The Third Craft Page 3

  “That won’t help much. I’m calling from a pay phone near home. Hawk and I don’t have a phone of our own. We can’t get service to our house.”

  They chatted for a while. He promised to call more often. It was a good call.

  He turned and headed home again. Some of his loneliness had disappeared. It was dark outside and the intermittent street lighting cast a weak glow. But, overall, the balmy night was pleasant enough. His sour mood gradually dissolved.

  Sleep finally came after a feast of Kraft Dinner.

  The next morning, Joe awoke, his body covered in a fine dew of perspiration. He sat bolt upright, struggling to recall his dream. The dream came back in fragments.

  He is alone. Walking down a long road. A bus stops and he gets on. The passengers are staring at him. The driver says, “Son, you have to wear clothes to ride this bus.” Joe stares down at his naked body and doubles up, covering himself. He tries to back out of the bus, but the door has already closed behind him. The bus hisses as its brakes release and begins to pull away.

  There is a smell of diesel fuel and cheap perfume. Joe looks down the water-soaked aisle. Everyone is staring and laughing.

  His eyes jump from face to face. He recognizes no one. “How did I get here?” he wonders. Then, angry with himself, he thinks: What kind of an idiot would get on a bus without clothes? How could I get myself in a fix like this? He tries to sit down, but people push him away. “Freak!” They glare at him. He is trapped on the bus, going who-knows-where with people who are gawking at him and ridiculing him.

  Joe walks down the aisle, gingerly and bent over, looking down at the black rubber floor, searching for a seat that offers shelter. A safe place away from the leering passengers. He becomes aware of his cold feet and realizes he is not wearing shoes and the floor is wet. Why is the floor wet? Each time he comes to an empty seat, it is suddenly and mysteriously filled with a belligerent passenger. He is truly dejected. He is unwanted. He wants off the bus! Why can’t he figure out a way off? Why is he naked and alone?

  Joe couldn’t hang onto the rest of the dream. He was angry about something he had dreamt, but he could no longer recall what that was.

  The alarm clock blinked a bright red digital 5:45. The pink shades of dawn were visible through the open window. He groaned. Crisp cold air rolled over the bedclothes. He hugged the blanket: Just five more minutes! It was as if he hadn’t slept a wink. The bedside alarm clock, which sounded like a submarine alert, went off for a second time and refused to stop beeping until Joe slammed the stop button. He threw back the covers and rolled out of bed with as much grace as an eighteen-year-old could muster.

  Rubbing sticky sleep from his eyes, he went directly to Hawk’s room. The door was ajar and the bed had not been slept in. Hawk had not come home last night. Joe hoped that he had enjoyed himself. Not really. OK, fine, Hawk has a way with girls. He pushed the thought from his mind.

  After a large breakfast and before leaving, Joe paused and left a note for Hawk. It read: “Hawk. Went to the crash site. Got a door open. Going in. Joe.”

  Then he changed his mind and crunched up the note. He rewrote it to read: “Have gone there. Got news. Joe.” He laid the note onto the kitchen counter and then left for the site.

  CHAPTER5

  Joe brought his bike up to the ship, killed the engine, and sat in the saddle like a cowboy gazing at his herd of cattle. There was a feeling he got when he was close to the craft, a sort of gentle buzzing, a whisper of electric energy.

  The first thing Joe had noticed today as he approached the ship was that the door was no longer open. This unnerved him. He slowly slipped off his backpack and took a swig of cold water from his thermos. Staring at the smooth fuselage, he gathered his thoughts.

  “Don’t be a chicken,” he mumbled under his breath.

  With his jaw clenched, he reached into his pack and removed his magnetic flashlight and a Swiss Army knife. He pondered the small red knife, weighing it in the palm of his hand. Not much of a defensive weapon. But it might come in handy. You never know. He left the remainder of the pack in a heap beside the bike and proceeded toward the craft.

  As before, he tried gingerly placing the magnetic strip of the flashlight on several spots on the smooth fuselage. Lo and behold, the same thing happened. There was a gentle hiss, not as forceful as the first time, and the door opened soundlessly.

