Saucer

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The night was well along when the saucer settled onto its struts in Egg’s hangar. The last hour and a half of the flight back from Denver were spent at two hundred feet using only the antigravity rings for propulsion, well below the coverage of most air traffic control radars. When the main flight computer indicated they were home, Charley Pine flipped on the landing lights. They were right over Egg’s hangar.
With the saucer inside the hangar and the doors closed, Egg yawned. “Thanks, kids. That was a ride of a lifetime.”
Rip just grinned.
“The sun will be up in a couple hours,” Egg added. “This old man is going to bed.”
“Me too,” echoed Charley and followed him toward the house.
Rip stayed with the saucer. Suffering from jet lag, he was so tired he ached, but he wasn’t sleepy.
? ? ?

As they walked up the hill toward the house, Egg thanked Charley again for the ride. “That was an experience of a lifetime.”
“Tell me, Mr. Cantrell, who owns the arrowhead collection upstairs? I hope you don’t think I was snooping, but this afternoon I was looking for clothes and found that collection.”
“Those arrowheads are Rip’s. He’s spent every summer here with me since his father died. He hunted arrowheads after people plowed their fields, dug likely places himself.”
“That’s quite a collection.”
“Rip’s got a good mind,” Egg said. “Going to be a good engineer too.”
? ? ?

Rip Cantrell sat on the couch in the corner of the hangar contemplating the saucer’s ominous curved shape. The dark metallic material that formed the skin seemed to absorb the light from the overhead bulbs. For some reason the reflectivity seemed low just now, in the cool of the dark, humid night.
Finally he had to touch it again. He went over to it, ran his fingertips across the surface.
The saucer was a monument to the immensity of time. A hundred and forty thousand years! More than six thousand generations of humans. Six thousand!
Was Egg right? Did humans build it? Surely not.
And yet, it had to be. The headbands were for human heads, the computer read human thoughts.
So how did the saucer get into that rock?
The secrets this machine could tell, if a man had time to hunt patiently for answers. Professor Soldi intended to look for answers, didn’t he?
Strange that he should think of Soldi just then.
Soldi was right about the saucer, of course. It belonged to all mankind. The technology embodied in it should benefit everyone on earth.
So just what was he going to do with it?
The hatch was hanging open under the machine, so he climbed back inside and made his way to the pilot’s seat. The cockpit was gloomy, dark: the only light came from the bulbs mounted on the roof trusses of the hangar, shining through the canopy.
He pulled the reactor knob out to the first detent. The instrument panel came alive, the computers lit up, the indirect illumination that lit the saucer’s main cabin came on. Like magic!
Magic! Those people who were living on the earth one hundred and forty thousand years ago, when they saw this saucer they must have thought it was magic. Dark, black magic, beyond the ken of mere men. And when the spacemen came out of the hatch…
What?
Rip Cantrell sat transfixed by his own imagination, wondering how it had been.
They were men, Egg said. This ship was crafted by the hand of man, to fit the hand of man, to fit the head of man…
He picked up the headband for the computer and settled it around the thickest part of his head.
He had to grab for the arms of the pilot’s seat. His vision expanded, he was hunting through possible flight options, thinking rapidly about possibilities.
Possibilities.
The thoughts were in graphic form, almost symbolic. If something appealed to him, he pursued the thought to see where it would lead. Faster and faster, through options and possibilities…
Back to possibilities.
Tonight Charley flew the saucer without touching the controls. She just thought about it. How did she do that?
His mind raced along corridors of possibilities. In seconds he came to one that looked like it might be an answer.
Even as he examined it, the saucer lifted ever so gently from the earth. The hangar doors were closed, and the saucer was inside, but it slowly rose until it was suspended about twenty inches above the dark earth floor.
Rip tore off the headband and rushed to the open hatch.
The dark packed earth that formed the floor of the old hangar was now at least six feet below him.
He turned and looked back at the instrument panel, all lit up.
Magic!
Oh, yes yes yes.
He would tell the computer to set the saucer onto the ground. Even as that thought formed in his mind and he stepped toward the panel to reach for the headband, he felt a slight jolt as the saucer again came to rest on its retractable legs.
Startled, he turned back to the open hatchway, to verify the thing with his own eyes. He stuck his head down. Yes, the saucer was back on the ground.
Hanging out of the thing, looking at the most forward landing stilt, he asked the saucer for a climb of a few inches. It rocked ever so gently, then lifted. Dust swirled from the hangar floor.
Down. Sit down, boy!
And the saucer again came to rest.
Rip slithered out of the hatch headfirst, catching himself on the ground with his hands. He crawled from under the machine and sat again on the couch under the old Coca-Cola sign.
Up. And it lifted.
Down.
He opened one of the hangar doors and walked fifty feet or so across the grass. He turned to look through the open door at the saucer under the lights.
Up. Down.
The thing stunned him. He fell to his knees, rocked back on his heels, stared unbelievingly at the ancient machine.
He picked up a handful of dirt, felt the moistness, the cool, tangible, puttylike consistency.
Finally he lay down, rolled over on his back.
The clouds were completely gone. He could see stars, thousands of stars, a sky full of stars.
After a while Rip went back inside. He asked the saucer to turn off the reactor, and it did so.
He lay down on the couch. He was so filled with marvels, yet so tired…
? ? ?

