“You’ll see soon enough.” The country got wilder, pine trees and scrub brush, and they turned off the gravel road onto an unmarked dirt track. Harry had to hold on to keep from being jounced out of his seat. After they were a half mile in, the trail vanished. McClellan swung off into the forest, driving over dried pine needles that blew over their tracks in the stiff breeze.
“Timber country,” McClellan said. “Nobody comes here but me. I own it.”
They passed weathered No Trespassing signs, forded a small creek, bounced across another rocky flat, and plunged into more thick woods; then they topped a small rise at the edge of a tiny clearing, and there it was.
Logan had a brief impression of a logging camp. Log shack covered with mud. A generator trailer. Camp fire, with a wiry bearded man squatting in front of it. None of these really registered, because the little clearing was dominated by an alien shape.
That was the first thing Harry was sure of. It was wrong. Alien. The color was wrong, the shape was wrong, everything about it. Then he looked for details.
The ship was round, about twenty feet in diameter, and swept up in thickness from infinitesimal at the edges to about seven feet in the center. The cross-section shape was part of the alien impression: it thickened in a series of compound curves not smoothly blended into each other.
It wasn’t perfectly round. From above it would have looked like a distorted circle, but there was no conic section that could describe it. One end was elongated and flattened, with its thin edge stretching out another four or five feet, no thicker than a man’s hand at the greatest dimension, undulating in waves of curved sections that made no sense.
The whole ship was a dull metallic grey-green, and it shined, not brightly, and not evenly over its surface; when he tried to look closely Harry saw that it was the light pattern that gave an illusion of motion to the hull sections. The ship didn’t change shape, but the glowing areas moved in rippling patterns across the surface.
Harry turned to his companion. The man was watching Logan curiously. “A flying saucer,” Harry said. “Yours?”
McClellan laughed. “It is now.” He raised his voice to shout. “Al, he thinks we’re little green men! He asked if it was mine!”
The bearded man laughed with them as he came to the Rover. “I’m Al Parish, Mister Logan.” Parrish held out a lumberjack’s hand and crushed Harry’s. “Do we look like we could build that thing?”
“No. All right, what’s the story?”
“Come sit by the fire and have a drink,” McClellan answered. “We’re going to tell you.”
David McClellan owned timber lands. He’d inherited them and was happy to live off the income. He also liked to hike in his woods. “And one day—there it was,” he finished.
“But—who brought it here? What about the crew?”
McClellan shrugged. “Nothing. It was like you see it here. And there’s no strange bones around, nothing here at all. Maybe the crew got killed by rattlers and dragged off by scavengers. Maybe anything, but they’re gone. After I poked around for a week I went and got Al.”
“I’m an engineer,” Parrish added. “Not much of one, maybe, but the only engineer Dave knew. And this thing is driving me crazy. When I talked to the professors at the university about some of the effects I got they told me I’d been drinking. Nothing like that could ever work. So I remembered the articles you wrote and Dave went to get you.”
“Thanks,” Logan said. He meant it. “But aren’t you going to tell the government?”
“Hell no!” McClellan exploded. “They’d thank us and never let us near it again.” He spat into the fire. “I want that ship, Logan. It’s mine.”
Harry could understand that. He’d had his problems with administrators. He didn’t care if the government never found out about it. “You think it uses advanced solid state devices, huh?”
“Has to be something like that,” Parrish answered. “I can’t even find the power source. It’s got one, you see things work, but no power. No wires, nothing, just blocks of glop. Lots of those, but I can’t see what they connect to or even how they connect.” Al poured an enormous mug of coffee, drank half, and filled it to the top with Christian Brothers brandy. Harry looked at it hungrily, but he knew better. Ruth was right more often than he wanted to admit.
“Near as I can figure,” Parrish said, “this thing operates with some force nobody on earth ever heard of. And you wrote about that, and about the future of solid state work—hell, at least you’ll admit it’s possible for the ship to work!”
“Can I look at it?”
