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Max Hadron: The Case of the
Stranded Spaceship,
Conclusion
March 3, 2003
Amanda and
I didn't talk much in the police car. We already knew what
we were going to do, and Diane had winked at me on the way
out of the house when I glanced back. So I knew she was
ready to implement our plan and even improvise when
necessary.
The county jail was fairly new, and that was good for Amanda. I've been around a few jails myself, and there's always that lingering smell of sweat, urine, and dried puke barely concealed by the smell of disinfectant. But this jail was in good shape and even made some concessions in its accommodations to the fact that an errant citizen, perhaps (gasp) even innocents, need not be treated as hardened murderers or crazies hell bent on suicide.
As I expected, Amanda was put in a separate cell, across from me and down the hall, out of sight. This was, I assumed, so that we couldn't collaborate further on our apparently bizarre story that we had seen absolutely nothing in the Lessing yard that morning. After about twenty minutes, Major Lightman came into the cell area and took a quick tour, peeking in on me and, I think, Amanda, to be sure we were locked down tight.
"Ready to talk yet?" Lightman said with an almost imperceptible sneer.
"Yeah. To my lawyer."
"I haven't decided whether you get to see one."
"You know? That's going to give me all kinds of warm fuzzies. I'm going to like you so much, Major, I'm sure I'll be ready to spill my guts. With a smile."
"So you do have a story to tell me?"
"Who knows? Maybe I do, maybe I don't. But I can promise you nothing's going to happen without my attorney present."
"Then you can just stew here for awhile," Lightman said with a more perceptible sneer.
"Good. I can use the sleep." I took the opportunity to solidify our story. "Doctor Lessing has these really early morning breakfast feasts. I usually go home and take a nap anyway."
At that, Lightman did an about face and marched out of the holding area. I have never seen him since.
The guard said it was about noon when he woke me up for lunch. He pushed a bag through the bars that contained a Big Mac-like burger, some greasy fries, and a bottle of water. That was when I became aware of some kind of commotion outside. Some yelling and chanting. It sounded like a good sized crowd, and it seemed to be growing in intensity. I asked the guard about it, but he just grunted, stared at me in disgust, and left.
Thanks to my six foot five inch frame, I could stand on the bunk and just see out the small window perched at the top of the cell. I saw hundreds of people, of all ages, and most had some kind of sign or poster demanding that the two "chosen ones" be released. They were chanting and singing, just like the scene from the movie Contact -- which Diane forced me to watch last year. My guess at the time, knowing how Diane thinks, was that she had posted something on the Internet about how two Earthlings, one an astronomer, had been chosen to meet with the first extraterrestrial visitors near Mount Hamilton Observatory, the Air Force had found out about it, and had them locked up in the Santa Clara county jail near San Jose. That probably brought out every wacko nut case in the Santa Clara Valley who could drive a car. Spock ears and all.
For the rest of the afternoon, the noise got louder. Every hour or so, I got up and peered out the window. By late afternoon, it seemed there were a thousand people. Some were shouting, some were accosting the Sheriffs who went in and out, and some were sunning themselves on the top of their vans, waving flags, posters, and E.T. paraphernalia. It was a total mess.
I love that woman Diane.
I could see the sky beginning to get dark, and I was getting hungry, when two Air Force MPs, accompanied by one of the Sheriffs I hadn't seen before came into the holding area and unlocked my cell. The MPs shoved me out into the hallway and held me there while the Sheriff went and got Amanda. Once they rounded us up, they took us out a back entrance to an enclosed loading dock and herded us into the back of a dark blue van.
"Do you mind telling us where you're taking us?" I asked calmly.
"Nellis."
"What's that?" Amanda asked.
"Probably Nellis Air Force Base. In Nevada. Looks like things are getting too hot to leave us here."
"Shut up," the Sheriff said and slammed the door closed on us. I checked the handle right away, and, of course, we were locked inside. A solid wall towards the front isolated us from the drivers and there were just two wooden benches on each side. The only way to see out were the windows in the back doors. I prodded at the glass briefly. It felt like Lexan. All I could see inside the van was a duct in the roof that had some warm air blowing gently.
It was going to be a long, uncomfortable ride to Nevada. And I was hungry.
We seemed to be on the road for about an hour when I felt the van begin to swerve. Then, my head started to hurt in an amazing, buzzing kind of way. I looked up to see Amanda start to topple off the bench and fall to the floor. I tried to reach out for her, but I missed, and rolled off the bench myself. Suddenly, I was lying on the floor, holding my head as the pain got worse. The last thing I remember was a brilliant and deep blue light coming through those Lexan windows. It was like a deep blue good-bye.
