Majestic

by Whitley Strieber

  The next instant there was an echoing shriek above us. I looked up into absolute blackness. There was nothing, not a star, not a glimmer of reflected light, not a cloud.

  Then from high, high up there came pitiful cries.

  "What the hell is that?"

  There was no reply. I shined my light around.

  No sentry. No owl.

  The dark was clutching at me. I turned around, thinking to go back to the camp and get the others.

  I heard something moving in front of me, as if the creature we'd had in our lights was coming closer. When I turned back I saw nothing.

  Events began unfolding with the mysterious grace of tragedy. I heard the sentry babbling and whining—but he was close now.

  He kept saying something—"Oh, no, oh, no"—over and over. As his voice died to whimpers I tried to call for help.

  I felt a curious, soft, deep blow to my belly and wound up on my back on the ground. I was winded and my flashlight was gone.

  When I tried to sit up I felt strong hands against my shoulders.

  "Oh, God."

  "Why do you call on your gods? We're the only ones here." The voice was swift and breathless and tough and far from human.

  "We have the bodies," I said. "We can give you the bodies."

  The reply was a snicker, then another sentence also delivered in that curiously breathless, mechanical tone:

  "We're gonna take you for a ride."

  I remember next a wild jumble of dark images: cactuses, shrubs, running animals, then grass and sheep and suddenly rushing up a mountainside and flying off into midair. I was kicking and grabbing at things, totally disoriented.

  And then I was high in the sky. As I passed over the summit of a mountain I saw the twinkling lights of a city arrayed before me. It was beauty so extreme that I wanted to somehow link myself to it, to melt into it.

  When I was a boy I used to lie on the roof of our house watching the sunset, and sometimes when it was orange and red beyond the hills, I would wish that I could somehow let the beauty fill every molecule of my being.

  I was free in the empty sky, slipping like a night bird through the air. Before me were those living diamond lights. There was something so wonderfully perfect about it, so very right that it seemed like a part of heaven.

  Beyond the vision but emerging from it there was a sense of what I can best describe as something a religious person might call purity.

  I went down close to the silent streets, passing the Plains Theatre with its darkened marquee for Cheyenne, looking into the window of a shop called Mode O'Day. Even the mannequins in their frocks seemed incredibly beautiful.

  And then the street ends and there are great hangars around me and lights buzzing with June bugs and moths and the huge planes of the 509th with their atomic babies in their bellies and I am rolling, floating, swimming in the air.

  I saw a soldier walking along the tarmac with a rifle slung on his shoulder. Closer and closer I drifted, until I was just above him. I grabbed the hat off his head.

  He looked up but I was pulled into the sky before he could see me. Then he searched the empty tarmac around him. "Well, shit," came his echoing shout.

  I had that hat clasped in my hand and no intention of letting go. It was damned important and I knew it. If this fantastic thing was really happening the hat would be proof. I watched the world race and swoop past. There was a measure of control, and I found that I could to a degree influence my height and direction by twisting and turning.

  I was feeling grand and alone in the sky when I turned onto my back and found myself face to face with a wall of dull gray metal. It looked like the same substance as the disk.

  The thing must have been there all along. But how could it have been so silent, so stealthy? The base had obviously failed to detect its presence and it was huge, far larger than the little ship that had crashed.

  A question flashed through my mind: Why hadn't they simply picked up their machine? They must have the means to do practically anything.

  The metal was no more than two feet away from me. I stretched out my hand but it moved away, remaining an inch or so out of reach.

  I heard a buzzing in my head. It got rapidly so loud that it hurt. Involuntarily I clapped my hands to my temples but the sound was inside. I couldn't protect myself from it. It began to shriek like a desperately straining motor.

  I dropped about fifteen feet. Then the buzzing got low and I felt as if I was swimming in butter. There was a smell like burning rubber.

  Was this magnificent device breaking down the moment I thought it invincible?

  I fell another thirty feet, a truly sickening lurch. I tried to turn over, to see how close I was to the ground. No luck. Couldn't do it. The burning rubber smell was strong now. A dusting of what appeared to be warm ash was drifting down onto me from above. The buzzing changed to a noise like continuously shattering glass, a crashing that went on and on and on.

