Joan Hess - Arly Hanks 08 (10 page)

"So explain these orange lights and everything will simmer down."

"I can't explain these orange lights, you jackass! They glowed, and they disappeared. I called the National Guard headquarters this morning. They swore they didn't have any helicopters out last night, but the military has been known to lie. I have a call in to a meteorologist at one of the Little Rock television stations on the off chance there may have been some unusual atmospheric activity. Can you find out if some nearby air force base is testing a secret weapon in" -- I couldn't prevent myself from rolling my eyes -- "Stump County?"

"There aren't any nearby air force bases. Maybe you ought to consider the possibility that they qualify as UFOs. The term means 'unidentified flying objects,' doesn't it? You got to admit you haven't identified 'em."

I was not in the mood for his pretentious logic. "Do you want these sightings to be the result of visits by little green men, Harve? Well, you're more than welcome to them. I'll send over a report and let you take the center stage when the media descend like wolves. I'm not sure what effect this may have on your chances in the next election, but -- "

"Like you said, all you've got are some lights," Harve said soothingly. "It's a damn shame the tabloid reporters are in town, but this doesn't mean either of us has to pander to them. Let them make up their stories. Keep refusing to comment."

I carried the telephone with me as I went to the back room of the PD and poured a cup of coffee. This was a morning that required serious caffeine. "They glibly interpret a refusal to comment as a refusal to deny the more sensational details. I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't, and I'm damned unhappy about my options. All I want is a prosaic explanation for the crop circles and the odd lights we've been seeing."

Harve chuckled. "Don't forget the third cattle mutilation in the last month. Want the particulars?"

"I want to be beamed up," I said, then banged down the receiver. Okay, I told myself, some peculiar things had happened, but taken out of context, they didn't add up to diddly-squat. Footprints in the mud. Lights in the sky. Squashed cornstalks. Things that went bang in the dark. Big friggin' deal -- all of it. I almost wished I were back in Manhattan, where aberrance was a predictable element of each day's agenda.

On the basis of the number of messages on my answering machine, the orange globes hadn't been missed by more than a handful of local residents. To add to my distress, I was the most credible witness thus far -- and I couldn't deny that I'd seen them (unless I was willing to lie like a Pentagon spokesperson, which I was). I'd been sober and skeptical, two attributes lacking in many of the gabbled reports. A widow out on Finger Lane had called to announce she had a dozen globes, all crazed with lust, locked in her basement, and Buckminster Buchanon swore he'd found one in his granddaughter's bedroom. For some oddball reasons, there seemed to be something Freudian about pumpkins.

Maybe it was time to talk to the experts, I thought without enthusiasm. Arthur Sageman was supposed to be a hotshot in such matters, and Hayden McMasterson had implied he could explain away the paranormal in cozy, comforting terms. Jules Channel was roaming around town, but I wasn't sure I wanted another dose of his asperity until I had a reasonable idea or two. Lucy Fernclift seemed more perturbed than insightful.

I walked down the road to Ruby Bee's Bar & Grill. Arthur Sageman and his contingency were noticeably absent from the group gathered in the bar, but Hayden McMasterson was not. I was disappointed when I came across the dance floor and heard him say, "So there is proof that aliens are present, and have been since the time of the upheavals in the Earth's crust that dragged the lost continent of Atlantis beneath the sea. These upheavals were the result of a shift in the Earth's electromagnetic field because iron is an important element in the composition of the tectonic plates."

Estelle snorted. "Are you saying there are aliens living under the sea?"

"That is the basis of the intraterrestrial hypothesis," he said, graciously gesturing for me to join his impromptu seminar. "As I told Chief Hanks yesterday, ufologists like Sageman are obsessed with the idea that aliens have crossed incomprehensibly vast distances in order to toy with our primitive civilization. They want you to accept that a highly advanced civilization with the technology to supersede the speed of light has chosen to make contact with drunken fishermen in Mississippi and sheep farmers in New Mexico, as opposed to the salient figures of authority like the President of the United States."

