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Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or situations created for TGAH; I am borrowing them purely for entertainment purposes and am making no profit from their use. Thank you to Stephen J. Cannell, the cast, producers, writers, directors, and crew for giving us this wonderful, timeless show and the characters that bring it to life.
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Agent William "Bill" Maxwell, FBI, topped the small rise of tumbled rock and scrub brush and sagged against the nearest boulder. He swiped the back of his hand across his forehead. It came away damp, despite the falling temperature.
Night was coming on fast. At the horizon, the last evidence of daylight was a fading wash of orange.
Maxwell's sharp gaze raked across the sky, searching for a telltale flash of red. In the East, a shooting star flared, streaked across the blue-black sky and faded to nothing.
Out of the darkness, a rising wail dopplered across the sand.
"Whaa-aa-aah!"
Maxwell pushed himself away from the boulder and straightened as the warbling cry shot overhead.
"Whoa-oa-oa-oof!"
He flinched and raised his hand to shield his eyes as a fine hail of gypsum sand sprayed into the air. He peered back down the hill.
The last glow of the twilight picked out a slender figure in bright red, streaked with gray. Ralph Hinkley staggered upright, skidding on the loose scree of the desert dune.
"Ralph, if you're through horsing around," he called down, "We're running out of search time here."
The younger man cast a dark look up the hill and slapped at the sand clinging to his red tunic. Another shower of dust billowed up around him. Maxwell waited for the coughing fit to die away.
"Come on, kid," he said as Ralph started picking his way up the slope. "You've got your jammies there to keep you warm, but I'm looking at a serious case of blue garbanzos if we don't wrap up this little fishing trip."
The younger man reached the top of the rise and glowered from under his mop of blond curls.
"But, Bill," he said, "This is exactly how I wanted to spend my Friday night; Flying back and forth across the desert, eating the occasional mouthful of sand. I just don't want it to end."
"Cute," said Maxwell, casting a quick glance at this watch, "Real cute, kid. I hope the Counselor appreciates your sense of humor as much as I do."
Ralph pulled at the short black cape that had gotten twisted over one shoulder.
"Speaking of Pam," he said, tugging on the clasp at his throat, "I should be picking her up right now. It's our anniversary. She was hoping for a nice dinner at Chez Nous and I don't think she planned to eat it alone."
"Anniversary, huh?" said Maxwell.
He jerked a crumpled map out of his hip pocket and shook it open.
"Hold this," he said, passing it to Ralph.
"I don't remember you two getting hitched," he said, feeling in the pocket of his fatigue jacket. "And here I was planning to get you His and Hers handcuffs with-"
His fingers closed on the cool metallic tube of the pocket flashlight. He pulled it out and gave the end a sharp twist.
"-little silver bells," he finished as the light flared.
"It's not that kind of anniversary," Ralph mumbled, holding out the map.
Maxwell barked a laugh and raked the flashlight's dime-sized beam over the page.
"Don't tell me, my junior super hero is all growed up," he said. "I didn't even notice your voice change."
"I do have a son, Bill," said Ralph, "He wasn't exactly an immaculate conception."
"Yeah, how is the tow-headed little tyke," Maxwell said, "Haven't seen him around lately."
He peered at the compass rose in the corner of the map and glanced at the sky, then he pulled the map out of Ralph's grip, turned it 180 degrees, and handed it back.
"I hear he's fine, when I can get Alicia to return my calls," Ralph said. "She took him with her to Miami for a two week photo shoot… six months ago."
"Yeah, he's probably having a ball," Maxwell said, tracking the light along a crease in the paper. "All that sun and sand. They wear bikinis down there that would make your eyes-"
"Bill," Ralph broke in, "Can we get back to our current scenario, please? I remind you that this little desert excursion was your idea."
"Yeah, well," said Maxwell, "That's because our team, that's you and me, Ralph, has unique skills that I thought would come in handy on this particular mission."
"I don't think you can call it a mission if no one sends you."
"'Course you can," said Maxwell, leaning in closer, "Right now, today, it's an unofficial mission. Tomorrow, when we find this whatever-it-is, it'll be a successful mission and Carlisle will try to pretend like it was his idea. We haven't failed yet, kid."
He tapped at a yellow oval on the map. "Did you try over here by this hill?"
Ralph sighed.
"That's mustard, Bill," he said.
"What? No it-"
Maxwell scraped his thumbnail across the map. The hill flaked off and fell to the ground.
"Oh, well, Ralph," he said, "You must have missed something."
He flicked the flashlight up and pointed it out at the night. The beam was swallowed up inches from his hand.
"I don't understand it," he said, "It was a huge blip on the radar at Edward's. It should'a left a crater a mile wide."
"There was no crater," Ralph said, "No smoking hole in the desert floor, not even a squashed lizard. And now there's no light so even if I could see to fly, I don't think I could find your 'whatever-it-is' without a searchlight strapped to my chest."
He gave the map a shake and folded it down the center. "Can we please call it a night?"
Maxwell pursed his lips and turned the flashlight on Ralph's face.
His partner stood blinking in the sudden glare. Under the concentrated beam of light he looked pale and more than a little tired.
Maxwell sighed. He twisted the metal tube between his hands, cutting off the light.
"I hate it when you turn toes-up on me like this, Ralph," he said, directing his words to the sound of crinkling paper. "There's something out there and if we don't find it, somebody else just might."