The president and his minions got no sleep this night. Huddled in the White House, they raged against the hurricane that was racing down upon them while the television stations played the footage from Coors Field over and over, endlessly. The lights of Washington were visible through the windows, but they knew that beyond the lights was chaos.
“It’s as if we are being assaulted by a whole squadron of saucers,” someone said after spending another mesmerizing minute staring at the idiot box.

The chief of staff, P. J. O’Reilly, held one finger aloft as he faced Bombing Joe De Laurio. “Our first priority,” he said, “is to find out how many saucers there are. Can the Air Force figure that out?”
Bombing Joe seethed like a volcano about to erupt, a towering, molten pillar of fury barely under control. He hadn’t been patronized like this since he was a doolie at the Air Force Academy, way back when. Still, now didn’t seem to be the right time to squash O’Reilly, the president’s geek. So Bombing Joe tried to straighten his twisted lips in his beet-red face and marched away to make more telephone calls.
? ? ?

Despite the lateness of the hour, the telephones were already ringing. Some of the callers were too important for the president to ignore. He took a call from Willard Critenden, a political consultant who had been with him all the way until he was recently disgraced in a sex scandal and banished. Now the president did his consulting with Willard via long distance.
After the pleasantries, which were dispensed with in the first three seconds of the conversation, Willard got down to it:
“You have to do something about these saucers. The Bible-thumpers were freaking out yesterday. They are gonna go nuts when the sun comes up and they turn on their televisions. Already some of the evangelicals say we have arrived at the end of the world. In Revelation—”
“All right, all right,” the president said hastily, cutting Willard off. He hated it when people quoted the Bible. It reminded him of those horrible mornings in Sunday school, back when the world was young. “We’re doing everything we can.”
“Right. Which is nothing.”
“Willard, for God’s sake! What in hell can I do? Get out on the south lawn with a flashlight and wait for the saucer leader to drop in?”
“All I do is advise. My advice is to go to DEFCON ONE. People will feel better if the army, navy, and air force are ready to kill somebody. You gotta appear strong, resolute, capable. If you look like a frightened rabbit, the country will panic. And believe me, if the country panics, you and your party can kiss November good-bye.”
“No one’s going to panic. I can handle that end of it,” the president said, reasonably confident. He had discovered long ago that ninety percent of what elected people do is posture before cameras. He was reasonably photogenic, knew how to discreetly use makeup, and for years had practiced setting his jaw just so in front of his bedroom mirror.
Of course that kind of savoir faire went only so far.
“Unless they land. What if they land?” the president asked Willard now.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what if a goddamn saucer lands on the south lawn and some slimy thing crawls out and says, ‘Take me to your leader.’ What then?”
“Act presidential. That is critical. Don’t pee your pants, don’t freeze, don’t give away the country.”
“Uh-huh,” the president said. He never, ever forgot that Willard was a political genius.
“Remind the press that you’ve always been a champion of multiculturalism.”
“Willard, I really appreciate your taking the time to call.”
“I’m pulling for you, pal,” Willard said and broke the connection.
? ? ?

