"Right. Okay, here goes." Remo heard a tape recorder's beep and searched his mind for a description, trying to remember if the Martians were the tall hippies or the hairy, apelike creatures. "It was shaped like a penguin, about four feet tall—"
"The UFO was shaped like a penguin?"
"No, no. The guy who came out of the UFO and talked to me was shaped like a penguin. The spaceship was kinda like a bowl with a blue bubble on top. Or was it on the bottom?" Remo couldn't keep the various classifications of UFO shapes straight, either. He knew that most flying saucers were not shaped like saucers at all, but like spheres, eggs, cigars or just bright lights.
"You had a Close Encounter of the Third Kind?" the woman screeched, hurting Remo's eardrum. "Hey, Ralph, get on the extension. I have someone who's made contact... Go ahead, Mr. Green."
"Greeley. Remo Greeley. I was driving along and my car stopped in the middle of the road without any reason. Then this bright thing came down and lighted up the road."
"I thought you said this happened just ten minutes ago," the woman asked suspiciously.
"Yeah, ten minutes ago."
"How could it light up the road in broad daylight? It's three o'clock in the afternoon."
"Um, these were very, very bright lights. The penguin explained to me that they were brand new."
"What else did he say?"
"He was upset. Very upset. He said that he wanted the world to stop building atomic weapons and things. Said it endangered the penguins of the universe. I guess it was like Save the Whales or something. He even gave me a button, but I can't read it. Anyway, he said it's got to stop."
"Yeah, they all say that," the woman breathed. "All the reports we get agree on that one point for some reason. Did this creature say where he was from?"
"From?"
"Yes, he had to be from somewhere, didn't he? I mean, in order to get here he obviously had to come from somewhere else."
"Right. Oh, right. I get you now. As a matter of fact he said he was from the Milky Way."
"Sir," the woman said steadily. "The Milky Way is not a place. It's a cluster of stars, each of which is millions of miles apart. Our sun is one of those stars, so when you're talking about the Milky Way, you're talking about quite a bit of territory."
Damn, thought Remo. He should have known that. "Well, I can't help that. It's what the little guy told me. I mean, if he doesn't know where he's from, who does?"
"You've got a point there. Maybe he just didn't want to leave an address. He's not still there, is he?"
"No, but he said he might be back."
"In that case, he may try to contact you again. It would be best if you were to come over to our headquarters and give a full description to our staff. Could you do that?"
"Okay. I'll be right over," said Remo.
"That's Suite Fifteen, the Stigman Building. We'll be here. Oh, goodie," she said just before Remo hung up on her.
"Moron," Remo muttered.
* * *
The Stigman building was only a few blocks away, so Remo walked, enjoying the cool air and wishing Smitty hadn't given him this dippy assignment.
"Oh, you must be Remo Greeley," a frizzy-haired redhead said to Remo when he walked into the headquarters of FOES. "This is really exciting. Now you're both here."
"Both?" Remo said.
"That's right. After you called, Ms. Bull showed up. She saw the UFO, too. Isn't that exciting? And she said it's still there."
"She did? Still where?" Remo wondered if he'd screwed up the description and they were playing a joke to get back at him.
"Still in the woods down in Chickasha. Oh, it's so exciting," the woman said. Remo decided that her hair wasn't red, but more of an orange color, and that while she looked a roly-poly 36, she was probably a plump 24 years old tops. She wore a lot of rings and bangles, none of which helped. She was the receptionist Remo had talked to before.
"We're all about to drive out there now," she burbled, bouncing to her feet. "You're coming, of course."
"Of course," Remo said. He didn't understand what was going on, but whatever it was, it would make his job of keeping tabs on these loonies easier.
"Is everyone ready?" a blonde as tall and slim as a birch tree asked as she led a contingent of people out into the reception room where Remo was. "Oh, who are you?" she asked him, when her cool gray eyes alighted on him.
"This is Mr. Greeley," the receptionist said. "He saw the same object you did. But he describes it a little differently."
"Yeah, mine had a penguin," Remo said.
"I see..." the blonde said slowly, looking Remo up and down, which caused Remo to wonder if his fly was open. "My name is Amanda Bull. Are you a member of FOES, Mr. Greeley?"
"Call me Remo. No, but I'm thinking of joining."
"I see," she said again. "Well, you better come with us then, even though you're obviously one of those macho types, which I can't stand."
"I eat quiche," Remo said, wondering what it was that made her say that.
They drove in a van south along a big highway flanked by flat farmland. The van that was customized so that the outside depicted scenes of various close encounters, and the inside was perfect for viewing the skies because of a bubble roof hatch.
"Gee," the orange-haired FOES receptionist remarked as Amanda drove. "This would make a swell official van for our group."
Amanda said nothing. She had been trying to draw Remo out on his close encounter, but Remo gave so many evasive answers, she gave up after a while.
Remo, out of boredom, looked out the window for something to occupy his mind. There were no telephone poles to count. He tried counting cows, but the third farm they passed had about fifty of them packed close together, and Remo decided to forget it. The only interesting part of the trip was when they passed over first a big river and then a little river.
It was twilight when Amanda pulled over and said, "Here. This is the spot. Everybody out."
Then Amanda Bull stepped out, dressed in a sky-blue jumpsuit that made her willowy body look inviting even to Remo, to whom sex was no longer a mystery and for whom women, as a consequence, weren't even important enough to him to be sex objects anymore. And she took firm control of the seven people who made up the Oklahoma City chapter of FOES.
"We'll march, single file, after me. I have a flashlight, so keep your eyes on my light. The spacecraft is in these woods. Let's go. March."
Remo fell in behind Amanda Bull, and the others straggled in back of him, chattering like monkeys.
"Ever been in the army?" Remo asked Amanda.
"No, why do you ask?" she said.
"Oh, nothing. It's just that the last time I heard anyone give orders like you, it was my Marine drill instructor back in boot camp."
Amanda grunted. "I knew you were the macho type. Vietnam?"
"Someplace like that," Remo said.
"Well, you'd better be receptive to change because none of that military stuff is going to last much longer."
"I thought we were just out here on a flying saucer hunt," suggested Remo, who thought it was interesting that this woman, who hated the military, acted as though she belonged to an army herself.
"You'll see. Now keep quiet. Everybody. We're getting close."
Remo thought he was getting close, too. Amanda Bull, if that was her name, didn't act or dress or talk like any of the other UFO collectors— or whatever they were. Where the others didn't seem to be wrapped at all, the blonde was wrapped too tight. And she had a crummy personality. Frustration, Remo decided. Maybe he would have to remedy that, he thought with absolutely no enthusiasm whatsoever.
They came to a clearing. Just beyond the glow of Amanda's flashlight was a dark shape that glittered a little. Without a word, Amanda broke away from the group and got in front of the dark shape.