Chapter 9

Winston poured cream in his coffee until it was the color of aged oak and watched the steam rise from the cup. He was lifting the cup gingerly to his lips when the door banged open and Peabody stepped in. He spotted Winston and came over.

“Good morning,” Peabody said as he slipped into the booth opposite Winston.

“‘Morning,” Winston replied. “What’s up?”

Instead of answering, Peabody surveyed the diner warily, like a fox checking for hounds. It was mid-morning, and only a couple of tables were occupied.

“We don’t exactly have a brunch crowd,” Winston said wryly.

Peabody nodded, and waited until the waitress had poured him a cup of coffee and departed before he spoke.

“Well, Mr. Moss, I have a story for you, as promised.” He looked expectantly at Winston, who blew on his coffee and sipped.

“Aren’t you going to take notes or something?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether I think it’s a story.”

“Well, be that as it may, I think we should reach some sort of, um, accommodation, don’t you think, Mr. Moss?”

“An accommodation, huh? I dunno, Mr. Peabody, just what exactly did we need to accommodate?”

“The news I am about to impart, Mr. Moss, is very sensitive. My employer is concerned how the news might, um, be portrayed. We want assurances that we’ll be treated fairly.”

“Ah. I see. You want to know whether I’ll put the right spin on your story.”

Peabody shifted uncomfortably. He sipped his coffee. “Now that’s just what I mean, Mr. Moss. You media people are always trying to find the negative slant to everything. We’re merely concerned that the positive angles will be, ah, fully appreciated.”

“Mr. Peabody, I don’t put any sort of spin to my stories. I just write them plain and simple, with all the angles.” He reached down on the seat beside him and pulled out a notepad and pen. He slapped them on the table in front of him. “Shoot.”

Peabody drank some more coffee. “Mr. Moss, what do you know of extraterrestrial visitation probabilities?”

Moss peered at him intently. “You’ve got to be kidding me. This is about Nell Fleck’s UFO, isn’t it? I should’ve known. Sorry, pal, I ain’t interested in any more UFO stories. One’s my limit.” He closed the notepad and put the pen down.

“I think you’ll be interested in this one. As you know, I work for Mr. Conrad Carrington. He is interested in matters of an extraterrestrial nature. In fact, it’s sort of his hobby. He’s spent quite a bit of energy, and money, on the subject. He feels, rather strongly, that contact is feasible.”

“Contact?”

“Yes, you know, contact. Communication.”

“You mean like a close encounter?”

“Exactly.”

Winston rubbed his chin. “What’s that got to do with Jupiter? I mean other than the UFO story.”

“Truth be told, Mr. Carrington was quite taken with your story. You see, he has been looking for some time for a place to, er, centralize his efforts. A place to establish a facility geared toward the scientific research necessary to establish the prerequisite communications and technological links that can be developed ultimately into actual liaison.”

Winston stared at him. “Let me get this straight. Carrington is going to build a research center here in Jupiter to look for UFOs?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Peabody shifted uncomfortably again. He picked up his cup, but the coffee had grown cold so he set it aside. “But it will be much more than that. We hope to do more than merely look. We hope to meet.”

“On Chestnut Mountain.”

“Yes.”

“What makes you think aliens from outer space are going to land up there?”

“We have people who have done all sorts of research, extrapolation, that sort of thing. Seems as though this is what they call a ‘hot’ area of the world for UFOs. Ms. Fleck’s sighting triggered our interest in this particular area. It also meets certain of our other criteria: Suitable elevation, isolation, adequate transportation links, available real estate, that sort of thing.”

“I see.” Winston toyed with his spoon. “So just how do you plan on issuing your invitations to all these creatures from outer space. You putting in some kind of transmitter up there or what?”

“Something like that. I must admit, I’m a bit deficient in some of the technical details. But the lab director will be coming in for the meeting and can fill you in on all that.”

“Meeting? What meeting.”

“I called the mayor and asked him if I could address folks informally, at a town meeting or something.”

“And he went for it?”

“Well, not at first. But he went along when I mentioned Mr. Carrington, and that I had a major announcement to make concerning Carrington Industries Inc. and its interest in the town.”

