Saucer

CHAPTER FIVE

At lunchtime Bill passed around some freeze-dried fruit sealed in see-through bags. “This is it?” Rip asked incredulously.
“I’ll eat yours if you don’t want it.”
As they munched, Rip tried to make conversation with Haagen, who was in a dark mood. He got like that sometimes, and Rip usually tried to avoid him until the mood passed. Today he decided to take his chances.
“What do you think these Air Force types really want, Dutch?”
“They want the saucer, kid. Believe it. So does the Aussie.”
“If the Air Force gets it, this will be big back in the States, huh?”
Haagen ate another piece of dried prune before he answered. “If the Air Force gets that saucer, you’ll never see or hear of it again. The government’s position is that saucers don’t exist.”
“That’s crazy.”
“Why do you think the Air Force has UFO teams? I’ll tell you—to rush to the site of any ‘unexplained phenomenon’ and explain it away, get everybody calmed down. The people who saw strange things are dismissed as kooks.”
“But saucers do exist. There one is!” Rip pointed with his head.
“You know that and I know that, but the powers that be don’t want Joe Six-Pack and the Bible thumpers to get all sweaty. My God, kid, where have you been? There are still people in America who think evolution should not be taught in schools. Darwin will rot impressionable little minds, destroy their faith in religion, bring civilization crashing down around our ears, et cetera and so on.”
“Do you believe that?”
“Doesn’t matter what I believe. What matters is that the bigwigs in the government believe it.”
? ? ?

Major Stiborek dozed some during the heat of the day. He did it sitting up, with his head back against one of the poles that held up the shade tarp. It didn’t look comfortable, but he snored a bit.
Stiborek awoke when the Aussie, Sharkey, brought Professor Soldi back to the camp and helped himself to some water. After he had a long drink, Soldi grunted at Dutch and Bill, then went into the sleeping tent and lay down on one of the cots.
Sharkey tried to make conversation with the Air Force officers. He gave that up after a few minutes as a waste of time.
When Sharkey wandered back toward the saucer, Rip went over to where Stiborek was sitting on one of the camp stools.
“Captain Pine says you’re a pretty good engineer.”
Stiborek merely grunted. He didn’t even look at Rip.
“Bet a good aeronautical engineer like you has that saucer all figured out, huh?”
“What do you want, kid?”
“Just trying to be nice, Major, get acquainted. Let bygones go by the by.”
“What do you want to know?”
“How does it work?”
“Amazingly enough, it burns hydrogen. Cracks water into hydrogen and oxygen in some sort of electrolysis process.”
“Ever see anything like that?” Rip asked casually.
“It’s an extraordinary engineering triumph.”
“What holds it up when the hydrogen engines aren’t going?”
“That’s the mind-boggling part. It uses a force field of some type to modulate the earth’s gravitational field.”
“Does Charley know that?” Rip asked with a glance at the female pilot, who was sitting at least fifty feet away, well out of earshot.
“She was there when we discussed all this.”
“I see.”
Mike Stiborek frowned, glanced at Charley Pine, then studiously ignored her.
“Think the reactor is intact?” Rip asked.

