The Sand Hill Review http://www.sandhillreview.org 2002

SERA

by Jim Stanfield

THE ALIEN APPEARS

What could possibly interrupt this placid and sunny summer Sunday in Rosendale Park? A Labrador retriever was playing Frisbee with his owner down on the grassy part of the little league ball field now in need of mowing. One particular sunbather was augmenting the scenery over by the picnic area just where the open field gives way to the trees. There, couples were finding what privacy they might along the sun dappled hiking trails that lead into the woods beyond the park proper. An occasional bark would punctuate the chirping and the muffled voices, and even the plants seemed to be seeing just how loudly they could yell green, green, green.

As much as I liked this, my first year of teaching science at 'Spitwad' High, I was grateful not to have to be back in class for another three weeks, being quite content to kick back under the elm on the hilltop and watch the nimbulo-bumbus clouds roll by. The sun glinted off of a speck of silver moving across the sky. It was an airplane, of course, but it was just that kind of a sight to take me back to a similar day in my childhood when the whole town had erupted with a case of UFO fever.

No one worth believing had seen anything, but the one reported sighting had spread and multiplied by word of mouth. The excitement that ensued poured in to fill the void left by the coming and going of the fourth of July. It seemed that the townsfolk were eager to escape their all too orderly and predictable lives. Nothing came of the `sightings', but they were enough to prompt, from bar to barber shop and even a Sunday sermon or two, a rash of philosophical waxing on the grand cosmos and what might lie in the star speckled indigo mind boggling vast and endless universe.

The memory of that day predisposed me to fantasize about the silver speck. Remarkably, I was not alone. Everyone, it seemed, had noticed it. Small groups were forming. The foolishness of this spectacle tickled me. It was an airplane for cripesake. I spotted a fellow and his girlfriend passing a pair of binoculars back and forth. Actually, the girl interested me more than the binoculars but they served a reasonable enough excuse to walk over and talk to them. Halfway over to them I did have to admit to myself that I was still a bit interested in that object that was approaching us.

"Hi, may I take a look at it through your binoculars?"

"Sure, here."

It was too far away yet to make it out. Through the binoculars it looked just as it did without them. I could see that the front end was pointed. I couldn't see any wings though. I handed the binoculars back and introduced myself.

"By the way, my name is Jack Sinclair".

"I'm Ed."

"I'm Linda."

We sat down on the grass. While Ed watched the approach through the binoculars, I beamed a sheepish smile at Linda. She looked off to the side, then casually looped one of her fingers through Ed's belt loop. I thought, oh well, maybe she has a sister.

Her eyes widened in surprise when she spotted the mob of people who were descending on us. Apparently, they too wanted to get a better look at it.

The glasses were snatched from Ed's hand. He seemed to be put out by this rude gesture. The three of us soon found ourselves on the outside of an expanding circle of pushing idiots. The more obnoxious and selfish of the bunch had elbowed their way to the core and were now vying for that precious center of interest.

Ed was really getting mad. "ALL RIGHT, THAT'S ENOUGH. GIVE ME

BACK MY BINOCULARS."

He might as well have been yelling at ants at a picnic.

It was almost directly overhead, still traveling northwesterly and descending. I could barely make out a pair of wings. Ah ha, I knew it all along. More out of disappointment than anything else I shouted, "It's only an airplane! It's only a plane!"

An audible sigh went up from the crowd. Ed was quick to take advantage of this change in mood to retrieve his binocs. Again he shouted, "I want them back NOW!"

Linda piped up as well: "Come on, give us back our binoculars."

Finally, they were passed outward from hand to hand. Linda snatched them from the guy who had just received them before he had a chance to lift them to his eyes. "Hey, I never got a turn."

"Too bad." She said quickly stuffing them into her backpack.

We didn't want to wait around for the people to disperse so the three of us headed for the park gate. As soon as we had put some distance in, Linda slowed and took out the binocs. Ed said, "Not here, or they’ll be hounding us again."

As soon as we were past the stone fence she brought them out and up to her eyes. The plane was now just above the tree tops perhaps four or five miles away. (A wild guess, distances like this are hard to estimate.)

"Geez that sure doesn't look like any plane I've ever seen."

"May I look before it's gone?" I asked. She reluctantly handed them to me so that I might see it the last few seconds it would be visible. As I watched it disappear that initial giddy excitement returned and I could feel my stomach fall away.

"Maybe it will land. I think I'll drive up that way to see if I can spot anything. Do either of you want to come along?"

"Sure!"

"That sounds great. Ed’s bug is up on blocks. We would probably be chasing it ourselves otherwise."

My car was sitting in the driveway back at home which is a leisurely ten-minute walk from this part of the park. We took off on a dead run. Even though my excitement had produced an adrenaline rush I arrived at the driveway breathless and lightheaded. Why had I allowed myself get so far out of shape. Ed was wheezing too. We collapsed on the lawn to catch our breath. Linda, on the other hand, didn't seem to be the least bit tired. She goaded us, "Come ON you two. Let's get GOing."

Behind the wheel, I caught my breath and my head cleared. I was buzzing. I felt ten years old again.

Dust from the dirt road billowed up behind us as the car swung through turn after curve. Linda began to complain when we just missed hitting a tree. It didn't slow me down though as I enjoy speeding and had taken these back roads faster than this.