“Christ, Bentley Springs’ll think Carrington is building a new factory or something. Hundreds of jobs he can take credit for. Will he be in for a surprise.” A grin suddenly spread across his face. “As a matter of fact, Mr. Peabody, I think everyone’s in for a big surprise.”

He laughed as he picked up his notepad. Somehow, Peabody felt he was part of the joke.

***

Peabody shifted nervously in the metal folding chair. He could feel its cold hardness through his trousers, and the chill ran from his buttocks up his spine. He felt the beginnings of a massive headache pick up at the base of his skull where the chill ended. It was, he knew, going to be a long night.

People were wandering in, taking seats, chatting with friends and acquaintances. He opened the file he held and riffled the pages, checking once again to be sure they were all there. He glanced to his left, and a matronly woman with a shell of hair the color of blue ice smiled at him. He glanced to his other side, but Victoria Chandler was immersed in her notes and paid him no mind. She had come up that day, checking into a room three doors down at his motel. He had filled her in on what was to take place, and hoped she was ready. Hoped he was ready.

He looked out at the audience and saw the reporter, Winston Moss, come in and take a seat on the front row. He nodded as they made eye contact. He wondered how Moss would play the story.

Peabody was seated on a raised platform with several of the town’s notables. He had been introduced to the mayor, Bentley Springs, a man who obviously took great pride in his swoosh of black hair. He was curiously well tanned, with a face regularly cracked by a dazzling smile that came and went like the beacon on a lighthouse. Peabody pegged him immediately as a professional politician, small-time variety.

Springs was rapping an ornate wooden mallet on a podium. “All right, citizens,” he bawled out, flashing his smile on the audience milling around like cattle. “Let’s take your seats so we can get started.”

Chairs scraped, and the murmuring died down. About 50 people had shown up, Peabody guessed. Springs looked out at his flock with a benign expression, his hands folded in front of him on the podium. “Fellow citizens of Jupiter,” he began, “I have called this special meeting of the town board of alderpersons for a very, er, special announcement. Joining the board this evening is Mrs. Henrietta Peterson, the president of the Greater Jupiter Chamber of Commerce,” Springs shot a smile at a woman dressed in a severe red business suit sitting at the far end of the stage from Peabody, “and Mr. Randall Wainright, the executive director of the Jupiter Area Regional Development Commission.” A balding man next to Henrietta Peterson nodded his head.

“Alrighty then, let’s get to the subject at hand. I called this meeting at the request of a visitor to our fair town, Mr. Sylvester Peabody of New York City. Mr. Peabody, would you care to address our town?”

Peabody stood up and was surprised when the mayor, followed by the audience, began clapping. He waved his hand to silence them, slightly embarrassed. He sucked in a breath and opened his folder on the podium. The audience looked up at him expectantly. Winston lolled in the front row, smirking. He ignored him.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Mayor, distinguished alderpersons, and esteemed, um, officials, thank you for allowing me to be here with you this evening. As your mayor said, I asked to speak to you all because I wanted to let you know about a very momentous event about to happen here in Jupiter.” He paused and looked out to gauge the reaction so far, but the crowd sat in polite silence. He resumed. “I represent Carrington Industries Inc. Mr. Conrad Carrington, specifically. And Carrington Industries Inc., Mr. Carrington, that is, has selected Jupiter out of all the towns and cities in the country, the world actually, as the site of a major new research facility. An institution, if you will, devoted to the scientific pursuit of, um, research.”

Murmuring started up, and Peabody could see people exchanging puzzled looks with their neighbors. He risked a glance back and saw Springs frowning at him. Not quite the big new industry coming to town that he had expected.

“Um, well, groundbreaking for the facility will commence immediately at the site we have purchased on, um, Chestnut Mountain. I think the benefits of such a development speak for themselves.”

Peabody looked out at the audience again and decided that perhaps they didn’t. “You see, um, such a research facility, staffed by scientists and, er, researchers, will create great economic benefits here. Not to mention the fact that Jupiter will be in the national spotlight as the center for this, er, research.”

“What kind of research will you be doing in this facility?” a voice called out. It was Winston.

Peabody swallowed. “Um, why don’t I let the facility’s director answer those technical questions. May I introduce Dr. Victoria Chandler.”

