Alien From the Stars Page 13

  There was a brief hesitancy before they complied, Cleator last of all.

  The sheriff resumed his inspection before lowering the beam to the three men on the road in front of them. Toby felt a shock. Two of the men, their hands tied, had faces smeared with blood, as were their jackets. Dazed and glassy-eyed, they appeared ready to fall. The third man, thin, with sullen eyes that he kept averted, stood a few paces apart from them. He didn't appear wounded.

  All three had their ankles roped together to limit the length of their strides.

  "Russians, Sheriff." The sneering voice was Cleator's.

  "That's for the law to decide," the sheriff observed.

  "Decide what?" Cleator gestured disdainfully toward the sullen-eyed captive. "Ask that fellow.

  He says they are. He claims to be working for the

  FBI. Not that I'm taking any chances with him."

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  "Tell him about the rest of them, Colonel," a rider urged.

  "Rest of them?" The sheriff eyed Cleator inquiringly.

  "That's right," exclaimed Cleator. "The hills are swarming with Commies.

  We must have spotted two dozen of them tonight."

  "Probably Army troops," the sheriff reflected. "Ever think of that?"

  "The Army's not out tonight," Cleator said nastily. "We've had the valley under surveillance.

  Those boys like their comfort."

  "Could be." The sheriff switched his beam to the vigilante leader. "I'll take 'em in."

  "No you won't, Sheriff." Cleator hauled back on his reins, and his horse performed an intricate dance in the dust before settling down. "You don't grab the credit this time."

  "What do you figure on doing with them?"

  "Taking them to Ed's." He gestured toward the rider next to him. "I'm calling the FBI, delivering them personally."

  "I'm the law, Cleator."

  "Not this time."

  The sheriff moved a few paces from Toby and dropped a hand to his holster. "Want to try me?"

  "Hold it," a voice from the darkness crackled. "Don't anyone move."

  Startled, Toby jerked his head around. The night seemed moving again, and then he realized the movement was the silhouettes of helmeted figures. Suddenly they were all around them.

  "The U.S. Army to the rescue," the sheriff drawled.

  TEN

  THE LIEUTENANT HAD A LEAN, hard face. In the glare of the flashlight beams it appeared bronzed, with high- set cheekbones, a humped nose, and dark eyes that held a hooded look. It was also an intelligent face. His gaze barely touched Toby and the sheriff before settling on the vigilante leader.

  "Lower those weapons," he snapped.

  Cleator drew himself up in the saddle. "These are dangerous men," he said, "spies and saboteurs."

  "I said to lower those weapons." Sheepishly they obeyed, Cleator last of all. The lieutenant glared at him. "Your name?"

  "Colonel Cleator." He gestured toward his companions. "These are my men."

  "Colonel?"

  "Troop One of the Vigilantes Against Communist Infiltration," Cleator explained.

  "You're in a restricted area in violation of military regulations," the lieutenant rasped. "Keep those rifle barrels lowered. Sergeant?" He bawled into the darkness without moving his head.

  "Yes, sir." One of the helmeted figures moved quickly forward.

  "Have them dismount, collect their firearms."

  "You can't do that," protested Cleator.

  "Can and will." The lieutenant glanced at the sergeant. "Make certain they have no side arms."

  He walked past Toby and the sheriff to the squad car, shone his light inside, and stood very still.

  Toby felt his heart thump. The sheriff's face remained expressionless. For a long moment the lieutenant didn't move. Finally he turned back to look first at Toby, then at the older man. His face was absolutely blank.

  "Your name?" he asked.

  "Deputy Sheriff Ed Washburn."

  "You're in a restricted area, Sheriff."

  "I was keeping within regulations until I heard gunfire a bit ago. I came out to investigate."

  "Who's the boy?"

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  "Toby Adam. He lives down the road a piece. I was visiting his folks when I heard the ruckus."

  "You brought him with you?"

  The sheriff shook his head reluctantly. "Toby was out in the field." The lieutenant's face was thoughtful. Toby had the wild hope that Barlo must have escaped from the other side of the car.