We were catching up to someone. There was a billow of dust up ahead of us. When I could see the back of the car through the dust I slowed to its speed. Ed, who was riding shotgun, had rolled the window down and was scanning each clearing as we passed. Linda was combing the sky.

As we began to pass Hennessy's pasture, with its multi-colored cows, the car up ahead went into a panic stop. It was all I could do to whip the steering wheel just enough to miss the car, but it was also just enough to send me into a skid. We came to rest some distance ahead, turned 180 degrees, facing back into town. When you are thinking like

a ten year old, you drive like a ten year old.

Then Linda shouted, "LOOK!!"

She was staring into the pasture at a very strange looking aircraft indeed, as Ed and I could see when we followed her gaze.

Through the settling dust I recognized the rotund shape of Barry Roberts attempting to navigate the barbed wire fence with a full load of camera gear. The three of us jumped out of the car and ran to catch up.

It was about the size of a large Winnebago, cylindrical, pointed in the front, nicely rounded in the back. There was a pair of wings at each end. From each of the four wings an engine pod had been rotated then extended and were doubling as landing gear. The craft was resting perfectly level on the uneven terrain of the pasture. This had not been a crash landing.

Barry was snapping pictures from every angle. Soon there were more cars and more people and the old rotten fence posts gave way to their trampling.

Barry looked over, nodded smiling, and asked me where my camera was.

"Back at home, of course."

As I was the only one in town who gave him any competition in the camera club photo contests, this admission on my part assured him of a super scoop on this story not only for the Altuna Argus but for all of the wire services as well. I could think of no one who deserved it more.

Something had to happen soon.

The cows that had been spooked by this strange craft landing in their grazing pasture were now beginning to emerge from hiding. Some were tentatively approaching it out of what passes for curiosity in cows. All the cows were brightly colored: red, green, blue, orange, purple, some even multicolored. Old Hennessy had taken to staining them with food coloring just before hunting season every year ever since two of them had been killed by hunters.

The cows were adding a new dimension to the reactions of the people in the field. No one knew whether or not the ship was dangerous but some seemed to be in doubt about these cows as well.

There was a hiss.

Perhaps a valve had been opened, to pressurize or to depressurize the ship. Or maybe it was taking an air sample.

Linda grabbed Ed’s hand. Most of us had taken a couple of steps backward. Some, more than a couple of steps. Barry just kept on taking pictures. The ship was quiet. In a burst of bravery or maybe on a dare, two young boys ran the thirty feet or so to the ship and touched it then immediately ran back to the crowd.

About fifteen of the slowest minutes passed. More cars were arriving. The crowd grew.

Then someone yelled, "GET BACK. ALL OF YOU GET BACK."

It was the sheriff. Sheriff Brian Keeler was one of those good old boys transplanted from the Smokey Mountains of Tennessee. He was fair and evenhanded in all of his dealings but he was definitely an authoritarian who demanded respect. Slowly and reluctantly the crowd began to move back in response to Sheriff Keeler’s command. The sheriff then posted himself at the head of the group to take command and await further developments.

Barry smiled and nodded to the sheriff. Keeler smiled and nodded back. They had a good working relationship.

The next thing to break the silence was the scream of an air force jet that flew in from the east, circled several times and then headed back east again. I guess that was to be expected. There was nothing in the sky they didn't either know about or check out carefully.

Someone yelled, "LOOK!"

The ship had opened up. Two flaps had swung open on the bottom and what looked like a long thin antenna was descending downward. It was a long thin tube that pointed straight down with short horizontal arms along its length.

The Sheriff yelled, " EVERYBODY GET DOWN!".

We complied.

One hairy foot then another appeared on the topmost rung of what was now obviously a ladder. A third and fourth foot emerged. The sheriff drew his gun. A fifth and a sixth appendage griped and moved successively down the rungs. Two more hands and finally a hairy head came into view. Its body was totally covered with dark reddish blond hair, short in the front and longer in the back. It stood about five feet tall at the bottom of the ladder. Its face bore a passing resemblance to an orangutan.

Someone’s English springer spaniel ran barking up to meet it. Whereupon it laid down on the ground on its back with all eight legs flailing in the air. The dog barked, and sniffed it up and down. The creature then let out with what sounded very much like a bark in return. The dog began to wag his tail. The creature rolled over and got up on four of its legs and began to stroke the dog with the other four. The dog didn't seem to mind.

The creature turned toward the cows. It rose to its full height, raising its top set of arms above its head then lowering each set of limbs in succession to the ground. The creature did this three times. It then turned toward the crowd and bowed once more.

Barry did likewise to the creature. Each time Barry got up to his feet, he moved in a little closer. Finally at a distance of about five feet he extended his hand. The creature did likewise. Barry closed the distance between them and shook the creature's hand.

SAM CLOSES THE BAR

Sam Silverstone was sitting on his regular stool, the second from the far end of the hickory bar. The Rosendale Inn was a drinker's bar, and Sam was a drinker. There were regulars who patronized the Inn on a daily basis but none so regular as Sam. Joe, who was tending the bar, went into his usual routine. "Hey Sam, would you like to talk to my cat today?"

