that.

I could almost hear her simmer.

“Yeah, when I get home I’m gonna rip him a new… Can you believe that? He must have his spies working again, and now he’s messing with the computers. My computers. Oh, Manny, he’s going to be one sorry, racist mother-”

“I’m out at the ranch,” I said. Don’t want to let Kelly get started on her father, she could damage the phone.

“Some problem?”

“Yeah… you could say I’ve got a problem. I don’t know what to do.”

“Start at the beginning.”

I did, and I didn’t get very far before she cut me off.

“Don’t do anything. I’ll be right over.”

I FIGURED NOT doing anything didn’t apply to fishing. If you’re seriously doing something when you’re fishing, you’re missing the whole point.

I walked down the dock. The boathouse door wasn’t locked. I found a rod and reel in there, and borrowed a trowel. At a likely looking spot of ground, I turned over a few scoops of soil and immediately had half a dozen red wigglers.

That’s where I was an hour later when I heard footsteps. I turned and saw Kelly, dressed in a smart blue suit and blouse that looked uncomfortable out here in the blinding sunshine. She kicked off her medium-heeled shiny black shoes, then hiked up her skirt and quickly peeled down her pink panties and taupe pantyhose. It was over almost [156] before I knew she was doing it. She stuffed the frillies in her purse and sat beside me on the end of the pier and dangled her feet in the cool water, just like I was doing.

“Catching anything, Huck?”

“Could I have an instant slo-mo replay of that? I think I missed some of the finer points.” I lifted the stringer almost out of the water. Two big bass flopped on the end of it. I grabbed the other end of the string and unthreaded it from their gills. They floated there a moment, not quite sure they were free, then swam off. I never would have kept them at all except that, the one time me and Kelly went fishing together, I couldn’t even land a scrawny little perch. I had to show her I could catch fish. Manny, the mighty hunter, bringing the mammoth meat home to the cave.

“So, start at the beginning, okay?” she said.