Saucer: Savage Planet

2

Rip Cantrell, Charley Pine and Rip’s Uncle Egg sat on wooden crates staring dejectedly at the objects arranged on the floor of the warehouse. The stuff looked like junk that had been removed from an abandoned chicken coop. Just what the twisted metal and shattered composite material, if that was what it was, might have been before they were destroyed upon entry to the earth’s atmosphere and eons of submergence in the sea, no one could say.

Egg turned to the other people there, a man and woman from the Australian Archaeological Commission, and an American archaeologist who was there at Egg’s invitation, Deborah Deehring. “It’s hopeless,” he said. “There’s no way to identify the pieces in this condition.”

He nodded toward a schematic that was pinned to a wall. “This is what the computer from the Sahara saucer says the starships looked like then. I don’t know if the design changed or not.” He swept his hand toward the stuff on the warehouse floor. “I can’t identify one piece.”

Rip was an athletic young man of twenty-three years. His life had taken a hard right turn when, as part of a seismic survey crew, he discovered a flying saucer embedded in a sandstone ledge in the Sahara and dug it out.

Charlotte “Charley” Pine, thirty-one years old, had been a civilian member of an air force UFO team that investigated the Sahara saucer, and she was the one who flew it away when armed thugs tried to confiscate it. A graduate of the U.S. Air Force Academy, she had been a fighter pilot, then a test pilot, before resigning from the service. Rip used to refer to her despairingly as “an older woman.” He didn’t do that these days.

Egg Cantrell, Rip’s uncle, was an engineer and inventor. He was fiftyish and spry, with an ovoid shape, hence his nickname, which he didn’t mind. A consummate realist, Egg accepted the world as he found it and tried mightily to understand.

Professor Deborah Deehring was athletic and blond and had huge, intense blue eyes. When she focused those eyes on Egg and smiled, he felt a very curious sensation. He liked the sensation, and Deborah, a lot.

For the past two weeks, Charley, Rip, Uncle Egg and Deborah had stirred through this pile of junk the Australians had found embedded in the Great Barrier Reef. It was, the Australians believed, an ancient starship, perhaps the very one that brought Rip’s saucer to this galaxy 140,000 years ago. They reached this conclusion based on an analysis of the metal removed from the reef, and from the geology of the reef construction, which proved the metal had been there for a long, long time.

However, Egg wasn’t sure that the Australian scientists were right. If this stuff was originally part of a starship, the metal must have been supercooled in space, heated to astronomical temperatures on its trip into the earth’s atmosphere and subjected to a salt bath for over a hundred millennia. Who knows what its original molecular composition might have been? Nor could anyone now recognize the metal. All everyone could agree upon was that it was old and weird. They also agreed that if they were indeed looking at the carcass of a starship, it certainly couldn’t be the one that delivered the Roswell saucer, which crashed in New Mexico in 1947 and had ended up in the Atlantic Ocean.

“We just don’t know how often earth has been visited by extraterrestrials,” Egg said dejectedly. “For all we know, that metal is a million years old. We have no idea how fast saltwater would corrode it.”

The Aussie in charge was a woman, Dr. Helen Colt. She was a no-nonsense salt-and-pepper woman who was rarely seen without her clipboard. The assistant, ten years younger than Colt, was a man named Billy Reese. He was smallish in stature, also a PhD, a thoughtful type given to stroking his jaw and saying little.

Just now he eyed the computer on Egg’s lap, then scrutinized Rip’s and Charley’s faces thoughtfully.

“Your opinion, Dr. Reese?” Colt said abruptly.

“I am defeated,” he replied. “We have found no shells of computers or reactors or advanced devices of any kind, nothing anyone could point to as evidence that we are looking at an artifact of an advanced civilization. Perhaps it is precisely what it appears to be, a twisted, misshapen structural framework someone built and threw into the sea.”

“When?” said Charley Pine. She was a tall, intelligent young woman who looked as if she could handle anything likely to come her way. Today she wore an old air force flight suit and boots, which did nothing to hide her good figure.