Some of the other regulars chuckled on cue. Sam had to put up with a lot of chiding from his friends. He took it good-naturedly. Besides, he enjoyed giving it back in kind.

"No, not today. He never has anything interesting to say anymore."

"How about my dog, Elton?" Ralph pitched in, which prompted more laughter.

"No. Not lately."

Joe wiped the bar in front of Sam with his towel. "What'll ya have?"

Sam thought for a good minute then smiled. "Give me a snickelfritz stinger."

"A WHAT?"

"A snickelfritz stinger. You mean to tell me you don't know how to make a snickelfritz stinger? And you call yourself a bartender?"

"Okay, I give. How do you make one of those snickelfiz stingers?

Sam leaned back smiling. He was enjoying this. "One shot of whiskey, one shot of rum into about three ounces of frozen concentrated apple juice in a blender." Sam sat deep in thought for another minute. "Then you add a half teaspoon of horseradish."

"Is that it?"

"Yup."

"Are you sure?"

"Yup."

"Okay, you got it."

Sam seemed to have an endless string of wild drinks. Joe was always careful to mix these concoctions just as Sam said to mix them, and he would always try a sample of each on the odd chance that one of them might actually taste good.

Joe poured the contents of the blender into two glasses and handed one to Sam. They clinked them and toasted, "To your good health."

"And to yours."

This one was no exception. It was drinkable, the flavor could charitably be described as interesting, but on balance Joe could not see this drink becoming a commercial success.

Ralph came over and sat down next to Sam. "What did my dog Elton tell you about me?"

"He said that you beat him regularly for no reason."

"I beat him when he gets into the garbage. I think that's a good reason. I beat him when he pisses on the rug."

"You always wait too long. He doesn't know why you're beating him."

"You could have figured that out some other way without being able to talk to Elton. Do you talk to plants too?" Riotous laughter.

"Noooo. Plants only listen." More laughter.

"How do you come to be able to talk to animals, anyway?"

"I don't know exactly. I suppose it has something to do with me being a full blooded Navaho."

"Isn't that pretty hard to do when your mother's Irish? Besides, I thought you said you were Seminole."

"No. My father was full blooded Navaho."

Doug Sweeney came running into the bar. He stepped up in front of Joe and demanded, "Give me a double."

"A double of what?"

"Anything, I don't care, anything."

Joe regarded him curiously, as Doug was usually quite particular about what he drank. "How about a snickelfritz stinger?"

"Sure, anything. I just saw a UFO! I was over at the park. Everybody was looking up. Somebody had binoculars. I had it grabbed right out of my hands before I even had a chance to look. Watched it fly over real close. Looked like it was headed for Hennessy's farm."

Doug's remarks seemed to get everyone's attention.

"Slow down," said Joe as he handed Doug his stinger.

"It's true, we all saw it. You can ask anybody." Doug took a drink. His eyes got big and he regarded the glass closely as his taste buds brought him in for a bumpy landing. "What IS this?"

"It's a double. That's what you asked for, isn't it?"

"I guess."

Ralph piped up, "They've probably come back to take ol' Hennessy back to his own planet." Those that had been drinking the longest laughed the loudest.

"Isn't anybody going to do anything?"

"Just what the hell are we supposed to do."

Ernie got up from his chair by the jukebox and walked over to the group at the bar. "We could call Sheriff Keeler."

"DON'T do that!" Vince sat bolt upright. He owed Keeler a double sawbuck. "Let's just leave sleeping dogs lie."

"Hey, we could drive out that way. Why don't you drive, Joe? You've got the station wagon."

"And close down the bar in the middle of the afternoon?"

Sam let out a single short laugh. "You might as well. Looks like all your customers will be gone. Who you gonna sell your booze to?"

"Good point, Sam, good point." Joe removed his apron, hung it on the hook and fished in his pocket for the key to the cash register to lock it up. As Ralph had helped close the joint on numerous occasions, he went to the front, swung the door shut and locked it then pulled down the shade.

Then they all proceeded out the side door that opened onto Side Street where Joe was parked.

Joe had the engine running, in gear and had popped the clutch before Ralph in the front seat or Ernie in the back had had a chance to shut their doors. The car lurched ahead.

Vince, who had decided to take his chances and come along for the ride spoke up to cut down Sheriff Keeler. "I wouldn't be surprised if Keeler opened fire on that space ship."

Joe was quick to disagree. "Wrong. Brian Keeler is one of the most levelheaded men I have ever known. He just wouldn't do that."

Sam and Ralph agreed.

The drive to Hennessey's seemed to take longer than it should have. Nobody had much to say. Joe parked behind a long line of cars and they all piled out to walk up to where the crowd was gathering, all staring at the odd craft and its creature.

There were two loud bangs. The next instant, everyone hit the ground, except for the Sheriff who had turned toward Hennessey's four teenaged offspring, Matthew, Mark, Luke and Jane. Luke was holding a double barrel shotgun that he had just fired into the air in hopes of scarring the bejesus out of everyone in retribution for the trampling of his fence. He had succeeded.

Keeler advised Luke to hand the gun over before someone got hurt. Luke reluctantly obliged to everyone's great relief.

But now, as the group's attention swung back to its original focus, the creature was nowhere to be seen.

