The Silver Bridge (13 page)

It happened in Norway in 1930, two years before her parents emigrated to the United States. She was returning from a neighbor’s house after dark, and had to cross a wide field in the course of the quarter mile distance.

She dreaded this part of her walk, for from that vantage point the old graveyard at the top of the hill to the left of her home was in view. Her two brothers once declared they saw moving lights in the cemetery, and one of them had floated out of the small burial grounds and part of the way down the hill toward them, giving them quite a fright. She feared she also might see the lights.

She turned her eyes to the ground and the moonlit path, determined not to look. Then from behind her, and seemingly from far away, came a low chanting. It had an unfamiliar rhythm which afterward she could never reconstruct in her mind—although she had often tried to remember it. It fascinated her, and she stopped walking, somehow unafraid, to look for its source.

From the shadows of the woods emerged something incomprehensible. At that distance it appeared as an enormous moving gray mass. It was approaching her rapidly, and the chanting was becoming louder. Not even then did she have an impulse to flee. She was drawn, ecstatically, to the approaching thing, which appeared larger, almost as huge as the mountain it had emerged from. She must have been hypnotized, she later reasoned, by the strange voices.

Now the mass was almost upon her, and she discerned it was composed of thousands of giant beings of inexplicable character. At first they seemed to be moving, up and down, over and under, like horses on a merry-go-round; but as they advanced she realized their movements were more complex than that. Although they moved upward and downward, they did so as if they were in an almost infinite variety of circular orbits, changing these orbits as they went. Some of them almost touched the ground, at their lowest points, while others moved high above her. They moved relentlessly, with the precision of clockwork, as if they were attached to a vast complex of shuttles and eccentric wheels within wheels.

The cloud of beings was now enveloping and passing her. Although they did not touch her, as they moved all around and over her, she sensed they were not material creatures. They were pale gray, and looked more like statues than living things. Later they would remind her of the exaggerated elongation and stylization in painting and sculpture of the Middle Ages. They wore page boy-style haircuts, though she could not tell if they were men or women. Their faces, though benign in appearance, were completely emotionless. They had long robes, which again, like statuary, did not flow or move.

Only the beings which swung low in their orbits, close enough for her to touch them, displayed any irregularity from the rest of the monotonous progression. These held out clenched, inverted hands toward her, as if offering presents. In her fascination and lack of fear, she extended her open hands to receive what was apparently offered; however as each hand opened mechanically just above hers, nothing dropped from it. This imaginary, inexplicable presentation continued, along with the complex movement of the vast cloud of beings, for what seemed to be five or ten minutes, all the time accompanied by the chanting from some unseen source: for the lips of the beings were cold and immobile, as if carved from stone.

Finally, the procession had passed; and it receded, just as it had arrived, turning back into the undefinable mass and moving across the mountain at the other side of the valley. As it departed the chanting dimmed, and only when she could no longer hear it did she move toward home. Still she was not frightened, and walked the rest of the distance home at her normal pace.

For months afterward she would dream she heard the chanting. She would awaken, and for a few brief moments she could remember the rhythm. Then it would escape her, and she would listen for it again. She would close her eyes and hope to dream again about it.

Janet wanted one more look at the golden ball before Mr. Willett closed the heavy vault door. She walked in front of the circular opening. There it was, in the corner, resting on a shelf, still glowing, even in the dim interior of the vault.

She hoped Mr. White would not call for and remove it the next day, for she would like the opportunity to hold and examine it again, as she had done briefly when he handed it to her earlier that afternoon. As she had carefully supported it with both hands, a feeling of perfect calm had come over her. It must, indeed, have come from outer space—there was something undefinable about it that declared it was of another world.

But she feared what he probably would do with the ball. Mr. Willett had remarked that White’s discovery of the object would no doubt make him a wealthy man. Its metallic value probably was fantastic, and that would be multiplied many times by its value as a wealthy collector’s item, museum piece, or if it were purchased by the government.

If it were her’s she would not sell it. It would be a too beautiful, too sacred thing to part with.

Perhaps he would leave it in the bank vault for a few days. Perhaps she could hold it again. Or just look at it occasionally, as it rested there.

CHAPTER 10

INDRID COLD

I
ndrid Cold adjusted his flying cap and held up the reflector. A greatly enlarged version of himself startled him; then he turned the shaving mirror and looked into the normal side. The cap gave him a jaunty appearance. It had appeared, as had so many other things, quite suddenly inside the chest of utility.

He glanced at his panion, Carl Ardo, for approval, but he was busy at working the controls.

“How about taking ’er down into a tailspin?” he suggested.

Carl looked up.

“I’m in for it. Hold on, and we’ll try it again!”

Carl was in extraordinarily good spirits, probably because of the brand-new uniforms they had suddenly been gifted with, just an hour or so before the appearance of the flying caps. These were indeed more comfortable than the shiny, metallic garb they had discarded, and even more so than when they had worn no clothing at all. They had been so cold then.

Other changes in the spaceship had been for the better: The ancient CB radio set, which really had no function other than to squeal, had been replaced with shiny new gear, with a bright, wide silver screen, on which entertaining and rapidly dissolving scenes appeared. They displayed what clearly must be other worlds, with fantastic cities, wild, everchanging colors, and happy people, smiling and exhibiting their beautiful nude bodies. Indrid speculated why he had been so uncomfortable before he had received his first clothing. Perhaps it had something to do with the atmosphere of this planet.

