Chapter 7

Barry Guiler and Robert Conneaut got out of the car. They walked quickly across the parking lot to the safety of their rented room. Barry knocked on the door. Jane answered. She leapt into his arms. Roy was nowhere to be seen.

"Thank goodness you're safe!" she cried.

"Hey, no sweat," Barry replied with a wink.

Jillian shook Conneaut's hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet you – uh – again."

Conneaut waved her off. "Please Mme. Guiler, the pleasure is mine. Roy Neary, he is here?"

Roy, upon hearing his name, emerged from the bathroom. Conneaut and Neary finally looked each other in the eye. Finally, after all these years. After all the stories Conneaut had heard about this man, here he was. Conneaut looked on him with reverent awe.

"M. Neary," he said, taking Roy's hand in his and shaking it. "It is an honour."

"Uh, thanks."

"Please, tell me what it was like. What did you see? What did you do?"

Neary scratched his head and sat down on the corner of the bed. "I don't quite know how to describe everything. It doesn't even seem like thirty years. Seems more like a week at most. I remember walking up the ramp and feeling weightless as I got to the top; then I was floating. There must have been hundreds of aliens. And not just one or two kinds, either. Jillian, do you remember the stick alien?"

Jillian nodded. Barry remembered, too. 'Stick' was the right word. It was long and skinny and long skinny arms resembling twigs.

"There were more of those, maybe a dozen. There were a few hundred of the smaller ones like the ones that took me aboard the ship, with the big heads and big black eyes. And then there were a larger size of that same kind. They were both white-skinned. And then there were these grey, almost human-looking ones. I think they were the engineers of the outfit, because they were the ones controlling the ship. Although what it was exactly they were controlling I don't know. Thirty years and I still don't know how that ship was flown. The taller white ones were in charge.

There were catwalks all around the circumference of the ship and nothing in the middle of it. Just a huge open space, like an airplane hanger, only thirty times bigger. These aliens all stood around the catwalk as I was brought in. It was the tall ones that spoke to me."

"How, M. Neary?"

"In my head. It scared the hell out of me the first time he did it. He told me that I was welcome there and that I was among friends."

"What was the ship made of?"

"Some kind of metal alloy - but nothing like here on earth. I grabbed one of the catwalk rails to keep from floating to the roof of the ship and I could squeeze it like an orange. My hand left indents but they disappeared again. It was cold to touch when the air in the ship was warm. I know enough to know that space is supposed to be cold, but this ship was warm."

"When the ship pulled away did you feel anything?"

"Not a thing. It was like sliding on ice – smooth. Not even a single vibration."

"Was there some kind of engine? What about a propulsion system?"

"It didn't have an engine, not like one of our car engines. The tall greys had something like our keyboards that were connected into the ship. They used sequences of notes as instructions. At least, that was my impression. There were eight of them doing this, all at equal distances. You could see which ones were working because their work stations were lit up. If they were going to the west only the aliens on the left were lit up. But if they were going northeast, then the two northeast stations were lit up. Also, there were another group of eight greys and these two groups would take turns."

"The five tones?" asked Barry.

"Yeah, them. And other variations, too. And sometimes it was six notes and sometimes only four."

"What happened in space? Where did you go?" Conneaut asked.

"I can't tell you exactly, I'm afraid. I'm no astrologer. I don't know much about stars or galaxies, but I do know we passed by Pluto in a matter of hours. I- "

Jillian interrupted him. "I hate to break this up, but it won't take long for the army to figure out that Mr. Conneaut here is gone. I think we should move."

As badly as Conneaut wanted to continue this discussion, he knew Jillian was right. "M. Neary, how can I be of assistance to you?"

"First, I want to see my wife and family. Second, I have a message to be told to the public. Do you know where my family is?"

Conneaut nodded. "We have been keeping track of them ever since you left. One of Lacombe's ideas at the time was that if you were returned, they may choose to return you directly to your family. David Laughlin has this information. I will contact him presently."

GRISSOM AIR BASE

General Turner fumed. "How the hell could that man have gotten out? It's impossible! Round up some men and search every inch of this place immediately!"

He had just sent Private Ben Burns to the barracks to get Conneaut. Burns returned out of breath claiming that Conneaut was nowhere to be seen! He had search the whole barracks quarters and he wasn't there. He searched the perimeter of the fence line and found nothing. Burns' assumption was that Conneaut had escaped.

Turner stomped outside and lit a cigar while awaited results from the search. Three teams of five were dispatched to check every crack and every corner of the base. They all turned up empty.

"So how did he get out, Sir?" Burns asked.

Turner chomped down on his cigar. "Obviously, he had help on the outside. Now think, Private. Who would this likely to be?"

"The Guilers!"

"Very good, soldier."

"Should we send troops back out to the Guiler's house?" Burns asked.

Turner shook his head. "Negative, Private. They won't return there. Use your head. Where would you go?"

"Well, Sir, I suppose I'd go to a motel or something. A small out of the way one."

Turner smiled. "Exactly! Send some men out to ask around the outlaying motels in this area. Oh, and while we're at it, set up a tap on David Laughlin's phone. Conneaut will call him eventually. He has to. Then we'll nail him.