Barry walked over to the Sheriff and said that he had seen the creature go back up into the ship. The Sheriff turned to those just behind him and repeated what Barry had said. And so this information was passed back through the crowd from mouth to ear in muffled tones.

Still half buzzed, Vince yelled in the general direction of the ship. "Come oooooonnn dooowwwwwwwnn." This broke the tension. The crowd roared with laughter.

Again, as before the creature emerged and descended the ladder; this time with a large satchel under one arm and a furry cat-like creature cradled in another. Once on the ground it uttered in a resonant tone, "Dooowwwwwwwnn."

Barry pulled out a small tape recorder from his gadget bag and turned it on. People began yelling questions at the creature. "Do you speak English? Why are you here? Where are you from? What are you?"

The creature waited for the questions to stop then uttered its replies that were totally unintelligible. Funny though, it was a little like listening to Pidgin English, where you can almost make out some of what is being said.

The creature repeated its answers. It wasn't any clearer the second time around.

Slowly Sam Silverstone made his way through to where the Sheriff was. "She says no. She says she is looking for a new home planet. She says she is from Halla and she says she is an Ock and her name is Sera."

The creature regarded Sam with a smile then mimicked him. "No. Home. Halla. Ock."

Sheriff Keeler broke in, "We had better get her away from here fast. The Feds will be here any time now. There is no telling what stupidities they might perpetrate in the National interest.”

Sam, you're coming. Barry, you can come. The rest of you -- I want you all to disperse. Just go home. Go on about your business, and if anybody asks, you didn't see anything. Jerry, you might come along too."

RADAR BLIPS

Senior Master Sergeant Windon was intently watching his radar screen for more blips like the one which had set off the claxon early that morning. This type of blip seemed to come in triplicate. As with a red blip, it signaled an object that did not correspond to any scheduled flight, civilian or military. And, as with the alternating red and yellow blip, it indicated an object that exhibited one or more flight parameters that were outside the envelopes of all cataloged aircraft. In addition to this, the alternating red and blue blip indicated an object that had come from a trajectory that did not match any computed possible reentry trajectory of any of the nine thousand odd satellites, stations, shuttles or other pieces of debris in earth orbit.

This was not a rare occurrence. In fact it happened often enough that some of the radar operators had taken to stuffing paper towels in the claxon to tone it down a bit. Windon had long ago become accustomed to its blare.

Many turned out to be top-secret flights of experimental aircraft. He had his ways of finding that out. On more than one occasion, after having filed his report, a field grade officer would hand him a memo that would then be taken back from him after he had barely had a chance to read it. In essence, the memo would instruct him that he was to forget that the incident had ever happened.

The vast majority of those red-blue blips were simply unexplainable. Windy was definitely a believer in UFO's.

SMSgt Windon duly turned in his report on the incident to the duty officer along with the digital radar recording. He had also safely secured his own pirate copy of the recording on his personal CD-ROM disk just in case things got dicey with the report. Shit always rolls downhill.

Captain Griffin had notified the Operations Commander and the Base Commander upon receipt of Windy's report. The Captain and the two full bird colonels were reviewing the recording on the big monitor in the situation room. As routine as these sightings had become, there was something about this particular radar signature – no outbound trajectory and therefore the probability of a landing – which prompted Colonel Hampton to treat this incident with all due formality. They were going to follow the regs to the letter. They were going to cover their asses.

The Colonel instructed Captain Griffin to retrieve the Manual of Standing Orders so they could ascertain just exactly what it was they were supposed to do in this contingency. It had been almost a month since the last occurrence and even longer since any of them had reviewed the regs. The base had been cited for poor record keeping at the last general inspection of the Aerospace Reconnaissance Command. Any reoccurrence of such a poor performance would not be overlooked come promotion time.

Griffin mumbled aloud as he fumbled through the pages of the manual. "Humm... table of contents... sightings... four... unidentified sightings... four dot one... three eight... three nine... four... four dot one. Four dot one dot one... radar blip codes... green blip...

"Yes, we know."

"Four dot one dot nine... In the event of a 5-C class sighting, blip code: alternating red-blue, the radar operator shall immediately notify the senior radar operator and the duty officer. Operator shall follow up said notification with a written report along with the original data radar transactional recording medium covering the period of time preceding the event by one hour through the duration of the event to one hour subsequent to the event."

"A committee sure wrote that one."

"Yes, and on a Monday morning, I'll bet." The Colonel motioned the captain to continue.

"Four dot one dot nine dot two... In the event of a 5-C class sighting, the duty officer is to notify the following individuals and agencies by secured modem: Base Commander..."

"First goof! Captain, you notified me by modem. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir." Griffin continued, "CIA; Command headquarters, Aerospace Reconnaissance Command, Hinckley AFB; COFUS; Defense Intelligence Agency; JCS, The pentagon; NSA; NORAD; SAC;”

"Well, get on it, Captain."

"Yes, Sir. Sir, should I issue the standard Denial of UFO Activity form to the civilian media?"

"Yes, yes, whatever."

INTO THE WOODS

Only the cows were willing to comply with Sheriff Keeler's order to disperse so he had to devise another plan. He took Barry aside and in whispered tones told him; "Take the creature with you and drive north until you get about a mile past Hennessy's leaning barn. Park the car out of sight then double back to the barn on foot. Make sure no one sees you. Wait for the rest of us there."

