Some of the looks they got suggested that many thought the peculiar group of five people had spent too many such nights wandering around exposed to the elements, with the result that their brains were slightly frozen in spots.
'It's getting dark,' Sarah Goldberg noted. 'We'd better be getting back to Albany.' She was first back into the station wagon, oblivious to the curious stares of the two cattleman they'd just interviewed.
'We've about covered all the farms and residences in this area,' she said when the wagon was rolling again. 'Tomorrow we'll move our base of operation to Breckenridge and commence a fresh spiral outward from there.'
As the temperature outside dropped, Chester turned one the car's heater. To add to his discomfort, it had begun putting out a disagreeable odor lately, in addition to a steady grinding as-if a bearing or something had broken loose and was rattling about inside it.
He couldn't find fault with it. It had been in constant use all day and night the past month. It was only sounding the frustration and irritation Chester felt himself.
In the rapidly growing darkness the driver, known to them all only as Pat, had switched the brights on. The extra illumination was welcome on the narrow back farm roads. Pat rarely had to dim them, as oncoming cars were infrequent.
This part of the county was especially thinly populated. Pat slowed, afraid of missing the Albany turnoff, and Goldberg began screaming like a high-schooler whose date had unexpectedly turned out to be the town wolf.
'Stop the car! Stop the car!'
The usually phlegmatic, imperturbable Pat slammed a size-thirteen shoe on the brake, and they were all thrown sharply forward. Chester pushed hair from his eyes and turned to look angrily into the backseat.
'What is it now, Miss Goldberg?' he asked, fighting to remain civil. The old woman's eyes ignored him as she stared out the window on her left.
'Look-look at that,' she murmured.
Something in her tone made Chester turn quickly to gaze in the indicated direction; he had to peer around the considerable bulk of the driver to do so.
Disappointment was instant. Just off the road and ahead was yet another of the many isolated ranches they'd passed and stopped at during the past month. This one was a bit more modern, a little larger than the average, but otherwise unspectacular.
Befitting the season, it was lined around roof edge and windows with Christmas lights. Two plastic, meter- high candy canes flanked the entrance to the yard in front of the main house.
Chester felt a pang of homesickness at the sight, as he had at every such group of decorations they'd passed. He'd never get home in time to string his own lights. Charlene and Mary-Ellen would be heartbroken, and the things would sit up in the attic, unused, for another year.
'Not the house. Not the house,' Goldberg stammered, noticing the direction of his gaze. 'Off to the left of it, in the back.'
Off to one side of the house and set farther back from the road was a large barn. The front edge of the barn's roof was also lined with lights. The cause of the staid scientist's sudden hysteria was located there.
As was common in such structures, a large square gap was set above the ground over the barn's entrance, opening into the hayloft. The opening was currently filled by an object of indeterminate size and dimensions.
It lit the whole front of the barn with an incandescent yellow glow as soft and intense as an Arizona sunset. Within the yellow dwelt a horde of colored pinpoints arranged in intricate and strange patterns to form a photonic mosaic. The lights shifted position as they watched.
'It's so bright, the smaller lights so deep and rich,' Tut observed quietly. ''LEDs, maybe?'
'No,' objected Goldberg with assurance. 'The color is too intense even for that. Pull in here, Pat; there's no gate. '
Until now the stoic sergeant had responded with equanimity to requests from all his passengers. This time he glanced for confirmation from his real superior.
'By all means, Pat, let's see what it is,' Chester declared, unable to take his fascinated gaze from the enigmatic object. So bright was its glow that it overwhelmed the sign that had been strung on wire just beneath it. The sign was cut from silver foil and consisted of four large letters: N-O-E-L, Chester read to himself.
Little bounces jostled the occupants of the station wagon as it turned left into the dirt driveway running toward the barn. As they stopped next to the house and the sergeant turned off the motor, the barking of two or more large dogs could be heard. Nothing rushed to meet them, however.
'I guess they're chained or in the house,' Tut commented nervously. Chester wasn't surprised at the slight tremor in Tut's voice. Numerous stops had already shown that the huge engineer had a genuine fear of dogs.
Goldberg left the car and headed straight for the barn. The youngest of the three scientists put out a hand to restrain her before Chester could do so verbally.
'Better hold off a minute, Sarah.'
She whirled, glared at him. 'Why wait?'
Jean Calumet kept a hand on her even as he continued to regard the object set so temptingly near, up in the loft. The yellow glow was bright on olive, smooth skin. 'I'm as curious to be into it as you are, Sarah, but remember where we are.'
'So where are we?' she snapped, irritated at the delay.
'On another man's property,' the diminutive Cajun told her. 'This isn't Los Angeles or even Houston. People out here have archaic notions about things like property rights. We'd better wait till we have a chance to explain ourselves.'
So while Goldberg and Tut groaned at the wait and Chester nodded gratefully to Calumet, they stood and fidgeted until several lights came on inside the house.
Two lean hairy shapes raced out of the front door, barking furiously. The cluster of visitors stood their ground, even Perham Tut, who would have returned to the safety of the car if it hadn't been for the disgusted look he received from Sarah Goldberg.
The dogs sniffed each of them in turn, then trotted quietly back toward the house, satisfied in the notable way of dogs that the newcomers presented no immediate threat to their masters.
A tall, clean-shaven man in his middle or late forties sallied forth to greet them. He was wearing a pair of threadbare blue jeans, a tired flannel shirt, and boots, all obviously donned in haste. He was even taller than Tut, though not nearly as massive. The thin adolescent who trailed slightly behind him was a couple of inches taller still.
'Evening,' he said pleasantly. 'I don't believe I know you all.'
Chester stepped forward, identified himself and his companions with names only. The man shook hands with the men, nodded at Goldberg.
'I'm Jesse Shattuck; this is my son, David,' he told them. 'Can we help you folks with something? We don't get many visitors this time of night, strangers or otherwise.'
A strong voice sounded from the door. 'You gonna all stand out there in the cold like a covey of paralyzed quail? Come on in and have some coffee and pie.'
'In a minute, Mother!' the man yelled back at her. A screen door clattered shut by way of reply. The man looked back at Chester expectantly.
'We're up from Houston,' the major told him, deciding that this man could tell truth from lie quicker than Chester could think up fresh deceptions. 'I'm in the Air Force, attached to the National Aeronautics and Space Administration's Manned Space Center in Houston.' He gestured behind him.
'My friends are all scientists. We've been out hunting around this part of the country for over a month.'
'We've been looking for that,' Goldberg interrupted, pointing toward the barn, talking twice as fast as Chester. 'Thank you for finding it for us. We'll see that you receive a suitable reward.'
That closed the matter as far as the scientists were concerned, and they started toward the barn. Chester started to say something but was interrupted by a disarming wave from Shattuck, who indicated that they should head toward the barn also.
Together they stood in the open space below the loft, staring mesmerized into its alien radiance.
'Is it safe there?' Tut finally whispered, breaking the spell the object's beauty had cast over them. 'It's right near the edge . . . it could fall out.'
