Saucer

CHAPTER TWELVE

First Lieutenant Raymond Stockert never forgot that morning. For the remainder of his life he would marvel at the combination of luck and fate that put him over central Missouri in an F-16 at the precise moment that a flying saucer came rocketing up from beneath him, missing his plane by a scant hundred yards.
It had been one of those mornings. The military had gone to Defense Condition One, DEFCON ONE—war alert—during the wee hours. Raymond had been awakened at home and ordered to report to his National Guard squadron ready to fly.
The evening before he had been watching the great saucer scare on television, along with every other sentient creature on the North American continent, but he didn’t connect this alert to the scare until he got to the squadron.
The skipper was in a rare mood. “Okay, guys. Here is how it is: Washington has ordered all the planes armed. Each of you will be assigned a sector to patrol. You will take off, patrol your sector until fuel requires you to return or you are relieved on station.”
“And?” someone asked incredulously. None of the pilots believed this spiel. This was a gag, of course, but what a gag! For this they had forfeited a night’s sleep?
“And,” said the skipper, “if you see a flying saucer, shoot it down.”
His pilots gaped at the colonel as if he had lost his mind.
“Honestly, those are the orders. Shoot flying saucers on sight. That said, I don’t want any of you clowns shooting at anything but flying saucers. Anyone who shoots at an airliner had better not come back.”
So instead of counting pills behind the pharmacy counter of the supermarket where he labored five days a week, fifty weeks a year, this morning Raymond Stockert was in the cockpit of an F-16 over central Missouri, ready to fire the first shot in the war of the worlds. This was his second patrol this morning. And, by all that’s holy, here directly in front of him going straight up like a giant bottle rocket was a real, genuine, honest-to-God flying saucer.
Raymond flipped on the master armament switch as he pulled the nose of his fighter into the vertical and slammed the throttle forward into afterburner. Amazingly—the luck of some people!—the saucer was only ten degrees or so off the axis of the airplane. He used both hands on the stick to wrestle the nose toward it.
Sure enough, the first wingtip Sidewinder locked on the saucer’s exhaust plume and Raymond heard a tone in his ears.
He squeezed off the heat seeker. The missile shot forward in a gout of fire and smoke. The second Sidewinder locked on too, and Raymond thought, In for a nickel, in for a dollar, and fired it.
With both missiles chasing the saucer into the morning sky, Raymond Stockert sat watching until his fighter ran out of airspeed. He was going through forty-two thousand feet at that time, so he rolled onto his left wing and let the nose come down.
When he last saw the saucer, it was merely a brilliant spot of light in the heavens, going off toward the east.
Raymond had no idea what happened to the missiles he had fired.
? ? ?

Charley Pine didn’t see the F16, but she saw the first Sidewinder, which for some reason failed to guide on the exhaust plume. As it flashed by the canopy she recognized it for what it was.
She didn’t see the second missile, which fortunately ran out of fuel just seconds before it would have intercepted the saucer. It passed harmlessly through the saucer’s exhaust several hundred yards below it.
Charley Pine had been toying with the thought of hovering the saucer over a ship at sea and jumping through the hatch, leaving Hedrick and Rigby to their own devices, but the missile instantly clarified her thinking. Australia suddenly seemed like a solid idea.
She kept the juice full on, accelerating at about four G’s. The computer profile led her upward with a gradual tilt of the nose eastward. She flew the saucer manually: She didn’t want Hedrick to discover that the computer would fly the saucer on whatever profile the pilot wished.
Hedrick and Rigby stayed glued to the aft bulkhead, pinned there by the G. The blue of the sky gradually grew darker as the saucer roared out of the earth’s atmosphere.
Checking the health of the systems, flipping back and forth between computer presentations—merely by thinking about it—Charley flew into space.
The ride into orbit took a bit more than fifteen minutes. When orbital velocity was obtained, Charley shut down the rocket engines.
Hedrick and Rigby floated up from the bulkhead.
Hedrick laughed, a loud, happy laugh. Rigby pushed himself toward Charley, snarling, “You slut! I’m going to make you pay—”
“That’s enough, Rigby,” Hedrick declared.
“Yeah,” said Charley Pine. “Cork it, a*shole.”
“Please, Ms. Pine, let’s not beard the lion.” And Hedrick laughed again. He pushed off with his feet and shot across the cabin, all the while roaring his delight.
Through the canopy she could see the eastern seaboard of the United States pass below, although a cloud cover obscured much of the Atlantic. Through occasional rifts one caught glimpses of ocean, a deep blue hue, almost black.
She turned the saucer so that the sun shone full upon her. She was excited, as she always was when she flew the saucer. She took a deep breath, let it out slowly.
Hedrick was beside her now, looking through the canopy. Rigby had retreated to a seat, where he strapped himself in.
“An experience of a lifetime,” Hedrick said. “I’m so glad I lived to see this.”
What the heck. Charley rotated the saucer so he could see the earth passing below, then got busy with the computer plotting reentry.
“About twenty minutes,” she told him. “Then we start the reentry burn. Better find a seat before then.”
“Couldn’t we do a complete orbit?”