“Yeah.” McClellan seemed reluctant. “But be careful. We don’t know what does which to what. You might put us out in the orbit of Saturn.”
It seemed as strange inside as out. The entrance was two doors four feet high with a two foot space between them, an obvious airlock that a man might just barely have crammed himself into. Both sliding doors were open, and somebody had wedged them into their recesses with pine logs.
“Haven’t been able to close this ship up,” Parrish explained, “but I didn’t want to take any chances. Be hell to be trapped in here.”
The inside was one big chamber about the shape of the outside of the ship. Three chairs which would have been perfect for small human children were bolted to the steel-gray deck. The chairs swiveled and were equidistant around a circular console in the center of the ship. The console had a shelf two feet off the floor and a sloping panel inboard of that rose nearly to the top of the cabin. The panel was a jumble of translucent plates, many of them marked with squiggles that might have been Arabic but Logan was sure it wasn’t.
“Near as I can figure, the panels above the console are some kind of screens,” Parrish told him. “But there .ain’t nothing behind them, so I don’t know. Course, they might be kids’ greasepaint boards for all I know.”
“Kids?”
“Sure. Whole thing could be a toy. Look at the size. Like a doll house. Admit it isn’t likely, but then the ship isn’t likely either.”
“That’s for sure.” Harry was just able to stand in the space next to the console. Everywhere else the ceiling was too low and he had to crouch.
Parrish showed him around the ship. Under one chair was a gismo with an air scoop sticking out of a solid box to a tank, and a steady stream of air flowed from the tank.
“What kind of air does it make?” Logan asked.
“About like ours, only feel. Hot, and wet as hell. Little more oxygen too.”
“What else works?”
“Funny about that,” Parrish said. “Sometimes lights flash. Sometimes we hear noises. Nothing predictable, and no way to control any of it. Look, there’s not even controls to work, no knobs or switches. Least, nothing we can recognize as a control,” he added thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s like somebody in the Middle Ages finding a radio—he’d never know what switches and knobs were.”
They went back outside, although Logan wanted to remain in the ship. The others persuaded him; he’d have plenty of time to look at it, and it gave them the creeps in the dark. Before they left Parrish lifted a deck plate. The thin grey metal section came away easily to reveal a mass of brightly colored rectangular shapes varying in size from larger than an attache case to smaller than a matchbox. The blocks fitted together perfectly and couldn’t be pulled out, but when Parrish touched one corner with a steel screwdriver they popped out easily. There weren’t any connections Harry Logan could see; the blocks were of uniform texture, like hardened epoxy. When replaced they fitted together again like a parquet floor, and couldn’t be removed by force.
“See what I mean about advanced solid state?” McClellan asked. They sat around the campfire and ate shishkebab while Parrish told what he had tried.
He had used every detection device he could think of with no result whatever. Oscilloscope, voltmeter, electroscope, they all gave the same result. “That ship’s electromagnetically dead,” Parrish said. “It’s all at ground potential.
Except for one thing, that flat surface dead aft—well, I think it’s aft, but what the hell, there being no windows or anything, how would I know? Anyway, that flat place is a south pole. Damn strong one, I had to use the Rover to pull my magnet off it. But it only attracts north poles, repels south ones, and has no effect on non-magnetized iron. It’s directional, and there isn’t a north pole on the ship. How’s that grab you?”
“A monopole?” Harry asked. “Could it be the drive?”
“Damned if I know. I don’t think it’s strong enough to lift the ship. For that matter, nothing I think of can lift that ship.”
“What do you mean?”
Parrish shrugged and pulled another chunk of steak off the skewer. “It’s heavy. Or it’s rooted in place, take your choice. Tried jacking it up and broke the Rover’s jack. Got a big fifty ton hydraulic job and managed to push the jack down into the ground. That ship doesn’t lift. It’s enough to drive me crazy.”
“Yeah.” Logan stared into the campfire.
