Somebody Else's Space Program
---
Chapter Twenty Four "One more song about movin' along the highway..."
A year. And a bit more. Worrell got two letters from Ricky and more money, but no address to write back. He used some of the money to hire another assistant, cursing every time he had to explain over and over things that Ricky had just picked up instantly.
"San Heliodoro? That's not that far. No, leave that alone!" The stack of boxes collapsed onto the helper, and John rushed to rescue what he could, human and goods alike.
"Mister Worrell, I quit."
"Good."
---
The car needed a few repairs for the long, roadless trip. And provisions. Worrell was almost hoping to find Ricky trudging home across the barrens.
No such luck. Worrell pulled into the town at dusk, startling the villagers with his headlights. And attracting lots of moths and other insects.
The church was softly lit, with voices singing. John pulled up at the side of the church, got out of his car and dusted himself off. Perhaps the priest would know where his young friend was.
---
The priest didn't know anyone named Ricky. Then Worrell dug through his belongings and brought out the torn wrapping of the first packet of coins he had been sent, the one in someone else's hand. "Can you help me identify who sent this to me?"
The priest studied the writing, then Worrell. "The hand is mine, my son, but... I did not catch the young man's name who had me send it."
John slumped. "Then he doesn't live here. In this town."
"He came into town only to deal with Don Espiridion. He sent you the money and then disappeared."
"Alright. Then I have to meet Don Espiridion."
---
"Don Espiridion will permit you five minutes to explain what you wish to know. Please come with me."
As John crossed the shaded garden in the center court, he heard a piano, and a voice singing. "Who is that?"
"That is Don Espiridion's granddaughter, Enriqueta Villatuya. This way, please."
The servant ushered Worrell into the study. Don Espiridion was seated behing a massive desk of dark oak. Behind him on the wall was a portrait of a beautiful woman. "Don Espiridion."
"Mister Worrell. The priest says you need to ask me something. Please be brief."
"I'm looking for someone named Ricky, someone who was seen talking to you." Worrell described his missing assistant. "It was a year ago. I've gotten letters, but no way to write back."
Espiridion leaned back in his chair. "What was this person to you, and why have you taken a year to become concerned?"
"The kid is very independent, and I wasn't worried at first. Now... The last letter was two months ago. I have no fresh clues -- I have to start near the beginning of the trail."
"And if you find this 'Ricky'?"
"I was going to beg him to come back. Frankly, I've hired other assistants in the meantime, and I would swap the lot of them for a pig and shoot the pig for all the good they have been to me."
Don Espiridion rose and poured three fingers of a clear liquid from a decanter into a tumbler. "Here. Drink," he said, handing the glass to John before pouring himself a like amount. "You will be staying for dinner."
---