Out of This World. Lawrence Watt-Evans
“Oh, yes,” Pel said. “They’re real. But they’re very big and heavy, and besides, only a few governments have access to them.”
“You don’t want them,” Nancy said, startling both Pel and Raven. “Besides destroying cities they poison the air and soil, and kill or deform unborn children.”
“In truth?” Raven asked, looking at Pel.
“Truly,” Pel said, nodding. “They use atomic energy—the same thing that keeps the sun burning—and that produces radiation.”
“Our sun burns with magic—I know nothing of yours. But your people fight with these bombs?”
“No,” Pel said. “We keep from fighting because we’re scared of them.”
“Don’t forget Hiroshima,” Nancy interjected.
Raven looked a question.
“We used them once,” Pel admitted.
“Twice,” Nancy said.
“Right, twice. On Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Two cities in Japan. That was when the bombs were first invented, at the end of a long war, when we didn’t know any better. Almost fifty years ago.”
“Ah. So you know they work, then.”
“Oh, yes, they work,” Pel said bitterly.
“And are they strong enough to break through fortress walls?”
Pel stared at Raven for a moment, then said, “I don’t think you understand. A nuclear bomb can totally obliterate an entire city—flatten it, leave nothing but a crater. When they tested them in the desert they fused the sand into glass. The Hiroshima bomb killed a hundred thousand people—and that was a small one, much less powerful than the ones we have now. If you dropped a nuclear bomb on a fortress, any fortress, the fortress would be gone. There wouldn’t be any walls left.”
“Even a magical fortress?”
“There’s no such thing.”
“There is in my world.”
Pel had no immediate answer to that, but Nancy said, “It doesn’t matter, anyway—you can’t get a nuclear warhead, not even a Russian one. They’re kept sealed away, heavily guarded. And you wouldn’t know how to use one if you had it.”
“I see. But guns and bombs and... and tanks?”
“You can get guns easily enough. And make bombs. I don’t think you could get tanks, though.”
Raven nodded. “I see. Thank you.” He put down his can of beer and spoke slowly, as if making an effort to phrase clearly what he wanted to say. “I think perhaps I have imposed enough upon your hospitality,” he told the Browns. “I’m very grateful for your kindness, but perhaps I had best return home now, to discuss what you have told me with my people.”
“You haven’t finished your beer,” Nancy pointed out.
Raven looked at the can. “I fear my thirst is gone,” he said, rising.
“All right,” Pel said. “I’m sorry we couldn’t be more help.”
“I may return, sometime, if you have no objection,” Raven said diffidently.
“We’d be glad to see you,” Pel replied, getting to his own feet and not adding that he would be glad mostly because it would be further evidence that this wasn’t all simply a dream or hallucination.
“I like your cape,” Rachel said.
Raven smiled down at her. “I like it, too, child,” he said kindly.
Pel led the way to the basement, and together, the Browns watched Raven vanish into the wall again.
As Pel had feared, there were cat hairs on the black velvet cloak.
* * * *
“Are you people finished?” Amy asked.
“I don’t know,” the FAA man answered, not looking at her, “I really don’t.”
Amy stared at him without trying to hide her annoyance. “Why don’t you know?” she demanded.
“Because I don’t know what the hell is going on here,” he told her.
She stared at him, and he explained, “That thing out there—it’s not an aircraft. There’s no way it could ever have flown under its own power. There’s no engine, just this weird contraption of crystals and metal plates that doesn’t do anything, attached to what looks like a pressure chamber. Some of the equipment aboard is ordinary electrical stuff, and works fine; other equipment is more of this crystal-and-metal nonsense that doesn’t do anything. Those weapons those people were carrying—they have little batteries, but they don’t do anything. All of them, the big one and the ones that look like pistols, they’re harmless. They don’t even light up or make noise like my kid’s toy rayguns.” He shook his head.
“It’s some kind of hoax, I guess,” he continued, “but why would anyone go to all this trouble? And all the expense? Some of the stuff in there looks like it’s made out of gold and platinum, and if it’s all a gag, wouldn’t copper or tin do just as well? And how did the thing get here, anyway? Nobody tracked anything flying around here that shouldn’t have been, and this thing would show up on radar like a Christmas tree, not to mention whatever must have carried it in and dropped it.” He sighed. “Lady, you’ve got a really major mystery sitting in your back yard, and I’m glad I’m not the one who has to figure it out.”
“You’re not?”
“Nope.” He smiled uneasily. “I passed the buck. This close to Washington it’s all restricted airspace, you know—or just about. So I called the Air Force. They’re sending someone out to take a look, and if he’s as impressed as I am—which he will be—they’ll be doing some serious investigating in the morning. And I think they called the FBI, too. I’m waiting around until their man gets here, and after that it’s up to them. I’m hoping he’ll just tell me to go home and forget any of this ever happened.”
“But...” Amy turned and stared around the corner of her house at the huge purple object. “I can’t go home and forget about it! It’s on my land!”
The FAA man shrugged. “I know,” he said, “and I’m sorry. You might want to start thinking about how much to ask if the national security folks decide to buy your property.”
“What?” Amy whirled back.
“Well, they probably won’t,” he said, trying unsuccessfully to sound reassuring. “They may just haul the thing away.” He paused, then added thoughtfully, “Though I’m not sure how they’d do that.”
Amy stared around wildly, looking for a solution and seeing none.
“Listen,” she said, “where’d they take the people who were aboard it?”
The FAA man shrugged. “County jail down in Rockville, I guess,” he said.
“Thanks,” Amy said.
She turned, leaving the FAA man leaning against the maple tree by the driveway, and went into the house. She wasn’t sure just who to call to find out how she could get to talk to those people, the people who had been inside the thing, but she thought she could figure it out eventually.
And if she couldn’t, her lawyer could.
She chewed her lower lip. It was probably time to call her lawyer in any case.
But then she remembered—it was Sunday. No one would be in the law offices on Sunday.
“Damn,” she said, staring out the kitchen window at the ship. Then she shrugged. “So I’ll have to wait ‘til morning. It isn’t going anywhere.”
Chapter Four
“Any