  Joe closed his eyes and concentrated in a kind of prayer. Mentally steeling himself to ward off the shakes, he craned his neck and peered into the black inner compartment, his feet firmly planted. Wiping his hands against his jeans, he jammed the knife into his rear pocket and his flashlight into a front pocket. His right hand gripped the fuselage by the opening, and he pulled himself upward and into the craft.

  There was very little light inside. Even the morning light coming through the open door seemed to be absorbed into the abyss. Joe could not see any defining walls or compartments. There was only a vague gray-green color throughout. Joe took a tentative step farther inside. Nothing. Silence. He took another. Then another, as he began to inch his way into the craft.

  Like a blind man, he instinctively held his hands in front of him to protect himself. Looking furtively from side to side, he could see nothing but darkness. Slowly he got his nerve and started to walk more deliberately away from the doorway. Things were going well, he told himself. Then, after he had gone several paces into the ship, the door began to close.

  Joe wheeled around. He launched himself toward the opening, sliding across the floor, hands outstretched. When he was inches from the door, it closed completely. He stared up with his fingers almost touching the door. It had only taken a moment for the door to shut. Daylight disappeared.

  He lay still for a moment, face down on the plastic-like floor. Then he gathered himself up on his haunches and flung his hands toward the door. He ran his fingers over the walls, searching for a crack he could wedge open. He grabbed his knife, ready to pry it open. He found nothing but a smooth surface.

  “What have I done?” he moaned out loud as he pivoted and leaned backward against the wall. He slowly slid down until he was sitting with his chin on his knees.

  After some time his mind cleared. He reached into his pocket, fished out his flashlight, and turned it on. The yellow glow was welcome.

  Yellow. Why isn’t the light bright white? he thought as he gently tapped the flashlight onto his palm a few times.

  Then it came to him. He closed his eyes in frustration.

  Damn it! He had forgotten to put in new batteries. An oversight. He broke into a sweat as he mentally calculated how much battery time was left. Not much.

  The tune “We Gotta Get Outta This Place” cycled through his head. He sprang to his feet and walked tentatively down the corridor. The flashlight reflected off the walls on both sides of him. He could not discern color or texture. However, he could see markings ahead.

  He approached another corridor. He was at a juncture. He had to decide which way to go. Joe pressed on and followed the corridor to the right. He saw what appeared to be two doorways ahead and markings on the floor and wall. His heart leaped. Not so fast, he said to himself, and slowed down. Cautiously, he approached the first entranceway. He ran his right hand along the wall and held the flashlight in his left.

  Too bad I don’t have both hands free, in case I have to defend myself, he thought.

  At that exact moment, his flashlight died. Joe tapped it furiously but to no avail. It was dead. He bit his lip and stood in silence. “I am so screwed,” he said out loud.

  Total and absolute blackness enveloped him.

  He just stood there. Unable to think. Unable to plan. He had no frame of reference or experience that might have guided him to the next move. Was there a next move? He closed his eyes and squished a frustrated thought out of his brain.

  I need light! His mind screamed.

  Incredibly, as he opened his eyes, he was no longer in absolute blackness. At first he thought it
might be a trick of the eyes. But it was not. There was a soft, warm, greenish glow coming from the adjacent wall and from the floor. The intensity of the ambient light began to increase, not unlike turning up a dimmer switch.

  Joe gazed around. His flimsy flashlight had not revealed the sheer size of the passage and the labyrinth of corridors leading away. He absently pocketed it.

  Ironically, he had been so eager to find a way in, but now he was searching for a way out. He stopped momentarily at the doorway of a third room he had encountered. The others were bare-bones empty. He began to ponder the idea that there must be some reason he had been the one to find this very strange craft. He couldn’t help feeling he was getting involved in something much bigger than himself.

  As soon as he crossed the threshold to the third room, the illumination increased seemingly from everywhere. Joe squinted, and the light intensity diminished somehow to a more comfortable level.