Other improvements were still needed, however. The spaceship could be larger and roomier, and better control was desired, particularly in rough air, where it bounced uncomfortably, once having thrown Carl and him against the ceiling and bloodied his nose—that had rapidly, almost magically healed, however.

And the old-fashioned, overstuffed sofa was still there. It was anachronistic with the modern design of the spaceship. But these flaws were minor, and their craft probably would make drivers of other spaceships green with envy—if, indeed, there were other such ships (Indrid had not seen any of them yet). Surely he and Carl could not be the only drivers gamboling in the air envelope of this planet.

Other improvements no doubt would come shortly. He hoped the Interpreter would improve the one wall, obviously hurriedly built to complete the spaceship. It consisted of rough clapboards, probably torn from some long unpainted house. And he should appreciate the shining pair of seat belts which had appeared at about the time they received the flying caps. These would prevent future bloody noses, though he noted that Carl had unfastened his, preferring not to use them. When the wall was refurbished, Indrid hoped it would be replaced by a large screen, like the smaller one, so that he could look at the happy people and see them in better detail.

The other wall, if not refurbished soon, could conceivably break. For it had a cloudy and indistinct appearance, and was becoming transparent. Even now, Indrid could see through it darkly, watch the surface of the planet pass by, somewhat out of focus. The outlines of the rivers, the counties and the states, could be seen more clearly than yesterday, and he could almost make out the name of the town, Parkersburg, which, of course, showed up perfectly clear on their guiding light screen. As they would descend, those outlines would dovetail into bridges, rivers, cities and houses. They had sometimes flown close, and enjoyed seeing the culture units at work and play. Indrid wished he could fly even closer, and even land and talk to these people—but the Interpreter had imposed certain limits.

Perhaps he could make friends with these culture units, who did not want to be friendly with him. It had been said by the Interpreter that if they flew too close, and attempted to wave and smile at them, these creatures would turn dischargers on them (“large guns”—that had been the term, and not “dischargers”) and wound them. He was certain the Interpreter was correct about this, but still he was sad about it, and thought that not all of the culture units would do this.

Indrid wondered if he would die if these units really turned these dischargers toward them. This might be strange and fascinating—dying. These creatures would lift your body with love, and would bear it in great ceremony, and speak of you kindly; and there would be vibrations of high and low frequencies.

Dying would be interesting, even fun, for you could watch what they did with you. And they would remember you, and build memorials to you, and you would go on flying, darting and gamboling, in the memories of these creatures.

But with those who displeased the Interpreter, he had been told it was another matter. These unfortunate drivers simply vanished, without trace, and nobody built memorials to them; nobody remembered nor loved them. Or sometimes they were just transformed, their shiny uniforms stripped from them, and there being substituted suits of dark mourning. They were forever bound to Earth, condemned to walk in sidewise motion, to be feared, to be unloved.

Indrid had once listened raptly, as the Interpreter, in a talkative mood, had told him of the people who moved among the stars, who explored the universe, wandering among a trillion suns, never visiting the same place twice in the everquest for new things. The Interpreter had shown some of these places on the screen, and Indrid was very thankful to him for doing this.

Carl probably never thought of these things. He was methodical, and he sat there, constantly turning and adjusting the controls, and saying messages into the volume box.

Indrid would like to be free, to fly to these outer climes; but of course there were the silver cables, tied to his hands and feet, also similarly to Carl’s body, and to the spaceship itself. Through the walls of the spaceship, they stretched downward, sometimes hanging loosely in great arcs, sometimes taunt. The attachments did not seem to bother Carl.

These silver cables were the impediment, he felt, which separated him from the lush scenes on the screen. He could take one of the wire cutters and disengage them, but that would no doubt displease the Interpreter.

There was a tug on one of the cables or cords. Indrid looked at the horizon and saw there the huge emotionless smiling face, with the orange triangles of fire surrounding it.

It reminded him that dawn had broken and that they would have to descend, and hide out, until another sundown.

CHAPTER 11

TAD JONES

N
orth of Charleston, W.Va., Route 60 was cloaked in a double pall. As I drove through South Charleston which, oddly but true, is actually located
North
of the main city, the cold intermittent rain, coupled with the smog of the great chemical-industral complex, made visibility difficult, even at 4:00 P.M. I turned off 60 and crept along with other traffic on mud-stained secondary and temporary roads, hoping how soon I might reach Institute, my destination.

Stretching above, to my right, were the slaughtered hillsides, whose gaping, muddy wounds displayed the first ravages of the approaching interstate highway. inching its way toward the city, with the angry roaring of heavy bulldozers giving the impression of a vast unsatiated monster. As it advanced in its slow but irresistible assault it forced detours and snarled traffic.

But when the great new road was finished, it would contrast sharply with the decaying local streets and crowded thoroughfares that served the chemical metropolis and had long ago become inadequate for the burgeoning population and traffic.

I had been doing taped interviews with Hugh McPherson, of WTIP in Charleston, when he had given me the lead I wanted on a dramatic UFO sighting, involving an otherworldly vehicle which belied its sophistication by resting on old-fashioned airplane landing gear.

“I suppose you know that Tad Jones has disappeared, bag and baggage,” he told me off the air, and I replied in the negative.

“I know someone who can give you a good line on this. He was a close friend of Jones and he has also experienced some weird sightings himself. And he’s no crackpot. His name is Ralph Jarrett, an engineer at Carbide.”

He looked up the number and I telephoned Jarrett at work, arranged to see him at home at 5:00 P.M.

“Don’t forget to ask him to show you the saucer detector he’s built,” Hugh urged. “It’s a scientific device which is supposed to detect the presence of UFOs.”