Stiborek laughed. “You do the dumb kid act very well. Have I told you anything you don’t know?”
“What about the reactor?”
“We brought a small radiation detector with us, and as near as we can tell, the reactor is still a sealed unit.” Stiborek shrugged. “Can you believe it? A flying saucer?”
“Whoever flew it here, why did they leave it?”
Stiborek took his time before he answered. “I don’t know, kid. I really don’t. I don’t think the answer is in the saucer. It looks like it was parked there yesterday.”
“But it wasn’t,” Rip replied. “I dug away most of that rock myself. That’s real sandstone.” He took a small piece from a pocket and passed it to Stiborek, who gave it a cursory glance and rubbed it between his fingers.
When Stiborek passed it back, Rip pocketed the stone, then asked, “Could Charley fly it?”
Stiborek laughed. “Now, I never even thought about that. That woman can fly anything. But, no. There isn’t a chance that saucer is airworthy. Or spaceworthy. Whatever. Not a chance in a zillion.”
“Why?”
“My God, man. Everything deteriorates over time. Metal crystallizes, dissimilar metals react to each other, corrosion eats on everything… Entropy in a closed system increases over time—that’s the second law of thermodynamics. Time has taken a toll on that ship, even if the toll isn’t readily apparent to our eyes.”
“If it could fly, I mean. Could Charley fly it?”
“Kid—what’s your name? Cantrell? Well, Cantrell, if elephants had wings, car windshields would be made of bulletproof glass and it would be dangerous to walk around outside. ‘If’ is the biggest word in the English language.”
“Okay.”
“All those systems in working order, after a hundred and thirty thousand years? Whoever made that thing was good, I’ll grant you, but not that good.”
“One hundred forty thousand.”
“Give or take. What’s ten thousand years among friends?” Stiborek picked up a small rock and tossed it a few feet. After a bit he added, “The reactor is the critical unit.”
Rip looked puzzled. “You said you guys checked the reactor. Isn’t that a radiation counter there?” Rip pointed to a small battery-operated device lying on the sand near Stiborek’s feet.
“I made a cursory check,” Stiborek acknowledged, “with a battery-operated unit that is used only to ensure personnel safety. We found only background radiation. Which proves nothing.”
“At least—” Rip began.
“Insulation—that ship probably has several hundred thousand miles of wire in it. If the insulation has come off a wire in just one place, you got a short, maybe a fire.”
“The insulation looked okay to me,” Rip murmured. “In the places I could see.”
“Kid, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Let’s look at one more example, just one. If you try to fire off that reactor and something critical breaks, that ship will melt down. If there is no explosion—and there might be—the whole ship will dissolve into a puddle of molten-hot radioactive goo. You won’t care because you’ll have already been fried.”
Stiborek tossed another pebble. “Anybody who tries to fly that thing has found a flashy way to commit suicide.”
“Just thought I’d ask. A theoretical question.”
“Go away, kid. Leave me alone.”
“How come you and Charley are on the outs?”
Stiborek frowned. “Did she say we are?”
“Oh, come on! Give me a break. I’ve got a mother and a sister and have even had a couple girlfriends through the years.”
Stiborek looked glum. “She’s going to move to Georgia, be a test pilot for Lockheed Martin. I tried to talk her out of it, but she’s made up her mind, she says.”
“Does she have a reason?”
“Says this UFO team is a career dead end.”
“Maybe it used to be, but it isn’t anymore. You two are about to become famous.”
Stiborek made a rude noise, then picked up another rock and threw it out into the desert.
? ? ?

In late afternoon Sharkey left his experts in the saucer and settled in to interrogate the Air Force officers in the sleeping tent. Colonel West was his first victim.
West was still in there when the sun set. Dutch passed around cold food to his people and the Air Force crowd.
The Aussie’s men ate food from a cooler they carried from one of the helicopters, which hadn’t moved all day.
When Red Sharkey finished with Colonel West, he sent for Major Stiborek.
Darkness came quickly in the desert. Rip went around lighting the lanterns, checking that they had enough propane.
A small breeze came up, easing the heat of the day.
Most of Sharkey’s troops were gathered around their choppers, eating and talking loudly and laughing, when Rip rooted in his bags for his passport and wallet. Then he made his usual pilgrimage to the portable outhouse. He kept the door cracked while he did his business, watched the two Aussies with guns across their laps sitting outside the tent. They weren’t looking in this direction.
When he got his pants up, Rip eased the door open and slipped away into the darkness.
He made his way to the Jeep. The glove compartment contained a roll of duct tape, which Rip pocketed.
Two five-gallon plastic cans full of water were attached to the rear of the Jeep. Out here in this desert, water was life. Rip checked these cans every day, and both Dutch and Bill did too.
He unfastened them both, lifted them down into the sand. They weighed about forty pounds apiece.
After a last check around, he hefted both cans, one in each hand, and set off in the direction of the saucer, which was still illuminated by two spotlights. The other spotlights, at least six, had been turned off.
Rip could hear Sharkey’s two experts talking inside the saucer. He made sure the water cans were out of sight, then stuck his head up into the thing. The two Aussie technicians had a battery-operated lantern going and were disassembling one of the computer displays. Maybe the whole computer.
“Hey,” Rip said.
“Yeah,” one of the men said, not looking around.
“Sharkey said to tell you guys to go get some dinner.”
“He did?” Now the man looked around.
“Yep.”
One of the men straightened up. “I could use something to eat. Come on, Harry.”
“I’m not hungry,” Harry said. “You go. Bring me back a bite.”
“Okay, mate.”
As the first man climbed down off the ledge, Rip crawled up into the ship. Harry didn’t turn around.