Again, Keeler implored the crowd to disperse. "Anybody still here in FIVE MINUTES is gonna get cited for assembly without a permit, parking on private property and ignoring an order to disperse."

A few of the more civic minded finally began to return to their cars. Joe and his contingent from the Altuna Inn were among those remaining who decided to follow the good example of those first to depart. Sam, Barry and I stayed pretty close to sheriff Keeler. The remaining diehards stayed fast to ponder the relative merits of risking heavy fines to satisfy their curiosities or to not be excluded from what could be the adventure of a lifetime. Ed and Linda, having ridden out with me, seemed to be at a loss without an official invite or a ride back. They could do nothing but stand and watch the retreating throng finish off what remained standing of Hennessy's fence and sort out the pick up sticks configuration of parked cars, one at a time. At any rate the five minutes were not up. Barry held out one arm toward the creature and with the other, alternately pointed at her and himself then he turned and pointed at his car. This seemed to confuse her entirely. After a moment or two she held up one free hand with the fingers pointing down

and twiddled them. While with two fingers extended, another hand pointed out a route from where they were standing to Barry's car.

Barry nodded and said "Yes, yes...I guess so anyway."

As Barry and the creature made their way to the car, Sheriff Keeler, backed his squad car into the middle of the road to prevent anyone from following.

After Keeler's open citation book had cleared the last of the diehards, he came back toward us. "Jack, you take Ed and Linda back into town. Get packed for camping out. Make whatever arrangements you have to or call whomever you have to so that you won't be missed at work. Tell a few people that you are going on a vacation or that you were called out of town by a death in the family, whatever."

Luckily, I was on vacation and would not be expected back at work for almost two weeks.

"Ed, you and Linda will be of the greatest help to us if you stay behind and tell anyone who asks that I have gone fishing and that Barry is on assignment and that Sam has gone to visit his mother and that Jack has gone to visit his aunt. But above all try to be convincing that our absence has nothing whatsoever to do with the alien."

We all felt an immediate and profound sense of futility at this.

"Meet up at the leaning barn just after midnight. Don't let anyone follow you."

When I got back home, I immediately began to assemble what survival gear I had and began to arrange it in my backpack. This time, I remembered my camera. It wasn't long though, before a group of my good buddies were knocking excitedly at my door. I let them in. It seemed that the news of the day’s events had spread throughout Altuna. These good buddies of mine had somehow gotten the impression that I might know the whereabouts of the alien. It was their consensus that I was in on hiding it. Paul had heard that I had been talking to the sheriff and that I had not left when the others had. Someone had told Steve that Barry had driven off with it.

"Come on, let us come along. We'll follow you anyway if you don't."

"It was a hoax! If you had been there, you would have known that."

"That's not the impression we got."

"It was a hoax I tell you. That's why everybody left."

"Nah, the sheriff chased everybody away."

Dennis suggested that we should have a party. He pulled a wad of crumpled bills from the front pocket of his jeans. "I've got enough for a coupla six-packs. Chip in and I'll go get some heavy duty party supplies."

Food. I would have to pack food. I fished out my wallet and extracted first a ten then a twenty then both the ten and the twenty.

"Get a bag of those freeze-dried apricots. Get a large jar, no, two large jars of dry roasted peanuts..."

"I want beer nuts." said Dennis.

"Get beer nuts too, then but get the regular peanuts for me if you will, please."

"Beer and apricots?" Paul observed.

"Get three or four packages of hotdogs, the good ones, not those cheap ones that puff up with steam when you cook them."

"That's a lot of food for just four people;" Paul observed.

"We'll eat it." I assured them. "And also get a six-pack of coke for rum and cokes."

Dennis was off. Paul and Steve still hadn't bought the idea that the whole thing had been a hoax. They kept pumping me for more information but I tried to keep my answers as simple as I could; repeating the theme that it had been a hoax. I worried that the more I embellished the story the less plausible it would become.

As the sun began to set I began to worry about how I was going to get away. We played gin and listened to the radio that I had turned up to drown out too much thinking. I had been able to talk Steve and Paul into rum and cokes and was mixing them doubles and just straight coke for myself. Dennis was working diligently on the first six-pack.

It took several surreptitious trips from the kitchen to my room for me to squirrel the balance of the food into my backpack. I then opened the window and lowered it out into the back yard.

Back at the card table, I began to yawn and say that I was tired. This, I hoped would induce drowsiness in my guests. Finally, I excused myself to go the bathroom. I locked the door and climbed out the window.

The moon had waned to a sliver but the night was clear and starlight shown through a cloudless sky: just light enough to stumble along without a flashlight. The sound of the gravel under my hiking boots seemed a deafening giveaway to my retreat. The crickets were deafening in their silence. I kept to the shadows near the line of garages in the alleyway as much as possible looking over my shoulder every few yards. A dog barked.

As I got closer to the edge of town the houses were spaced farther apart so what light there was from the windows and porches was diminishing. Eleven thirty and the end of the eleven o’clock news was now separating the day people from the night owls. More of the lights began to click off. I was hoping that my eyes would adjust a bit more to the dark but I had been out here for at least fifteen minutes so I resigned myself to the fact that the terrain was not going to get any more visible.

