Saucer (7 page)

He could feel Charley’s eyes on his back as he crawled under the saucer and placed his hand on the hatch latch. He held it there for fifteen seconds or so, then pushed gently on one end. It moved out, and he grasped it and turned.

The hatch came open, just as it had that first time, several days ago.

The military officers sat stunned, amazed. Without a word Rip climbed into the ship and seated himself in the pilot’s chair. He was sitting there when Colonel West stuck his head through the hatch. The glare of the floodlights outside through the pilot’s canopy was the only light in the interior. It took several seconds for one’s eyes to adjust to the dim lighting.

West stood in the open hatch blinking and gawking. He looked all around, then slowly climbed in. Behind him came Major Stiborek, then Charley Pine.

“Oh,” she murmured when she got her first good look at the interior. She climbed all the way in, then stood near the open hatch. “Oh, my!”

“It’s really cool, huh?” Rip said softly, watching the expression on her face.

“A real… flying… saucer!”

“They don’t make ’em like this anymore,” Rip said expansively, once again running his eyes around the instrument panel. With his hands he caressed the controls, fingered them gently, molded his hands around them.

“Unbelievable!” Charley said again and stepped over beside him.

“It’s mine, you know,” he said.

She didn’t reply, just stood looking.

Behind her the colonel and major were touching and feeling. They peered into the equipment bay with flashlights, then stuck their heads in. They weren’t paying any attention to Rip or Pine.

“And I’m going to keep it,” Rip said softly.

He sat in the pilot’s seat listening to the exclamations and startled comments. All three of them crowded into the equipment bay, which had just enough excess room to accommodate them. They quickly figured out what the nuclear reactor was. They were musing about what fuel the ship might use when Colonel West stuck his head out of the equipment bay, glared at Rip, then told him in no uncertain terms to leave.

Reluctantly, Rip climbed out of the pilot’s seat and exited the hatch. The colonel was right behind him, calling for one of the enlisted men to bring a video camera and radiation detector.

Rip wandered slowly back toward camp. He paused halfway and seated himself in the dirt.

The saucer looked stark under the lights. Had he done the right thing by uncovering it?

After a bit, exhaustion overtook him. It had been a long day.

He struggled to his feet, then went directly to the tent he shared with Dutch and Bill. They were still seated with the professor outside by the lanterns.

As Rip was getting into his sleeping bag, he overheard the professor ask, “Just who is that kid, anyway?”

“He was one of two hundred applicants for this job,” Dutch replied. “My boss picked his application out of the pile. He could finish his engineering degree in one semester, but I think he’s going to stretch it into two.”

“Most of the time I think he is just what he appears,” Soldi said thoughtfully, “a kid in blue jeans with a dirty T-shirt. Then there are moments when I think he is brilliant.”

“Rip works real hard to appear normal,” Dutch said. “But he’s a straight-A engineering student with a genius IQ. And he may be the smartest man I ever met.”

Inside the tent Rip Cantrell snorted in derision. He pulled a pillow over his head and promptly went to sleep.

• • •

The whop-whop of helicopters awakened him. The sun was well up in a brassy sky when Rip stuck his head through the tent flap. He squinted, looked around until he saw them. Two large machines.

They circled the area, then went into a hover downwind of the saucer.

Rip pulled on his jeans, put on his boots.

Dutch and Bill were fixing breakfast on the propane stove while Soldi smoked his pipe and sipped coffee.

“Looks like more company, huh?” Rip said.

“Unexpected, looks to me like,” Bill said, nodding at the Air Force enlisted men, who were watching the choppers with their rifles in their hands.

Rip hurriedly filled a plate and started forking in fried potatoes and reconstituted eggs. He watched the choppers and ate as quickly as he could.

“Damn, kid, it makes me sick to see you wolf your food like that.” Bill Taggart made a face.

“I got a bad feeling about this, Bill. This may be all the food we get for a while.”

“You’ve been making every meal your last for twenty years,” Taggart replied and turned his back so he wouldn’t have to watch.

Rip finished eating as the choppers settled onto the ground a hundred yards from the camp. About a dozen armed men got out of each one. Even from this distance, the weapons were unmistakable.

