* * *
At 2 a.m., a large, saucer-shaped object slowly floated down from the sky, and landed in a field about fifteen miles from Cincinnati.
In the control tower of Cincinnati’s airport, a radar operator pointed to his screen. “Hey! We don’t have a flight due in now, do we?”
Sam Stone, the chief air traffic controller, seated at a desk in the center of the control tower, shook his head. “Nothing’s due in until 8 a.m..”
“Well, something just came into our sector.” The radar operator pointed to the screen, and Sam rolled his chair to the scope. The two watched as a blip appeared under the sweep arm.
“I don’t see its data tag,” said Sam. Commercial aircraft were equipped with a responder that identified it on the radar screen.
“Maybe it’s a UFO.”
Sam smiled. “An unidentified flying object? Sur-r-re. We’ve got invading aliens. Come on, Jim, you’ve been reading too much Science Fiction.
Suddenly the blip disappeared from the screen. Sam leaped from his chair. “Uh-oh. Whatever it is just crashed! Call highway patrol. Have them send a car out to investigate.” He read off the position.
Back in the deserted field, a hatch of the spaceship opened. From it emerged a tall, red-haired man, wearing a backpack and pushing a motorcycle. He donned a helmet waved to the spaceship and gunned the cycle toward a dirt road a few yards away. A moment later, the spaceship hatched closed and it rapidly rose into the night sky.
In the control tower, the radar operator gazing at the screen, saw what appeared to be a flash of light. In a second it was gone. He shook his head and muttered, “I’ve gotta see about getting my eyes examined. I think I need new eyeglasses.”
Sam said, “Did you say something?”
The radar operator shook his head. “Just talking to myself.”
The motorcyclist watched the spaceship soar into the night sky, then sped down the dirt road until, reaching a paved highway, stopped. The driver removed his helmet, consulted a map he removed from his pocket and took off again toward Cincinnati. The cycle rounded a curve, then was gone from sight.
Moments later, a highway patrol car pulled up at the site from which the motorcycle had left. An officer got out and with a flashlight examined the surrounding area. He spotted the dirt road, got back in his patrol car and slowly drove down the dirt road until he reached a large open field. He spoke into a radiophone. “Car 26 calling control.”
“Twenty-six, this is control.”
“I’m at the field you directed me to. I don’t see anything that looks like a downed aircraft.”
“Roger that, twenty-six. I guess it was a mistake.”
At 3 A.M., the motorcyclist drove slowly down a street in a suburban area of Cincinnati. The plain, frame houses on both sides of the street were dark, the street deserted except for a few cars parked in driveways and at the curb. After glancing at a slip of paper on which was written an address, the cyclist killed the engine and walked the machine up the driveway of one of the houses. From his backpack, he retrieved a remote and clicked open the garage door. A Buick sedan occupied one side of the garage, a lawn mower, other garden tools and a bicycle took up some of the remaining space. The cyclist maneuvered his machine to an empty corner, parked it and placed his helmet on the seat.
As he closed the garage door with the remote, a door at the back of the garage opened and a smiling figure appeared at the opening. “Xam! Welcome to Earth—and Cincinnati!”
He threw his arms open and gave Xam a bear hug.
“Good to see you, Kentu,” said Xam.
Kentu, like the other men from his planet was slim and red-haired. Although fairly tall, he was slightly shorter than Xam.
Kentu held Xam at arm’s length. “You look great. Incidentally, here I’m known as Ken. And we’ll have to do something about your name.”
“What’s wrong with my name?”
Ken shook his head. “Xam sounds like someone from outer space.”
“Well?”
They both laughed.
Ken said, “Come on in. I’ll get you settled and give you all the information you’ll need to get along here before I head back to Oh Ess Yew.”
Half an hour later, the two sat across from each other at the kitchen table sipping cups of hot chocolate.
“This stuff tastes good,” said Xam.
“Doesn’t it. I plan to take some with me when I go home. Maybe we can grow the bean that it’s made from.”
Ken explained that Xam would be the only occupant of the house. The only other person who had access was Mrs. Kowalski, a seventy-five year-old woman. “She comes in three mornings a week. She does the cleaning and cooks meals which she leaves in the refrigerator for me. She’ll do the same for you. I’ve already told her that I’m leaving, but my brother, that’s you, will be here in my place.”
“Are you here when she comes?”
Ken said, “Not always; she has her own key. If you’re concerned that she might suspect we’re not Earthlings, forget it. Mrs. Kowalsky is a great cook and house cleaner, but she doesn’t know Earth from Mars.”
“Good. House cleaning and cooking are not in my job description. What about neighbors?”
“What about neighbors?”
“Will they suspect I’m not one of them?”
Ken shook his head. “The house on one side belongs to an eighty-year-old lady who is hard of hearing and, for all I know, may be legally blind.”
“I don’t know how Earthlings figure their ages,” said Xam. “Is eighty old?”
“Eighty is old-old,” said Ken. “Anyway, on the other side is a couple in their seventies. I think they’re European immigrants. The only time I see them is when they walk their dog. If I’m outside, they nod in my direction. They’ve never spoken to me. Across the street is a couple in their fifties. They both work at something that entails travel. They leave for weeks at a time. When they’re home, they leave early in the morning and get home late at night. We wave the few times we’re in sight of each other. I don’t even know the other people on the street.”
“No families? You know, with kids?”
“There may be one or two down the street, but the kids are all infants or very young, at least they don’t play outdoors. If they do, it’s in their own backyards. No, I haven’t had any contact with neighbors, and I don’t think you will either.”
Xam asked Ken what he had been doing while he was here.
“I’m a free lance writer. I’ve written articles for magazines. I’ve also written a book.”
Xam said, I’m impressed. What do you write about?”
“Astronomy. My book is what they call Science-Fiction. It’s titled ”Travels in Outer Space.”
Xam nodded, “Except it isn’t really fiction, is it?”
“Nah. But they don’t know that. The publisher thinks I have a great imagination. He doesn’t know it’s for real. Incidentally, what do you plan to do here on Earth?”
Xam cleared his throat. “I’m going to play professional football.”
Ken stared at him for a moment, then broke out laughing. “You’re joking, of course.”
Xam shook his head. “No, I’ve been watching their games. I know I can do it.”
“I remember you were an outstanding athlete, Xam, but professional football? We’re talking 300-pound, six-foot-five monsters. You get under a pile of these giants and you’ll be reduced to a grease spot.”
Xam shrugged. “I’m fast and I’m strong. I’m going to give it a try.”
Ken smiled. “Well, good luck, buddy. You don’t know what you’re letting yourself in for.”