Parrish took the dirty dishes and put them in a bucket to soak. “Wash up in the morning. Now for something I’ve been waiting for since we found that thing,” he said. He went to the Rover and got out a case of brandy. “Didn’t have but a couple of bottles to last me and had to stay sober while you were gone… after playing with that thing, I want to get drunk.” He looked at the brandy with affection. “Have a drink, Harry Logan. You too, McClellan, you old stick.”
Why not? Harry thought. One drink wouldn’t hurt. Might open up his subconscious. Parrish had tried every test Harry could think of, maybe something would come to him. One drink.
By midnight they were all singing. At one in the morning, McClellan was making speeches denouncing the government, which he suspected of wanting to take his ship for income taxes. By two they went over to be sure the ship was still there.
They squeezed into the cabin, and Harry was just able to sit in one of the chairs. The others were too big. It was dark, and Harry couldn’t see a thing. “Wish there was some light.”
The lights came on, a soft glow from the walls with no bright spots.
“What the hell did you do?” McClellan demanded.
“I thought at it,” Logan answered. “Shee, it’s simple, you think at it and she does what you want. Watch.” He thought at the screens. A globe sprang into view on the panel above him. It was a holograph somehow projected into a piece of plastic a half inch thick.
McClellan and Parrish crowded against Logan’s chair. “But how could it work?” Parrish asked.
“Who cares?” Harry answered thickly. “Let’s get her moving!” He shouted at the ship. “Lift off!” Nothing happened.
Logan made a face, then formed a mental picture of the ship rising from the ground.
Harry didn’t feel a thing. McClellan and Parrish shouted something. A cold wind blew on his neck and Harry looked around. The cabin was empty, the wedged doors gaping behind him, and through them he saw the lights of a small town rapidly falling away below. “Jesus Christ!” he shouted. A bearded face appeared on the screen.
“I’ve got to get down! Take me down!” He thought of descending. The ship plummeted. “Gently.” He pictured that. The rapid descent slowed.
He tried to think of places to take the ship. Crazy thoughts flashed through his mind: the Alps, and they appeared on the screen above. Taj Mahal. New York City. Each time, the screen pictured it, and the ship seemed to turn.
Parrish and McClellan. What had happened to them? The screen showed nothing. Harry tried again: what happened if you fell out? The screen showed something— not really a man, but humanoid—falling through the doors and being gently lowered to the ground below. The ship still whipped around, and the ground he could see through the doors whirled, but Harry felt no motion at all. He tried to stand and was slammed back down into the chair with horrible force, and he almost passed out.
Where to go? The ship could take him anywhere… the moon, the planets… a picture of an airless world pitted with craters formed on the screen. Mars! She’d take him to Mars! First man there…
Harry choked for breath. Anoxia. The word swam somewhere in his mind, but he didn’t care. His ship! It could do anything! Harry Logan was the most powerful man in the world! They’d have to listen to him now…
The screens faded, everything was getting grey, but Harry didn’t care. It was wonderful up here, and Harry Logan was master of the world. He could make them… he could…
The Pentagon. The enormous building formed on the screen as Harry thought of it. That was the place to go. Take the ship to the Pentagon and make the United States listen to Harry Logan. All the world problems were so simple once you saw them right. And those companies who’d fired him, they’d be sorry. But Harry Logan wouldn’t use his ship for revenge. He’d bring peace and happiness to the world. Pentagon, that’s the ticket. Right into the little courtyard in the middle of the hollow Pentagon, right there in the five sided funny farm, Harry Logan would set up his throne…
He didn’t know how long it took but he was there. Thickset windows pierced dirty granite walls all around him. The ship rested on trampled grass. Logan grinned and tried to stand up again. It was all right. The ship waited obediently. Harry went to the hatchway and took the logs out. He needed sleep, and he didn’t want anyone messing with his ship while he got it. The inner log came out easily, but the ship had tried to close the outer door and the log was jammed in good. Harry had to climb out to get a grip on it. He tugged hard, and the log came away and fell on top of him.
Harry lay on the grass and looked up at his ship. He smiled, thought the door closed, took a deep breath— and passed out.
