Jim lay out on the back of a pickup truck in the middle of seemingly endless fields of corn. A humid breeze rustled the stalks around him, briefly rivaling the chorus of crickets chirping into the night. But he had eyes only for the stars.
Thousands upon thousands of pinprick lights filled the navy sky, each farther away and more enormous than he could begin to imagine. And in a hazy stripe directly above was the arch of the milky way. There was a whole galaxy out there, and they were barely on the outskirts. He could only imagine worlds teeming with incomprehensible alien life. What planets orbited their brightest neighbor, Sirius, "only" eight light years away? Even Mars - hanging in the sky like a bright red star - could have been home to a whole civilization of little green men and they could be none the wiser.
There was so much out there, he wondered how anyone could be content with a simple life on Earth, to never see it all for themselves. Something seemed to draw him away from the ground, beckoning him toward the stars, to the life he knew was there if only they knew how to look for it. The shimmering lights seemed to wink at him, as though inviting him to share in a private little joke, teasing him, but never quite coming close enough to touch.
He yearned to call out - he would if only he thought there was a chance someone would hear - to shout into the abyss, "Come on, take me away!"
And then he saw a light, like a shooting star, or one of the new satellites, crossing the sky.
But the light did not fade. At first he thought that maybe it was just an illusion; a star that only looked like it was moving, or an aeroplane at an odd angle, coming toward him from some great distance. It was certainly moving, but not like a plane or helicopter. And it wasn't just crossing the sky; it was coming closer, quickly growing brighter and larger. It wasn't really that big at all, just very close, descending toward the ground certainly less than a mile away.
It couldn't be an alien. There had to be life out there, but he wasn't that lucky. It was probably some military experiment, some new equipment being tested out in the middle of nowhere. It could be dangerous, but still, he had to know for sure.
Jim threw himself out of the back of the truck, into the driver's seat, slammed the door shut behind him, and stomped on the gas. He drove like a madman between narrow rows of corn, following the bright light in the sky. It drew closer and closer, looming larger and larger, until it dropped into one of his neighbors' fields, setting the stalks of corn aglow with its strange cool light.
Jim pulled off the road and jumped out of the truck. He dove into the field, running through a sea of corn, toward the source of the light, even as he knew he would not find what he wanted. He only hoped there was really something there and he hadn't just dreamed it all up.
He burst into a clearing to find what certainly appeared to be a craft of some sort. It was much smaller than a plane and definitely not a helicopter. Maybe it could have housed an astronaut for his landing back on Earth, but it didn't look anything like the rockets or capsules Jim had seen on TV. The craft was shaped like a curved X with sweeping purple wings extending out from the center. It was made of a very smooth material that looked almost soft, though it must have been sturdy to survive the flight. He wondered if it could have been a Soviet satellite.
His heart racing, Jim circled the craft in search of some evidence of its origin. It was only a little warm to the touch and didn't seem to be damaged at all despite how quickly it had descended. It's landing had been practically silent.
Suddenly a loud whoosh came from the other side of the craft. Jim froze, wondering if he had inadvertently triggered some response in the vessel - who knew what sort of defenses the Soviets put on their satellites - but the sound faded and no other followed. He slowly turned around and crept back around toward the source of the noise.
The hull of the craft had opened up. Standing on a triangular flap that had peeled away from the vessel's surface was what Jim at first took for a man in a long coat.
Jim was about to ask him how he had managed to open the craft up when he noticed the man's pointed ears and sharply slanted eyebrows.
.-
Jim woke up to the bright light of the sunrise, unfiltered by windows or blinds. He was lying in the back of his truck - his back ached from spending a night pressed against the hard truck bed. He must have fallen asleep while stargazing.
He struggled upright and stretched out his spine. It took him a little while to realize that he wasn't on his own property. The truck was parked alongside a backroad that ran past his neighbor's fields. It was right where he'd left it- but that must have been a dream…
It was impossible, he knew it was impossible, but he leaped out of the truck and ran back through the cornfield to where he had seen the strange craft the night before. He shouldn't have been able to find it, but the clearing of flattened stalks, a few of them charred, was difficult to miss.