“Since we can’t identify the metallurgy, we don’t know,” Reese said slowly, eyeing Charley.

“We really don’t know anything,” Egg said gruffly. He had spent the last few minutes packing the computer into its travel bag, and now he stood, computer case in one hand and headband in the other. “Glad you invited us Down Under to take a look,” he said and tucked the headband under his left armpit so he could shake hands with the two Aussies.

Rip, Charley and Deborah also pumped hands and followed Egg out of the warehouse. Dr. Reese trailed the three of them. He cleared his throat while he was behind Egg, who paused and turned toward him.

“Mr. Cantrell, I can’t help noticing that magnificent computer you have,” Reese said heartily. “I assume it is from your nephew’s saucer?”

“It is,” Egg admitted. Actually he had removed it from the Sahara saucer when Rip first brought the saucer to Missouri. That had been a happy accident. Egg mined the computer for technology; the propulsion technology and some of the other major systems were patented and licensed, and much of the rest of the technology that Egg was willing to share — certainly not all — was placed in the public domain. The results were astounding: Industries throughout the world were investing capital in new plants, processes and equipment, and hiring. The world was entering a new era of prosperity.

“It would be a great service to the cause of science if you would allow me and my commission colleagues to examine it for a few weeks,” said Dr. Reese. “We can promise to return it to you in an undamaged state.”

“Dr. Reese,” Egg began, clutching the computer case in his arms, “I am not ready to allow unsupervised access to this computer.” In the months after he acquired it he had indeed allowed almost unlimited access to academics, but that was before he fully appreciated the information its memory contained. When he finally realized the implications of extraordinary knowledge in unlearned, unethical hands, he had refused access to all but a trusted few.

Colt had joined them, and now she eyed Egg skeptically. “Knowledge that can be verified should be shared with all mankind,” she said. “The only valid ethical position is that scientific knowledge enhances the survival of our species, so the more the better.”

“Perhaps,” Egg readily agreed, still clutching the computer to his chest, with both arms wrapped around it. “Yet perhaps there is such a thing as too much knowledge, knowledge that the human mind — or the public mind, the humanity of which is debatable — is not yet ready to accept for the simple reason that we don’t know enough to give it context.”

“How much of the information on that computer is of that variety?” Colt asked, intent on his answer.

“There is much there that baffles me,” Egg confessed. “I cannot understand much of it. Better brains than mine might, but I doubt it. I think most of the gold that we can use has already been mined.”

Colt and Reese surrendered gracefully. Colt said her good-byes, shook hands and let the Americans retreat. Dr. Reese accompanied them as far as the door; then he too said good-bye.

When the Australians were out of earshot, as they walked toward their rented car, Deborah said to Egg, “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

“What?”

“That there are facts we shouldn’t know?”

Egg eyed Deborah as Charley unlocked the car. “I could have stated it better. There are things on this computer that our society is not prepared to deal with now. You know some of the stuff I’m talking about.”

“He’s right, Deb,” Charley said as she opened the door and got behind the wheel.

Rip seated himself beside Charley, on the left side of the vehicle, and Egg and Deborah climbed in the back.

“You’re thinking about the antiaging drug, aren’t you?” Rip murmured.

Egg nodded. “Our civilization doesn’t have the moral and ethical framework to deal with something like that.”

“Yet,” Rip shot back.

“Maybe someday it will, after our scientists take all the baby steps required to discover it for themselves. But not now. And there is the aliens’ concept of God. A lot of people would glom onto that like iron filings on a magnet just because they think the aliens knew more than we do.”

“Oh boy,” Deborah said. “As if religious fanatics aren’t causing enough trouble on this rock already.”

“Too bad about the starship, if that was what it was,” Rip mused. “I would really like to know how old that wreckage was. Was it the ship that delivered the Sahara saucer, or did it come later, perhaps to search for them? Guess we’ll never know.”

Egg kept a firm grasp on the computer case on his lap. “Yes,” he said as he watched the countryside scroll past.