"Maybe they're Republicans," Ruby Bee said as she came whipping through the kitchen doors, steamy plates in her hands and her expression guileless. This resulted in much guffawing from the rednecks perched on stools along the bar, most likely because it was the first remark they'd been able to understand in several minutes. I bit back a smile and leaned over the bar to get myself a glass of beer. From within the kitchen I could smell the intoxicating aromas of fried pork chops, biscuits, and apple pie. My animal instincts, if not my expectations, had been right on the button.

Hayden waited grimly until things settled down. "Then allow me to ask you some questions, madam. How can vehicles that have traveled through a continuum of time and space subsequently crash without viable cause? Why would these aliens act as if they're afraid of us? What could they possibly hope to learn from us -- when we've traveled no farther than our own moon and failed to find a cure for the common cold?"

"Could be they're after Ruby Bee's recipe for peach cobbler," suggested a scruffy man in overalls and a Red Man cap. Again, this was well received, and I could see Hayden McMasterson's blood pressure creeping upward.

Estelle waved her hand. "I do believe I'm still waiting to hear about these aliens that live under the sea. Are you saying they're responsible for the crop circles?"

"As I explained in The Vanquished Dynasty, aliens have been here since the first seeds of life were sown in the Garden of Eden by a superior race. The Star People now reside beneath the crust but sometimes venture among us. They realize we are not sufficiently evolved to interact with them, so they assume our approximate density and shape."

Dahlia Buchanon, who was sitting in the back booth, came close to emptying the joint with a strangled yelp. After everybody'd resumed his or her seat and stopped hyperventilating, she said with great intensity, "And they look just like real people?"

Hayden squinted at her. "Yes, but they are here to help us as we approach the crossroads of total annihilation or an evolutionary leap. Rather than burst into our reality and cause us acute psychological trauma, they have been making known their presence in small yet increasingly complex phases. The crop circles, for instance, may be their way of communicating with us."

"Those three circles? What'd they mean?" demanded Dahlia. Even though her face was shadowy, her round white eyes were visible.

"I'm here to attempt to interpret their message," he replied smoothly. "Sageman wants fragmentary physical evidence that he can distort into a thesis for his next book. I want to tell the truth."

I didn't much care for the expressions on the faces of those staring at him. There was way too much wonder and not nearly enough incredulity. If I didn't come up with some rational explanations before too long, most of the town would have lifetime subscriptions to the tabloids and be worrying about the odds that Elvis might drop by some evening at suppertime.

Before I could decide where to begin my attack on his preposterous theory, the plot thickened. Sageman and the two women from Little Rock came into the bar and grill and froze as they recognized Hayden. Seconds later Jules Channel and Lucy Fernclift entered and went through the same routine. On their heels was Brian Quint, although he evinced minimal surprise at seeing Hayden and a great deal of distress at seeing the two tabloid reporters standing together. It almost looked as though we had a ménage à sept in the making, although I was reluctant to predict the specific couplings.

I took a swallow of beer and waited to see what any of them would do next. Ruby Bee's sudden intake of breath was hard to miss. The scruffy fellow stuck his nose in the scalloped potatoes. Estelle eased off the stool and edged toward the ladies' room, where I supposed she thought she'd be safe if a barroom brawl broke out.

"Oh, Dr. Sageman," Dahlia said, her voice hiccupy with anxiety, "I was hoping you'd show up sooner or later. Please won't you hypnotize me? I was abducted by the aliens, and I have proof I'm having their baby!" She began to howl in a manner that rivaled the fabled banshees.

The tension dissipated. It was the first time I could remember that I'd ever been grateful to Dahlia. I was pretty sure it'd be the last.

"Five dollars iffen you want to take a look," Raz repeated to each person straggling up the hill, "and fifteen to take pictures." By now he had so many jars filled with dollar bills that he dint know what he was gonna do. He also had promises from the two tabloid reporters that he and Marjorie would have their picture on the front covers. The first thing he'd do was have 'em framed and hang 'em in the front room. Visitin' kinfolk would be flabbergasted, and rightly so.

