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.”