  Again I fell, this time it seemed for miles. My muscles knotted against the feeling that the land was going to slam into my back any second. I kicked and screamed and grabbed air. So much for self-control.

  Then I stopped falling. It was so abrupt it hurt. I drifted a little in one direction and then another. Throwing myself from side to side I tried to turn over, somehow to get my bearings. More of the ash sifted down.

  I seemed to stabilize. Better. Now I was regaining a measure of stability, even moving forward. They must have fixed it, thank the good Lord

  It was like the bottom dropped out of the world. Again I raced downward, the wind screaming in my ears.

  Above me I saw all the stars of the sky.

  The disk was gone! They'd left me here in midair and I was dying.

  Crying, my throat aching with grief and dread, beyond panic, I fell to my final end.

  Then I realized that I wasn't moving anymore. It took a long moment to understand that the absolute lack of motion meant that I had landed.

  I felt around beside me. Dirt. Weeds. I was on the ground! I sat up. Incredible. Out in the middle of the desert.

  When I stood up I found that I was pretty weak at the knee, but otherwise I seemed well enough.

  Very suddenly a wave of nausea overwhelmed me. I staggered, but it subsided without developing into anything.

  I took stock of myself. Physically undamaged. Badly shaken, though. Alone in the middle of nowhere. The stars above me, the empty land around—I could be hundreds of miles from the camp.

  There was little point in walking. In this darkness it might even be dangerous. I thought I might at least try to get my bearings, though, and began trying to locate Polaris. First-I searched the sky before me. Then I turned carefully around, making certain that I was in exactly the opposite position.

  I found myself staring at the camp, which was ten yards away.

  For a moment I thought it might be a mirage. Then I walked forward. No, it was quite real.

  One of our sentries challenged me.

  "Wilfred Stone."

  "Oh. Couldn't sleep?"

  I walked into the gleam of his flashlight. I fought back my panic, my wild disorientation. "Actually, I was thirsty, but I got a little sidetracked." My voice shuddered toward a calm I did not feel.

  "I wouldn't leave the perimeter again. We've got a guy lost already."

  "Really?" It was as if cold fingers were compressing my heart.

  "A PFC name of Flaherty. Sentry on the last watch. Nobody can find him."

  I remembered him screaming in the sky. But I—hadn't that all been a nightmare? I'd been getting some water, then I realized I was carrying an overseas cap. I held it up, looking stupidly at it. The sentry looked at it too.

  "You find that in the desert?"

  What could I say? "In the desert." The lie was essential, and not just to protect my reputation. It defended my sanity.

  He took the cap, looked at the name in the band. "It's his all right," he said. He trotted off toward Hesseltine's tent
, which was lit and active, no doubt because of the missing man.

  I walked into the center of the group of tents and vehicles. The disk still glowed in the lantern light.

  I at last understood that I wasn't looking at an accidental crash.

  This disk hadn't crashed at all. It had been put here, and the bodies along with it.

  It was bait. And we had taken it, and were wriggling on the line.

  In some murky place our struggles must be ringing a bell. Somebody had heard the sound and grasped the line and set the hook.

  And now they were going to reel us in.

  TRANSCRIPT: INTERROGATION OF ROBERT UNGAR LOCATION: ROSWELL ARMY AIR FORCE BASE, HRKJ INTERROGATOR: JOSEPH P. ROSE, SPECIAL OFFICER,

  CENTRAL INTELLIGENCE GROUP

  1ST INTERROGATION SESSION

  JPR: Let's get names clear. You are Robert Ungar?

  RU : Bob.

  JPR: I should call you Bob?

  RU : I've been Bob so long I ain't gonna hear you, you say Robert.

  JPR: Bob. Age forty-seven?

  RU : Yes, that is my age. Sir, why have I been brought here?

  JPR: Informally. A few questions.

  RU : This is a room with barred windows. I would like to know if there are charges against me.

  JPR: Well?

  RU : Because I am going home if there ain't. I can go home. That's the law.

  JPR: You are in a special federal compound.