After a bit, Rip added, “I’d like to know if the aliens are ever coming back,” then rolled down his window and stuck his elbow out.

“What I’d like to know,” Charley replied thoughtfully, “is what happened to the crew of the Roswell saucer.” The government had told the world no alien spacemen were ever found, an assertion that no one had yet proven untrue.

Deborah Deehring rested a hand on top of Egg’s. He smiled at her and she returned it. “The computer is a great trust,” she said softly. “You must be very careful with it.”

“I could use your help exploring its contents,” Egg suggested.

“I have to get back to the university. I’ve been gone too long already. Perhaps in a few weeks I could visit you for a weekend.”

They left it there and rode along holding hands. This was a first romance for Egg, a lifelong bachelor, and he was enjoying the sensations. He felt like a teenager.

The morning after the trio arrived back in Missouri at Uncle Egg’s farm, Charley awoke before dawn and listened to the breeze whisper in the pines outside the window. The window was opened an inch or so to let the night air in, and the wind’s gentle song. Rip was still asleep beside her, breathing deeply. Somewhere in the house a telephone was ringing, insistently, urgently. Finally it stopped, then began again.

When she realized there was no more sleep in her, Charley slipped out of bed and pulled on her heavy robe and slippers. She closed the bedroom door behind her and tiptoed down the hall toward the stairs.

She paused there when she heard Uncle Egg moving around the kitchen. She could also hear the coffeemaker gurgling, the babble of unintelligible voices from the television, and the refrigerator door opening and closing. Egg was busy, busy, busy, as he usually was. The ringing telephone was silent.

Charley Pine smiled. It was good to be home.

Home! Now there was a concept new to her. She continued on down the stairs and around the corner into the kitchen.

“Good morning, Uncle Egg.”

“Charley!” Egg said breathlessly. “Sit down, please. I’ll get you a cup of coffee.” He turned up the volume on the television as Charley hoisted herself onto a counter stool, then turned back to the pot. “Hope the telephone didn’t wake you up. I unplugged both of them.”

There was a flying saucer on the television screen. She stared, mesmerized, then realized she was watching video taken last month of her chase of Jean-Paul Lalouette in the Roswell saucer over Manhattan. Now the announcer’s voice sank in.

“So to recap, the large saucer, the one in front, was raised from the Atlantic three days ago. Everyone presumed it was totally destroyed after it went into the water last month in a vertical dive from an estimated one hundred thousand feet. Destroyed? Apparently not.

“In an interview this morning, just an hour after his ship, Atlantic Queen, tied up here in New York, Captain Johnson of Atlantic Salvage stated that after it was raised, the saucer was flown away from the deck of the ship by a passenger named Adam Solo. Other members of the crew confirm this account, including Dr. Harrison Douglas, CEO of World Pharmaceuticals, which funded the salvage.”

Dr. Douglas appeared on the screen. He was standing on a pier with the salvage ship moored behind him. He discussed the scientific curiosity that had led him and his company to fund the recovery of the saucer from the sea.

Egg stood beside Charley through all this, sipping coffee himself. When the network began an exposition of everything its reporters had learned about Adam Solo, Egg hit the mute button on the remote control.

“What do you think?” he asked Charley.

“Douglas is smarmy.” She took her first experimental sip of coffee, then said, “I am astounded. I thought…”

When she stopped speaking, Egg said, “Just before you came in, Douglas said that Lalouette’s body was in the saucer when Solo opened it. Blood everywhere.” The French pilot had used the Roswell saucer to fight Charley, trying to shoot her down. When he was severely wounded by an antimatter beam from Charley’s saucer, he had attacked the Sahara saucer again. He lost, and his saucer went into the Atlantic.

Charley set the cup on the counter and averted her eyes from the television.

“I’m sorry, Charley,” Egg said softly, “but I thought you needed to know. Reporters were calling, even though my number is unlisted, trying for a comment or telephone interview.”

Charley Pine took a deep breath and said, “Turn off the television and fix me some breakfast, please. Two eggs and bacon would be a treat.”