  Certainly the lieutenant's voice and expression gave no indication that he'd seen anything unusual. But how could he explain about being in the field? Everything was happening too fast.

  First the Russians, then the vigilantes, now the Army. And the sheriff knew about Barlo. That was all right, except that he'd have to make a report.

  "Sergeant?" The lieutenant wheeled sharply. "Escort those men back to the compound immediately. Deliver them to the custody of the provost marshal."

  "Yes, sir."

  "How about our horses?" someone bawled.

  "Sergeant, march them back. Assign men to lead the horses."

  "You can't do that!" shouted Cleator.

  The lieutenant disregarded him and turned back. "I'll have to return you to the compound, Sheriff. Both of you. I'll ride with you."

  "Beats walkin'," the sheriff replied. "Will you require my side arms?"

  The lieutenant's dark eyes flicked from the holster to the sheriff's square hands, to the badge, and back to the weathered face. "That won't be necessary," he said.

  "Thank you," the sheriff answered gratefully. The lieutenant unhooked a miniaturized walkie-talkie from his belt, extended the antenna, and spoke briefly in some code jargon that Toby couldn't begin to fathom. Finished, he hooked the instrument to his belt, waiting while the sergeant completed his preparations. Toby noted that the soldiers checked the vigilantes for weapons as carefully as they did the Russians.

  "What's going to happen?" he whispered.

  "Nothing, son." The sheriff appeared completely relaxed.

  Everything's all right. The sudden voice in Toby's mind startled him.

  Where are you?

  In the sheriff's car.

  Didn't the lieutenant see you? He tried to suppress his agitation.

  He saw me.

  Can't you get out the other side, get away?

  It's better this way, answered Barlo.

  But...Toby gazed perplexedly at the lieutenant. Nothing in his lean countenance indicated his thoughts. It was as if he'd looked into the back seat and found it empty. What would happen to Barlo now?

  When the two columns of soldiers marched away with the vigilantes and Russians between them, Toby noticed that one had remained behind. Standing languidly off to one side, he cradled a short-barreled weapon. Toby had to concede that the lieutenant took few chances. It was also a good reason for Barlo's not trying to escape.

  The lieutenant asked, "What's that in your car, Sheriff?"

  "That's my pet," blurted Toby. "I was looking for him when the Russians and vigilantes came."

  "Pet?" The lieutenant gazed at him. Flustered, Toby glanced away from the dark eyes, not knowing what to say. The sheriff didn't volunteer an answer. Finally the lieutenant said, "It's just as well that I don't know."

  "Amen," the sheriff agreed.

  Waiting, Toby fidgeted, wondering what they would do when they got Barlo to the Army camp.

  One thing was certain; there would be no hope of escape. He should never have come out Page 64

  tonight, he thought dismally. If he hadn't, Barlo would still be safe in the barn. It was his fault; now he had to help Barlo get out of it. But how? As if sensing Toby's predicament, the sheriff placed a hand on his shoulder.

  "Beautiful night," he remarked. He arched his face toward the stars.

  The headlights of two vehicles came bouncing along the dusty road. The lieutenant signaled with his light. As they drew closer, Toby saw they
were jeeps. Swinging in sharp circles, one drew up behind the squad car, the other in front. The soldier with the snub-barreled weapon climbed into the rear vehicle.

  "Let's go," the lieutenant said.

  The general, lean and graying, was clearly a field officer. It was evident in the taut lines of his face, in the skin toughened and discolored by sun and wind, in the erectness of posture. His cerulean-blue eyes appeared mild until they focused on an object of interest, at which moment they took on the sharpness of ice crystals. They were that way now as they scrutinized the alien.

  There were just the four of them in the big pyramidal tent that served as the command post --

  Toby, the general, the sheriff, and Barlo, the last appearing slight and insignificant in contrast to the others. His reddish, metallic garb held a curious gleam under the glare of the electric bulbs.

