Short Stories - Metrognome and other Stories

by Foster, Alan Dean;

  Chester stepped forward, identified himself and his companions with names only. The man shook hands with the men, nodded at Goldberg.

  "I'm Jesse Shattuck; this is my son, David," he told them. "Can we help you folks with something? We don't get many visitors this time of night, strangers or other­wise."

  A strong voice sounded from the door. "You gonna all stand out there in the cold like a covey of paralyzed quail? Come on in and have some coffee and pie."

  "In a minute, Mother!" the man yelled back at her. A screen door clattered shut by way of reply. The man looked back at Chester expectantly.

  "We're up from Houston," the major told him, decid­ing that this man could tell truth from lie quicker than Chester could think up fresh deceptions. "I'm in the Air Force, attached to the National Aeronautics and Space Administration's Manned Space Center in Houston." He gestured behind him.

  "My friends are all scientists. We've been out hunting around this part of the country for over a month."

  "We've been looking for that," Goldberg interrupted, pointing toward the barn, talking twice as fast as Ches­ter. "Thank you for finding it for us. We'll see that you receive a suitable reward."

  That closed the matter as far as the scientists were concerned, and they started toward the barn. Chester started to say something but was interrupted by a disarm­ing wave from Shattuck, who indicated that they should head toward the barn also.

  Together they stood in the open space below the loft, staring mesmerized into its alien radiance.

  "Is it safe there?" Tut finally whispered, breaking the spell the object's beauty had cast over them. "It's right near the edge . . . it could fall out."

  "Huh uh," Shattuck assured him. "There's a couple of braces holding the base steady and a rope around its bottom under the hay. I don't reckon it would hurt it none if it did tumble out." Entranced by mere sight of the object, the three scientists failed to note the rancher's evaluation.

  "What are you counting, Jean?" Goldberg asked her young colleague, noticing that his mouth was moving silently as he stared at the object.

  "The facets. I can't call them sides; the thing's too much like a jewel to me." He squinted into the soft glare. "If the rest of the artifact matches what's visible, I would estimate a total of twenty‑four sides, not counting pro­jections such as the apparent antennae.

  "That suggests they could have a system based on two, three, four, six, eight, twelve, or twenty‑four, and that's only if their mathematics conform in any way to our own. Ten sides would have made things a lot simpler."

  "Not necessarily," countered Perham Tut through pursed lips. "The twenty‑four sides might be merely decorative, having no mathematical significance what­soever."

  "That's true," admitted Calumet reluctantly.

  "We'll find out as soon as we can get it back to the lab and begin taking it apart," Goldberg informed them in her half‑gentle, half‑shrill tones. "How do we go about getting it down?" She faced the quiet Shattuck. "How did you get it up there in the first place?"

  "Put it in a wire net and used the hay lift," the rancher explained easily.

  "We might," suggested Tut, rubbing his chin, "fit it in the back of the wagon. That would save some time."

  "No, no," objected Goldberg, speaking as though correcting a child. "Look how bright it is already. Do you want to drive all the way back to Houston with it shining like a spotlight out the car windows? One re­porter finds out, and we'll never be able to study this at the proper pace. No, we need a panel truck or a small van." She eyed Chester. "You can get this for us, Ma­jor?"

  Chester found himself nodding. "But for now," she continued briskly, "we can at least get it down for a closer look. Mr. Shamuck‑"

  "Shattuck," the rancher corrected her.

  "Yes, Mr. Shattuck . . . if you'll be good enough to bring it down the same way‑and as gently‑as you took it up, it will be a help to our preliminary examination."

  "Why should he?" inquired a new voice. "Is it yours?"

  Everyone turned, saw Mrs. Shattuck walking toward them. She wore exactly the same attire as her husband.

  "I guess if you're all goin' to stand out here in the cold and freeze, someone better be around to be ready to thaw you. out." Startlingly youthful dark eyes focused on the older woman. "I asked you a question, honey."

  "Uh, no, not exactly, it doesn't," replied Goldberg, momentarily flustered by the abruptness of the question.

  "What do you mean, 'not exactly'?"

