The president had rarely seen O’Reilly grin, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. He felt for his Rolaids bottle. “We’ll go to Missouri in the morning,” he said. “Tell them to get Air Force One ready.”
“Should I have the press secretary make an announcement?”
“Hell, no. Let’s keep it quiet, like we were going to Baghdad. We don’t want this to turn into a media feeding frenzy.”
O’Reilly merely raised his eyebrows. The president still didn’t get it, he decided. The poor devil.
Egg Cantrell was up before dawn making coffee. He hadn’t slept more than an hour. He turned on the kitchen television … and was astounded to see a picture of his farmhouse.
Egg looked out the unbroken kitchen window and saw the lights from the TV trucks and news sets. Not one, but three … four … five. Five sets of lights, and cameras, and satellite trucks. He went to the living room and saw another light setup.
The farm was under siege.
Egg raced around ensuring the doors were locked. He put the telephone back on its cradle, then picked it up. Got a dial tone. Called 911.
When the dispatcher picked up, Egg started talking. He gave his name and address. “My property has been invaded by news crews. I need the sheriff, as soon as possible. I’m willing to file trespass charges.”
“Are your really Egg Cantrell?” the female dispatcher asked, her disbelief evident in her voice.
“I sure am. My house is under siege by reporters and photographers, all of whom are trespassing. I need the sheriff here to enforce the law and get these people off my property.”
“Do you have that antiaging drug?”
“No, and—”
“My mother is in a nursing home. She’s nearly ninety and senile. I sure could use some of those pills. For her, you understand.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” Egg said, trying to be patient. “Your mother has had a long life, and I hope a wonderful one, full of good memories and family. I don’t have an antiaging drug. Please send the sheriff.”
“So you won’t help her. Because we don’t have enough money? Or because you are willing to let her die? Which is it?”
“I am not God—” Egg began severely but found he was talking to a dead phone. He replaced the instrument on its cradle, and immediately it began to ring. He unplugged the device and added water to the coffeemaker.
“I am not God,” he repeated aloud, although there was no one to hear. “I did not make the universe. I am not going to help change it. I am just going to live in it, and when my body wears out, die like everyone else … and hope that God has mercy on my soul.”
6
Adam Solo had finally gotten to sleep. He was dreaming. The green, brown and blue planet was below, partially covered with clouds. Clouds in rows, towering thunderstorms, rivers of clouds streaming from the ocean onto the land. The brown deserts were clear, with only wisps of high cirrus.
“Looks inviting,” the woman said. She was a biologist, on her first library mission to this galaxy. This was only the second planet they had visited.
“Not much here,” Adam Solo replied. “A few cities in the temperate zone, but they haven’t advanced to running water and indoor toilets.” He was flying the saucer.
The woman shivered. “Let’s avoid the natives,” she remarked.
“If possible,” her fellow scientist remarked. His specialty was paleontology. He was a nice enough guy, into his science.
The fourth team member, a medical doctor, was deeply depressed. The signs were unmistakable. He was on medication for it and had delusional moments. Solo had argued with the expedition commander that the man should not descend to the planet’s surface and had been overruled. The doctor’s specialty was airborne bacteria, which might have evolved into deadly strains since the librarians’ last visit.
Now he stared through the canopy at the planet, which was overhead since Solo was orbiting upside down. “Savages,” he whispered. “We’ll never get home.”
Solo glanced at the medical man and withheld comment. Every planet they visited was uncivilized, and only a few hosted intelligent life. This one, according to the computer, had been home to manlike hominids for over a million earth years, and to creatures like the saucer crew for a hundred and fifty thousand or so. There was even speculation that the planet’s people were descendants of stranded space travelers.
“When was the first mission to this planet?” the biologist asked.
“About then,” Solo said distractedly, for she was wearing a headband too and he sensed where she was in the saucer’s memory.
The problem of where to land had been addressed aboard the starship, in conjunction with the scientific staff. Prior missions’ landing locations were plotted, and natural species dispersion factored in. This mission was supposed to check to see that the introduced DNA data containers were being dispersed as the original plan predicted.
They were going to land on an island that was often under cloud decks that streamed in over a warm sea current that made it a wet, rainy place, and considering the latitude a warm one. Today the island was clear. Well, it was late summer there, so perhaps the weather would hold for a few days, allowing the saucer crew to land, take their samples, then depart.
In his dream Adam Solo relived it again; the landing, the check of airborne and waterborne bacteria and viruses, a quick survey of the area to ensure natives wouldn’t attack them while they worked, the erratic behavior of the medical man.
Solo could hear him arguing that they should not open the hatch even though the testing equipment showed the air and water were safe, because he was sure the gear was malfunctioning. Hear his voice, see his face, see the irrational fear. In his dream he reached for him, tried to grab his neck and strangle the fool … but the man was just out of reach, just beyond his grasp, moving, babbling and laughing and … It hadn’t really happened that way, of course, but in Solo’s dream the memories and his fears were all jumbled up.
God damn that man.
Then, while the team was outside working, the doctor stole the saucer.
In his dream Solo could see it rising into the night sky on a pillar of fire, hear the earsplitting exhaust roar, feel the helplessness.
He awoke. In a cold sweat.
This room … he ran his eyes over it, felt the tangible solidity of the bed, felt the air going in and out of his chest, felt his heart pounding.
He rolled over, put his feet on the floor and sat with his head in his hands while the dream faded.
A knock on the door. “Adam?” The woman’s voice. Charley. “If you are awake, you better come downstairs. The house is surrounded.”
When Rip arrived in the kitchen, he found his uncle standing at the window with binoculars, looking out. Egg tersely told him about the news crews and offered him the binoculars for a look. Rip didn’t bother with the glasses. He looked, ran to the living room, looked there, then checked the other side and back of the house.
When he returned, he said, “Lots of people out there in back and on the other side, carrying flashlights and lanterns. We’re completely surrounded. Call the law.”
“I tried. We’re on our own.”
Rip turned and raced up the stairs to his bedroom. In less than a minute he was back with his old Model 94 Winchester and a box of shells. He dumped the cartridges on the kitchen table and began feeding them into the loading gate of the rifle as he eyed the reporter broadcasting near the hangar. The saucer on the rock was immediately behind the reporter, probably being used as background.