“What are you working on?”
“A computer. Really extraordinary. Never saw anything like it.”
“Did you guys take anything else apart?”
“Not yet.” Harry sat back on his heels. “We really should disassemble that electrolysis unit.” He pointed with a thumb. “I think that thing separates water into hydrogen and oxygen. Ol man Hedrick could make a mint with a thing like that, believe me, mate. Put every oil company on earth out of business. The possibilities are mind-blowing, still, he said to examine the computers first.”
Hedrick could only be Australian billionaire Roger Hedrick, the second richest man on earth. “Hedrick’s rich enough, don’t you think?” Rip asked lightly. “He’s worth what? Fifty billion?”
“More like eighty,” Harry replied. “He owns half of Australia now. But a man can never be too rich. At least Hedrick doesn’t think so.”
Rip tapped Harry on the shoulder. As he turned his head, Rip delivered a haymaker on the point of his chin. Harry went down hard.
Rip got busy with the duct tape. By the time he had Harry’s mouth, hands, and ankles taped, the man was moaning. At least he wasn’t dead.
“Sorry, buddy,” Rip told the half-conscious man and grabbed his ankles. He pulled the man over to the hatch and dropped him through it. There was a satellite phone on the floor near where Harry had been working, and Rip pitched that through the hatch too, along with Harry’s tool kit.
He didn’t have much time. He pulled the man as far from the ship as he could, hoisted him, and set him up on the ledge. That would have to do.
Working fast, he opened the fueling hatch between the exhaust nozzles and got the lid off the first water can. He lifted it into position and poured.
He was halfway through the first can when a voice behind him said, “You didn’t kill that man, did you?”
It was Charley Pine.
“What are you doing here?”
“I wondered where you went when you didn’t come back.”
“Anyone see you leave?”
“I don’t think so. Now tell me, how bad did you hurt that man?”
“Just slugged him with my fist, taped his mouth shut. He’ll be okay.”
“What is that you’re putting in there?”
“Water.”
“After one hundred and forty thousand years? Rip, don’t be silly.”
“We’ll find out in about three minutes.”
“Are you kidding me?”
The words were just out of her mouth when two helicopters sporting floodlights flew over. Low.
“Now what?” Rip demanded.
He could see two more choppers settling onto the sand near Sharkey’s two machines.
“Pine, are these more Air Force?”
“I don’t think so.”
Someone in the door of the chopper just landing started shooting. Muzzle flashes.
One of the choppers overhead came into a hover and someone spoke over a loud-hailer. In Arabic.
“Uh-oh,” Rip said through clenched teeth. He finished the first can of water and reached for the second.
The floodlight hit the tarp over the saucer.
“Get down quick,” he shouted at Charley. “Get in the saucer.”
She leaped off the ledge, crawled under the saucer toward the hatch.
“Raise your hands. Drop your weapons. Surrender and you will not be harmed.” The voice over the loud-hailer was using English now.
“In the name of the Islamic Republic of Libya, surrender or be shot down.”
“Boy, it’s in the fan now,” Rip muttered to himself as the water gurgled out of the second can. The can was still draining. It seemed to take forever.
“Come on, come on…”
Then the can went dry. He made sure the saucer’s refueling cap was firmly in place. Ingenious how they did that.
He tossed both cans into the ship, then crawled in himself and pulled the hatch shut behind him.
Charley Pine was standing beside the pilot’s seat on a step that jutted out from the pedestal, trying to see out the canopy.
“One of us is going to have to fly this thing,” Rip said. “I flew my Uncle’s Aeronca Champ three or four times. I’ll give it a go if you want to wait to read the manual.”
She got into the pilot’s seat, reached for the seat belt and fastened it.
“That was the easy part,” she said. “Got any bright ideas on how to get this thing started?”
“As a matter of fact…” Rip muttered and reached across for the power knob. He pulled it all the way out. The instrument lights illuminated, the dials and gauges came alive, the computer screens came on, and from the equipment bay behind them they heard a welcome hum.
“My God!” The exclamation just popped out of Charley Pine. “I thought you were kidding.”
“This is the third time I’ve fired it off. The other night I had it running for over an hour while the other guys were asleep.”
She merely stared, her mouth agape.
“The neat thing is the computers,” Rip told her with a grin. “Everything’s done symbolically. I’m not sure I understand all the symbols yet, but I think I can figure them out in flight.”
She turned to examine his face. “Who are you, anyway?”
“Name’s Rip Cantrell, lady. Now, can you fly this thing or can’t you?”
She looked at the panel and controls, trying to take it all in. “This lever here,” Rip reached and touched, “has got to be the control stick. I think this will fly like a helicopter. You see the pedals? They function like a rudder, I think, activating the maneuvering jets.”
“You’ve flown a helicopter?”
“I rode in one. Watched the pilots fly it.” He grinned at her to allay her fears. He was feeling none too confident himself, but he didn’t want her to know that.
“That thing in your left hand is the collective, which controls the antigravity field, I think. If you’ll lift it the tiniest bit…”
As she did, the saucer lifted itself from the earth. It rocked slightly from side to side, touching on the skids that were still down. Charley overcontrolled with the stick in her right hand, then had the sense to let go of it. The pedals at her feet she barely touched… and felt the ship slew.
“Awesome!” breathed Rip Cantrell, holding on tight to the pilot’s seat.
The tarp was still covering the saucer, so Charley couldn’t go up very far or that thing would drape itself over the canopy. She eased the right-hand stick forward just a touch.
The saucer moved ever so gently out from under the tarp. Some sand flew around, about as much as a helo would raise.
Dutch Haagen was standing with his hands raised when he heard Bill Taggart cry out. He looked back at the saucer.