  RU : I am returning home.

  JPR: Yes, that's right. And so please before you go answer me a couple of questions.

  RU : No! Hell, no!

  JPR: For your country, sir.

  RU : Oh, Lord.

  JPR: Did these alien beings say anything to you?

  RU : I—I—they—who?

  JPR: What did you see?

  RU : There was a big blast in the sky the night of the second. There had been a hell of a thunderstorm out in the desert. Strange. We looked at it. The lightning was striking the same places over and over again. I was worried my sheep was gonna bunch against a fence. I went out there first thing in the mornin' and my daughter and son and I picked up a lot of junk. We thought it was a crashed plane so we told the sheriff -

  JPR: Right away?

  RU : Naw. A few days, maybe—when I got to town. Ain't got the telephone out there.

  JPR: Did you see any of these alien beings?

  RU : What the hell are you asking me? I saw some wreckage that a military officer told me was from a spaceship. I didn't see none of these beings you talk about.

  JPR: But you stated to the papers that you had seen this crashed disk. But in fact you saw no such thing.

  RU : I saw what I said! Now look, are you trying to twist my words, or something? I didn't see no alien beings, sir. I saw what I said I saw.

  MR. ROSE CONCLUDED THE FIRST INTERROGATION SESSION. THE PRISONER WAS KEPT IN

  ISOLATION UNDER CLOSE GUARD FOR TWENTY-FOUR HOURS.

  2ND INTERROGATION SESSION

  JPR: Good morning, Bob.

  RU : I have committed no crime but I can't even get to a telephone. I want a lawyer now.

  JPR: Let's just finish these couple of questions and you can go.

  RU : Go home?

  JPR: Yes, sir.

  RU : Well, what is it now? I still ain't done anything. They had me in a cell in a brig. They fed me pancakes and water and coffee.

  JPR: Would you like a cigarette?

  RU : I sure would. What are those?

  JPR: Medallions. A fine cigarette.

  RU : [Lights up.] It tastes like hot air.

  JPR: Sir, you are going to have to change your story for the press. You are going to have to tell the truth.

  RU : I did that! I ain't never done nothing else in my life, fella!

  JPR: We know that it's fun to get in the papers with a big story. But you have to tell the truth.

  RU : The whole story was from them officers! The bum; wrote it! I am hardly even mentioned.

  JPR: You have to tell the truth. And the truth is you found a weather balloon and pretended it was a flying disk, and you did that for the fun of gaining publicity.

  RU : Oh, Lord. You are twisting—changing—why don't you put them officers in jail?

  JPR: We have to do this. They have to say this. For the country, Bob. For America.

  RU : (Long silence.)

  JPR: How many kids do you have?

  RU : Two living at home and one married up in Albuquerque.

  JPR: Kids are a beautiful thing. Do you hunt and fish with your boy?

  RU : And with my girls. My oldest is an excellent shot.

  JPR: Yes. Now, what you are going to do is to tell the papers that you found the weather balloon and called it a flying disk as a practical joke.

  RU : I told the truth!

  MR. ROSE CONCLUDED THE SECOND INTERROGATION SESSION. THE PRISONER WAS KEPT IN

  ISOLATION UNDER CLOSE GUARD FOR ANOTHER TWENTY-FOUR HOURS. THE PRISONER WAS

  STRIPPED AND THE FURNITURE WAS REMOVED FROM THE ISOLATION CELL. THE PRISONER WAS

  GIVEN ONLY WATER.

  3RD INTERROGATION SESSION

  JPR: Good morning, Bob.

  RU : I am in a lot of trouble.

  JPR: You certainly are. Your country needs your help and you aren't helping. America needs you and you are saying, "No, not me, America. I am sticking by my story so I will look good."

  RU : How can I get myself out of this mess?

  JPR: Say what we need you to say. You were telling a tall story. There was no flying disk. Only a weather balloon.

  RU : The officers said it! I didn't! Make them say the truth!

  JPR: They gave a press conference in Fort Worth with the commanding general of the Eighth Air Force, and the officer that said it, Major Gray, he has taken it back. He is doing this for America. Because he loves his country even more than his own reputation.