Unidentified Flying Objects aside, the farm didn't run itself - as much as Jim wished it could. He drove home, half wondering who to report an alien sighting to, if he even wanted to stir anything up about it, but after a hasty breakfast and the essential cup of coffee, his chores took precedent - this morning, going into town to run some routine errands - though whatever had happened the night before lingered in his mind.
It was a tired little town, if it could even be called that, nestled between cornfields along the highway. There were a few shops, a diner, and some offices, and the church was a little ways down the road. Everyone knew everyone else and had for generations. When Jim was younger, going into town had always been a treat. He and his older brother, Sam, would get milkshakes at the diner while their dad gossiped with the neighbors. It was livelier then.
The day was a humid one toward the end of summer. The towering grey clouds overhead threatened a stormy afternoon. The town was quiet, maybe a little quieter than usual.
"Good morning, Janice." He waved as he passed her on the way to the general store. She was still beautiful, with golden hair and soft features, and elegant dancer's legs that went on forever. But she didn't have much time for dancing any more.
"'Morning, Jim," she said with a smile. "How's the old family farm?"
He shrugged. "Same as ever. Just looking for a spare part. How's Emily? Is little Julie feeling better?"
"Much better now," she said. "I suppose you've missed the latest news. Emily caught it too, but she's doing alright."
"Good," Jim said. "Say hi to Bill and the kids for me."
"Will do," Janice said, and they each continued on their way.
Most of Jim's old flames had settled down already, or better yet, moved on from this town. Sometimes it seemed like he was the only one who hadn't.
He was ambling down the street, lost in thought, when he spotted a man he didn't recognize walking in the opposite direction on the other side. That in and of itself, would have been unusual enough, but stranger still, he realized that he did know that face. Jim hadn't recognized him because he was no longer dressed in a long, hooded cloak, but in a button-down shirt and jeans, with a cap over his pointed ears, but he would know that face anywhere, long and deeply lined, with those sharp angular eyebrows.
"Hey!" Jim called out without thinking.
The man glanced over and met his eyes. He saw the flash of recognition, and then the man looked down and hurried away as though he had been caught on some top-secret mission.
For a frantic moment, Jim thought of running after him, but he remained glued to the spot, only able to stare. He could only wonder what he had gotten caught up in, but despite himself, he couldn't let it go.
"I'm just telling you what I saw," Jim said.
"I know, and I'm just saying that you're crazy," Bones retorted.
They were sitting in the doctor's office between patients. Bones was sitting at his desk, as though for a consultation, while Jim leaned against it, half standing.
"It's not that I don't believe you, Jim," Bones continued. "I just think that if you had even an ounce of self-preservation, you'd run the other way and never look back. It doesn't matter if it's an alien or some sort of experimental aeroplane - ours or theirs - nothing good can come from snooping around. And it sounds like your mystery man doesn't want to be followed."
Jim sighed. "I just can't get it out of my head…"
"If you ask me, you're looking for trouble," Bones said. "If you're that desperate to get out of here, you should just sell the farm and be done with it, instead of risking your life."
"I'm not-" Jim attempted to protest, but they both knew it fell flat. He tried again. "I just have to know. Anyway, even if I sold the farm, what would I do then?"
"I don't know, Jim," Bones said. "But I know that chasing after UFOs isn't the answer."
That night, Jim went for a drive, just to do some stargazing. He found the tallest hill around - actually an embankment along an irrigation ditch - pulled to the side of the road, and sat in the back of his truck, looking out on the endless corn fields below and the stars above. In the distance, near the horizon, he could see the cluster of lights that marked the town, and scattered amidst the fields, like a reflection of the stars in the sky, he could make out the glow of his neighbors' houses.
Slowly all the lights flickered out, first in town, and then finally in the houses, as the reasonable folks turned in for the night.