  "Well, while we didn't build it or . . . See here," Goldberg said, stiffening and trying to stay civil despite her mounting impatience at these irritating, continuing delays, "I don't think you realize quite what you have up in your hayloft."

  "It should be clear to anyone," Tut added conde­scendingly, "that whatever it is, it is certainly not a Christmas decoration."

  "No?" exclaimed Mrs. Shattuck, her gaze darting up to the softly humming semisphere. "How do you know? Don't you think it looks pretty up there, whatever kind of watchamaoallit it really is?"

  "Umm, actually, I suppose it does," confessed Tut, taken aback. He really hadn't pondered much on the ar­tifact's aesthetic properties.

  "You admit you don't own it," she pressed relent­lessly, eyes flashing.

  "We said we didn't build it," Tut argued, "but in the name of the United States government, as its represen­tatives in the search for extraterrestrial life, we, uh, hereby claim it."

  She looked away from him, her mouth twisted in a disdainful grimace. Her attention settled eventually on Chester as the one actually in charge.

  "What about it, mister? Is that thing legally the prop­erty of the government?"

  Chester started to reply, "I don't think there's any‑" and he stopped, thoughtful.

  "What is this, Major?" Goldberg wanted to know. "It does belong to us . . . and the government, doesn't it?"

  After a considerable pause, Chester answered,

  "Frankly, I don't know. I'm a military man, Miss Gold­berg, not a lawyer."

  "That's what I thought," Mrs. Shattuck said, obvi­ously satisfied. She‑ glanced up at her husband. "Well, J.W.?"

  The rancher turned and looked wordlessly at Chester.

  " 'Watchamacallit,' she calls it!" sniffed Goldberg.

  "You actually don't know what it is, do you?"

  "Oh, judgin' from who you say you are and what I can tell of it‑" She jabbed a thumb toward the blinking artifact. "‑I'd guess it's some kind of artificial un­manned craft from off this world, probably from outside our solar system. Just because we got television out here doesn't mean we're ignorant, honey."

  "It doesn't look like it's government property, does it?" observed Shattuck softly. "Not yet, anyway. Since it come down on our property, I expect we'll hang on to it for a bit."

  "Now, look here," Tut began heatedly, moving his bulk forward. "If you think for one minute that we're going to let you hang on to the most important discovery of the last five centuries just to satisfy your personal--­take your hand off me, Jean," he told his much smaller associate.

  "You bet your ass we're going to hang on to it, four-­eyes," Mrs. Shattuck informed him in no uncertain terms.

  "Excuse me," Chester said hurriedly to Shattuck. "We don't mean to seem unfriendly. You must realize you're going to have to give up the artifact eventually. Why not make things simpler for us and yourselves and let us take it away. Tomorrow, say."

  "I might just have let you do that an hour ago," the rancher told him with a significant glance at the fuming Tut and Goldberg. "But at this point I'm feeling ‑sort of ornery. So, no offense, mind, but I think we'll hang on to it for a while." He gazed up at the barn.

  "It looks mighty pretty up there, in the middle of the other lights. Right in keeping with the season."

  "No offense," agreed Chester amiably, though his mind was churning unhappily at the turn events had taken: "You understand we'll have to take official action to obtain the artifact."

 
; "I understand you've got to do what you think is right," Shattuck concurred. "Now, if you want to check the legality of it all, I expect you'll want to talk to the sheriff over in Breckenridge. Name's Amos Biggers. You go talk to him and let me know what he says."

  "We'll do that, and thank you," Chester replied. He turned to face the vivacious, defiant woman standing nearby. Hands on hips, she stared evenly back at him.

  "Thanks for the coffee and pie offer, ma'am. I hope I can take you up on it under more pleasant circum­stances." She softened somewhat, even smiled back at him.

  "Maybe so. If you're goin' to Breckenridge, watch yourself. Some of the roads that way are still pretty icy. We don't want you happy folks to go pile up in a ditch somewhere the middle of this cold night." Her smile widened.

  "No, we don't want that," agreed Chester. Turning, he shepherded the scientists back toward the station wagon. They protested every step of the way.