They talked of inconsequential things as Egg busied himself preparing breakfast and the sun crept over the earth’s rim. Through the window, Egg examined the clouds critically. “Going to be a good day,” he said thoughtfully.

“World Pharmaceuticals,” Charley mused.

“The antiaging drug,” Egg said, finishing the thought. “I guess a thing like that would be impossible to keep secret.”

“So who is Adam Solo?” Charley asked aloud after she had had several bites of egg and munched a bacon strip.

When Rip came downstairs fifteen minutes later, he pecked Charley on the cheek and sat on a stool beside her. Egg used the remote to turn on the television again.

Rip silently absorbed everything Egg and Charley knew about the salvage of the Roswell saucer as he watched a few minutes of the television coverage.

Finally he glanced at Egg, then Charley, and asked, “So who is this Adam Solo?”

“Whoever he is, he’s flying a saucer,” Charley observed sourly. “Bet we hear more about that before very long.”

Rip turned the audio back on. The television reporter finished interviewing Harrison Douglas, turned and looked straight into the camera. “Why did Adam Solo steal the Roswell flying saucer? What does he intend to do with it? Where is it? All the world wonders. We don’t know the answers yet, but we intend to find out. When we do, we’ll tell you, our viewers. We’ll be back, right after this commercial break. Stay with us.”

Harrison Douglas broke away from the reporters and walked quickly to a waiting limousine. Safely ensconced in his padded-leather sanctuary, he began making calls on the vehicle’s encrypted telephone. He was angry, damned angry. The salvage company was demanding their eight million bucks and threatening to sue if he didn’t pony up, even though they failed to deliver the saucer to the dock in Newark; Solo had played him for a sucker and robbed him; and the whole world was laughing at him.

Well, that thief Solo wouldn’t laugh long, by God! Douglas grew up in Philly, and he still knew some guys. Hadn’t talked to them in years, but they knew him too. These were guys you didn’t screw with. They ate thieving little bastards like Solo for breakfast.

After three telephone calls, Douglas was tired. He lay back in his seat and closed his eyes.

The news that the Roswell saucer was no longer on the floor of the Atlantic hit the White House like a small bomb. The news that the saucer had been stolen from a deepwater salvage ship and was out there … somewhere … flying around … greatly enhanced the explosion.

A horrified P. J. O’Reilly, the chief of staff, rushed into the presidential bedroom with the news. The presidential pooch hastily bestirred itself and shot into the president’s closet. O’Reilly ignored the dog, as he did all lesser creatures, which was almost everyone. He found the president eating breakfast at a small table. The morning newspapers were piled beside him, apparently as yet unread.

“What’s the matter, O’Reilly? Did the Canadians invade?”

“It’s a lot worse than that. That saucer that went into the Atlantic last month was salvaged, raised from the ocean, and someone stole it.”

The president felt as if he had taken a punch. He seemed to shrink right where he sat. The color leaked from his face.

“It’s out there now, God only knows where,” O’Reilly continued, digging in the knife. He enjoyed giving the president bad news, although he pretended he didn’t. Now he seized the remote control from the breakfast table and clicked on the television.

The president found he had lost his appetite. Perhaps the fact that he had lived through two saucer crises in the last fourteen months had something to do with his bad humor.

At least, he reflected as he watched the talking heads on CNN, Rip Cantrell and Charley Pine weren’t involved in this escapade. Or were they? “Have the FBI find Rip Cantrell and Charlotte Pine,” he growled at O’Reilly. “Just tell me where they are.” O’Reilly rushed off to make the call.

Charley Pine was a real piece of work, a former fighter and test pilot who could fly anything, but Rip Cantrell was the one the president worried about. The kid single-handedly took on the world’s second-richest man, the president and the U.S. government … and beat them all. Just another all-American boy! Ai yi yi!

The president decided not to rule out Rip until he saw a photo of Adam Solo.

He opened his bottle of Rolaids and munched a handful. Then he reached for the waiting newspapers.