And it was all on account of three circles down in the cornfield. It was almost as rib-ticklin' as the time his cousin Cootie Buchanon had been caught crossing the state line with two cases of hooch in the bed of the truck and a goat named Evangeline sitting beside him in the cab. Marjorie was particularly fond of that story.

Arthur Sageman chortled as they drove back to Maggody. "I certainly nonplussed McMasterson when I identified the underlying fallacy of his theory, didn't I? I could tell the interviewer was impressed, and poor old McMasterson looked as though I'd hailed on his parade. A fine moment for the ETH movement, wouldn't you say?"

Brian dutifully agreed as he pulled into the parking lot of the Flamingo Motel. He wasn't sure Arthur's disposition would remain so gleeful after he saw the segment on the news, in that all six minutes consisted of sputters of outrage, puerile insults, and, toward the end, bodily assault. The interviewer had looked more appalled than anything else, but she'd promised to try to get in touch with the production office of X-Files since her station was an affiliate.

Arthur adjusted the rearview mirror in order to smooth down his hair. "I'd planned to spend the evening working on my Houston speech. However, Rosemary is running out of abduction stories, and there's something oddly promising about this local girl with her droopy eyes and aura of repressed sexual frustration. It's challenging to envision someone of her magnitude being swept up in a beam of light, but I've never been one to doubt the efficacy of a superior civilization."

Brian cut off the engine and, while Arthur continued to fuss with his hair, knocked on Cynthia's door. She and Rosemary came outside.

Arthur climbed out of the car and said, "I shall work in my room the remainder of the afternoon. Later Brian and I will go to the spot next to the creek where the craft landed last night so that I can supervise the placement of the equipment. Cynthia, you'll need to follow us in Rosemary's car in order to bring me back here. We'll leave as soon as my interview has been shown on the local news."

Cynthia gave him a surprised look. "You're not staying? I would have thought you'd want to be there in case our extraterrestrial friends return. You're the person most qualified to welcome them to our planet. Surely even those from the far reaches of the universe are familiar with your reputation, Arthur."

"Oh, they are," Rosemary added, hopping up and down like an anemic cheerleader. "They questioned me about you, wanting to know if you were sincere in your belief that they come to us in a spirit of harmony and love. I assured them that you were."

Arthur attempted a modest laugh. "Of course I am, Rosemary, but I feel it's more important to do what I can to help that poor, tortured girl. Besides, it may not be the right time to experience a close encounter of the third kind with this unknown race. The fact that they caused the explosion last night might imply they're -- "

"Hostile," murmured Brian, "or dangerous?"

"Neither hostile nor dangerous," Arthur said sharply, wishing he sounded bolder and more confident. "In Communications with the Universal Community, I made a very compelling argument that the extraterrestrials are unresolved how best to initiate contact until they've completed an extensive psychological profile of our species via abductions. Brian will make a perfect emissary, and I can better serve our cause by finding out if the girl has had previous interactions in this locale. If she has, it will give us insights into the incidents."

"She's very excited," said Rosemary. "She went home to take a nap in preparation for the session. Should I call her to set a time?"

Refusing to acknowledge the awakening gleam of cynicism in Cynthia's eyes, Arthur began to issue orders. "Yes, tell her to be here at eight o'clock sharp. I suspect she'll feel more comfortable if you're present to offer encouragement. Cynthia, we'll need to use your room since mine is cluttered with important papers, all the computer equipment, files, notes, and so forth. Brian, see if you can buy extra videocassettes at that supermarket across the road. Should anything of an anomalous nature take place tonight, we must have documentation." He patted his now-perfect hair. "I have an idea tonight is going to be filled with adventure, don't you?"

Rosemary winked, Cynthia blinked, and Brian nodded.