It was a good three miles down the dirt road to the landing sight and another mile and a half past that to the barn which meant an hour and forty minutes of fast walking under the best of circumstances. I certainly wouldn't dare to walk past the landing sight tonight. There was no telling who would be staking that place out. I kept to the gutter in what shadow there was but this sure didn't make walking any easier.

Slowly the realization hit me of just what I was heading into. My heart began to pound and I could feel the adrenaline begin to kick in.

The landing site was about two football fields up ahead. I jumped the fence and slowly began to make my way through the woods. I had a compass but it was packed away and there wasn't enough light to see it anyway. I had been to the old barn through these woods a hundred times as a kid. It had always been a popular place to hike to. Somehow, the woods at night was an alien place; not at all as hospitable as in the day and the thought that, how alien indeed would this seem to the visitor, did not go far to allay my discomfort.

After walking for an hour the prospect that I might get lost, or already was, descended upon me. I was shaking and more that a little scared. Although the woods did not extend more that seven or eight miles at most in any direction, this had provided more that enough acreage for no small number of hapless hunters and hikers to wander in aimless circles for days.

I must have jumped three feet when I heard a rustling in the bushes and the screech of an owl. It was Sam. I was never so glad to see Sam in my life. Sam spoke in whispers. He said that I was making so much noise that I was no problem at all to track down. He told me that earlier he had seen two Chevy sedans parked at the landing sight.

Just about the only purchasers of American made automobiles these days were government agencies. They were obviously the Feds.

Sam led me back through the woods to the edge of the long narrow field where the slanting barn stood. Hennessy had planted it with alfalfa to be plowed under for soil enrichment. The dew and the warmth of the summer night conspired with the alfalfa to produce a heady aroma, soothing and pleasant.

Finally, finally, finally we arrived at the barn. It was a feeling akin to getting a hit and making it to first base. Barry Roberts and Brian Keeler were there. And just placidly sitting by the side of the barn, taking it all in was the Ock. This eight legged, orange furred creature from another world was right there in front of us. Sam and I walked over and sat down. Sam began to talk to her in whispered English. How would it understand that? She would reply in her own tongue, which Sam seemed to understand perfectly. Sam answered her back with a lot of yeses and nos and repeated his other phrases back

to her several times. She seemed to have quite a facility to repeat some of these back with considerable fidelity.

Another four hours and it would begin to get light. Taking into account Sam's sighting of the stakeout, the sheriff decided that our chances would be better if we did not remain here at the barn.

We gathered up our stuff and headed north into the next stand of trees. Another three miles would get us as deep into the woods as we could get. Any further and we would be half way out the other side. Chagrinned, I realized how silly my thought processes were becoming.

Sam had assumed the role of guide and was leading us along a gully that meandered in a northerly direction. As it was as close to being pitch dark as the stars were distant, we were following along hand on shoulder blind man style. All of us were making a conscious effort to minimize the crunching of twigs and leaves beneath our feet

as we walked but as we could not see where we were walking our efforts were not to much avail.

After walking for what seemed to be an hour we came upon a huge sprawling oak tree which stood in a small natural cove. Without conference or discussion we simultaneously put down our backpacks and began to settle in for the night. I felt along the ground for a flat smooth spot to lie down on. After a few minutes of removing the twigs and stones a small area was clear enough to call bed. The others were doing the same.

The Ock sent her small companion up one of the thick, low hanging branches of the large oak then followed it up. She was apparently planning to spend the night in the tree. Not a bad idea, really.

Barry said, "We had better not unpack tonight. We may have to get out of here in a hurry."

The comfort of the ground is directly proportional to how tired you are. It was feeling pretty comfortable.

THE TWINS

I don't know what brought me around first, the light or the aromas. My aching back reminded me that I was in the woods. My memory was also reminding me that I was still in the woods. But those aromas. They were just too strong to be my imagination. Coffee, bacon, eggs and sausages wafted their way into my slowly returning senses. Slowly I opened one eye then the other. Ed's girlfriend Linda was standing there beside our tree. She was tending two large skillets over a small campfire. She smiled and motioned with a finger to her lips for me to be quiet. How had she found us?

I stood up then noticed that there were two of them. Exactly alike. What is going on here? Twins? Twins!

I guess that the potency of those aromas was having its effect as the rest of our band had begun to make rustling sounds and were reacting to this little surprise. Keeler was absent-mindedly scratching himself and seemed to be genuinely perplexed and more than a bit perturbed.

"How in the dickens did you find us here?"

Linda, or one of them any way, answered, grinning; "The Initial Tree was the first place we thought of looking."

The other twin piped in; "Obvious."

"Obvious to how many others?" was Keeler’s immediate reply.

Initial Tree? Sam, Barry and I began to examine the oak, now in daylight, at the center of our campsite. Sure enough, it was covered with initials.

"Obvious to us. We've been camping here ever since we were kids."

"How many people know about this place, anyway."

"Oh, not many. Thirty maybe."

"Thirty! Jesus Christ!"

One of the twins began to pass around enameled metal camping plates and silverware. The line at the frying pan was forming behind Barry.

