thought. All the doubts in the world could not hold back that excitement.
'If we can get inside?' Gardener repeated.
'If we can get inside, we can get at the controls. And if we can do that, I'm going to fly that fucker right out of the ground.'
'You think you can do that?'
'I know I can.'
'And then?'
'Then I don't know,' Bobbi said, shrugging. It was the best, most efficient lie she had told so far ... but Gardener thought it was a lie. 'The next thing will happen, that's all I know.'
'But you say it's my decision to make.'
'Yes, I do. As far as the outside world goes, all I can do is continue to not tell. If you decide you will, well, what could I do to stop you? Shoot you with Uncle Frank's shotgun? I couldn't. Maybe a character in one of my books could, but I couldn't. This, unfortunately, is real life, where there are no real answers. I guess in real life I'd just stand here watching you go.
'But whoever you called, Gard - scientists from the university up in Orono, biologists from Jennings Labs, physicists from MIT - whoever you called, it would turn out you'd actually called the Dallas Police. You'd have people coming in here with trucks full of barbed wire and men with guns.' She smiled a little. 'At least I wouldn't have to go to that police-state Club Med alone.'
'No?'
'No. You're in it now too. When they flew me out there, you'd be right beside me in the next seat.' The wan smile broadened, but there still wasn't much humor in it. 'Welcome to the monkey-house, my friend. Aren't you glad you came?'
'Charmed,' Gardener said, and suddenly they were both laughing.
8
When the laughter passed, Gardener found that the atmosphere in Bobbi's kitchen had eased considerably.
Anderson asked: 'What do you think would happen to the ship if the Dallas Police got hold of it?'
'Have you ever heard of Hangar 18?' Gard asked.
'No.
'According to the stories, Hangar 18's supposed to be part of an Air Force base outside of Dayton. Or Dearborn. Or somewhere. Anywhere, USA. It's where they're supposed to have the bodies of about five little men with fishy faces and gills on their necks. Saucerians. It's just one of those stories you hear, like how somebody found a rat head in his fast-food burger, or how there are alligators in the New York sewers. Only now I sort of wonder if it is a fairy tale. But I think that would be the end.'
'Can I tell you one of those modern fairy tales, Gard?'
'Lay it on me.'
'Have you ever beard the one,' she asked, 'about the guy who invented a pill to take the place of gasoline?'
9
The sun was going down in a bright blaze of reds and yellows and purples. Gardener sat on a big stump in Bobbi Anderson's back yard, watching it go. They had talked most of the afternoon, sometimes discussing, sometimes reasoning, sometimes arguing. Bobbi had ended the palaver by declaring herself ravenous again. She made a huge pot of spaghetti and broiled some thick pork chops. Gardener had followed her out into the kitchen, wanting to reopen the discussion -thoughts were rolling around in his mind like balls on a pool table. Anderson wouldn't allow it. She offered Gardener a drink, which Gardener, after a long, thoughtful pause, took. The whiskey went down good, and felt good, but he seemed to have no need for a second - well, no great need. Now, sitting here full of food and drink and looking at the sky, he supposed Bobbi had been right. They'd done all the constructive talking there was to do.
It was decision-time.
Bobbi had eaten a tremendous supper. 'You're gonna puke, Bobbi,' Gardener said. He was serious but still couldn't help laughing.
'Nope,' Bobbi said placidly. 'Never felt better.' She burped. 'In Portugal, that's a compliment to the cook.'
'And after a good lay -'Gard lifted one leg and broke wind. Bobbi laughed gustily.
They did the dishes ('Haven't invented anything to do this yet, Bobbi?' 'It'll come, give me time.') and then they went into the small, drab living room, which hadn't changed much since the time of Bobbi's uncle, to watch the evening news. None of it was very good. The Middle East was smoldering again, with Israel flying air-strikes against Syrian ground forces in Lebanon (and hitting a school by accident -Gardener winced at the pictures of burned, screaming children), the Russians driving against the mountain strongholds