'How many saucers?' he demanded.
'One saucer, sir. Two crewmen. Aliens. They wore gray, one-piece flight suits, ate a prodigious quantity of food…'
Bombing Joe stood speechless, rooted to the floor. Nothing in his thirty-six years in the Air Force had prepared him for this moment. He was trapped in a fevered nightmare, some weird, drug-addled Hollywood epic.
He pinched the back of his left hand. Yep, he was awake.
'The aliens paid for their meal with U.S. dollars,' the staffer said, pointing at a man talking to a reporter on the television screen.
'They
'Yes, sir. U.S. dollars. A fifty-dollar bill that the owner of the diner says is counterfeit. Then they got in the saucer and flew it the hell out of there.'
The light began to glow for Bombing Joe.
'Where is that UFO team that we sent to the Sahara?' he roared. 'I want answers
Egg Cantrell came by his name honestly, Charley Pine concluded. His body, neck, and head formed a perfect ovoid shape, marred only by his short, stubby legs. He waddled when he walked and his fat jiggled. A permanent layer of perspiration was beaded on his upper lip and brow. Buried in his fleshy face were quick, intelligent eyes.
'How do, ma'am,' he said and gave a short, nervous bow.
'Well, Unc, what do you think?' Rip stepped back and gestured expansively at the saucer.
Egg Cantrell quivered with joy as he regarded the saucer. He touched it, caressed it, fondled it, stroked it.
'Amazing,' was all he could find to say.
Charley Pine grinned broadly and looked around the old army hangar with interest. She had slipped the saucer into the ramshackle wooden structure after Rip pushed the doors open. There was barely room for the saucer amid the junk that looked as if it were wearing the accumulated dust of centuries; old farm tractors, antique farming equipment, a Model A Ford, an Indian Chief motorcycle, and an Aeronca Champ were just some of the items in sight in this former Army Air Corps hangar, the only one still standing at what had once been a thriving World War II training base. Egg jackhammered the crumbling concrete on the runways years ago — now the runways were grass, perfect for little airplanes like Egg's Champ. Charley ran a hand along the Champ's prop as Rip told his uncle about the saucer.
When Rip had covered the high points, Egg remarked, 'You two have been on television, I think.'
'You mean Egypt? Yeah, that was us, getting water from the Nile to power this thing.'
'I mean L.A., St. Louis, Aswan, Egypt, and just now on CNN, some little burg in Indiana. They're going nuts in Indiana.'
'Are they now?' Rip's face looked almost angelic.
'I hope to shout,' said Egg Cantrell, his belly quivering. 'They had a genuine flying saucer right there in Upshur,
Indiana; dozens of folks saw it, three or four even got religion. One woman claims she served breakfast to two Martians in gray, one-piece flying suits. After they ate they paid with counterfeit money, left a three-dollar tip, strolled across the street like they were going to Wal-Mart, then blasted out of there like a bat outta hell.' 'Did they now?'
'The diner woman said they ate more food than any human could. Six eggs apiece, giant slabs of ham, a quart of milk each. When she said that ten minutes ago on the TV, I do declare, Rip, I thought of you.' 'I was mighty hungry, Uncle Egg.' 'I know, boy. You come by it honest. I spent my life in that condition.'
'Well, what do you think of the saucer?' 'Hell of a nice piece of machinery. God Almighty, it's nice. I just hope you and the lady here came by it legal.' 'Unc, I told you how we got it. Cross my heart. It was a stroke of pure luck that I saw the gleam where the rock had weathered. Honest sweat dug it out of that rock.' 'You think somebody'll be coming after it?' 'It's mighty valuable, all right.'
'Somebody or something, I should have said. It's like something from a dream… or a nightmare.'
'I don't figure whoever lost it originally will come back for it, but these days, who knows?' 'Never can tell,' Egg agreed.
'No one around here knows it's here,' Rip declared. 'We kept low the last forty or fifty miles, below radar coverage, right above the treetops, kept the rockets off. It was sorta tough finding this place in the rain, what with the clouds and all. If anyone saw us I doubt if they could figure out where we were going.'
'What do you say, young lady?' Egg asked.
'The Air Force will come looking before long. In a day or two, I think. Three at the most.'
'Uh-huh. Are you going to call 'em, tell 'em where to look?'
'Not just now. To the best of my knowledge, Rip is the lawful owner of the saucer.'
'Is he really, you think?' Egg asked shrewdly.
'I doubt it.'
'So do I, ma'am,' Egg said.
'Now see here, Uncle,' Rip said hotly, 'you're supposed to be on my side.'
'I am, I am,' Egg said. 'I know you didn't do anything immoral — I just think you have a legal problem.'
Rip set his feet and squared his shoulders. 'Possession is nine-tenths of the law, I always heard. I've got it and I intend to hang on to it. Whoever hopes to take it away is going to have to prove better title than mine.'
'Finders keepers, losers weepers,' Egg said thoughtfully. After another sideways appraisal of Charley Pine, he added, 'That'll have to do for now, I guess.'
Egg pointed toward the hatch hanging open under the saucer. 'Any way I can get up through that hole?'
'If you kinda suck yourself up, I reckon you can,' Rip replied, grinning. 'We got a little problem with the engines. They hiccup from time to time. Was hoping you could look at that.' With that Rip led the way under the saucer. Egg got down on his hands and knees to crawl after him.
'Uh, Mr. Cantrell. Mr. Egg. Before you go. Do you have someplace I could freshen up?'
'Why, I guess I'm forgetting my manners, Miss Pine. Go up to the house and help yourself. I'm a bachelor and the place is messy, but avail yourself of all the conveniences. Towels are in the closet.' 'Thank you, sir.'
The small house wasn't messy, of course. As Charley suspected, Egg Cantrell was a fastidious housekeeper. Everything had a place and everything was in it.
Charley Pine went straight to the bathroom and took a long, hot shower. With her flight suit in the washing machine, she retired to Egg's guest bedroom, a cozy nook with a television. On the walls were frames containing flint arrowheads, dozens of them, perhaps a hundred. Each arrowhead was neatly labeled.
Rain from a turbulent gray sky spattered on the windowpane. She got under the covers and surfed television channels.
On CNN she found what she was looking for. Yes, the network was showing the video from Egypt one more time. Then there were more interviews with the citizens of Upshur, Indiana. Charley looked at her watch. Lord, she and Rip had blasted out of there just two and a half hours ago and already the place was famous.
She sat in bed watching the citizens express their wonder and awe at the abilities of the saucer. Ordinary people who had seen an extraordinary thing. The adventure seemed to affect each of them in a slightly different way; some were thoughtful, others exuberant, some frightened, some angry or resentful.
One, the lady at the diner, Flo, was thankful:
'Of all the places on God's green earth they could have lit, they picked this one. I always thought Upshur was special, and now I know. I am so happy this happened.'
'Why?' the interviewer asked.
'That flying saucer gave us something besides ourselves to think about, reminded us that there's more to life than our little bean row.'
Charley flipped channels, found some government type explaining that flying saucers were figments of people's imaginations. 'There is no scientific proof whatsoever that flying saucers exist,' the scientist on television