“The scenery is fantastic but the company leaves a lot to be desired. We’re going to Australia when we hit the reentry window. I am guessing on the time. The computer isn’t programmed with our minutes and seconds.”
“Okay, Ms. Pine,” Hedrick said reluctantly and pushed off for a seat. “You’re the pilot.”
? ? ?

After Hedrick’s thugs drove away, Rip and Egg sat on the porch without speaking, each occupied with his own thoughts.
Finally, Rip took out his wallet and counted the cash it contained. “Uncle Egg, could you lend me three thousand dollars?”
“Going somewhere?”
“Australia.”
“We’ll have to go into town. I’ll write a check at the bank.”
Rip stood and dusted off the seat of his jeans. Then he wiped his eyes. “I’m ready now,” he muttered.
“Saw an article about Hedrick in one of those investment magazines down at my dentist’s, maybe two or three weeks ago. He has a place west of Sydney, if I remember correctly. Lots of stone and glass and shapely young women. I specifically remember the women.”
“Maybe we can stop by the dentist’s. I’d like to have that article.”
“Sure. And I better lock up the house. No telling who heard that thing climbing out of here.”
After he retrieved his passport and new clothes from his bedroom, Rip strolled out to the pickup while Egg went through the house locking doors and turning off lights. He was standing there when a pickup roared in and slid to a halt with a spray of gravel.
“Did you see that thing?” the man at the wheel shouted. He pointed at the sky in the general direction in which the saucer had disappeared. “One of them flyin’ saucers?”
“Yeah.” Rip turned to point. “Went right down that runway there and then…” He made a gesture skyward with his right hand. “Went swooping up, clean out of sight. Darndest thing I ever saw.”
“Say, I haven’t seen you around here before, have I?”
The man at the wheel was wearing bib overalls and a T-shirt. On his head was a cap bearing a John Deere logo.
“I’m Egg’s nephew. Name’s Rip.”
The man eyed him suspiciously. “The TV says maybe those saucers are dumping aliens around, like in the movies. Maybe they’re gonna try to take over. How do I know you’re who you say?”
Egg heard that remark. As he strode up carrying a suitcase, he called, “Lemuel, haven’t I told you a dozen times to stay the hell off my property? I don’t want you over here sniffing around.”
“I seen that saucer, Cantrell, and—”
“Aliens! You fool. If I had a couple I’d sic ’em on you. Turn that thing around and get out of here before I call the law.”
As Lemuel was turning his truck, Egg called, “And fix that hole in the fence that your bull comes through, you skinflint. I think you’re running that animal over here on purpose to eat my grass.”
Lemuel got his pickup underway in another shower of gravel.
“Let’s go,” Egg told Rip, jerking his head toward his own pickup. “We’ll lock the gate on the way out.”
? ? ?