Sera was cautiously descending from her perch. Her small companion had come down in a bound and was sniffing at the frying pan with the sausages in it.

Keeler gained his composure. "I remember one of you from the landing sight yesterday but who is the other one?"

"I'm Linda." "And I'm Jennifer."

Luckily they were wearing different outfits. Linda had on a red plaid shirt and Jennifer was wearing a solid blue one.

"You can't come with us. There are too many along as it is."

"We will cook for you." Linda said motioning to two large backpacks that were well stocked with provisions. Starving from last night’s trek, I took my place in line behind Sam. Linda, who was the one that had been doing the cooking broke off a small piece of sausage and tossed it on the ground in front of the small creature. Jennifer was now staring wide-eyed at Sera. The small creature dispatched the morsel with great enthusiasm then looked up at Linda wide eyed in hopes of eliciting another handout. The small creature’s acceptance of the sausage seemed to be the stamp of approval for Sera so she to took a place in the food line.

Reluctantly Keeler accepted a plate from Jennifer and got in line behind Sera. I guess he figured that accepting this meal would weaken his position that they could not come with us. I wanted them to come but I realized that as much food as the two of them had in their packs, it wouldn't last for long and when it ran out they would just be two more mouths to feed--seven of us now or seven and a half counting the little one. Keeler would realize the same thing. He was no dummy. I began to think of arguments in favor of them coming.

The food was delicious--even Sera loved it--which made it more difficult to accept the idea that it would have to be rationed. That there was more there but we should not have seconds.

After the meal the twins began scraping the utensils with dry leaves then scrubbed them with sand to clean them as best they could. As water was at a premium it would have to be saved for drinking. Hopefully we would come across a stream so that the job could be finished properly.

With the dishes packed away and out of sight a good bit of the twins justification for being there was now out of sight as well. Keeler began again in earnest.

"You two will have to go back home now."

"Please let us come. We won't be any trouble."

"Yes, we can help. Look at all the food we brought."

"And how long do you think that will last."

"Longer than what you brought we'll bet."

They had a good point there, I thought. I piped in with my argument, "We are all in the same boat here. None of us has enough food to last for more than a few days. After that, if each of us had to fend for himself, we would all be looking for grubs under rocks or what ever else we could find to eat. I see that you have brought your fishing pole, Sam knows a lot about edible plants, Barry has that water filtering pump gadget of his..."

"The Katadin," Barry put in.

"Each of us knows different tricks for getting food in the woods. I'll bet they'll be a help rather than a hindrance to us," I finished off.

Sera took a couple of steps forward and spoke up with a voice which sounded just like Linda's; "They are..." she paused and uttered a word in her own language which Sam was quick to translate.

"Female."

"...female. I would like them to come along."

"O K, O K, O K. They can come."

THE NEW MONISTS

The gray stone walls of the monastery stood out like a sore thumb amidst the adobe and wood frame dwellings that now surrounded it. In earlier times the monastery sat easily within the ample boundaries of its wooded grounds. These sylvan grounds had undergone a process not unlike erosion.

The community of Roswell, New Mexico had spread its boundaries outward, to surround the monastery. Then, as the original order of Franciscan monks had fallen on bad times they had been forced to sell bits of their land holdings to meet running expenses. With their numbers dwindling, the last of the monks in this beleaguered order decided to sell what remained and disperse.

It thus came to pass that the monastery was now occupied by this new order calling itself the New Monists or simply, the Order. In spite of these twentieth century encroachments this new order lived no less sequestered, no less austere. Each of its members are no less dedicated than their original counterparts had been one hundred and

sixty three years before, not to religious precepts but to political ones.

The monastery was a front. This was an order dedicated to the mission of planetary purity.

Each member had been recruited from within the CIA. Each had been selected on the basis of extensive psychological profiling. Each had been required to give up all but the minimum amount of contact with the outside world, truly living as a monk would live but with this ideal of planetary purity foremost in his mind.

Their main function was to interdict any contact between our world and any other. To these ends they had killed not only aliens but also citizens. They had eradicated any and all traces of alien presence. They had discredited reliable sources or, failing the sufficiency of this, had terminated them. What remained was a straggling legion of crackpots telling their unbelievable tales to the likes of some such rag as the Enquiring Sun.

The Monastery was now throbbing with activity. The Abbot had received a full report of the alien landing this afternoon on CIpherNET. The Order has unrestricted access to every bit of intelligence that is compiled on the network of UFO databases. The Abbot was sending out a seven-member team leaving fourteen in reserve at the monastery.

The seven selected brothers had just finished packing their provisions in each of two cheap Korean compact cars. The Order was one of the few governmental agencies allowed to use foreign cars so as not to blow their cover.

Accompanying the seven would be Fidelis, the best of the monastery’s bloodhounds. Fidelis could detect one alien molecule out of a trillion familiar species. Not pepper or garlic or cinnamon could confound his incredible olfactory prowess. Oh, how he would howl for the bone in the back of the garbage truck. Such was his status at the monastery that he would be afforded an extra ration of food at mealtime. Fidelis would be riding up in the front seat with Brother John who was the mission leader and who was also his trainer. Brothers Roy, Godfrey and Malcolm would be riding with Brother Ben in the second of the two small cars rather than allowing themselves to take a back seat to the dog. Brothers Nelson and Russell had no such compunction.