The sun was peeping over the horizon in Washington when Bombing Joe De Laurio was summoned to a secure telephone. His repeated calls to the Pentagon demanding to know the whereabouts of the UFO team that had been dispatched to the Sahara had borne fruit.
“Sir, the CIA has confirmed that the members of the UFO team are prisoners of the Libyans.”
“They’re sure?”
“Positive. CIA says they are being held incommunicado in Tripoli while Qaddafi decides what to do with them. CIA also says there are some other people with them, some Australians and two employees of an oil exploration company.”
“What is State doing to get them out of there?”
“Uh, nothing right now, I imagine. The agency has their troubles in Libya. They’ve moved heaven and earth for us on this one. They just haven’t yet passed it on to State.”
“The secretary is over here now. I’ll tell her, see if I can light a fire under her.”
“Sir, if I may make a recommendation. Perhaps we can get someone from the embassy to go see these people. They went to look for a flying saucer and we seem to have a bunch of them flying around…”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
Bombing Joe hung up and went to find the secretary of state.
? ? ?

The sun was streaming through the open hangar door when Rip awakened. Something was prodding him. He opened one eye.
“Well, hallo, mate. Welcome to the world.”
“Who are you?”
“Name’s Rigby. Like Eleanor in the song.”
The man grinned crookedly and used his pistol to tilt back the bill of his cap. Then he pointed the pistol in Rip’s general direction and wiggled it. “C’mon, mate. Up. Time’s awastin’. Let’s go.”
“You’re Australian.”
“God, you’re quick,” Rigby said. “I don’t want to get physically violent with you, kid, but if you don’t roll your sorry ass off that couch and get yourself erect, I’ll have to do something we’ll both regret.”
Rip got up. That’s when he saw that there were three more men. They were over near the saucer, touching it, looking up into the open hatch, apparently paying no attention to Rigby.
“Let’s go,” Rigby said, waggling the gun and nodding at the door with his head.
“Where?”
“Up to the house, mate. Let’s wake them up.”
Rip went. Behind him Rigby said to his friends, “Come with me, people. You can gawk later.”
“How did you find us?”
“Took a little doing. Your mother thought you might be here, and lo, here you were.”
Rip whirled. “If you hurt my—”
Rigby slapped him. Hard. A casual backhand across the face.
“I’ve tried this nice, laddie buck. Now I’m telling you. Up to the house and no more running your mouth.”
The slap stung fiercely. Tears came to Rip’s eyes. He turned away so Rigby wouldn’t see them.
They went inside. Rigby made him sit in the living room while the other men searched the house and rousted out Egg and Charley, who were forced to join Rip on the couch. One of the men sat in a chair opposite them. He took a gun from a holster under his armpit and placed it in his lap. Another man made coffee in the kitchen. Rigby removed a cellular telephone from a jacket pocket and made a call.