  Goldberg was beside herself. "Who do these . . . these cattle people think they are? Who do you think you are, Major? Are you here as our aide, to help us, or not? I think maybe a few words to your superior officer‑"

  "We'll do what we can, Miss Goldberg," Chester an­nounced, fighting to keep his temper in check, "but we'll do it legally. When you calm down, you'll see this is the best way. You might also recall that if any situation re­quires the use of force, then I'm wholly in charge. You may complain to General MacGregor if that's what you want. "

  "Well, I'll think about it," she grumbled, climbing into the car.

  "Really, Major Chester," exclaimed Tut from the back of the wagon as the engine turned over, "how can we simply leave like this? They might do anything with the artifact after we're gone." He nodded toward the ranch house.

  "They could bury it somewhere in one of these endless fields. If it doesn't generate sufficient radiation of a type we can detect, we might never locate it. Or he could be overcome by a bumpkin's curiosity and try to take it apart. He might ruin it completely. The importance, the knowledge at stake here . . ." He shook his head in dis­belief.

  "This situation is absolutely insane. This would never happen in Massachusetts."

  "That's right, Mr. Tut," admitted Chester, turning to look back over the seat as they backed up and the ser­geant sent the car toward the highway. "This isn't Mas­sachusetts. And if you don't believe me‑" He pointed toward the house receding to one side and behind them. "‑look over there, toward the front door. You'll see a very big teenage boy standing there with a rifle about as big as he is. He's been there ever since we started toward the barn.

  "You don't go around threatening people out here, Mr. Tut. They don't look kindly on it, and they have a strong sense of right and wrong. If you and Miss Goldberg could have been a little more polite and acted less like barons of the fief, we might have been spared all this. It's too late now, though. You challenged that man, and he re­acted."

  "More polite, he says," Goldberg finally sputtered vi­olently. "In the face of that, he asks us to be polite!"

  Chester sighed and settled himself back in his seat alongside the driver. "Now we're going to have to get proper legal confirmation of our claim. That means tell­ing at least one new person about the craft's landing. And this was supposed to be kept quiet." He glanced sharply over his left shoulder. "Or have you all forgotten that in your haste to get at the thing?"

  "All right, sir, so it's supposed to be kept quiet, sir," fumed 'hit. "So let's do this quietly . . . quietly contact Fort Hood and have a couple of truckloads of troops brought in. Show the locals a bit of force. We'll show them that‑"

  Chester cut him off, shaking his head steadily. "You don't seem to understand, Mr. Tut. Not only isn't this Massachusetts, it's not Cam Ranh Bay or Saigon‑or Moscow, either. We don't want these people talking to the media, now or later.

  "Calm down and relax, and we'll salvage this busi­ness. Oh, I don't think you have to worry about this Shat­tuck burying or breaking into your precious UFO, either. Believe me, I'm just as anxious to get at its insides as you are."

  "Why aren't you worried?" Goldberg asked challeng­ingly.

  "Because they like the craft ‑up there in the hayloft, lighting up their little 'Noel' sign and showing off the rest of their Christmas decorations. They didn't chase us off because they're planning anything underhanded. They did it because they think they're in the right."

  Chester would have been interested in the family meet­ing the Shattucks were conducting as the station wagon skidded and bumped and bounced its frigid way toward distant Breckenridge. The result of that meeting was a long‑distance phone call that Mrs. Shattuck placed to San Francisco.

  Sheriff Biggers of Breckenridge was built like a tar­nished fireplug. Enormous arms stuck out of his long white shirt, currently rolled up to his elbows. They were coated with a healthy crop of red curls, as was his head. He had the look of a man who'd worked hard all his life and would continue to do so until his body finally be­trayed him.

  His voice, however; was a surprise, as gentle and smooth as processed cheese. "You say this thing landed on Shattuck's property, hmm? I know J.W. and his mis­sus." Biggers chuckled at a private thought. "The wrong people to get riled, Major."

  "But surely you can see the importance to us of this discovery, Sheriff," Goldberg broke in ingratiatingly from the back of the office. "This represents our first contact with another intelligent civilization. We must be allowed to examine it."

  "Yes, I can see all that, ma'am," admitted Biggers, scratching a thick ear. "Trouble is, as near as I can see, the Shattucks have a right to it, since it came down on their land." He spread his hands in an expansive gesture of helplessness.