Victoria walked briskly to the podium, and Peabody stood aside to make room. He looked longingly at his uncomfortable folding chair, but decided to remain standing in case she needed back up.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” Victoria began, scanning the audience quickly before donning a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. She had done her hair up in a bun and worn her powder blue suit, her “power suit” as she thought of it, the one that made her look like a no-nonsense bank executive or financial analyst, and forged on. “As Mr. Peabody said, I am Dr. Victoria Chandler, and I am, I will be, the director of the facility once it begins operations.”

“We’re all still waiting to know what it will be operating on,” Winston interjected. She looked up and Winston saw a flash of irritation in her gray-green eyes. He had a fleeting image of the sea, foam-flecked waves crashing on a beach. Despite her efforts to hide it, she was not unattractive, Winston decided. And vaguely familiar.

“I am getting to that,” she said in a tight voice. “Jupiter has been chosen as the site of the world’s foremost, most advanced, state-of-the-art extraterrestrial communications and contact facility. The Carrington Center for Cosmic Communication.”

She paused and looked up again. Winston twisted around in his seat. The meeting hall was dead quiet. Mouths gaped. Feet twitched. Winston grinned as he spun back around. The mayor was muttering something to the man on his left, Horace Goodbody, the vice mayor.

“Um, Ms. Chandler, is it?” Winston said, breaking the silence, “do you mind elaborating a little?”

She shot him a glance like a dart out of a gun. “It’s doctor. Dr. Chandler, please,” she said through clenched teeth. Peabody stood beside her perspiring. “Yes. I will. Once the facility is up and running, we will be engaged in the scientific search for intelligent life in the immediate vicinity.” As the crowd began to mutter, she hastened to add, “The immediate cosmic vicinity. This region of the space. You see, we have reason to believe that extraterrestrials have been visiting our solar system for some time, and have in fact made repeated visits to our planet. And this area, here around Jupiter, seems to have some attraction for them. We hope to entice them to make contact with us. Here.”

“Outer space aliens in Jupiter?” a voice cried out. “Reckon they can’t be worse than any of them other tourists.” This drew guffaws from the crowd.

“Please, ladies and gentlemen,” Victoria said sternly, “this is a most serious matter. This is serious scientific research.” She looked over at Peabody, who had taken out a handkerchief and was busy wiping his brow. “The potential here is enormous,” she continued, leaning over the podium. “Think about what it would mean, to actually make contact with a species from another planet. A whole different race of creatures, a completely different civilization. Think what we could learn. Think what it would mean.”

“I think it would mean more flatlanders coming up here wandering around lookin’ up at the sky,” said the wit who had scored earlier with the crowd. There was more laughter.

At this, Bentley Springs was on his feet like a cat. Smoothly, he glided to Victoria’s side and held up his hand. “Now, now, folks, simmer down, simmer down. Let’s remember to be neighborly to these good folks. After all, it sounds to me like they will make some mighty fine neighbors, don’t it? Scientists and the like. And you’re right, Hamby,” he directed this at the voice in the audience, “this just might draw some more folks here to Jupiter. A whole new tourist attraction. Why, if we play our cards right, Jupiter just might become the alien capital of the world!”

An angry voice cut through the excited chatter that followed the mayor’s pronouncement. “That’s right,” the stentorian voice bellowed. “You think it will be great to have a bunch of little green men running around town, attracting the tourists.”

Winston twisted around again, and saw that it was Nell Fleck in an old Army fatigue jacket standing at the back of the hall.

“It’ll be just great,” she went on. “Hell, they’ll be buying groceries at Food World, filling up their flying saucer down at Willy’s Gas ‘n’ Go, sucking up coffee at J.D.’s,” she snorted.

“Or more likely,” she added darkly, scowling at the room, “they’ll be zapping you with their ray guns, hauling you away for God knows what kind of awful experiments aboard their ships, or taking you back to live in a zoo. Bah! I’m telling you folks, I know. I know what they’re like. They’re out to take over our world. And they’re going to start right here, in Jupiter! And these scientists,” she spat out the word like it had a bad taste, “want to invite them on in!”

She stood glaring around the room. “Well, says I, over my dead body! I for one intend to fight them. The next alien sets foot in Jupiter will see the business end of my shotgun!”

Winston scribbled furiously, and looked up at the podium. The woman had turned beet red and was clenching her papers so hard they shook. Peabody next to her seemed to be choking into his handkerchief. Only the mayor was taking it all in with equilibrium.