“What have we got ourselves into, Dutch?” Bill Taggart whispered.

The men from the helicopters spread out into a ragged line and started this way with their rifles in the ready position. About fifty yards out they halted and plopped on their bellies.

The Air Force sergeant tersely ordered his men to lie on the ground.

When the first bullets whizzed over their heads, Dutch, Bill, and Rip also dove for cover.

“You chaps in the camp! Drop your weapons and come out with your hands in the air. No one will be hurt if you do as I say.”

Rip asked Dutch, “What the hell is that? A British accent?”

“Aussie, I think.”

Another burst of automatic fire went over their heads.

The airmen were having a whispered conference with the sergeant when the major crawled over. He and the sergeant talked while the other enlisted men listened. The major must have slipped over from the saucer while the choppers were circling.

Now the major stood and called, “We are a detachment from the United States Air Force. Who are you?”

Back came the answer: “I don’t care if you are the pope’s eldest son, mate. Drop your bloody weapons, stand up with your hands in the air, or we are going to start shooting for real. It’s going to be a hot day in this sandbox and I don’t feel like screwing around. You’ve got exactly five seconds.”

“Do as he says,” the major ordered the airmen. Reluctantly, they tossed down their assault rifles and stood with their hands raised.

“I’m beginning to think we should have left that damn saucer in the rock,” Dutch announced to whoever might be listening.

Professor Soldi sat up and brushed the sand from his shirt. He sucked experimentally on his pipe, found it had gone out, and fired it off again.

• • •

The leader of the group that surrounded the camp was a tall, rangy redhead. He plucked the pistol from the holster on Major Stiborek’s belt and pocketed it as several of his men picked up assault rifles and frisked the Americans.

He put his hands on his hips and stood staring at the saucer. “As I live and breathe. Wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with me own eyes. If that don’t beat all! A bloody flying saucer!”

“This saucer is the property of the United States government,” Major Stiborek said with a straight face.

“Damn, Major. I don’t know exactly where in the hell we are, but I’m pretty sure it ain’t the U. S. of A.”

“That thing is U.S. government property,” Stiborek insisted.

Rip Cantrell shook his head in amazement. If he didn’t know the truth, he would have been tempted to believe the major.

“Well, tell you how it is,” the redhead replied, obviously amused. “I’m not going to waste air arguing about legal title. Details like that are way above my pay grade. We came to look that thing over and that’s what we’re going to do. Now you sit down, shut up, behave yourself, and we’ll get along fine.” He glanced around at the other Americans. “That goes for all of you.”

Red turned to the two men behind him, men in short-sleeve white shirts wearing glasses and nerd buckets—pocket protectors. In their arms were cameras and portable computers. They hadn’t taken their eyes off the saucer since Rip first saw them. “There it is,” Red said. “Have at it.”

The two scurried forward. They passed Charley Pine and Colonel West, who were being marched back to camp by two of Red’s men. Both of the Americans had apparently been relieved of their sidearms. Their holster flaps were open.

“Professor Soldi?” the redheaded man asked, looking at the archaeologist, who was still sitting in the sand with his pipe.

“That’s right.”

“Pleased to meet you, sir. My name is Sharkey.” Red reached down and helped the professor to his feet. “Perhaps you could come with me, sir, and tell me what you have found out about this flying saucer.”

“How did you know my name?”

“We did a bit of research before we choppered over, Professor. Never hurts to know the lay of the land, who’s in the neighborhood.”

“The saucer is a valuable archaeological artifact. It belongs to all mankind.”

“Yes, sir. You are absolutely right. My employer is merely interested in examining it, learning as much as possible about the technology. Obviously time is of the essence. The more you tell us, the sooner we will leave. Then you can go on with your research.”

“Don’t believe him,” Colonel West interjected.

Soldi looked at West with undisguised antagonism. “Just what would you like to know, Mr. Sharkey?”

“Everything you can tell me, sir. Believe me, we have no desire to harm the artifact, steal it, or deprive you of your opportunity to study it for the benefit of science. We couldn’t transport it out of here even if we wanted to. We merely wish to learn if there is technology here that we can put to immediate commercial use.”