“It’s here,” he said exultantly. “In a little wooden hangar by a grass runway, about fifty meters below the house… We’re in the living room.”
He checked on the man making coffee, then looked at Charley. “Your name Pine?”
Charley was staring at her feet. She ignored him. Rigby stepped toward her.
“Yeah,” Rip quickly said. “She’s Pine.”
“She’s here,” Rigby said into the telephone. He listened a bit more, grunted once, then turned it off and put it back in his pocket.
“Who are you people?” Egg demanded. “Threatening people with a gun is a felony in this state.”
“Darn,” said Rigby. “I just hope and pray we don’t have to shoot you. That’s an infraction of the law too, or so I’ve been told. I try not to do more than six or eight felonies before breakfast. Jack, is that coffee ready yet?”
“Contain yourself,” Jack replied in a flat Australian accent.
The four thugs were sipping coffee when Rip heard a car drive up outside. Rigby went to the window and looked out. In less than a minute he opened the door.
The man who entered was a bit above medium height, superbly fit, with a tan that could come only from a tanning bed. He wore a dark blue suit and hand-painted silk tie. He came into the room, looked around at everyone and everything, then stopped in front of Charley.
It was then that Rip realized the man was at least seventy years old. From ten feet away he could have passed for fifty.
“Captain Charlotte Pine, United States Air Force,” he said, with just the faintest trace of an Australian accent.
“I used to be in the Air Force,” Charley said coolly. “Now it’s just Ms. Pine to you.”
“I see.”
“When people come into my house, mister,” Egg said, “I like to know their names.”
“You must be Egg Cantrell.”
“I am.”
“My name is Roger Hedrick.”
“I’ve heard of you,” Egg said. “And what I heard wasn’t good.”
“We’re being held here at gunpoint by these thugs, Mr. Hedrick,” Rip told the man. “That’s a crime in the United States. Would you please help us escape from these people?”
Hedrick looked amused.
“Because if you don’t,” Rip said, “I’m going to report you to the police and swear out a warrant. Australia is a big place, but it ain’t big enough to escape extradition.”
Hedrick smiled. “Rip Cantrell. Engineering student, survey worker, young Quixote. A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Cantrell. Rigby, hand him your cell phone.”
Rigby tossed the telephone in Rip’s lap.
“Call the police, Mr. Cantrell. Tell them who you are, where you are, and that you are being held at gunpoint.”
Rip looked from Hedrick to the telephone. Hedrick found a chair and pulled it around. He sat down and crossed his legs.
“Ah,” Hedrick said. “I can see the wheels turning. If you make that call, the Air Force will confiscate the saucer and you’ll never see it again. The technology will be classified. Perhaps someday one of your children will zip across China in a spy ship based on that saucer, if he or she joins the U.S. Air Force and becomes a pilot. Makes you want to wave the flag, doesn’t it?”
Rip picked up the telephone and opened it, but he didn’t dial.
“Before you call the police, Mr. Cantrell, perhaps we should discuss how it was Mr. Rigby and I found you. Would you care to guess?”
Rip shook his head no.
“After you slugged my employee in the saucer in Chad, you made a serious tactical error. He had in his possession a satellite telephone that he had been using to converse with me as he examined the saucer. You discarded that telephone. Before he was captured by the Libyans, another of my employees, a Mr. Hampton, called me on that telephone, Mr. Cantrell. He told me what had just happened. He also gave me your name and that of Ms. Pine.”
Hedrick smiled. “Needless to say, I was startled to hear that the saucer had been flown away. Startled? I was astounded. That call was the shock of my life.”
He leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. “You can surely appreciate the position in which I found myself. The most valuable repository of high technology on the planet had just been flown away to an unknown destination by a ex-United States Air Force test pilot and a twenty-two-year-old survey party laborer. An artifact worth billions, tens of billions, of American dollars had just gone… poof.” Hedrick snapped his fingers.
He grinned, displaying perfect white teeth. “Of course I resolved to get it back. I—”
“It was never yours,” Rip put in. “It’s mine.”
“Oh, Mr. Cantrell. Surely you don’t believe that any court on this planet would honor your claim. You discovered it, that is true, but while you dug it out you were hard at work for Wellstar Petroleum Corporation. Mr. Cantrell, I own Wellstar Petroleum Corporation. You were my employee.”
Rip listened to this in bitter silence. When Hedrick stopped speaking and leaned back in his chair, Rip said, “So sue me.”
“I have no doubt about my legal position, Mr. Cantrell. It is impeccable. Unfortunately, I don’t have the time to litigate. The lawyers can litigate to their hearts’ content later.” He made a gesture. “In the meantime, I am taking possession of the property that belongs to me.”
Rip looked at the phone in his hand and punched in numbers.
Hedrick held up a finger. “Before you do that, ask yourself how I knew that you were here.”
Rip’s finger froze inches above the phone.
“Perhaps you should call your mother. Talk to her. Then, if you wish, you may call the police.”
Rip turned off the telephone, turned it back on, and redialed.
In a few seconds he heard his mother’s phone ring. A man answered. “Mrs. Cantrell’s residence.” A flat nasal voice.
“Mrs. Cantrell, please.”
“Who may I say is calling?”
“Her son, Rip.”
“Just a moment.”
Seconds passed. Then his mother’s breathless voice. “Rip, are you okay? Have they—” And the connection broke.
Rip snapped the telephone shut. He eyed Hedrick.
“They’re holding Mom hostage,” he said to Charley and Egg.
Hedrick stood. “Do you still want to call the police?”
Rip threw the telephone at the kitchen wall. It bounced off the wall and caromed halfway back toward the couch. Rigby picked the thing up and examined it.
“So,” Hedrick said, smiling again. “That is the situation. Captain Pine, I have need of your services. We will leave these gentlemen here unharmed if you will fly us and the saucer to Australia. The men with young Cantrell’s mother will leave. Everyone will be safe and the world will once again be as it was.”

