Saucer

When she raised her eyes, Roger Hedrick grinned. He had a wicked, malevolent grin. Then the grin faded.

'Nothing personal, Ms. Pine,' he said crisply. 'This is business. It's trite but true. A great deal of money is at stake. A young woman reluctant to listen to reason is not going to be allowed to impede progress. The wheels are going to turn. Do you understand?'

She forced herself to meet his gaze.

'I do hope you understand, Ms. Pine. For your sake.'

Hedrick rose from his chair, came around the desk. She rose from her chair to stay away from him.

'Let's go have breakfast.'

He reached for her arm. She fought back the instinctive urge to jerk away.

'After breakfast, perhaps you would care to go for a ride around the station. On the ground, of course.'

He smoothly guided her to the elevator. They rode it down in silence, his face perfectly calm, as if the conversation of a moment ago didn't happen.

'I'll find someone to accompany you,' Hedrick said easily. 'I think you will like Australia. Most people do.'

The dining room was on the ground floor, a rather large room with ten tables, each capable of seating four people. Three of the tables were occupied. Hedrick steered Charley to a table where a stunningly beautiful young woman with blond hair was sitting with Rigby. Charley had to force herself not to stare at the girl.

'Ah, Bernice,' Hedrick said, 'I wish to introduce you to Charley Pine, our American pilot. She flies the saucer.'

Bernice gave Charley a dazzling grin. Then she pecked Hedrick's cheek and he patted her. Charley seated herself beside Bernice.

'You know Rigby, of course.'

'I've met the bastard,' Charley said.

Bernice didn't turn a hair. She's that kind of broad, Charley thought, dismissing her. Rigby sipped his coffee as if Charley wasn't there.

Hedrick didn't raise or lower his voice, but continued in a conversational tone: 'Life is much easier for everyone if the amenities are observed, Ms. Pine. That includes you.' Obviously her status here was no secret.

A waiter came to take their order. After he left, Hedrick said to Bernice, 'I thought you and Rigby might give, Ms. Pine a tour of the station this morning. She said she would enjoy that.'

Bernice put her hand on Hedrick's arm. 'I'd be delighted,' she said and smiled, displaying perfect teeth.

'Interesting weather we're having, isn't it?' Hedrick said and led the conversation to benign topics.

When breakfast was finished, Bernice said to Charley, 'Let's walk down to the garage for a vehicle.'

Before Charley could reply, Hedrick froze her with his eyes. 'You have a choice. You can give me your word you won't try to escape, or we can lock you back in your room. Which will it be?'

Charley Pine stared into his eyes. The man would send hired thugs to murder her family to make her fly the saucer, but not to salve his injured ego. There was no profit in it, and profit was what Roger Hedrick was all about.

The station was certainly guarded. Even if she stole a vehicle and managed to get to a town, what good would it do her? Hedrick's billions undoubtedly bought a lot of cooperation from the local police and politicians.

Finally, there was the saucer. If she left without it, he would find a way to make a profit from it. The cold certainty that she didn't want Hedrick to have the saucer congealed in her heart.

'I'm not going anywhere,' she said as evenly as she could.

'If she tries to escape, Rigby, she's all yours. Just don't kill her.'

Rigby grinned.

Roger Hedrick threw his napkin on his plate and rose abruptly. As he walked away he pulled a cell phone from a pocket and punched buttons.

Bernice drove the Land Rover and Charley Pine sat beside her, on the left, in the passenger's seat. Rigby was still at the breakfast table when the women left the room, and if he followed, Charley didn't see him. She didn't even look for him.

She forced herself to look at her surroundings, to see, to observe. When the time for action came, she wanted to be ready. She wanted to know where the enemy was and how he would have to be fought.

Bernice said little until they were bumping along in a Land Rover, then she began explaining about the station, the thousands of cattle, the jackeroos — which were cowboys — airplanes, buildings, etc. Charley soaked it up without asking questions. When a response seemed to be required, she grunted.

Finally Bernice began talking about herself. She was British, she said. A model. She ran into 'Roger' several years ago in London at a fashion show. She talked about jetting around with Roger — Paris, Monte Carlo, Rome, Copenhagen, Los Angeles, Chicago, New York, wherever business or pleasure took them. skiing at St. Moritz one weekend, lying on the beach at Ipanema the next, it was all so magical.

After fifteen minutes of this Charley had had enough. 'Sounds like you're bought and paid for,' she remarked.

Bernice didn't take offense, didn't argue, didn't pretend the remark hadn't happened. Roger had told her to drive this American pilot around, so she would, regardless. She took a deep breath, then said, 'Must be quite the adventure sporting about in a flying saucer, I imagine.'

This sally brought forth another Charley Pine grunt.

Bernice clucked her tongue. 'We must try to get along,' she said.

'Why?'

'Because Roger said so,' Bernice said, slightly appalled that Charley couldn't see something so plain. 'Roger is Roger. He's extraordinarily smart, has made mountains of money. He puts himself under extreme pressure. Deep down he's a generous, warm person. Everyone just loves him.'

'You're really not a bad person yourself, are you?' Charley said and patted Bernice on the arm.

Aboard a packed Boeing 747 crossing a great ocean, Rip Cantrell was ready to conclude that Wilbur and Orville should have concentrated on the bicycle business. Nearly five hundred wriggling, sleeping, farting, snoring humans were jammed into the small seats.

Rip managed to cross three sets of knees to get to an aisle, then went back to a tiny open area around an emergency exit. He stood there stretching and looking out the small porthole at the darkness and listening to the hum of the engines. The plane was six hours west of Los Angeles. The sun had set, finally, after a long sunset. A meal had been served to everyone on board, a movie had played, now people slept.

He bent down to see out the window beside the emergency door. Dark out there, nothing to see. An overcast, apparently, obscured the sky.

He couldn't stop thinking about the saucer or Charley Pine. Somehow the two were bound so tightly together that to think of one was to think about the other.

He pulled the magazine from his hip pocket and read the story on Roger Hedrick one more time, looked carefully at the photos.

Finally he folded the magazine and returned it to the hip pocket of his jeans.

He looked in the window glass at his own reflection. That was the face Charley had seen when she kissed him.

When he straightened up, he was wearing a smile.

The news that a Missouri National Guard F16 had fired two Sidewinders at a flying saucer the previous day made headlines around the world. Although the Pentagon classified the report, someone in Missouri called a local newspaper. The rest, as they say, was history.

Pharmacist Raymond Stockert was hounded by a mob of reporters at his home and in the supermarket where he worked. The supermarket manager sent Stockert home for the day to clear the aisles for real shoppers.

Inevitably the White House was forced to admit that the president had ordered the military to patrol the nation's skies and shoot down any saucers encountered. This revelation sparked a debate on Capitol Hill. Once again the White House was under siege.

The president was unapologetic. Safely away from the press, he roared at his aides, 'Of course I gave the