Alan Foster - The Metrognome and Other Stories

Goldberg left the car and headed straight for the barn. The youngest of the three scientists put out a hand to restrain her before Chester could do so verbally.

"Better hold off a minute, Sarah."

She whirled, glared at him. "Why wait?"

Jean Calumet kept a hand on her even as he continued to regard the object set so temptingly near, up in the loft. The yellow glow was bright on olive, smooth skin. "I'm as curious to be into it as you are, Sarah, but remember where we are."

"So where are we?" she snapped, irritated at the delay.

"On another man's property," the diminutive Cajun told her. "This isn't Los Angeles or even Houston. People out here have archaic notions about things like property rights. We'd better wait till we have a chance to explain ourselves."

So while Goldberg and Tut groaned at the wait and Chester nodded gratefully to Calumet, they stood and fidgeted until several lights came on inside the house.

Two lean hairy shapes raced out of the front door, barking furiously. The cluster of visitors stood their ground, even Perham Tut, who would have returned to the safety of the car if it hadn't been for the disgusted look he received from Sarah Goldberg.

The dogs sniffed each of them in turn, then trotted quietly back toward the house, satisfied in the notable way of dogs that the newcomers presented no immediate threat to their masters.

A tall, clean-shaven man in his middle or late forties sallied forth to greet them. He was wearing a pair of threadbare blue jeans, a tired flannel shirt, and boots, all obviously donned in haste. He was even taller than Tut, though not nearly as massive. The thin adolescent who trailed slightly behind him was a couple of inches taller still.

"Evening," he said pleasantly. "I don't believe I know you all."

Chester stepped forward, identified himself and his companions with names only. The man shook hands with the men, nodded at Goldberg.

"I'm Jesse Shattuck; this is my son, David," he told them. "Can we help you folks with something? We don't get many visitors this time of night, strangers or otherwise."

A strong voice sounded from the door. "You gonna all stand out there in the cold like a covey of paralyzed quail? Come on in and have some coffee and pie."

"In a minute, Mother!" the man yelled back at her. A screen door clattered shut by way of reply. The man looked back at Chester expectantly.

"We're up from Houston," the major told him, deciding that this man could tell truth from lie quicker than Chester could think up fresh deceptions. "I'm in the Air Force, attached to the National Aeronautics and Space Administration's Manned Space Center in Houston." He gestured behind him.

"My friends are all scientists. We've been out hunting around this part of the country for over a month."

"We've been looking for that," Goldberg interrupted, pointing toward the barn, talking twice as fast as Chester. "Thank you for finding it for us. We'll see that you receive a suitable reward."

That closed the matter as far as the scientists were concerned, and they started toward the barn. Chester started to say something but was interrupted by a disarming wave from Shattuck, who indicated that they should head toward the barn also.

Together they stood in the open space below the loft, staring mesmerized into its alien radiance.

"Is it safe there?" Tut finally whispered, breaking the spell the object's beauty had cast over them. "It's right near the edge . . . it could fall out."

"Huh uh," Shattuck assured him. "There's a couple of braces holding the base steady and a rope around its bottom under the hay. I don't reckon it would hurt it none if it did tumble out." Entranced by mere sight of the object, the three scientists failed to note the rancher's evaluation.

"What are you counting, Jean?" Goldberg asked her young colleague, noticing that his mouth was moving silently as he stared at the object.

"The facets. I can't call them sides; the thing's too much like a jewel to me." He squinted into the soft glare. "If the rest of the artifact matches what's visible, I would estimate a total of twenty-four sides, not counting projections such as the apparent antennae.

"That suggests they could have a system based on two, three, four, six, eight, twelve, or twenty-four, and that's only if their mathematics conform in any way to our own. Ten sides would have made things a lot simpler."

"Not necessarily," countered Perham Tut through pursed lips. "The twenty-four sides might be merely decorative, having no mathematical significance whatsoever."

"That's true," admitted Calumet reluctantly.

"We'll find out as soon as we can get it back to the lab and begin taking it apart," Goldberg informed them in her half-gentle, half-shrill tones. "How do we go about getting it down?" She faced the quiet Shattuck. "How did you get it up there in the first place?"

"Put it in a wire net and used the hay lift," the rancher explained easily.

"We might," suggested Tut, rubbing his chin, "fit it in the back of the wagon. That would save some time."

"No, no," objected Goldberg, speaking as though correcting a child. "Look how bright it is already. Do you want to drive all the way back to Houston with it shining like a spotlight out the car windows? One reporter finds out, and we'll never be able to study this at the proper pace. No, we need a panel truck or a small van." She eyed Chester. "You can get this for us, Major?"

Chester found himself nodding. "But for now," she continued briskly, "we can at least get it down for a closer look. Mr. Shamuck-"

"Shattuck," the rancher corrected her.

"Yes, Mr. Shattuck . . . if you'll be good enough to bring it down the same way-and as gently-as you took it up, it will be a help to our preliminary examination."

"Why should he?" inquired a new voice. "Is it yours?"

Everyone turned, saw Mrs. Shattuck walking toward them. She wore exactly the same attire as her husband.

"I guess if you're all goin' to stand out here in the cold and freeze, someone better be around to be ready to thaw you. out." Startlingly youthful dark eyes focused on the older woman. "I asked you a question, honey."

"Uh, no, not exactly, it doesn't," replied Goldberg, momentarily flustered by the abruptness of the question.

"What do you mean, 'not exactly'?"

"Well, while we didn't build it or . . . See here," Goldberg said, stiffening and trying to stay civil despite her mounting impatience at these irritating, continuing delays, "I don't think you realize quite what you have up in your hayloft."

"It should be clear to anyone," Tut added condescendingly, "that whatever it is, it is certainly not a Christmas decoration."

"No?" exclaimed Mrs. Shattuck, her gaze darting up to the softly humming semisphere. "How do you know? Don't you think it looks pretty up there, whatever kind of watchamaoallit it really is?"

"Umm, actually, I suppose it does," confessed Tut, taken aback. He really hadn't pondered much on the artifact's aesthetic properties.

"You admit you don't own it," she pressed relentlessly, eyes flashing.

"We said we didn't build it," Tut argued, "but in the name of the United States government, as its representatives in the search for extraterrestrial life, we, uh, hereby claim it."

She looked away from him, her mouth twisted in a disdainful grimace. Her attention settled eventually on Chester as the one actually in charge.

"What about it, mister? Is that thing legally the property of the government?"

Chester started to reply, "I don't think there's any-" and he stopped, thoughtful.

"What is this, Major?" Goldberg wanted to know. "It does belong to us . . . and the government, doesn't it?"

After a considerable pause, Chester answered,

"Frankly, I don't know. I'm a military man, Miss Goldberg, not a lawyer."