The Second Ship by Richard Phillips

important time with your friends is, but family time is important too. We agreed on three o’clock so we could meet your father for an afternoon matinee before dinner. Since he has to work tomorrow, he took off early to meet us. Do you think it’s fair to make him wait like that?”
    Heather’s head dropped. “No, Mom. I’m sorry.”
    Her mother sighed, then draped an arm around Heather’s shoulder, making her feel even worse. “I know you are. Let me call Dad and tell him you’ve shown up. Maybe we can make the five o’clock showing.”
    “Mom, before we go, have you got any aspirin?”
    “Sure. What’s the matter? Did you hurt yourself?” She raked her eyes over Heather’s frame with sudden intensity.
    “No, it’s nothing like that. I just have a bit of a headache that I’d like to get rid of before the movie starts.”
    “You probably haven’t been drinking enough water today. Grab a bottle from the refrigerator and meet me in the car. I have some aspirin in my purse.”
    Despite the water and the aspirin, Heather’s headache intensified throughout the movie and dinner, although she was unwilling to mention it again lest she spoil what was left of her parents' day. After dinner, Heather stumbled to her room, crawling into her bed still fully clothed.
    With pain hammering at her skull, she drifted off to a dreamland where alien species fought across the galaxy, world after world succumbing to harsh masters. And while her dreams identified no single alien race, each planetary war was preceded by a common event: the arrival of a lone cigar-shaped ship.
     

Chapter 9
     
    Heather, who had not missed a sunrise in ages, morning person extraordinaire, squinted through eyes that felt like someone had painted them closed with nail polish during the night. 10:13 a.m. The glowing digital numerals on her alarm clock winked at her, replacing the thirteen with fourteen. She moaned, rolled over, then with an effort worthy of Supergirl, swung her legs off her bed and sat up.
    Unlike some classmates, she had never raided her parents’ wine rack, but she was now certain what a hangover might feel like. Even so, the sleep had helped, and although her head still throbbed, it felt better than last night. Right now, all she wanted was to stand under a nice, hot shower and let the pulsating massaging showerhead pummel her neck and head until the hot water exhausted itself.
    Heather smacked her lips. Gag. If her breath smelled as foul as the inside of her mouth tasted, it was a case for the Center for Disease Control. Looking down, she noticed she still wore yesterday’s clothes. Her blouse looked as if she had wadded it into a ball and then steam ironed it that way. Jesus, she must have been out of it last night.
    Heather changed into her warm bathrobe and shuffled down the hall to the bathroom. By the time she emerged, hair wrapped in a towel, she felt like a new person.
    “For heaven's sake, the dead has arisen.” Her father grinned at her from the end of the hallway.
    “Morning, Dad,” she said. “I guess all that hiking after Mark’s plane yesterday must have done me in.”
    “I guess so. I was going to wake you for breakfast an hour ago, but your mother wouldn’t let me.”
    Heather laughed. She could just picture her petite mother setting her little foot down on an issue like that, not that her father would do anything that would displease his wife if he could help it. From the way he touched her whenever he passed near her, it was readily apparent that he adored her. And she adored him right back. Heather only hoped that someday she found a relationship like her mom and dad’s.
    “Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll just grab a bowl of cereal when I get downstairs.”
    “Nothing doing. I have some batter set aside, and I just need to fire up the griddle for the bacon. It’ll be ready in ten minutes.”
    “Sounds great.”
    By the time Heather dressed and made her way downstairs and into the kitchen, everything