He was in a windowless room and bright lights glared in his eyes. He’d never had such a horrible hangover in his life. God, that was a bad one, he’d dreamed about flying saucers and… Harry sat bolt upright.
“Now, now,” a soft voice told him. Strong hands pushed him down with a rustle of starched linen.
When he tried to turn his head, a strange thing happened. His head turned but his brain didn’t. Then the brain would snap around with a horrible shock and an audible twang. His eyes wouldn’t focus, but there were blurs in the room, a flurry of activity, bright lights, noise. Horrors upon horrors.
“Do you speak English?” someone kept demanding. What the hell did they think he spoke? When he didn’t answer, they said other weird things. “Parlez-vous Francaise? Sprechen Sie Deutsch?” And growls that Harry wouldn’t have believed a human throat could utter. Had the saucer taken him to its home planet? It wasn’t a dream, there had been a saucer…
“Hing-song yin kuo…” “Sir, he doesn’t respond to…” “If you’d get out of the way, Professor…” Everyone spoke at once.
“Damn it, say something!” an authoritative voice demanded.
“Hello,” Harry replied. He hadn’t thought anything could be so loud. Was that horrible noise just Harry Logan trying to talk? “Where am I?”
“You’re in the emergency detention—uh, in a guest room in the Pentagon. Do you know what the Pentagon is?” the voice asked him. It seemed to be trying to be friendly and didn’t know how. A polite crocodile voice. Any damn fool knows what the Pentagon is, Harry thought. It hurt too much to answer. Instead, he groaned. “He seems hurt,” another voice said quietly. “Not knowing… I mean, General, if it weren’t for that thing out there I’d say he was a normal human with no detectable injury, but…”
“Hell, he’s got to talk. Fast,” the general barked. “You. Sir. Where are you from?”
“Tujunga,” Harry tried to say. It didn’t come out very well.
“Where’s that?”
“Sounds Spanish…” “I never heard of any such place…” “Habla Usted espanol…”
One brittle-dry loud lecture hall voice cut through the renewed babble. “Perhaps it means ‘earth’ in his language. Most peoples have…”
“Crap.” The general got shocked silence. “You can spare me the goddam
lectures. And since he seems to understand English, we won’t need all you goddam civilians. Sergeant, clear this room.”
“Yes, sir.” There was more commotion, but Harry wasn’t interested. Didn’t they understand? He needed to die.
“Do you want anything?” the general asked.
Harry opened one eye with an effort. He saw a blue uniform, three stars on the shoulders. Behind the Air Force lieutenant general were two air police with automatic rifles. A doctor in a white coat twisted his hands together. There was no one else in the room, which was bigger than Harry had thought it would be.
“Water,” Harry croaked. The doctor moved around and came back with a plastic glass and a drinking straw. Harry gulped it gratefully. “Aspirin. And a double shot of brandy.”
The general looked at him closely. “Aspirin? Brandy?” There was a gleam of triumph on the craggy face. “As I thought. There’s your goddam alien, doctor. An ordinary earthman with a hangover.”
“A hangover and a flying saucer in the Pentagon courtyard,” the doctor reminded him. “Really, General Bannister, it would be better to leave him alone for a while. There might be something really wrong with him.”
“Yeah, there might. But we haven’t got long. I haven’t, anyway.” He got a crafty look. “Doc, get him in shape and send him to me as quick as you can. I’ve got to talk to him before the Navy finds him.”
“Yes, sir,” There was more activity, and Harry was left in the room with the doctor. He gulped aspirin gratefully and asked again for brandy, but nobody brought any.
The hospital gown flapped. The sandal-slippers kept falling off his feet. Harry had never felt more undignified in his life as the air policemen ushered him into the office.
The room overlooked the Pentagon courtyard. Harry’s saucer was out there, its unlikely shape gleaming dully, light patterns rippling over the hull. Swarms of uniforms bustled around it, cheered on by more uniforms with gold and silver braid on their hats.
There Will Be War Volume II Page 9