And then, Jim waited…
.-
He must have fallen asleep on his watch because the next thing he knew it was morning and his whole body ached from spending the night sitting in the back of his truck. There had been no trace of the strange vessel he'd seen the night before. He thought he had heard something whirring or beeping, but maybe it had just been a dream. However, as he gingerly stepped around to the front of the truck on still sleeping legs, he spotted a pair of footprints in the mud, as though someone had been standing just beside the truck bed. They definitely weren't his own, and he was pretty sure they hadn't been there the night before, but there was nothing else out of place to suggest that anyone had been there.
It all seemed so unlikely, and yet, Jim could not stop thinking about the mysterious man he had seen twice now and who may have, for some inexplicable reason stood by his truck in the night - not that he had any evidence that it had been the same man and not just a worried passerby.
Jim went out again the next night. This time he struck out in a wide circle. Every so often, he stopped and stepped out of the truck to scan the countryside for that unusual light hanging in the sky. He drove for miles until his eyes drooped and he had no choice but to stop for the night, or risk falling asleep at the wheel.
He returned home exhausted. The dogs seemed to bark even louder than usual as he stepped inside. They jumped about, greeting him eagerly. He gave each of them a pat on the head before shuffling off to bed.
He had only just lay down and closed his eyes when he was startled back into full awareness by the dogs barking again. His first thought was to turn over and hope that it would soon blow over, but the dogs seemed to give no indication of letting up, and they weren't just barking, but growling, as though there was an intruder in the night.
Jim pushed himself upright and slipped out into the hall. The dogs were running back and forth across the house, frantically barking and growling, stopping only to scratch and leap at the door as though that would scare away whatever it was that had stirred them up.
"Quiet!" Jim attempted to regain some order, but to no avail.
He stole past the dogs - still racing back and forth so they were perpetually under foot - over to the door to peer out into the night. Dark shapes slowly coalesced and for an instant he thought he saw a flash of light in the darkness, but it could have just as easily been a trick of the shadows. He stood there a few minutes longer, searching, but there wasn't anything there, and the dogs soon calmed. After he convinced them that it wasn't time to go out, he was allowed at last to drift off to sleep.
Bones was probably right; he should just leave well enough alone and move on with his life. He was just looking for trouble. Everything else was nothing more than strange coincidences that he only noticed because he wanted to see them. Whatever the vessel was, it and its mysterious pilot had probably already moved on - it couldn't take long for him to realize that there wasn't much to see in this little town. If only Jim had run after the man when he saw him - but then what would he have done?
Jim couldn't help but glance up at the night sky in the hope of spotting the vessel on the horizon, but he forced himself to stay home and tried to forget it all. The dogs barked a little more than usual in the night, but maybe they were just responding to his jumpiness.
A few days later, however, Jim was driving along a lonely road between here and there when he spotted an old abandoned barn sitting in the middle of an overgrown field. He didn't think much of it at first glance, but as he drove past, it slowly dawned on him that if he wanted to hide a large, brightly colored craft, that would be just the place to put it.
It was absurd. Even if the craft and its mysterious occupant hadn't departed days ago, the chances of running into it like this were astronomical, and it was a bad idea besides. But somehow he couldn't let it go, not when he'd come so close to something, whatever this was.
Jim made a sharp u-turn and pulled into the field. He ploughed through the tall stalks, all the way up to the entrance to the barn. The peeling wooden door caught against the ground, but finally he managed to shove it open and was met with a rush of musty air, heavy with the smell of rotting wood.
A hulking silhouette filled most of the high-ceilinged room. At first he thought it was just a tractor, but as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, streaming in through the door and filtering through cracks in the walls and roof, he could make out the reddish-purple broadside of the strange craft. He had forgotten how unusual the material was; it looked almost soft like velvet, arched in sweeping curves, but it was hard, steely to the touch.
Jim circled the craft, examining it from all angles with wide eyes. His heart raced, expecting its mysterious inhabitant to emerge at any moment. Perhaps, if he had known more, each discovery would have evoked yet more questions, but as it was, he merely marveled at the unusual structure. Whether it was an alien ship or some experimental technology, it looked strikingly out of place in a run-down old barn, but he couldn't imagine where it would belong.