  This room was different. It was larger than the others. Joe guessed that the room was about twenty feet in diameter and perfectly circular. By his best estimates, he figured the room was at the center of the craft, near the nose. The light was such that the room appeared to be a very pale green throughout, with the floor and the walls the exact same color. The showstopper was what appeared to be an instrument panel straight ahead. Joe gasped.

  The panel was shaped like an upside-down L, with the base angled out at about twenty degrees toward some chairs. The panel’s surface was opaque and colorless. In front of it were four white chairs, each shaped like a small, upside-down cross bent at a thirty-degree angle, allowing one to either sit up or lean back comfortably. They were a dull, opaque white, and they looked resilient.

  He approached the panel with a mixture of awe and curiosity. His hand reached out and touched the surface. Immediately the panel sprang to life with a dazzle of different colors. He jumped back.

  Suddenly he heard – or was it sensed? – a sound, like a soft voice. He could not be sure if he actually heard the voice. The garbled sound repeated itself. Then again. Then a different sound, and the panel dimmed to nothing.

  Joe walked farther along the ten-foot-long panel and reached out to touch the surface. Before his hand touched it, the panel ignited and the quizzical voice could be heard again. The same sounds. Then the panel shut down. It was as if the instrument had sensed his intrusion. After having been in contact with Joe just the once, it seemed to have learned and recognized him as someone who did not know what he was doing.

  He ran his hands over the nearest chair. It was a soft vinyl-like material. There were no seams or stitching that he could see. The chair appeared to be fabricated from a singular mold. He sat down and gently leaned back. The chair seemed to mold itself perfectly around his back and buttocks. He relaxed and his eyes began to close.

  Alarmed, he decided it was time to move on and discover more about the craft. He was now convinced that this was an extraterrestrial craft. He concluded that he was likely in the main control and navigation room, the bridge.

  Exiting the room, Joe continued down the right side of the craft. He encountered another entrance farther down the passageway. He peered inside. It was a tiny room, about the size of a shower stall. It was absolutely bare except for a tiny bar of three lights on the far side. He was curious. Leaving the passageway, he stepped inside for a closer view of the light panel. Maybe this was a way to get out, he thought. An exit.

  As he bent over to investigate the light bar, a hidden door soundlessly closed behind him. He didn’t even realize it until he straightened up and looked behind him. Instinctively, his hands flew to where the door had been. He noticed, somehow without surprise, that all evidence of a doorway was gone. The entire room was a circular stall without an exit. Joe threw himself against the spot where the door had been, but his body met with a substance that felt like thick vinyl over steel, and he bounced back, uninjured. Like a trapped rat, he spent the next several minutes running his hands along the walls and exploring every inch in hope of finding an escape.

  His hands finally reached the three light bars, and he stopped. The lights were dim and out of focus behind an opaque screen. There were three lights of what appeared to be an identical orange color but each had a different brightness. It occurred to him that there may indeed be three different colors, but his ability to differentiate between them was limited by his lack of optical sophistication. His brain was unable to recognize the different colors and presented them as just one color, orange.

  He blinked in concentration, thinking about the consequences of touching any one of the colors. And if so, which color to choose? Were they buttons of some sort? This room could be an alien garbage disposal for all he knew. Maybe the walls would start slowly compacting in on him like in Star Wars. Or if he pushed the wrong button, some cosmic incinerating beam might obliterate him.

  Enough already, he thought. I can’t stay here like this. I’ll die for sure before anyone can rescue me from the outside. It comes down to which button I should push.

  Wait a minute – the lights range in brightness from dull to bright. I will choose the dullest. No, hold on, maybe I should choose the brightest. In the end, he chose the least intense light and, reaching out, he touched the panel.

  Outside, the air was fresh, and the setting sun filtered through the tight forest greenery like pinpricks of laser.

  Joe’s head was resting comfortably against his backpack when Hawk found him. His body was outstretched and his legs crossed. His face was expressionless, not unlike a dead person’s, which prompted Hawk to reach down to touch him and make sure he was all right.

  With surreal speed, Joe’s hand flew out and grabbed Hawk’s wrist in mid-air. Hawk screamed.