Three days later, on a Wednesday night, Diane and I were sitting comfortably in Blake's steakhouse in San Jose. The Replay TV was set to make sure we wouldn't miss The West Wing. Our steaks had just arrived, and I was tearing into bread rolls and a glass of Lagavulin. Neat.
"So was I right about your Internet posting?" I asked.
"You nailed it. I had the PowerBook in the Porsche, so I just brought it into the house and dialed in. I also made a few phone calls, but you guessed right."
"Then what?" I doused my steak with some salt and A-1.
"Then Brian Whitcomb called me back on my cell phone and asked what was going on. I filled him in, on our side of the story, and told him what Lightman had said about never letting you see a lawyer. He asked for Ken Wu's number and said he'd take care of everything. Then I called Colonel Robertson at home, but he was already out playing golf. But I got him on his cell. Did you know he made one star?"
"Yeah. I called him last month to congratulate him. Sent him a fifth of fifteen year old Macallan."
"Good. Apparently, Brian had access to some kind of Homeland Defense toy, something that could disable a vehicle and knock out the passengers. Brian took Ken and a blue suiter out after the van in a San Jose police helicopter. He's sending us the bill for that flight, by the way. After they disabled the two MPs and Lightman..."
"Lightman?"
"Yes. He was in the front with the MPs. After the van came to a stop, it almost rolled off a cliff you know, Ken Wu used some of his Asian magic herbs. Something to disrupt short term memory. I don't know where he gets that stuff. Anyway, they put the Air Force guys in the back of the van and the blue suiter drove them to Travis Air Force Base. That's where the van was from. Said they were found drunk or something, wandering around downtown San Jose. Handed them over to the MPs at Travis."
"Cool. Then what?"
"Brian brought you and Amanda back to San Jose. He sent Amanda home with a blue suiter and told me, after Amanda got home, to come over and pick you up. I kissed Stacey good-bye and drove to the San Jose police station. You were just coming out of your stupor."
"I remember now. Did Amanda need any medical attention?"
"No. She was fine. You were both fine. Hungry but fine."
"I remember now. You drove me home, made me four scrambled eggs, a half pound of bacon, and a quart of lemonade. And I slept for twelve hours."
"That's about it."
"Has anyone ever told you, you do good work?"
Diane could only manage a smile. She'd just taken a bite of her steak. That was when my cell phone rang. I answered.
"Max?"
"Yep."
"Carl here."
Diane raised her eyebrows. I whispered "Carl Robertson." Back to the phone,"What's new?"
"Well, I want to apologize again for this terrible snafu."
"Yeah. Some of your troops are getting a little too frisky these days."
"I'm putting a stop to this one. I made a phone call. Major Lightman will soon be reassigned to a radar site in Shemya."
"That's in the Aleutian islands off Alaska, right?"
"You got it."
"Is Lightman putting up a fuss about recent events?"
"Funny. He doesn't remember much of anything. But he'll remember Shemya for a long time."
"Thanks." And we hung up.
Diane was giggling. "Is Buzz Lightyear getting a new assignment?"
"Oh, yeah..."
"Good. Oh, I forgot to tell you. Amanda Lessing invited us over for breakfast next Sunday. Not so early this time. Think you can handle eight-thirty?"
"Sure."
"She wants to make it a monthly ritual. As a way of saying thanks. She's also going to give me a tour of the Lick Observatory. And Stacey wants to pick my brain about computers."
"Tomlinson."
"Huh?"
"What about Tomlinson?"
"What about him?"
"I want all those UFO nut cases to know that Tomlinson was the one who arrested me and roughed me up. Send out his home address. I want a thousand of them in his front yard."
Diane paused. "Don't you want to let this sleeping dog ... keep sleeping? I had a hard enough time convincing all those UFO watching Webmasters that this was all a hoax."
I tapped the table with my knuckles impatiently. "You're right. Forget about it. What's the next case?"
Copyright © 2003 by John Martellaro, All rights reserved. Quantum Threads banner artwork by Tracy Haynes. This is a work of fiction. All people, places, entities, and events are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Previous adventures of Max Hadron:
The Case of the Missing Extraterrestrials (April 22, 2002)
The Case of the Extraterrestrial Redirect (June 10, 2001)
The Case of the Paperless Portfolio (Nov 12, 2000)
The Case of the GoogolPlex Smackdown (June 25, 2000)
The Case of the WWDC Murder (June 13, 2000)
Send your comments to: John Martellaro
Copyright © 2003, John
Martellaro
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