(which actually had less of a future than I supposed), and couldn’t be bothered with anything “real.”
If wishes were horses, then beggars might ride.
* * * *
But Min had actually seen the falling star, as he told me later, and was convinced that it had landed somewhere up in the hills west of Novato. He drove out of town as far as he could, and then set off across the countryside on foot, taking with him a couple of flashlights and some extra batteries. He would have included his female understudies if any had been available.
After meandering through the woods and being attacked by giant mosquitoes, he stumbled across an open sandy field just after dawn, a few miles west of State Highway 101. There an enormous hole had been carved by the impact of the falling star, with sand and gravel heaped all around it. Some dried shrubs had burned at the edge of the site, and he could see a thin line of blue-green smoke rising against the new-born sun.
The thing was almost entirely buried, surrounded by shattered splinters of pulverized trees. The uncovered section was thirty or forty yards wide, and had the appearance of a huge egg caked with reddish mud and earth, its outline softened by thick, scaly, iron-colored encrustations.
Min carefully approached the site, surprised at the size and shape of the object, since most meteorites appear as melted chunks of bare rock; but the metal casing was still so hot that he had to keep his distance. He could hear a kind of grinding noise inside, but assumed it was being generated by the gradual cooling of the thing beneath the earth’s surface.
He realized, of course, that this was a major find! The “Mindon Meteorite” would make his reputation, if only he could devise some way of removing the artifact without actually destroying it.
He stood there at the edge of the pit, gazing down at the steaming thing, and then, as the light began to grow, noticed that it had an odd symmetry. Maybe, he thought to himself, just maybe this would more than make his reputation. If this was a machine of sorts, or even a Martian probe sent to explore our world….
The morning was wonderfully still. He wiped an unnatural sweat from his brow. Then he noticed that the winter birds had gone completely quiet. The only sound that he could hear was the faint crackling emanating from within the cindery ship.
Some of the crusty ash that covered the protruding end began flaking away in rusty scabs and raining down upon the sand, where it shattered into small bits. A large piece dropped off with an audible pop that brought his heart into his mouth.
Although the thing continued to radiate heat, he was finally able to scramble into the pit to view the rock more clearly. There was something about the structure of the meteorite that was profoundly disturbing, even artificial. This just didn’t look like anything that he’d seen in the museums.
Then he realized that, very slowly, the top of the thing had begun rotating. It was such a gradual thing that he discovered it quite by accident, noticing that a black mark that had been close to him a few minutes earlier was now positioned on the opposite side of the meteorite. He watched it more closely, and was able to see it slide forward an inch or so. Understanding came in a flash. Yes! The thing was artificial! It was hollow, in fact, with an obvious hatch that could be unfastened! Something inside was trying to get out!
“I’ll be damned!” he said to himself. “I was right! It’s a probe from outer space! I’m rich!”
The thought of his soon-to-be-famous visage appearing on O-rah-rah nearly overwhelmed him, causing him to lose his balance. Fortunately, he caught himself before actually touching the hot, glowing metal, which would have burned him terribly. He had to do something quickly, and he obviously needed help. He scrambled out of the hole and ran as fast as he could back towards Novato. This was around eight in the morning.
He’d completely forgotten where he’d left his car. He stopped a passing vehicle, trying to make the driver understand; but his story and appearance were so bizarre that the man simply drove on. He was equally unsuccessful with a restaurateur who was just unlocking the doors of a local café, Zee’s Zippy Zone. “Zee” was inarticulate on the best of occasions, and didn’t fare well under pressure (Mindon had once criticized his bœuf latté), so he threatened to knock Min down if he didn’t get out of his way.
That sobered my friend long enough to think clearly for the first time since his grand discovery; and when he spotted Owen M. Owen, a writer for the Pac-Sun, seated at his desk in the newspaper office, he calmed down and tried to make himself understood.
“‘O’!” he said, “you hear about that meteor last night?”
“Yeah?” said Owen.
“…it’s landed west of town.”
“Good!” The man was a bit deaf and had left his hearing aid off, so what he heard was: “…sanded the western down,” which made no sense at all.
“It’s some kind of ship! There’s something inside it.”
Owen cupped his hand to one ear while continuing to work.
“What?”
Mindon reiterated him what he’d seen.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Swear to God,” Mindon said.
Owen grabbed his jacket and hearing aid and got his car; they picked up a spade at his house on the way out of town. The two men then hurried back to the site, but the noises within the meteorite had ceased. Small circles of bright metal now showed around the top surface of the thing. Air was either entering or escaping the ship with a high, thin, whistling sound.
They listened closely and “O” rapped on the singed casing with his shovel. Nothing happened.
“Gotta be a probe of some kind,” Min said.
“Maybe we should contact the authorities. Also, I need to check with my paper.”
“Just so long as you spell my name right: it’s the ‘Mindon Meteorite,’ OK? M-I-N-D-O-N.”
“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Owen said, pulling out his cell phone and ringing his office as they drove back towards town.
They ran up Main Street in the bright sunlight as the stores were opening their doors for business. Owen stepped into a nearby coffee shop, the Green Tiger, and after taking time to call the police, sat down and e-mailed his paper, quickly putting together a story that would be circulated nationwide within the hour.
By mid-morning a few folks were wandering back into the hills to see the “Ship from Mars” for themselves. Mindon called me as I was finishing a late breakfast. I was excited at the prospect of viewing the artifact for myself, so I grabbed Becky and drove as close as I could to the site. We then started hiking westward.
It was Christmas Eve.
It was the last day that we would ever think of ourselves as alone in the universe.
CHAPTER THREE
AFRAID TO GO HOME IN THE DARK
I’m afraid to go home in the dark.
—Harry H. Williams
Alex Smith, 24
