«No report, no flash, no nothing,» the sheriff added.
«Just no barn,» repeated the deputy, obsessed with the idea.
A car drove into the yard.
«Go out and see who’s there,» said the sheriff.
One of the deputies went out.
«I don’t get it,» complained the sheriff. «They said Flying Saucer, but I don’t think it’s any Saucer. A box is all it is.»
«It’s a machine,» said Peter.
Feet stamped across the porch and men came through the door.
«Newspapermen,» said the deputy who had gone out to see.
«I ain’t got no statement, boys,» the sheriff said.
One of them said to Peter: «You Chaye?»
Peter nodded.
«I’m Hoskins from the Tribune. This is Johnson from the AP. That guy over there with the sappy look is a photographer, name of Langly. Disregard him.»
He pounded Peter on the back. «How does it feel to be sitting in the middle of the century’s biggest news break? Great stuff, hey, boy?»
Langly said: «Hold it.»
A flash bulb popped.
«I got to use the phone,» said Johnson. «Where is it?»
«Over there,» said Peter. «It’s not working.»
«How come at a time like this?»
«I cut the wire.»
«Cut the wire! You crazy, Chaye?»
«There were too many people calling.»
«Now,» said Hoskins, «wasn’t that a hell of a thing to do?»
«I’ll fix her up,» Langly offered. «Anyone got a pair of pliers?»
The sheriff said, «You boys hold on a minute.»
«Hurry up and get into a pair of pants,» Hoskins said to Peter. «We’ll want your picture on the scene. Standing with your foot on it, like the guy that’s just killed an elephant.»
«You listen here,» the sheriff said.
«What is it, Sheriff?»
«This here’s important. Get it straight. You guys can’t go messing around with it.»
«Sure it’s important,» said Hoskins. «That is why we’re here. Millions of people standing around with their tongues hanging out for news.»
«Here are some pliers,» someone remarked.
«Leave me at that phone,» said Langly.
«What are we horsing around for?» asked Hoskins. «Let’s go out and see it.»
«I gotta make a call,» said Johnson.
«Look here, boys,» the sheriff insisted in confusion. «Wait—»
«What’s it like, Sheriff? Figure it’s a Saucer? How big is it? Does it make a clicking noise or something? Hey, Langly, take the sheriff’s picture.»
«Just a minute,» Langly shouted from outside. «I’m fixing up this wire.»
More feet came across the porch. A head was thrust into the door.
«TV truck,» the head said. «This the place? How do we get out to the thing?»
The phone rang.
Johnson answered it.
«It’s for you, Sheriff.»
The sheriff lumbered across the room. They waited, listening.
«Sure, this is Sheriff Burns … Yeah, it’s out there, all right … Sure, I know. I’ve seen it … No, of course, I don’t know what it is … Yes, I understand … Yes, sir … Yes, sir. I’ll see to it, sir.»
He hung up the receiver and turned around to face them.
«That was military intelligence,» he said. «No one is going out there. No one’s moving from this house. This place is restricted as of this minute.»
He looked from one to another of them ferociously.
«Them’s orders,» he told them.
«Oh, hell,» said Hoskins.
«I came all the way out here,» bawled the TV man. «I’m not going to come out here and not …»
«It isn’t me that’s doing the ordering,» said the sheriff. «It’s Uncle Sam. You boys take things easy.»
Peter went into the kitchen and poked up the fire and set on the kettle.
«The coffee’s there,» he said to Langly. «I’ll put on some clothes.»
Slowly, the night wore on. Hoskins and Johnson phoned in the information they had jotted down on folded copy paper, their pencils stabbing cryptic signs as they talked to Peter and the sheriff. After some argument with the sheriff about letting him go, Langly left with his pictures. The sheriff paced up and down the room.
The radio blared. The phone banged constantly.
They drank coffee and smoked cigarettes, littering the floor with ground-out stubs. More newsmen pulled in, were duly warned by the sheriff, and settled down to wait.
Someone brought out a bottle and passed it around. Someone else tried to start a poker game, but nobody was interested.
Peter went out to get an armload of wood. The night was quiet, with stars.
He glanced toward the pasture, but there was nothing there to see. He tried to make out the empty place where the barn had disappeared. It was too dark to tell whether the barn was there or not.
Death watch or the last dark hour before the dawn—the brightest, most wonderful dawn that Man had ever seen in all his years of striving?
The machine was building something out there, building something in the night.
And what was it building?
Shrine?
Trading Post?
Mission House?
Embassy?
Fort?
There was no way of knowing, no way that one could tell.
Whatever it was building, it was the first known outpost ever built by an alien race on the planet Earth.
He went back into the house with the load of wood.
«They’re sending troops,» the sheriff told him.
«Tramp, tramp, tramp,» said Hoskins, dead-pan, cigarette hanging negligently to his underlip.
«The radio just said so,» the sheriff said. «They called out the guard.»
Hoskins and Johnson did some more tramp-tramping.
«You guys better not horse around with them soldier boys,» the sheriff warned. «They’ll shove a bayonet …»
Hoskins made a noise like a bugle blowing the charge. Johnson grabbed two spoons and beat out galloping hoofs.
«The cavalry!» shouted Hoskins. «By God, boys, we’re saved!»
Someone said wearily: «Can’t you guys be your age?»
They sat around, as the night wore on, drinking coffee and smoking. They didn’t do much talking.
The radio station finally signed off. Someone fooled around, trying to get another station, but the batteries were too weak to pull in anything. He shut the radio off. It had been some time now since the phone had rung.
Dawn was still an hour away when the guardsmen arrived, not marching, nor riding horses, but in five canvas-covered trucks.
The captain came in for just a moment to find out where this goddam obscenity Saucer was. He was the fidgety type. He wouldn’t even stay for a cup of coffee. He went out yelling orders at the drivers.
Inside the house, the others waited and heard the five trucks growl away.
Dawn came and a building stood in the pasture, and it was a bit confusing, for you could see that it was being built in a way that was highly unorthodox. Whoever or whatever was building it had started on the inside and was building outward, so that you saw the core of the building, as if it were a building that was being torn down and someone already had ripped off the entire exterior.
It covered half an acre and was five stories high. It gleamed pink in the first light of the morning, a beautiful misty pink that made you choke up a little, remembering the color of the dress the little girl next door had worn for her seventh birthday party.
The guardsmen were ringed around it, the morning light spattering off their bayonets as they stood the guard.
Peter made breakfast—huge stacks of flapjacks, all the bacon he had left, every egg he could find, a gallon or two of oatmeal, more coffee.
«We’ll send out and get some grub,» said Hoskins. «We’ll make this right with you.»