"You said the Air Force wrote it off as a meteor," Ralph's voice came out of the darkness.
"Yeah," Maxwell said, "Because that's what the eggheads at Griffith Observatory called it. But I saw the print out from the radar. That so called meteor took a sharp left just before it disappeared from the scope."
"Meteors don't steer, Ralph." he said. "It smells like little green guys and if they're out there bleeding green goo all over the sand I'd like to know about it before it shows up on page one of the National Enquirer."
He felt something press against the back of his hand and jumped before he realized it was a folded piece of paper.
"Geez, kid," he said. "What are you trying to do, turn my hair all the way white?"
"Anyway, I was thinking," he went on, taking the map and shoving it back in his pocket. "If it was the little green guys, and if they was sitting in a couple of tons of crumpled space ship, you could, well, give them a hand or something. It could score us a few brownie points which, you must admit, wouldn't hurt next time you want to ask some questions about the suit, like how does it work for instance."
Maxwell paused and heard crunching footsteps moving away on the rocky sand.
"I should have known," Ralph's voice came back from somewhere down the hill. "Bill, that ship was the size of a stack of B-52s and you know it. If it crashed out here, you could see the smoke from Santa Cruz. You were hoping they were in the neighborhood so they'd spot me wallowing around up there like a concussed albatross and offer us another copy of the handbook."
"Ralph," Bill called. "Where are you going?"
As his eyes adjusted to the darkness he made out a gray shape moving away along the desert floor.
"I'm going back to the station wagon, Bill," Ralph called back, "If you're lucky, I might make it to Pam's place before the last seating at Chez Nous."
"Yeah, well," Bill said, starting down the hill. "If that's your plan I'd take a right. Otherwise, you're going to wind up swimming home from Baja."
The sound of footsteps crunching over sand slowed and stopped.
"Really?" said Ralph.
"Yeah," said Maxwell, drawing level with the gray shape. "You learn all kinds of handy hints on night maneuvers. How to start a fire with one match and a wet twig, what kind of snakes like to bed down in warm boots, and a little something called celestial navigation."
"Celestial navigation," Ralph said, falling into step beside Maxwell.
"It's an ancient science, Ralph. I may not have a fancy pair of space jammies, but Mrs. Maxwell's little boy still has a few tricks up his sleeve."
"All right, Bill," said Ralph, "Just get me back to my car and all is forgiven. Again."
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"What time is it now?" Ralph said.
"How should I know?" Maxwell answered.
"I just saw the light from your watch, Bill, what time is it?"
They trudged on in silence.
"Bill."
"11:30."
"All right, we've been walking in the dark for hours," Ralph said. "I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I'm pretty sure I've tripped over the same rock three times. Either I'm going to fly up and look for a landmark or we're going to stop right here before we get even more hopelessly lost."
"We're not lost."
The sound of Ralph's footsteps stopped. Maxwell turned. The moon had yet to rise and Ralph was still just a gray outline, slightly brighter than the surrounding night.
"We're not lost, Ralph," he said, "We just got farther from the car than I thought. Now, we need to keep moving or you're going to be able to use my frozen carcass as a tent pole."
He started walking again, keeping a bead on the pale star that bobbed above the horizon.
"And you can't fly off somewhere," he called over his shoulder. "Because if you lose me in the dark I'm a goner and we're back to the tent pole scenario."
Maxwell heard hurrying footsteps and Ralph drew level again.
"I could fly up just a little bit. I'd stay in shouting distance."
Maxwell snorted.
"Yeah, Ralph," he said, "Sorry to point this out, kid, but you're not exactly known for your navigational control."
There was a pause.
"I really don't think you want to start taking about navigation, Bill."
"For the last time," Maxwell said, "We are not lost, we're just-"
There was a hollow thump beside him and the sound of a body falling back onto the sand.
Maxwell stopped short.
"Ralph?" he said.
"I don't know how you do it, Bill," said a voice from ground level.
Maxwell barked a laugh. A long, rectangular shape resolved itself from the thick darkness.
"100-percent unadulterated Grade-A talent, kid," he said, feeling for the car's bumper. "Down in the geezer freezer, that's what counts every time. You got the keys?"
He heard a metallic jangling.
"Right here," Ralph said. "Just let me- Oh, no."
Maxwell felt his insides go as cold as his outside.
"Talk to me, Ralph."
"It's nothing. I just remembered I left my clothes on a rock instead of putting them back in the car. I'll never find them."
Maxwell relaxed. He started feeling his way around to the passenger side door.
"Sorry, kid," he said. "I'm afraid that coyote we spotted earlier is bedding down in your sport coat by now."
He heard another rattle of keys and the click of a door latch.
"I don't care," said Ralph, sliding into the driver's seat. "I'm so glad to see this car again I could kiss it."
"Don't kiss it yet," said Maxwell. "Wait and see if she starts first."
In answer, the engine rattled to life.
Ralph looked exhausted in the glow of the dashboard. He shifted the gear lever into Drive and pulled out onto the road.
They drove in silence for a few miles. Maxwell concentrated on warming his toes against the register under the dash.
"You know," Ralph said at last. "Now that it's over, I'm almost sorry your plan didn't work out. It would've been interesting to see that ship again."
"Yeah, well," said Maxwell. "I should'a known better than to push it. Those little green guys show up when they're good and-"
He broke off as a blue light flared in the distance off to the left of the road.
"Looks like we spoke too soon," Ralph said.
-continued-