He circled the craft again and still, the mysterious man did not appear. Jim's fingers trailed along the smooth surface, searching for the thinnest crack that could be pried open. If he was caught, he had no excuse for trying to break into whatever it was, but he needed to know. He pulled and pried until his fingers ached, but to no avail.
In a final burst of frustration he pounded at the unyielding wall. "I know you're in there! Come out and-" he stopped short; he wasn't really looking for a fight. Lamely he attempted, "I just want to talk."
He thought he heard something creaking. He waited for the door of the craft to open with bated breath.
Of course, there was no answer.
Still, he waited. He had chores to complete back at the farm and his stomach growled at the thought of a dinner he had yet to prepare, but he could not risk the strange craft leaving, never to return. Perhaps it had already been abandoned, its job done, its owner never to return.
The light slowly faded as the sun settled on the horizon outside. He could still see a few golden licks of light creeping in between the rafters, but inside it quickly turned dark. He was contemplating going back to his truck to fetch a flashlight when the old wood gave a fearsome creak.
Jim froze.
It was probably just the wind pulling at the old planks. He should have been more afraid of the old barn collapsing on him than anything or anyone trying to enter.
Another creak, perhaps even louder than the first. He could hear the door shifting, struggling against the dirt.
Jim ducked back behind the craft, so he could just barely see the door behind one of its arched wings.
The door groaned and scraped against the hard ground as it slid ever so slowly open. Silhouetted in the doorway, he just could make the dark figure of a man. For a moment, the man stood there, perhaps scanning the darkness as his eyes adjusted. Jim could almost feel the man's strange sharp eyes fixed on him.
With a jolt, Jim remembered his truck, left in plain sight outside of the barn - a dead giveaway. But there was still a chance of slipping out without being noticed; if the man returned to his craft, or even if he started to search, it was dark enough that if Jim tread carefully in the opposite direction, he could be out, back in his truck before he knew it. If he was lucky the man would just hear him driving away.
But then it would all be for nothing.
Jim stole himself against all his better judgement and stepped out of his hiding place. His heart pounded as he attempted to greet the man with a sheepish smile and a friendly wave.
"You," the man said, his voice sharp, but Jim wondered if he sounded a little uncertain. "What is it that you want?"
Jim could see him more clearly now; he was undeniably the same unusual man Jim had seen that night stepping out of the craft and then in town the other day. He was watching Jim with eyes narrowed in suspicion and a tight-lipped frown.
"I was curious," Jim explained, though he knew it wasn't much of an excuse. "There hasn't been anything this interesting in town since- well, I've never seen anything quite like your vessel here." He gave the craft a pat for good measure.
The man inclined his head in acknowledgement. Even dressed normally, there was something alien about him. He had a mysterious allure that held more power over Jim than he carried to admit.
When the man did not continue, Jim pressed, though he knew he was trying his luck, "What is it?"
The man hesitated, but his answer betrayed no reluctance. "It is a starship." He held up a hand facing Jim, his thumb out and his fingers split between the middle and ring as though in a strange sign. "I come in peace."
Jim's eyes widened as the gears clicked into place. He had suspected, wondered, of course, but he had dismissed it as impossible. "You're an alien."
"Yes," the man acknowledged.
In the words of Dr. McCoy, he said, "Well I'll be."
"What will you be?" The alien asked, his eyebrows quizzically raised.
Jim just shook his head. The man before him was an alien. He could hardly believe it, but it all made perfect sense - he just had to look at the starship next to him and it was obvious.
Jim remembered himself at last and said with a wry grin, "Nice to meet you. Do you have a name? I'm Jim."
"My name is" - the alien made an indecipherable sound - "But you may call me Spock."
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Spock," Jim replied. He held out a hand to the alien.
Spock hesitated again before finally reaching out to meet him. His grasp was light, almost nervous, and very warm. For the clumsiness of the gesture, there was a tremendous weight to it; for all Jim knew, he was the first man to shake hands with an alien, welcoming him to Earth.