“General De Laurio, Space Command reports that a vehicle just went into orbit from a location in central Missouri. Liftoff was about twenty minutes ago. It is in orbit now, engines secured. Preliminary reports on the wire services seem to indicate the vehicle was extremely loud and saucer-shaped.”
De Laurio was back in the West Wing of the White House. He had sent home for a clean uniform and a toothbrush. Two hours ago he went over to the Pentagon for a short nap. P.J. O’Reilly gave him a cold stare as he left. He felt as if he were abandoning the women and children aboard the Titanic while he rowed away in the only lifeboat, but he had to get a little sleep.
“It’s in orbit now?” Bombing Joe asked the Pentagon duty officer.
“Yes, sir. Achieved a sustainable orbit about five minutes ago. And General, apparently a National Guard F-16 on patrol over Missouri fired two Sidewinder missiles at it.”
“What? Say that again.”
The duty officer did so.
“Who ordered armed patrols?”
“I believe that order came from the White House, sir.”
“Who gave permission to open fire?”
“Sir, that came from the White House.”
“Cancel it,” De Laurio shouted. “Keep all those trigger-happy morons on the ground. What if they shoot down a United jet?”
“Well, sir, I think the White House understood that risk when—”
“You don’t know these people. No one over there would take an iota of responsibility for an accident like that. Get all those airplanes on the ground and keep them there. That’s a direct order. I’ll take the responsibility.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll pass the Missouri launch stuff on to the president. How are we doing on springing that UFO team in Libya?”
“State has people talking to them now. We’ll know more in about a half hour.”
“Call me back.”
“Yes, sir.”
Bombing Joe found O’Reilly in his office. “A National Guard F-16 over Missouri just fired two Sidewinders at something,” he told the president’s man. “Apparently some damned fool gave orders for squadrons of fighters all over the country to fly armed patrols.”
“Watch your mouth, General. That ‘damned fool’ was the president. He felt he had to do something dramatic.”
“Why didn’t he consult me? I don’t even charge for professional opinions.”
“You were asleep at the Pentagon. We couldn’t wait.”
“If some used-car salesman in a jet fighter shoots down an airliner full of voters, that will really be something dramatic, all right. Are you out of your little mind? Get a grip, O’Reilly.”
“Shut up, De Laurio!” O’Reilly was on his feet, his face red. “You uniformed popinjays don’t seem to realize that the fate of Western civilization is on the line.”
Before Bombing Joe could deck O’Reilly, the president darted into the room. He had just completed a press conference in which he had tried to look presidential. Never in his life had he had a day like this, not even when his mistress held a press conference in New York City to tell all. His face was ashen and his hands were shaking.
“Damned flying saucers,” he exclaimed as he plopped into a stuffed chair. “Why in hell didn’t these things plague the last administration? Why me?” He tugged at the knot in his tie.

“Because you deserve it,” Bombing Joe De Laurio muttered under his breath. If anyone heard that remark he gave no indication.
The general took a deep breath, silently counted to ten, then said loudly, “Mr. President.” When he had the elected one’s attention he told him about the report from Space Command.
“A saucer went into orbit from central Missouri?” O’Reilly asked incredulously.
“Apparently so, sir,” Bombing Joe said. “And an F-16 fired two Sidewinders at it. Results unknown.”
“I don’t believe a word of it,” the president said firmly and leaned back in the padded chair. “I don’t believe any of this horseshit.” He dabbed at his brow with a handkerchief, careful that he didn’t swab off any makeup. “The Washington Post wanted to know what this administration’s position will be when aliens come to negotiate.”
“They really asked that?” O’Reilly seemed stunned.
“The college professors say it’s time to acknowledge the presence of other life-forms in the universe. The religious types are going nuts. There’s a mob of a thousand or so across the street in Lafayette Park waving signs and making speeches, talking about the imminent arrival of the Antichrist.”
“It’s that bad?”
“It’s that bad.” The president’s face contorted in a grimace. “I sacrificed everything for a career in politics. Now I’m the one who has to stand out there and welcome the aliens.”
“This is another right-wing conspiracy,” P.J. O’Reilly declared.
The telephone rang. General De Laurio grabbed it. He grunted a time or two, listened for about a minute, then carefully placed the receiver back on the hook.
He shook his head, rubbed his eyes. “Okay. Finally we get the real story.” Both the president and chief of staff stared at him with their mouths hanging open.
“There is only one flying saucer,” Bombing Joe explained. “A seismic survey crew dug it out of a sandstone ledge in the Sahara Desert. The thing was in the stone since Noah was mucking stables on the Ark. It is now being flown by a former Air Force test pilot and one of the survey workers.”
The president was horrified. “Oh, my God!” he groaned.
“There is no invasion from Planet X,” Bombing Joe said, weighing each word, searching the president’s face to see if he was getting through. “There is no fleet of saucers, no aliens out to conquer the universe, no androids who eat human flesh, no battle of Armageddon. This crisis has been caused by two idiots zipping around in a round artifact scaring the bejesus out of people.”
“Who says all this? What’s your source?” O’Reilly demanded.
“State got somebody in to see the UFO team that’s being held in the central prison in Tripoli. The team was there with the saucer in the desert. They were actually inside it. The test pilot was on that team. When the Libyans showed up, she and a survey worker sneaked into the saucer amid all the excitement and flew it away.”
“Of all the rotten luck…” said the president, staring at his hands. He sagged back into the chair. “Why me, Lord? I just told the Post the aliens would be received like any other foreign dignitaries! I’m going to be laughed out of the White House.”
“I’m going to get something to eat,” said Bombing Joe. He stood and marched out of the room before anyone could order him to remain.
? ? ?

