Bassinger gave her a look that implied he thought she might start foaming at the mouth at any second, then shook his head, folded his arms, and shut his mouth.
“What do you think it is, Boss?” asked Gaines.
“I don’t know,” admitted Bucky. “I’m no scientist, or metallurgist, or whatever the hell’s required to tell us. But I know what I hope it is.”
“Proof that we’re not alone?” suggested Gaines with a smile.
Bucky nodded. “Got it in one.”
“We’re not alone,” said Neimark.
“You saw aliens?” asked Bucky disbelievingly.
“No, of course not,” she replied. “But do the math. There are one hundred billion G-type stars in the galaxy. At least ten billion are G-type stars like our sun. We’re finding that just about every kind of star we’ve been able to observe through the Hubble or one of the other telescopes has one or more planets. Now, what are the odds that there are from one to maybe three billion planets circling G-type stars and not a single one of them has developed life?”
“Astronomical,” admitted Bucky. Suddenly he smiled. “Maybe that’s why they call it astronomy.”
His three cabin mates groaned.
“Nobody laughed,” he observed.
“Would you?” said Bassinger, making a face.
“You’re all fired.”
“Okay, give us our pay.”
“I left it in my other pair of pants. I guess you’ll have to stay.”
“Just as well,” said Gaines. “It’s raining out.”
“Raining?”
“Meteors.”
Bucky looked out the window and watched a cloud of rocks sweep past. He kept his eyes on them until the storm dissipated a few minutes later.
“Well, now you can say you’ve been in one,” said Gaines.
“And I’m not even wet.”
“Or crushed, or shipwrecked, or . . .”
“Are these things common, these meteor storms?” asked Bucky.
“Not very,” said Gaines. “You’re as likely to get hit by garbage from the Apollo flights that’s been in orbit for fifty years.”
“Really?”
“Well, in theory. In practice, someone had enough brains to figure out what might happen, so they carried all their garbage back to Earth.” Suddenly Gaines smiled. “But it’s a pretty interesting notion, isn’t it? I’ll bet you could make a hell of a science-fiction story out of it.” Suddenly, he tensed. “Oops. New transmission coming in.” He concentrated on the message, then looked up. “The University of Nebraska is sending a team from their medical school, just in case. That’s more generous than you might think. We won’t touch down until close to eleven local time.”
“The Cornhuskers must have had a good year,” said Bucky with a smile.
“Cornhuskers?” repeated Neimark.
“Their football team.”
Gaines thanked them and turned to Bucky. “We’ll be entering the atmosphere in another twenty minutes. Anything you want me to say to Jerry?”
“Yeah. Have an armored truck on the premises, as well as our best security team.”
“You expecting trouble?”
“I don’t expect anyone to try to steal these pieces if that’s what you mean,” replied Bucky. “But I don’t want the press touching them or photographing them until we’re done with them.” He paused. “There’s only going to be one first photo and one first video of whatever the hell this is, and I want to make sure that the four of us are standing next to it and not some moron from CBS or NBC.”
“Okay, makes sense,” agreed Gaines.
“Also, nobody hitches a ride and sneaks into whatever lab we’re using. We don’t want anybody reporting our findings to the public before we do.”
“You’re the boss.”
Bucky smiled. “That’s the first time you’ve acknowledged it since we took off.”
“Spend a week in space, and it makes you crazy.” Gaines matched his smile.
Then they were in the atmosphere. The ride got choppy, and Gaines had to concentrate on his piloting. Bucky traded seats with Neimark, who was able to double as copilot, and before too long, they were on the ground and being towed to the hangar at Flat Plains with numerous spotlights and floodlights illuminating the darkened field.
“What the hell’s that?” demanded Bucky as he saw perhaps three dozen trucks and vans forming an aisle for the ship to be pulled into the hangar.
“The press, of course,” said Neimark. “You didn’t really think they wouldn’t be here to interview the first people to walk on the Moon in most of their lifetimes, did you?”
“No, of course not.” Bucky frowned. “But I don’t want them inside the hangar until we’re out of the ship, and I’ve talked to Jerry Culpepper.”
Gaines relayed the order, and they could see members of the press, and especially the cable news companies, arguing fruitlessly to be allowed in. Then Bucky saw Jason Brent directing his security team, and a moment later the press, sullen and resentful but no longer trying to disobey his wishes, backed off and took up positions outside the hangar.
The ship entered, and the doors closed behind it. A number of Bucky’s closest associates were there, including Gloria Marcos, Sabina Marinova, and Ed Camden, but Bucky walked directly to Jerry, shedding his space gear as he did so.
“So what, exactly, have you brought back?” asked Jerry.
“I’ll be damned if I know.”
“Let me ask it another way,” said Jerry. “Is it of human or alien origin?”
“Same answer.”
“We’ll have it analyzed as thoroughly as any object in history,” said Jerry. “I’ve got all the experts standing by, and we’ve turned the old farmhouse into the most high-tech lab you ever saw . . . but you’re going to have to say something to the press.”
“Why?”
“Bucky, you’ve got the whole world talking about you. You’re the first man, well, the first group, to go to the Moon in almost fifty years. You found proof that the history of our space program is, if not a sham, at least wrong. You as much as suggested that the government of the United States is in collusion to keep this a secret. They saw Myshko’s landing stages when you broadcast them from the Moon. The administration’s got the best video and computer people in the country trying to prove you faked that transmission, and they can’t. You’ve hinted that you found something even more startling. How the hell can you just smile at the cameras, say you’re off to have dinner and a shower, and you’ll talk to them in a week or a month, when our technicians determine exactly what it is that you’ve brought back and refuse to share with a breathlessly awaiting public?”
Bucky stared at him for a moment, the hint of a smile playing about his lips. “You ever think of going into politics?”
Jerry returned the smile. “Sometimes I think I’ve been in it for years.” Then: “So what are you going to do?”
“Well, I don’t want them breaking down the door of my hotel room, so I guess I’ll talk to them right here after all. Stick around; you get to clarify it all after I’ve had my say and left.”
“You want to show it to them?” asked Neimark, emerging from the ship.
“No one will believe me if I don’t,” replied Bucky. “Have Phil and Ben bring the pieces around and set them up over there.”
“Set them up?” she repeated, puzzled.
“Prop them up against a table or something. They’ll be more impressive that way than lying flat.”
Gaines and Bassinger, who knew where the pieces of the dome were stored, brought them out and leaned them upright against a long table. Bucky walked over and studied them. He was almost disappointed when there was no alien lettering engraved in the strange metal.
Jason Brent walked in through a side entrance and quickly slammed the door behind him. “They’re getting restless,” he announced. “And by the way, welcome back.”
“Okay, let ’em in,” said Bucky.
The doors were opened, and in less than a minute Bucky found himself surrounded by perhaps twenty reporters and cameramen, while smaller numbers concentrated on Neimark, Gaines, and Bassinger.