The seven plus one would now get under way, driving straight through, in order to make the coast by the next sundown.

THE CREW

Along with the Order another small group within the CIA had been called into action. They were known as the Crew. The Crew handled the cover-ups of alien landings where larger numbers of witnesses were involved. Their task was to disseminate plausible alternative explanations for the sightings; in other words to convince these people that they had not seen what they had seen. Toward this goal the Crew was most resourceful.

For this particular case it was decided that the most expedient tactic would be the `movie cover'. The first thing done was to rent the full compliment of equipment necessary for the production of a motion picture: cameras, lighting equipment, and huge trucks full of paraphernalia.

All of the members of the Crew had their roles down pat: Director, cinematographer, gaffers and grips, two script girls and an assortment of assistant producers.

It was early Monday morning--less than twenty-four hours after the landing had occurred--that the Crew had converged upon the landing sight with all of its equipment and were beginning to set up. Klieg lights illuminated the landing craft. The director and camera crew were blocking a medium shot of the craft against the sunrise. Idle crew members were forming a small line at the catering truck where Danish rolls and Styrofoam cups filled with steaming coffee had been set out on a fold down counter. The assistant producers were sitting in their canvas chairs waiting for the first gawkers to arrive.

First on the scene were the Hennessey's. Old Abraham and his four progeny had come to see where all the light was coming from. George Stevens the First Assistant Producer approached Old Abe and introduced himself.

"What are you doing on my land?"

"We are making a movie, Sir."

"You should have tried to get my permission first. You people have spooked my cows. They wouldn't give milk this morning. And the crowd you people attracted yesterday have ruined my fence. Just look at it! Who is going to pay for repairs?"

"We will, Sir. In fact we will build you a whole new fence. We will also pay for the lost milk and any other incidental damages you may have incurred. And in addition to that we are prepared to pay you one thousand dollars a day for the use of your land." George flipped through the forms, pulled one out, placed it on top of the pile on

his clipboard and handed it to Abe. It read Standard Real Property Release Form.

Abe sensed that he now had these city slickers over the proverbial barrel. "That's not enough. I won't sign." "OK, two thousand a day. If you don't accept we will film

elsewhere."

Abe rubbed the stubble on his chin for a minute or two. "Nope, it will cost you more than that to re-film. You've got thirty people here at, say, two hundred a day; that's six thousand dollars a day. Besides, I could sue you for damages. The settlement might run into six figures."

George's features contorted with consternation. "OK, how does this sound? We will pay you six thousand for yesterday’s set-up and filming but only two thousand a day for today and tomorrow. After all what we haven’t filmed yet isn't lost yet. And we'll pay for the fence and the milk. OK?"

More people were now arriving and were congregating behind Hennessey.

Matthew, who had been standing quietly at his father's side piped up in disbelief. "You were filming the alien landing yesterday?? I didn't see any cameras yesterday! I didn't see any trucks or lights or anything. None of you were here yesterday. All there were, were townsfolk. I recognized every one of them."

"We were here. We had cameras set up in the woods and across the road. Most of the crew had not arrived in the trucks though."

"How could you have possibly known that an alien was going to be landing in our field?"

George did his best fake laugh. "You still don't understand, do you? This is all just a movie. We flew this airplane that we had made up to look like a UFO over Altuna a couple of times to attract attention. Then we landed it here and waited for the townspeople to get here. When enough people had arrived we began filming."

"OK, then what about the alien?"

"Just an actor." "That couldn't have been any human actor. It had eight arms."

"It was just an actor, son. We really can work magic with make-up these days, you know."

Matthew shook his head in disbelief.

Jane spoke up: "Why didn't you tell the townspeople about your movie?"

"Because we wanted spontaneity. We wanted realism. If we had told anyone, it would have been all over town. Instead of getting real people reacting to an event we would have gotten a bunch of amateur actors. There is nothing more phony looking than amateur actors. We knew that we were taking a big chance doing it this way --that anything could happen-- but we were sure that what did happen would be better than what we would get if you people knew we were filming you. Your reactions would not have rung true. The camera would have picked that up." George smiled: "Well then, Sir, are you willing to accept our generous offer?"

Abe rubbed his chin again; "I'll have to think on it a while."

Meanwhile, the other assistant producers were circulating through the crowd trying to find out who had and who had not been at the landing sight the day before. The A.P. would first snap a Polaroid head shot then go over the forms that the person would need to sign in order to get his extra's pay.

First there was the Standard Model Release, the signing of which would entitle the extra to two hundred and fifty six dollars, which is scale for one days work. Then there was the Screen Extras Guild Temporary Membership Form, which was good for six months. Dues come to two hundred and forty dollars. You can't be paid for acting unless you are in the Guild. After the two forms had been signed a check for the balance of sixteen dollars was cut. Finally, they were all asked for the names and addresses of those who had been here yesterday but were not here today. These people would be approached later at home so they would not miss out on getting paid.

After most of the people had left the Crew began to pack up the equipment and brought in the crane to lift the spacecraft onto a flatbed truck. The craft was secured to the flatbed and covered with a canvas tarp. This accomplished they would then vanish like gypsies.