Egg and Rip found the magazine in the dentist’s waiting room. The receptionist, who was on the telephone, just nodded when Egg asked with gestures if they could have it. The three people sitting in the waiting area were watching television reruns of the saucer over Coors Field as experts off camera explained everything.
The Cantrells took the magazine and left.
Rip got a new toothbrush and razor at the drugstore across the street, which he put into Egg’s suitcase. After a stop at the bank, Egg pulled up at a pay phone at a filling station on the edge of town.
Fifteen minutes later, Rip was confirmed on a flight from St. Louis to Los Angeles, and from there to Sydney. One way.
“Can you get me to St. Louis by noon, Egg?”
“Get in. Let’s roll.”
? ? ?

“General, the saucer is coming out of orbit.” The voice on the telephone sounded smug. “Space Command is tracking it. They’re landing in Australia.”
De Laurio picked up a fork and whacked it on the table a couple of times. “Okay,” he said after a moment’s thought. “Call State and the White House and let the duty officers there know. Maybe the Aussies can arrest these people before they scare everybody from Sydney to Perth.”
“Sir, our armed forces throughout the world are still at DEFCON ONE. What should we do about that?”
“Let the politicians decide. A little training won’t hurt anybody. But under no circumstances is anyone to shoot at anybody or anything without direct authorization from the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Got that?”
“Yes, sir.”
Bombing Joe hung up the phone and attacked his breakfast.
? ? ?

Egg and Rip were an hour down the highway when Rip said, “You check on Mom, will ya? See that she’s all right. If those jerks are still at the farm, call the police. Send the cops over.”
“Sure, Rip. Don’t worry about your mom. Hedrick got what he wanted. He’s called off the dogs.”
“The saucer isn’t going to do him any good.”
“Kid, you may not be able to get the saucer away from Hedrick. He’s filthy rich, got his own private army, owns that part of the world and all the politicians in it.”
“I know that, Uncle. I’m going to give it a try, though. But what I’m really after is the girl—I’m not leaving Australia without Charley.”
Egg smiled then.
? ? ?

Charley Pine had no trouble finding Hedrick’s station even though it was night in Australia. She flew west from the lights of Sydney until she spotted the approach lights of Hedrick’s private runway. Hedrick had landed there many times in his Boeing jet, so he stood beside her looking out the canopy and gave her rudimentary directions. The ranch headquarters was a huge, sprawling complex a short distance from the runway.
“Land in front of the hangar,” Hedrick directed. “We’ll put it inside.”
She did as she was told.
Once the saucer was on the ground, a crowd quickly gathered. Charley opened the hatch for Hedrick. “You fly this thing into the hangar,” he told her before he got out. “Rigby,” he said, with a glance at his man. He jerked his head at Charley, then let himself down through the hatch. Rigby grinned broadly. “Back into the seat. I’ll be standing behind you. One false move and I’ll snap your neck like a dry twig.”

“I’ve waited all my life for a real man like you.” He did stand right behind her. She could smell his breath. As she reached for the controls to lift the saucer to move it, his hands went around her neck. “Let go of me, you bastard.”
He did release his grip, but his hands hovered there by her shoulders. “Goose it,” he whispered, his voice urgent. “Go ahead. I want to see you fly with a broken neck.”
She moved the saucer through the open door into the dark interior, and set it down again.
She killed the reactor and climbed out of the seat. The hatch was still open, so she dropped through it.
Hedrick was on a cell phone. He gestured to a man, who asked her to accompany him. They got in a golf cart and rode a hundred yards or so to the main house, a monstrous structure as big as a hotel. After walking through endless corridors past enough art to fill a medium-sized museum, she was locked in a bedroom without a telephone.
Only then did Charley Pine begin to shake. That passed after a minute or so, leaving her exhausted. She stood at the window, which was two stories above the ground, staring at the lights of the hangar. Finally she lay down on the bed.
? ? ?