Charley stood up. She looked at Egg, then at Rip. “Okay,” she said.
“Hey, Charley,” Rip said, “don’t let these guys bluff you. They aren’t going to hurt anybody. Hedrick doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life in a pen somewhere.”
“Rigby,” Hedrick barked.
Rigby moved toward Egg, who was still seated. He came in light on his feet, moving with deceptive quickness. He was going to kick Egg right in the face.
Rip pushed himself off the couch and dove for Rigby’s legs. The two of them went sprawling. Before Rip could recover, Rigby had him by the throat and was shaking him like a terrier shakes a rat. He heard Hedrick say something, then the lights went out.
He came to when someone poured water in his face. Hedrick was kneeling beside him. “See,” he said. “He’s good as new. He’ll have a sore throat for a few days, but he’s young.”
Hedrick put his face down inches from Rip’s.
“She’s going with us, Mr. Cantrell. If you involve the police, create any unpleasantness, she will suffer. Do you understand?”
“Why—?” His voice box wouldn’t work. The words came out a hoarse whisper. “Why are you…?”
“Money, Mr. Cantrell. Money. That saucer is very valuable. It’s going to make me the richest man on earth.”
“Gates is the richest…”
For the first time, Hedrick snarled. “I’m going to bankrupt that bastard.” He straightened. “Come, Ms. Pine.”
Apparently while he was unconscious, Charley had gone upstairs and changed into her flight suit. Her new clothes, pajamas, and jacket she put into a pillowcase that she was carrying in her left hand.
Now she turned and shook hands with Egg. Rip managed to get himself into a sitting position. He was about to try to get to his feet when Charley bent over and kissed him on the lips. “Thanks for trying,” she whispered.
Then she walked from the room. Hedrick followed her.
Rigby and his thugs waited for a minute or so, then followed along.
? ? ?