“Who is your employer?”

“I would be indiscreet to name him here and now. Suffice it to say he is a curious industrialist. If his use of technology that we learn about here is illegal, of course the courts will haul him up short.”

Soldi knocked out his pipe and refilled it. He lit it and took a few puffs as he looked at the civilians with rifles guarding the Air Force officers and enlisted. He glanced at Rip and Dutch, looked again at the saucer.

“Why not?” Soldi said. “Everything will come out in a few days anyway.”

“Professor, I apologize for my confrontational manner when I first arrived,” Colonel West said earnestly. “still, this is not a time for bruised egos or hurt feelings. This matter affects the national security of our country.”

“Hardly, Colonel,” Soldi shot back. “As I explained to you when you first arrived, that saucer is an archaeological treasure belonging to all mankind. It is quite ancient, at least a hundred and thirty thousand years old. Everything we learn about it will be made public as soon as possible. Every human alive is entitled to the benefits of the technology embodied in that saucer.”

“You don’t know what you are saying,” the colonel protested. “Civilization is not ready for that kind of knowledge.”

“That’s what the pope told Galileo three and a half centuries ago,” Soldi snarled. “Poppycock!”

“Colonel, you are on the losing end of this philosophical disagreement,” Sharkey said lightly. “Come, Professor.”

The Aussie put his arm around Soldi’s shoulders and gently steered the archaeologist toward the saucer.

The day grew hot. It was funny, but when he was working, surveying, running the jackhammer or moving the camp, Rip didn’t notice the heat. Now, sitting in the shade with nothing to do, he found the desert heat oppressive. It enveloped him, made it difficult to breathe, and he perspired freely.

So did everyone else sitting there under the watchful eyes of the Aussie’s friends. Those worthies didn’t look like they had seen a bath or clean clothes in quite a while, but their weapons looked well cared for. Russian-made assault rifles, British army web gear, automatic pistols… they were ready to fight a minor war. Fortunately they didn’t point the weapons at anyone. The rifles stayed on their shoulders or across their laps, the pistols stayed in their holsters.

Still, they stayed alert. A bit of moving around by the Americans seemed to be tolerated, but two or more people moving brought a curt admonishment.

“Think the prof is telling Sharkey all the secrets?” Rip asked Haagen.

“He doesn’t know any to tell.”

“He shouldn’t have gone off as pals with that guy.”

“That Aussie was going to look at the saucer with or without the prof. Maybe with Soldi there he won’t tear up anything.”

“You are an incurable optimist,” Bill Taggart told Haagen.

“Don’t you start grousing again,” Haagen shot back. “I’m not in the mood. And another thing… “

Leaving those two to squabble, Rip moved over to where Charley Pine was sitting. “Hot day, huh?”

Pine looked him over, didn’t say anything. After a bit, Rip asked, “What did you think of the saucer?”

“I don’t know what to think. I’ve been sitting here trying to decide.”

“It’s really old,” Rip offered. “Yes,” she murmured.

“Did you see anything wrong with it?” Rip asked softly. “What do you mean?”

“Well, we were wondering why it came to end up in that sandstone ledge. Maybe there was a malfunction of some kind. What do you think?”

“It’s possible. We didn’t have time to do more than give it a superficial look last night.”

“I’m sort of curious about what you experts found,” Rip said. “How does that thing work, anyway?”

“All I could give you are guesses.”

“The thing doesn’t have wheels on the landing gear. It must take off vertically.”

Charley Pine looked thoughtful. “I’d love to fly it someday,” she said.

“You could figure out what all those levers and things actually do?”

“That would be the easy part,” Charley Pine replied. “It’s strange, when you think about it, how vastly different cultures arrive at very nearly the same answers to engineering problems. The controls have to give the pilot control. How the systems work, how it’s powered, what the controls operate—it will take weeks or months of investigation to answer those questions.”

“Ever flown a saucer before?” Rip asked matter-of-factly.

Charley smiled. “No.”

“Have you flown many different kinds of planes?”

“Most of the tactical machines in the Air Force inventory and a half dozen helicopters.”