Bombing Joe went back to the White House after he finished breakfast. He was glad he did. He got to watch the president have a conversation with the Australian prime minister that tickled the bottom of his heart, though not a trace of his delight showed on his face.
“Mr. Prime Minister, you don’t understand,” the president said into the telephone. “We are not asking you to arrest these people. Oh, no, sir. Merely to detain them for questioning…”
The president listened a bit, looking very sour. “Yes, sir, we are sure the saucer is there… Our satellite tracking network watched it come out of orbit and enter the Sydney area, where we lost it.”
He frowned.
“Certainly it is the same saucer… I assert to you that it is the same machine. It was tracked from liftoff here to touchdown there… Okay, into the Sydney area… Not touchdown… Indeed, I misspoke. Will you assist us?”
The president listened for almost a minute before he spoke again. “The United States has extensive military, cultural, and economic relations with Australia. Your country and mine are allies. Why are you being so obtuse?”
The good-byes were short and curt. The president slammed down the phone and glowered at his listeners, the secretary of state, O’Reilly, Bombing Joe, and several aides.
“They won’t do anything unless the crew of the saucer violates Australian law. Nothing.”
“What?” O’Reilly was furious. “He can’t do that.”
“He just did. He said that other issues, Australian sovereignty issues, were involved. He would not take orders from the American president. He suggested that the American ambassador deliver a note during working hours that sets forth our request and the grounds for it. It will be considered, he said. “
“He brushed you off,” O’Reilly declared, obviously shocked.
“Someone got to him,” the secretary of state said ominously.
“What a day! I don’t know about the rest of you people, but I want a drink,” said the president and pushed a button to summon the valet even though the clock on the wall said it was still an hour before noon.
? ? ?

Late that afternoon a large helicopter bearing U.S. Air Force markings circled lazily over Egg Cantrell’s farm, then dropped very low over the burned grass on the runway. It hovered over the burned area for a bit before it gently touched down. Three men disembarked.
They examined the burned area on the runway, then separated. One man went up to the house to knock on the door, a second went to the hangar to peer in the windows, and the third examined Egg’s other outbuildings.
The helicopter pilot remained in his machine with the blades engaged.
Twelve minutes after landing, the three men climbed back into the helicopter and it lifted off. One of the three got on the radio. “It was probably here. The hangar is large enough. It contains a lot of junk and antiques, but there is enough room. No one on the premises.”
The man listened to the reply, then motioned for the pilot to fly on.
? ? ?

Rip Cantrell was sitting in a cafeteria in the international terminal of the Los Angeles airport, killing time and sipping a Coke, when Professor Soldi came on the television set mounted high in the corner of the room. The tube had been giving saucer coverage since Rip entered the room an hour ago. Only a few people were paying attention.
Then Professor Soldi appeared on screen, talking about the saucer. “It is very old, one hundred and forty thousand years, give or take ten thousand. We dug it out of the sandstone.” Some of his photos appeared on the screen. He explained what each of them were.
“So what happened?” the person interviewing him asked.
“To make a long story short, the saucer was flown away by a former United States Air Force test pilot, a Ms. Charlotte Pine, and a seismic exploration worker, a Mr. Rip Cantrell.” He spent several minutes explaining how that came about and what the saucer looked like as it took off.
By now everyone in the room was paying rapt attention to the television, including Rip.
“As you know,” the professor continued, “I’ve been a prisoner of the Libyan government for three days, since the incident happened. We were released just hours ago and taken to the airport in Tripoli, where we boarded a plane for Rome. The other people who were prisoners with me are now en route to the United States, but I wanted to get the story out quickly. That is why I stayed behind to be interviewed.”
They talked some more about the saucer, how it worked, how it was discovered.
“Tell me, Professor,” the interviewer said, “where did this saucer come from?”
“Obviously it was not made on earth,” Soldi said. “It appears to be a shuttle craft, designed to take people and materials from orbit to the surface of a planet, then back into orbit. Apparently it was abandoned where we found it, abandoned all those years ago.”
“Who left it there?”
“Ah,” the professor said, “if only we knew. I think a careful study of the machine, and I mean a careful, thorough, analysis of every nut and bolt, every aspect of the device, would suggest some answers.”
“Do you have a theory?”
“Several. But explanations of each of them would take more time than we have.”
“Please share with us the theory that you believe most likely.”
“The saucer is man-made.”
“You mean people like us?”