  The few questions the general had asked up to now seemed innocuous enough -- mainly information to establish identities, what had taken them into the field at night, the events leading up to their detention by the lieutenant's patrol. They had been general rather than specific questions.

  Neither did he dwell on the Russians or vigilantes, nor give any indication of interest in them.

  Yet Toby sensed what the general was doing; he was sizing up the alien. Although the sheriff had rubbed his jaw when Toby had identified the alien as a pet, the general had given no indication that he suspected otherwise.

  But all that was past now, Toby knew. The sudden change in the general's demeanor, his hunching forward in his chair and the way his cerulean-blue eyes summed up the scene, told him that the moment of reckoning had come. Suddenly uncomfortable, he realized that the general not only hadn't been fooled but was quite unlikely to be. The general's gaze settled on his face.

  "What is the name of your pet?" he enquired. "You didn't say."

  "B-Barlo," Toby stuttered.

  "That's quite an unusual name."

  "Well, I like it."

  "It's all right, Toby," said Barlo suddenly. In the quiet of the tent, his high-pitched voice held a reedy tone. Toby distinctly heard his heart thump. His eyes traveled from the alien to the general. To his surprise the latter's face, aside from its studied appearance, portrayed no emotion whatever. The general had known! But how?

  Metal fragments from the pod. The alien's words came as a silent aside.

  The general shifted his gaze to the sheriff, let it linger briefly on the latter's face before saying,

  "I'm sorry for your inconvenience. If you'll step outside, my aide will see to it that you're comfortable."

  "Why does he have to go?" cried Toby. He felt worry assail him anew.

  "Reckon it's a matter of security," answered the sheriff.

  "Yes, certainly." The general nodded. "If you'll take the young man with you."

  "I won't go," protested Toby. "Not without Barlo."

  "Reckon you'd better, son," the sheriff adjured softly.

  "I won't." He stared defiantly at the general. The chill blue eyes that returned his gaze were deep in thought. But Barlo knew what the general was thinking! Why didn't he tell him?

  "You'll have to go," the general said finally. "You won't have to worry about your friend."

  "You can't make me go!" he shouted. Casting a frantic look at Barlo, he was caught by a sudden Page 65

  thought and added, "He won't talk unless I'm with him."

  "Oh?" The general glanced inquiringly at the sheriff, who shrugged helplessly, then returned his gaze to the boy. For a moment he held his question, letting the tension mount inside Toby until he felt that he'd burst.

  Finally he asked, "Why is that?"

  "Well..." Toby struggled with his thoughts. "He just won't," he ended.

  The general turned his attention to the alien. The large violet eyes returned his look steadily.

  "I would prefer that he remain," said Barlo.

  The sheriff fought to suppress a smile. "I'll just mosey outside," he volunteered.

  "If you would." The general nodded, waiting until the sheriff had departed before returning his gaze to the boy. Toby fancied he caught the slightest hint of a passing twinkle in the other's eyes.

  The general asked, "Why are you so insistent on staying?"

  "I'm the only friend he's got," he explained desperately. "Well, aside from Gramp and Linda and the sheriff."

  "Four friends?" The general arched his brows. "He's quite fortunate."

  "We're the fortunate ones," Toby exclaimed.

  Thank you, Toby, Barlo said.

  "However" -- the general's face grew severe -- "problems of national security possibly are involved."

  "I don't care about that. I..."

  "You should," the general reprimanded sharply.

  Toby flushed. "I wouldn't say anything." He felt hot and cold all over and his hands trembled as he stared beseechingly at the figure in the field fatigues with the two stars on each shoulder. He mustered the courage to ask, "What do you want with Barlo? He hasn't harmed anyone."

  "There are certain security measures..."

  "Of course," the alien cut in suddenly. The general sighed and leaned back. The expression that momentarily flickered across his face gave Toby renewed hope. Clearly the general hadn't faced this kind of situation before and didn't quite know how to cope with it.

  He's going to let you stay, Barlo informed Toby.

