“Can I?” Jesse asked.
He felt Artemis’ soft furry arms embrace him and lift him to the doorway, then through and inside it, where he waited until Artemis leaped in, the door closing behind him, sealing them inside.
At first it was dark, then shade by shade the black air brightened and brightened until it shimmered all around, a light that came from everywhere, as if everything gave off its own radiant glow.
He felt the tree lift, like the slow rise of a rocket as it pushed against the heavy gravity of earth, then rising faster and faster, streaking across the nightbound sky. The next thing he knew, he was standing on the blue road, two beams of light closing in upon him like the shining eyes of a ravenous animal until the brakes shrieked loudly and the tires squealed to a halt and he stood in the truck’s blinding beams, a little boy, alone, Artemis hidden somewhere behind the stars, no more than the memory of a warmth he’d once known.
Owen Crawford stood on a ladder, hanging Christmas decorations outside his house while Anne and his two sons, Eric and Sam, scurried about the yard, shooting at each other with toy ray guns.
“Hey, watch it,” Owen snapped when Sam crashed into Anne, knocking her against the ladder.
“Sorry,” Anne said meekly.
“Just be careful,” Owen told her sternly.
He returned to his work, though he took no joy in it. For what was Christmas, after all, but an enforced holiday, trivial and meaningless, perfect only for people who had nothing better to do than hang these ridiculous lights.
From the top of the ladder, he saw the staff car move down the tree-lined street and pull up to his curb. Thank God, Owen thought, I can get out of here.
“I have to go,” he said brusquely as he hurried toward the car, leaving Anne alone to watch the boys chase each other wildly across the neatly trimmed lawn.
They reached Groom Lake a few minutes later. As the car moved smoothly across the tarmac, Owen glanced at the latest military advance, a black bomber with swept-back wings, a plane no radar could detect.
In the staff room, he took his seat at the end of a long conference table where various scientists and military personnel sat around, chewing pencils and flipping through reports as they waited for him to speak. Dr. Kreutz sat in a chair at the back of the room, idly fastening and unfastening a Velcro strap, one of the “advances” that had been discovered in the craft, the only piece of information from which they’d been able to benefit after years of study.
“We took this craft apart more than ten years ago,” Owen said. “More than ten years and we still have no idea how it ran. No clue what its power source was or what the aerodynamics involved were.” He nodded toward Dr. Kreutz. “This is Dr. Kreutz,” he said. “He has agreed to come over to our program for an indefinite period of time.” He cast a merciless eye over the assembly. “As of now,” he said, “the rest of you are reassigned to other duties.” He smiled coldly. “In Iceland.”
The men around the table glanced at each other in shock and disbelief.
Dull and unimaginative, Owen thought contemptuously, mere slugs, men who lacked the passion of pursuit, who did one thing until they were told to do another, men who lacked the mettle of a true commitment. Not one of them deserved any further explanation.
And so he gave none, but simply rose and escorted Dr. Kreutz out of the room.
“There’s something you should know, Doctor,” Owen said as the two men headed toward a distant hangar. “I report directly to President Eisenhower, and he is not a patient man. I’ve let him believe a few of your technological advances were derived from our research. I hope when you meet the President, you won’t disabuse him of his impression.”
Dr. Kreutz chuckled. “And wind up reassigned to Iceland a week before Christmas? Certainly not.”
They stopped at the doors of the hangar.
“Let me see your little bird,” Dr. Kreutz said.
Owen swung open the doors and it stood in the shadowy light, the craft Owen had retrieved from the desert years before.
“The interior wasn’t damaged,” Owen told Dr. Kreutz. “It’s exactly as it was when we found it.”
They had now reached a small stepladder that rose to the open door of the craft. Kreutz mounted the stairs, followed by Owen.
For a time, Kreutz moved about the interior of the craft, noting its sleek design, the seats with their finger-pad controls, everything smoothed and buffed to a shimmering perfection.
“None of those white coats could figure anything out,” Owen said with a smirk. “For years they’ve scuttled around in here, but they never came up with anything.” He laughed. “For all their degrees, they couldn’t even find out how the damn thing was powered.”
Kreutz shrugged. “It is easy to see what baffled your researchers,” he said. “No instrument panel. No monitoring devices.”
“You’ll notice some kind of energy field,” Owen said. “In about six minutes your head will begin to ache. Twenty minutes later, you’ll have a cerebral hemorrhage.”
Kreutz nodded as if not at all surprised, then pressed his hand against the smooth interior wall. “You will never get this craft off the ground without an engine.”
“But there is no engine.”
Dr. Kreutz smiled as he nodded to the five empty seats. “Actually, there were five of them,” he said.
“The crew?” Owen asked incredulously. “The crew supplied the…”
“Power, yes,” Dr. Kreutz said. “The power of the mind. That’s the energy source you’re looking for.”
“We had one alive,” Owen said. “He had powers.” He told him the story of Dr. Goldin’s vision, then his death and the visitor’s, how alien and human blood had briefly swirled together on the laboratory floor.
Kreutz looked at Owen pointedly. “We have to find someone else with unimaginable power of mind.”
Jacob Clarke held a
“Oreos and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich,” Jacob said quietly.
Travis grinned mockingly. “Wrong,” he said. “My mom promised me a steak sandwich and a slice of pie.”
Jacob opened the box and there it was, exactly as he’d predicted, neatly wrapped and placed side by side, a packet of Oreos and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
Travis’ eyes widened in angry disbelief. “How’d you do that?”
Jacob looked at Travis pointedly. “Your parents had a fight last night about your father being drunk. She used the steak on her eye, and besides, she didn’t feel much like making anything fancy this morning.”
Travis’ features turned stony. “You’re dead, brainiac,” he snarled.
Later that afternoon Travis and a few of his friends skidded their bikes to a halt, blocking Jacob’s way home.
“Tell me where you were, you little creep,” Travis demanded menacingly. “In the bushes outside my house?”
Jacob watched silently as Travis’ friends surrounded him.
“You’re gonna die,” Travis said.
Jacob backed away, tripping over the curb, and in an instant Travis was upon him, his knee pressing down on Jacob’s chest.
“Travis,” Jacob said quietly. “Look at me.”
Travis stared into Jacob’s eyes, his expression hard and threatening until suddenly it changed, and a look of sheer terror swept into his face. Jacob knew that Travis was seeing his own leg blown off on a hill near Da Nang, his screams now so loud and wretched his friends backed away in terror.
Jacob got to his feet, watching expressionlessly as Travis trembled before him, pale and stricken. He knew he could do more to this boy, but each time he used the power, some measure of strength drained from him, like a