  “I’m fine,” Joe said. He slowly opened his eyes and let go of Hawk’s wrist. His voice had a hollow, ghost-like sound to it.

  Hawk fell back on his haunches and dropped his flashlight. “You scared the crap out of me! What’s going on? Why haven’t you been home?”

  Joe’s hands slowly went to his skull. “I have a headache.” He tried to stand, but his legs were like rubber, and he collapsed.

  Hawk reached out to help him, but drew back at the last second, his hand frozen in mid-air. Something was not right here. “You OK?”

  Joe ran his tongue over his lips. They were parched. “I’m thirsty,” he said.

  Handing him a water bottle, Hawk asked, “Joe, have you been here all the time?”

  Joe took the water and drank greedily. He gazed at Hawk as if coming out of a trance. “What do you mean, ‘all the time’? How long have I been here?”

  “Well you didn’t show last night. And when you still weren’t home after I got in after work, I decided to come here to make sure you were all right. Where were you last night?”

  “Last night? I … um … can’t remember. Looks like I lost track of time.” Joe blinked clarity back into his mind. He took big gulps of the water.

  “But Hawk, guess what. I found a way inside. I got inside the ship.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “No kidding.” Joe glanced at his watch. “It’s eight o’clock! I’ve lost almost two days.”

  Hawk reached out his hand. “Come on. Tell me what you can remember when we get back home. I’ll drive.” He helped him hobble to the ATV.

  Once they had rested and eaten, Joe related his adventure to Hawk. As he told the story, his memory began to improve.

  Hawk poured Joe another instant decaf coffee and slid in across from him at the chrome kitchen table, the shiny vinyl of the chair squeaking as he sat down.

  Cupping his hot coffee mug in his hands, Joe continued. “After I pushed some button, nothing happened at first. All of a sudden I felt a thick slimy kind of goo against my hands. I looked down and the stall was filling up with this green gel. Real fast. Before I could think, it was up to my neck. I took a deep breath. It covered my head. Hawk, I thought I was toast. Then, I started to feel really relaxed. I just forgot
about breathing.”

  “How can you just forget to breathe?”

  Joe shrugged. “It was sort of what it must feel like to be in the womb. I didn’t feel a need to breathe. It was just there. The oxygen, I mean. Anyway, I began to feel bigger, larger, stronger. Massive. I was more than me. I was beginning to flow, sort of. It was definitely an out-of-body experience, I can tell you. As best as I can figure, I was connecting with the ship’s brain. It kind of said to me ‘get ready to learn!’ The first thing I learned was where I was. I was in a Learning Stall. Those are my words because there are no words I know for the place I was in. It can train the occupant about the craft, navigation, weaponry, propulsion – you name it. It is also an infirmary of some kind. The first few seconds were hell. I saw all kinds of images and stuff, but couldn’t understand a thing. Nothing made any sense.

  “Then, for a moment, there was a break, a pause. Next, I saw or heard very simple language and began to understand what it meant. I sensed I was being taught a new language or form of communication. I’m not sure. But it became clear that in order for me to get to the basic training thing, I had to comprehend the language. Hawk, can you imagine? I think I learned a new form of communicating with another …”

  “Another what, Joe?”

  Joe shrugged. “That’s just it. I can’t say exactly. Maybe an alien language.”

  “You think this machine taught you another language?”

  “Not really a machine. Something more. I got assimilated,” Joe said with a little smile. “Hawk, promise me you will come to the site tomorrow and see for yourself.”

  “OK. I’ll come. If nothing else, to protect you from yourself.”

  Joe made his way toward his bedroom. Hawk followed him down the hall, turning out the lights along the way. In the darkened passage, Joe slowly turned toward Hawk and said in a soft voice: “I feel different. Smarter, more grown up somehow.”

  Hawk felt the claws of unease scratch down his back as he caught Joe’s eyes. There was a flash of green luminescence behind them, just for an instant, a green ember-like glow visible in the dark hall. Just a trick of the light, he thought.