  "If J.W. wants to lay a claim to it, I don't see as how I can legally go in and take it away from them."

  "This is ridiculous," snorted Tut, turning away in mounting frustration. "Utterly ridiculous!"

  "That it may be," conceded the sheriff, "but I've heard that about plenty of laws. Ridiculous or not, they all seem to stand up in court. Now, if you want me to go out to J.W.'s and take that spaceship or whatever it is away from him, you'd better find me some legal grounds to do it with."

  "There is, naturally, no precedent for such a matter," mused Calumet thoughtfully. "If we could obtain a writ from a high authority giving you permission, from the capital, say. An order from the governor of the state of Texas ought to suffice, don't you think?"

  Biggers nodded very slowly, impressed. "If you can get me that, I'd certainly be bound to go in and enforce it, son."

  Chester looked at the younger scientist with fresh re­spect. "Can you do that?"

  "I think so." The Cajun physicist smiled shyly. "May I use your telephone, Sheriff?"

  "I'd like to let you, Mr. Calumet, but," he said apol­ogetically, "the county budget's been kind of tight lately. They keep a tight watch on how we spend our money. There's a pay phone just outside the station."

  Calumet grinned. "That will do." The three scientists left the office, leaving Chester and the sheriff seated across from each other. The driver sat impassively nearby.

  "I don't think I've ever seen three people quite as ex­cited as that bunch of yours," Biggers said conversation­ally.

  "They have reason to be excited, Sheriff. If I didn't have so many other things to worry about, I'd be just as excited and anxious as they are."

  A moment's silence, then Biggers leaned forward sud­denly and spoke in a fashion new to Chester. "You know, I've been a sheriff, deputy and chief, in this county for close on thirty‑five years now, and not once in those thirty‑five years did I have occasion to think I might be making the wrong decision." He looked across at the major.

  "What do you think? Should I go take that thing from J.W. without waiting for proper authority?"

  The honesty and forthrightness that would keep Joe Chester from ever making brigadier replied, "I wouldn't go against thirty‑five years' judgment, Chief."

  Biggers leaned back in his frayed swive
l chair, pleased and relieved. "That's what I was hoping you'd say, Ma­jor." He drew a plug of tobacco from his shirt pocket, bit a hunk off, and offered the same to Chester.

  The major waved it away with a smile. "No thanks, never tried the stuff. "

  "You should," Biggers told him, his mouth full of juice. "Helped me give up cigarettes thirty years ago." He smiled a wide, brown‑stained smile. "Also helped me get rid of my first wife." And he leaned over and spit delicately into a cuspidor hidden behind the old desk.

  Calumet hadn't been bragging. He knew the right peo­ple in Austin, but even so, the wheels of government creaked instead of spinning. It was several days before the formal document, dutifully signed by the governor, arrived at the post office in Breckenridge.

  Thus armed, the little group set out again for the Shat­tuck ranch, accompanied by a second car that held a dep­uty and a reluctant Sheriff Biggers.

  It also held Josiah Chester. The second car provided him with away of avoiding the company of the three complaining scientists. They'd had him crawling the walls of the country motel the past few days while they waited for the state order to arrive. He enjoyed the chance to ride instead with the soft‑spoken sheriff for a change.

  "Do you think we'll have any trouble?" Chester was asking him.

  Biggers didn't have to consider the question. "Naw. J.W.'s a good man. Stubborn, sure, and at that only half as stubborn as his missus, but they're good law‑abiding folks. J.W. will read every word of that writ"‑he ges­tured at the formal‑looking envelope resting on the patrol car's dash‑"and then his wife'll read it, and then he'll shrug and say, 'What's got to be will be.' And then he'll do his damnedest to help you get that thing out of his barn and loaded for you.

  "A shame I have to do this. You folks shouldn't have tried to push them around."

  "Not me," corrected Chester quickly. "My charges let their excitement runaway with them."

  "I guess I can understand that," declared the sheriff sympathetically. "I'm looking forward to seeing this vis­itor from Mars myself."

  "Not Mars," Chester corrected gently. "We're fairly sure it's from much farther out than Mars."