  I'm glad for that. Toby wanted to cast a sidelong glance at his companion but was afraid to. The general hunched forward, eyeing the alien as if searching for some hidden clue, some key to his being. Toby found himself wishing he could read the general's thoughts. A horsefly buzzed noisily above their heads. The general brought his fingers together to form a steeple.

  Abruptly he asked, "You're from beyond the solar system, aren't you?"

  "Far beyond." Barlo nodded gravely.

  "From where?"

  "My planet is named Raamz."

  "And your star?"

  "Zaree. It's in the direction of the constellation you know as Andromeda."

  "Ah!"

  "A lovely star, dusky red and cool. Not that your own sun is less pleasing. It's all a matter of adaptation."

  Watching the general's face, Toby was intrigued by its lack of expression, even though he realized that inwardly the general must be caught in turmoil. To realize suddenly that one's own race was not alone in the universe was startling enough; but to realize that one's race was relatively primitive in the grand scheme of things was quite something else. He had to marvel at the general's composure.

  The general asked, "Why did you come to Earth?"

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  Barlo explained about the shipwreck, how he'd reached Earth in the lifeboat, the events since.

  The general listened stoically. When he finished, the general asked, "You have been on Earth just four days, never before?"

  "Never before," answered Barlo. "If that seems strange, consider that our galaxy holds a billion suns, more than a tenth of which have planets. As you can readily understand, the galaxy is awesome even to us. We have scarcely touched it."

  "And in four days you learned our language?" The question held a note of challenge.

  "Languages come rather naturally."

  "Apparently. Have any other of your people ever been to Earth?"

  "Not unless it was during some age of the remote past," answered Barlo.

  "I have never known of such an account."

  The general glanced around restlessly while framing his next question.

  Toby held his breath, hoping the subject of telepathy wouldn't arise. Although Barlo hadn't attempted to conceal the trait from Gramp, Linda, or the sheriff, he'd sidestepped it rather neatly in the matter of language. Yet if the question came up, Barlo wouldn't deny it; Toby knew that instinctively.

  Finally the general asked another question, and then another and another.

  Circuitously, or so Toby thought, he was drawing quite a comprehensive picture of the alie
n's civilization, with the major emphasis on its technology. His face took on an incredulous expression when Barlo informed him that none of the major civilizations maintained armed forces but only units concerned with rescue or to give aid in time of disaster. The general's questions regarding transit times were related, Toby was certain, to the star drive, although he never referred directly to it. Did Barlo realize his intent? Toby felt certain that he did. Yet there was no evasion in Barlo's answers. Once Barlo explained that as a planetary archeologist, he had only a general knowledge of the big

  Zemm star ships.

  "Generalities, then," the general encouraged.

  At times Barlo spoke slowly as he translated certain concepts into English, sprinkling them with mathematical notations. Toby found himself completely lost when Barlo spoke of such things as Q space and Z time and zones of transition. But then, he suspected, so did the general. Not that it mattered, he reflected, for almost certainly every word was being taped.

  Earth's scientists soon enough would dissect the entire conversation word by word, evaluate the precise meaning of each, probe for clues that might point mankind toward the stars. But he was equally certain that the attempt was doomed to failure and that Barlo knew it. This realization brought a pang.

  Barlo was speaking almost casually of things that almost certainly lay many thousands of years in mankind's future. But they couldn't wait that long, he thought fiercely. Suddenly he could understand how the general, the men above him, must ache for the alien's secret: the star drive!

  Finally the general rose. Toby was surprised to see that his lean face under the glow of the harsh field lamp appeared slack, all but defeated. Only a scant hour or so before, when he'd entered the tent with Barlo and the sheriff, that same face had held the strength of granite. Strength and confidence. But then the general had been a figure of high rank and prestige in what was the most powerful military force on the face of the planet. And now? Now he knew that his proud army was a pitiable thing in the true measure of power. Toby felt sorry for him.

  "It will be necessary to detain you a few days, possibly a week," the general said.

  "A week?" Toby was aghast. "What of my folks?"