  RU : I love my country, but what am I doing in a cell without even my clothes! This is not what I call America.

  JPR: But you love your country.

  RU : I sure do.

  JPR: Well, that's progress.

  MR. ROSE CONCLUDED THE THIRD INTERROGATION SESSION. THE PRISONER WAS RETURNED TO

  CLOSE SECURITY, BUT HE WAS ALLOWED A WALK IN ROSWELL IN THE COMPANY OF OFFICERS.

  HE WAS FED A LARGE MEAL AND ALLOWED TO SLEEP IN A BED IN A ROOM IN THE VISITING

  OFFICER'S BILLET.

  4TH INTERROGATION SESSION

  JPR: Good morning, Bob.

  RU : Hiya. I want to go home. Are there any charges against me?

  JPR: You can help your country. We cannot let it be known that this disk is real. We are just not ready.

  RU : Why not!

  JPR: Look, Bob. I hesitate even to tell you, but I will. I will tell you as long as you promise me on your honor -

  and I know how important that is to you—promise me that you will go to your grave with this secret.

  RU : Yes, sir, I will do that.

  JPR: Well, the truth is that we have reason to believe that these aliens have stolen a number of people. Men, women, children.

  RU : Oh, my Lord.

  JPR: We cannot allow the people to know this until we can defend ourselves. Bob, America is being invaded by an alien force. And they are doing strange, awful things that we do not understand. That is what is secret.

  RU : May the Lord be with us.

  JPR: I agree. America has a need for you to say it's a weather balloon, so the people won't panic. For the sake of the country. Uncle Sam needs you.

  RU : Not to lie, he don't.

  JPR: Oh, Bob. There must be something.

  RU : I don't lie. I ain't never done it.

  JPR: Then what will you say?

  RU : I want to help my country. Damn right I do. But not with a lie. I found what I found and I know it. I will say that I am sorry the whole thing happened. I'll say that and you can make it look like what you want.

  JPR: I have your wor
d of honor? You will say in a press conference we call that you are sorry you ever reported you'd found this? And we will imply that you were wrong about what you found.

  RU : I will not lie, but I cannot stop you from doing it if that is what you feel you gotta do.

  JPR: We all have to make sacrifices. You say you are sorry in a press conference and we will handle the rest.

  From the Roswell Daily Record, August 1, 1947:

  HARASSED RANCHER WHO LOCATED "SAUCER-SORRY HE TOLD ABOUT IT

  Robert Ungar, 47, Lincoln County rancher living 30 miles southeast of Maricopa today told his story of finding what the Army at first described as a flying disk, but the publicity which attended his find caused him to add that if he ever found anything else short of a bomb he sure wasn't going to say anything about it.

  Ungar related that he and an 8-year-old son Bob Jr. were about 7 or 8 miles from the ranch house of J. H. Foster, which he operates, when they came upon a large area of bright wreckage made up of rubber strips, tinfoil, a rather tough paper and sticks.

  On July 3 he, his son, Bob Jr., and daughter, Mary, age 12, went back to the spot and gathered up quite a bit of the debris. There was no sign of any metal in the area which might have been used for an engine and no sign of propellers of any kind, although at least one paper fin had been glued to some of the tinfoil.

  There were no words to be found anywhere on the instrument, although there were letters on some of the parts. Considerable Scotch tape and some tape with flowers printed on it had been used in the construction. Ungar said that he had previously found two weather observation balloons on the ranch, but that what he found this time did not in any way resemble either of these. "I am sure what I found was not any weather observation balloon," he said, "but if I find anything else besides a bomb they are going to have a hard time getting me to say anything about it."

  Chapter Sixteen

  I had been eager to follow up on the story of Corporal Jim Collins. What had happened to him? Had he married Kathy? And what of their children?

  Will agreed that we might find out a great deal if we contacted them. I wondered, for example, why the visitors had been so intent that he marry Kathy, and what had been meant when they said that the first three children out of the marriage would be theirs.

  Like everything the visitors seem to do, what happened that night at Fort Bliss had significance on many different levels.