The spaceship was a silent silver shape, coming out of the glare of the floodlights toward them.
It was moving slowly, like a helicopter. Only there was no sound. Without even a whisper of sound, the thing was uncanny, like something from a silent movie.
“Sweet Jesus!” Bill said.
“If that kid crashes that thing…” Professor Soldi swore. He knew to a certainty that Rip Cantrell was in the pilot seat.
The Libyan officer in charge couldn’t believe his eyes.
He screamed something in Arabic, pointed his pistol at the saucer, and pulled the trigger.
His troops let fly with bursts of automatic fire. Sparks appeared along the body of the ship where the bullets were bouncing off.
Charley raised the collective and pulled back on the stick.
The saucer tilted up. She and Rip could hear the whump of bullets striking the ship.
“I can’t see,” she shouted as the illuminated camp disappeared under the nose.
“Fly the instruments!” Rip cried.
Sure enough, there was an artificial horizon on the computer screen in front of her. Charley lowered the nose to get the ship level.
“We’re not going very fast,” Rip pointed out.
“I haven’t lit the burners yet. I need to feel this thing out, fly it around a while.”
“Lady, I don’t think this is the time or place. We gotta boogie.”
Charley Pine felt completely out of her depth. Panic swept over her as she scanned the instrument panel. She pushed a button. Nothing happened. Flipped a lever. Symbols appeared above the lever. Three arrows pointing up. Then little green lights.
“Gear up.”
Maybe the rockets were controlled by the buttons on the grip of the collective.
She took her eyes off the artificial horizon to examine the grip. When she pushed a button on the very end of the stick, she heard a rumble.
“Watch where you’re going,” Rip urged, his voice an octave higher than normal.
Charley got her eyes back on the artificial horizon and leveled the ship with the stick in her right hand. Then she twisted the grip on the left-hand control. She heard the rocket engines ignite, a throaty rumble, and acceleration pressed her back hard into the seat. Rip Cantrell lost his fight against the acceleration G and fell toward the rear of the compartment.
Somehow Charley managed to pull the stick back; the nose of the ship came up. Straight ahead, through the canopy, was a sky full of stars.
The fire from the rocket engines lit the desert for miles in every direction. The light was blinding, like a small sun.
And the noise was deafening, the loudest noise Dutch Haagen had ever heard. It vibrated his skull and teeth, massaged the flesh of his face. Dutch clapped his hands over his ears and fell to his knees. He kept his eyes shut against the searing light, which was so bright he could see it through his eyelids.
When the sound and light had faded somewhat, he opened his eyes to slits. The saucer was fifteen degrees above the horizon, accelerating away, the exhaust a sheet of white fire.