“I mean our ancestors.”
A murmur ran through the airport crowd that was watching this with Rip. He looked around at the people there, white, black, Hispanic, Asian, some of indeterminate race. All of them were listening intently to Professor Soldi.
“Civilizations don’t just happen,” the professor explained. “Hunter-gathering Stone Age societies are at one end of the continuum, we are somewhere closer to the other end. Each technological level, if you will, above Stone Age hunter gatherers requires a different level of social organization to support it. Increased specialization is the rule. The industrial age required millions of workers and consumers. The postindustrial age required even more specialization, a larger base of workers and consumers. We are now moving into the era of the global economy, in which the brains, talents, and skills of workers all over the planet will be melded together in gigantic enterprises to create further technical progress. Our destination is the technological future that created the saucer.”
“I think I understand,” the interviewer prompted.
“The properties of the technological continuum that we have just talked about are rigid; in effect, they are laws. Since each level of technological achievement requires more and more people, more and more social organization, it follows that without the specialized people, the technological level cannot be sustained.”
“Keep going,” the interviewer said.
“A society that can build a device like the saucer, put it in an interplanetary spaceship, and cross the vastness of interstellar space will not be able to replicate that society anywhere else unless they bring their whole population, or most of it. Upon arrival at the planet they intended to colonize, the small number of people who could make that voyage would drop to a technological level that they could sustain.”
“You are saying that if the saucer brought colonists, they became hunter-gatherers to survive.”
“Precisely,” said Professor Soldi. “Spaceships, computers, tools, weapons, lasers, advanced medical devices, books, learning—they lost everything. There weren’t enough people to maintain or manufacture any of that. The abandoned saucer was finally covered with sand by the wind. The people lived in caves and learned to make tools with stone and ate their meat raw. The past was passed on as legends and myths. Eventually over the generations the legends and myths became unrecognizable, completely divorced from historical fact. The past was lost, just as the saucer had been.”
“So… the people who flew the saucer are… us?”
“I think the evidence of the saucer will ultimately prove that is the case.”
? ? ?

Nine FBI agents, seven men and two women, were waiting for Egg Cantrell when he drove into his driveway. They had driven there in three cars. Egg got out of his pickup and demanded of the closest agent, “Did you pick the lock on my gate?”
“Uh, the gate was open, sir, when we arrived. I never saw a lock. We just drove on in.”
“Right! Well, what do you want?”
“We need to have a talk, Mr. Cantrell. We want to know what went on here today.”
Egg looked them over and came to a fast decision. If he told them what he knew, they would eventually leave. If he didn’t, he was probably going to find himself held in protective custody until he did talk.
“Why don’t you people come on inside. I’ll make a pot of coffee.”
It was after midnight when the agents left. Egg went out on the porch and watched all nine agents get into the cars and drive away. The insects were chirping and fog drifted through the trees. A sliver of gauzy moon was just visible through the luminous fog.
When he could no longer hear the car engines, Egg went down the hill to the hangar and used his key on the padlock. Inside, he turned on the lights. An hour ago he had brought the agents here and they had casually inspected the place. The senior man asked for permission to search, which Egg had refused.
Now he went to a large, dusty cabinet sitting far back in one corner. The cabinet had wooden doors on the lower portion, glass doors on the upper. It had once graced a hardware store in a small town fifty miles from here. Egg bought it at auction when the hardware store went out of business after the Wal-Mart opened. Progress.
Egg opened the lower right door and removed several antique metal signs. Behind the signs was a padded laptop computer case. He took it out of the cabinet, replaced the signs, then carried the computer case out into the light. He laid it carefully on the floor and unzipped it.
The computer from the saucer was unharmed, exactly as he left it. Egg Cantrell zipped up the computer case, turned off the hangar lights, and locked the door behind him.