“Now, now, Nell. Calm down. Nobody’s going to be taking over Jupiter as long as I’m mayor.” He turned to Victoria and Peabody, and said in a low voice, “You’uns will have to excuse Ms. Fleck there. She’s been through a lot lately. Had quite a shock there. And, of course,” he added, as though it explained everything, “she’s a veteran.”

He was interrupted by another voice, as a chubby, gray-suited man who with one hand was stretching a white collar that seemed to be two sizes too small for his beefy neck and with the other clutched a large black book stood up in the middle of the crowd. He gestured with the book and called out: “It’s the devil.”

Turning back to the audience, Springs plastered a beatific grin on his face. “Rev. Alabaster Coyne. Did you want the floor?”

“Indeed I do, Mr. Mayor,” the preacher affirmed, his florid features reddening further. “This is the devil’s work here.” He looked the crowd over professionally. “The devil, I say, has come to Jupiter! And at the risk of our reputation for gracious Southern hospitality, I must inform our visitors from up north,” this he sneered, as though they were emissaries from hell itself, “that we don’t cotton to heathens who traffic with Satan and his minions.”

This stirred the crowd, and there were a few muttered “amens.”

Thus encouraged, the preacher steamed ahead. “This is a God-fearing community, ladies and gentlemen, and we don’t need outsiders coming in and inviting visitors from Down Below to come up and camp out here in our fair town. We got us enough of those heathen types out in the woods right now, running around half naked and doing God only knows what.”

“Sir,” Victoria said desperately, struggling to retain her composure as she felt the whole evening slipping out of control, “we are scientists and...”

“I know all about science, madam,” Coyne waved her off. “Ape lovers and evolutionists, the lot of you. You don’t believe in Satan, but I’m here to tell you that he exists.” Coyne waved the Bible in the air. “Yes, sir, he may be walking the streets of Jupiter right now. And I warn you, if you proceed with your plans, you will bring fire and brimstone out of the sky - not creatures from some other realm.”

“All right, thank you for that, um, spiritual advice,” Springs said smoothly, waving the minister back into his seat.

Springs paused, then held his hands up as though giving the crowd a benediction. “Folks,” he said in soothing tones, “it is apparent to me that we have some slight disagreement in what to make of this news tonight. Let me remind you first, however, that we must extend our every hospitality to our guests,” and here he swept his hand to include Victoria and Peabody, the former standing rigid and the later pausing in his anxious scan for an easily accessible exit from the room.

“And let me remind you, second, that this development will be moving forward with the blessing of the town of Jupiter.” He eyed them severely. “And I think we should make the most of this. Despite what any of us may believe, what we have here is, short and simple, an opportunity. An opportunity for Jupiter to make a real name for itself. An opportunity to show these good folks what a wonderful place Jupiter is. An opportunity to make history. An opportunity to help all mankind and, not incidentally,” and here he leaned over the podium and winked, “ourselves.”

***

“That,” Victoria said with a heavy sigh, “was about as bad as it gets.”

“Oh, no, Dr. Chandler, it gets worse. Much worse.” Peabody looked over at her in the car and chuckled. The lights from the town flickered on her face. She looked tired as she rested her head on her hand, her arm propped up beside the window. She didn’t respond.

“You see, Dr. Chandler, you can’t tell about these folks. They’re not like the people we’re used to. Oh, no. Not at all.”

“No?” It was a disinterested question, and she stared out the windshield at the town gliding by. Peabody turned left onto the highway that would take them out to the motel.

“They’re ... different,” Peabody continued, feeling philosophical. “More ... earthy.”

“Is that your condescending way of saying they’re hicks and rednecks?” Victoria said wryly, turning to look at him.

He laughed. “You might say that. But cunning in their own way. Like that reporter. You know, the one I told you about. He was there tonight, on the front row, asking questions.”

She frowned. “Oh. Him. Yes, a snake, like all reporters. Can’t trust them at all. We would do well to stay away from him.”

Peabody stifled another chuckle. “Well, that may be hard to do, my dear.” He pulled into the motel and parked the car. He turned to face her, the light from the “Mountain Dew Motor Cour” sign flashing on her face. “You have an appointment with him tomorrow morning to fill him in on the project.”