The Last Rocketeer

The Last Rocketeer 6: Epilogue

"Trick or treat!"

"Here you go, little man," Cliff said, dropping a handful of candy into the pail of the creature standing before him.

"And who might you be?" Centauri asked, standing next to Cliff on the porch. It was the one night of the year when Centauri could walk around without a mask, and he relished it.

The little brown creature craned its neck upwards, caught Centauri's glowing eyes and blue skin, staggered back, and stood, frozen in place.

The creature's father nudged him forward, and said, "Go on, Johnny, the man asked you a question. Who are you dressed as?"

When the little guy continued to stare upwards, mute, his father chuckled. "He's E.T. this year. Look at you guys. Nice costume, mister. I love that mask. And the eyes. Wow. And you, too," the man, said, admiring Cliff's old Rocketeer duds - the boots, gloves, jodhpurs, and button up leather jacket, which still had a rip in the sleeve. He'd left Cirrus X-3 inside, but aside from the snugness around the middle, the getup felt familiar and comfortable, like the feel of an old baseball mitt.

"The Rocketeer? Right? Is that who you're supposed to be?" the man said, pointing at the finned helmet Cliff had tucked under his arm, which, for tonight, had become a makeshift bowl to hold candy. "Man, I had a few of those comics when I was his age," the man, said, motioning to his son, still staring up at Centauri. "You did a really nice job on the helmet. Good memories. Happy Halloween, fellas. Come on, Mr. E.T., still a lot of houses left on this block!"

Mr. E.T. stumbled backwards as he followed his father. On the way out, he finally blurted out, "It's ... it's an alien, Dada! The blue guy's an alien!"

"Now, now, that's not nice. You're supposed to be an alien, after all. Come on ..."

"Smart kid," Cliff said looking at Centauri, who was grinning broadly. His eyes glowed different colors depending on his mood, and now they were a cool aqua blue, the color for happiness.

"Ahh, I'm glad we made it back in time for this Earth holiday. It was always my favorite. I do wish we had something like this on Rylos. Dress up, get candy, have a few laughs, give a few scares. What could be better?" Centauri mused as he settled back on the rocking chair on the porch.

Jenny came through the screen door in her costume - the same white satin evening dress she'd worn almost 45 years before on a certain night the Rocketeer had flown over the skies of Los Angeles to intercept a German zeppelin. Like Cliff's getup, it didn't quite fit the same, but Cliff didn't mind.

"Wow, look at you!" Cliff said. "You haven't worn that since ..."

"Since before Ambrose was born. But ... I'll say this for cancer. I can now fit in things I haven't worn in decades. Say, anyone guess who you are?"

"Just one. Just before you came out, actually."

"Really! Well, if only people knew."

"Hidden in plain sight. That's the beauty of it, isn't," Cliff said, smiling.

"Well, I must say, Mr. Secord, even if Earth has largely forgotten, the people of Rylos appreciate what you have done." In the intervening month while they had been in space, not only had Jenny completed her treatment and made a full recovery, Cliff had helped Centauri work out the rest of the bugs in the Starfighter game, which had been thoroughly tested and was now ready for mass production. They might have stayed in space longer if it hadn't been for the need to come back to Earth to secure funding for marketing and distribution.