Chapter 42
TO MAKE ABSOLUTELY certain Agent Judge and Mel didn’t suffer any more losses because of me and my presence under their roof, I took the gang on an after-dinner stroll around the ranch.
“I love taking a long walk after dinner,” Emma said, drinking in the cool night air. “The sky is so crisp and clear. Look at all those stars.”
“Hey, Daniel, I think I can see your house from here,” Joe said, pointing at a tiny twinkling dot on the eastern horizon.
“It’s so romantic,” Dana said, squeezing Willy’s hand.
Yes, the two of them were still holding hands.
“Not to be a downer, guys,” I said, “but we have work to do. I want to make one hundred percent certain security is airtight.”
We came upon two FBI agents on sentry duty.
“Evening, folks,” said one.
“State your business,” said the other.
“I’m Daniel. These are my friends. We’re double-checking Agent Judge’s security setup.”
“We’re locked and loaded,” said the brusque one, brandishing an RJ-57 tritium-charged bazooka powerful enough to drill all the presidents on Mount Rushmore new nostrils. “No one, alien or human, gets in or out without passing a checkpoint.”
“We have teams set up every hundred meters along the fence line,” said the other one, who was toting a high-intensity microwave pistol some alien outlaw must’ve dropped in a firefight with the IOU. “But I have to admit, our air defenses are a little weak. I wish we had more than a standard radar package and the HAWK surface-to-air missile system.”
“I wish we had a big glass dome,” said his gruff partner. “Like in The Simpsons Movie.”
I grinned. I loved that movie—and I thought the bazooka-toting FBI guy’s idea was brilliant! So while he hummed a few bars of “Spider Pig,” I closed my eyes and started thinking about an upside-down teacup four miles wide and about a mile deep. A teacup made out of an impenetrable plastic polymer, thirty feet thick.
When I opened my eyes, the stars in the sky were a little fuzzier, a little blurred around the edges. When I checked the top of the dome, the constellations on the other side looked kind of warped, as if the stars were staring at themselves in a fun-house mirror.
“Willy?”
“Yeah?”
“You want to do the honors?”
“Absolutely.” He turned to the sentry with the microwave ray gun. “Can I borrow your pistol, sir?”
“Huh?”
“I need to test your newly enhanced air defenses.”
The FBI agent, not entirely sure what Willy was talking about, reluctantly handed over his weapon.
“Thanks.” Willy aimed the pistol up over his head and squeezed the trigger.
A microsecond later, an undulating aurora of brilliantly colored light radiated out from the impact point and, for an instant, illuminated the curve of the dome.
“Outstanding,” said the man with the bazooka. “Just like The Simpsons Movie.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Oh, and one more thing: you should probably tell your guards not to venture fifty feet forward from the fence line.”
“How come?”
“Joe?”
Joe bent down, picked up a hefty rock the size of a softball, and chucked it toward the horizon.
When the stone hit the interior lining of the dome, it exploded into a puff of dust. We could all hear a shower of gritty sand particles sprinkling to the ground.
Both FBI guys nodded.
“Gotcha,” said the one.
“Good to know,” said the other.
“Um, Daniel?” said Joe. “Quick question.”
“Fire away.”
“You’ll take down the dome for food deliveries, right?”
“Don’t worry,” I said, “I’ve already stocked the pantry. If we run out of Doritos or Ring Dings, I’ll stock it again.”
Joe let out a huge sigh of relief. “Awesome.”