“It’s magnificent, isn’t it?” Hedrick said as his men opened the hangar doors. Charley Pine thought that the morning sunlight seemed to be absorbed by the saucer’s dark skin. “Sublime,” Hedrick said and walked over to the saucer, touched it, ran his fingers along the smooth leading edge. He cocked his head and looked at Charley Pine, who also had a hand on the machine.
“When I heard about this saucer,” he said, “I didn’t believe the report. Fantastic! A great hoax. I see more grandiose schemes than one might imagine, all designed to separate me and my money.” He snorted. “As if that were easy to accomplish.”
He caressed the saucer’s skin, stared at his reflection in the dark material.
“You will fly this saucer for me, Ms. Pine.”
“Let’s have the rest of it. If I don’t…”
“Ah, but you will not refuse. You have a mother teaching school in Virginia, a father building houses in Georgia, a sister in New York who wants to paint… How long should I make the list? Whom should I add? Egg Cantrell, young Rip…?”
“Extortion is a crime in America, Mr. Hedrick. So is kidnapping and murder.”
“Ms. Pine. You are young, beautiful, foolish. You will do what I ask, when I ask it. This saucer is very valuable. I want it. I will do whatever it takes to get it. Do you understand?” He was closer now, looking straight into her eyes, without blinking, without a twitch anywhere on his face. “Whatever it takes!”
Charley hoped she was doing as good a job controlling her own expression.
“You will do as I ask, Ms. Pine, or no one will ever find the bodies.”
“And afterward. You’ll let me go?”
“I’ll do better than that. I shall pay you for your time and services. Three thousand American dollars per day or any fraction thereof, including today.” Hedrick grinned, a disarming, charming grin. “Think of this as a well-paying short-term job, Ms. Pine, and of me as your employer.”
“I’ll fly it.”
“I thought you would see it my way. But first, tell me a little about this machine. What powers it?”
Charley gave him a five-minute brief covering the main points. When she finished, he smiled. “Shall we?” he said, indicating the saucer.
Charley led the way through the open hatch. Hedrick got into the ship with her, as did his chief lieutenant, Rigby. Charley closed the hatch behind them, then climbed into the pilot’s seat and fastened the seat belt and shoulder harness.
Pulling out the main power control to the first detent lit off the reactor. As the computers and cockpit panel lights came alive, Hedrick stood frozen, watching.
Rigby looked around curiously.
Gently, gently, Charley lifted the saucer off the ground, snapped up the gear, and eased it out of the hangar, which stood at the western end of the grass runway. She halted the saucer, still about five feet above the grass, then turned it with the foot pedals, the ‘rudder.’ A few grass clippings lifted by the antigravity field were picked up by the breeze and swirled away. The windsock near the trees was indicating four or five knots from the northeast.
Hedrick’s thugs stood by the open hangar door, their mouths hanging open.
She reached for the computer headband, adjusted it over her head.
Computer, do we have enough hydrogen for full power?
A linear graph appeared on the screen before her. About ninety percent, climbing nicely. Another few seconds.
Hedrick was standing beside her looking at the instrument panel. Rigby was opening the equipment bay, looking inside. It was doubtful he realized that the saucer was off the ground, so gently had Charley handled it.
“Where to, Mr. Hedrick?”
“A hundred miles due west of Sydney. I have a cattle station—a ranch, if you will—located there.”
Charley Pine looked straight ahead, down the runway, put her head back in the headrest, braced her feet on the rudder pedals, and twisted the rocket throttle control to the stop.
The rocket engines lit with a roar and the G came almost instantaneously. Hedrick and Rigby were swept off their feet and smashed against the rear panel of the compartment.
? ? ?

Egg and Rip were sitting on the back porch when the saucer floated from the hangar into sight. It turned there in front of the hangar and stopped with the nose pointed east, down the runway.
Rip massaged his neck.
“I wonder if she told everyone to take a seat and strap in,” he whispered to Egg.
The first glimmer of fire from the rocket exhausts made both men clap their hands over their ears. They missed the worst of the noise, a howl rising in pitch and volume to soul-numbing intensity. Behind the saucer the fire from the nozzles scorched the runway grass, lit it on fire.

When the saucer was doing about a hundred knots, Charley pulled the nose up into the vertical. The thunder of the engines massaged Rip and Egg’s flesh and vibrated the windowpanes.
The two men sat motionless on the porch until the sound of the rockets had completely faded.
The grass fire burned for a minute or so, then went out, leaving a black, smoking strip on the runway sod.
Hedrick’s flunkies came walking up from the hangar. Their suits looked as if they had been rolling in the grass. They were rubbing their ears, opening and closing their mouths repeatedly.
“That close to the rocket exhaust, their eardrums may have burst,” Egg muttered.
“Have a nice day,” Egg said to the first one as he walked by, going around the house toward the cars parked in the drive.
“Hope the damage is permanent,” Rip told the last one, who didn’t even look at him.