The Man Who Fell to Earth

“Only a few human beings,” Newton said. “Only a few.” Abruptly, he stood up and said, “I think I’ve had quite enough of Chicago. Would you like to go home?”

“Now?” Bryce looked at his watch. My God, two-thirty in the morning. Christmas was over.

“Do you think you’ll sleep tonight anyway?” Newton said.

He shrugged, “I guess not.” And then, remembering what Betty Jo had said, “You don’t sleep at all, do you?”

“Sometimes I sleep,” Newton said, “but not often.” He sat down beside the telephone, “I’ll have to have our pilot wakened. And we’ll need a car to take us to the airport….”

Getting a car was difficult; they did not arrive at the airport until four o’clock. By that time Bryce was beginning to feel dizzy, and there was a faint buzzing in his ears. Newton showed no signs of fatigue. His face, as usual, gave no indication of what he might be thinking.

There were confusions and several delays in getting take-off clearance, and by the time they were able to leave, flying out over Lake Michigan, a pink and gentle dawn was beginning to form.

It was daylight when they arrived at Kentucky, the beginning of a clear winter day. Coming in for the landing the first thing they saw was the brilliantly shining hull of the ship — Newton’s ferry boat — looking like a polished monument in the morning sun. And then, when they came over the airfield they saw a surprising thing. Perched elegantly at the far end of the runway, at the side of Newton’s hangar, was a beautifully streamlined, white plane, twice the size of the one they were in. On its wings were the markings of the United States Air Force. “Well,” Newton said, “I wonder who has come to visit us.”

They had to walk by the white plane on their way to the monorail, and, passing it, Bryce could not help being impressed with its beauty — its fine proportions and the grace of its lines. “If we only made everything that beautifully,” he said.

Newton was looking at the plane, too. “But you don’t,” he said.

They rode the monorail car in silence. Bryce’s arms and legs ached with the need for sleep; but his mind was full of sharp, quick images, ideas, half-formed thoughts.

He should have gone to his own house; but when Newton invited him in for breakfast, he accepted. It would be easier than finding his own food.

Betty Jo was up, wearing an orange kimono, her hair in a silk babushka; her face was worried, and her eyes were red, puffy underneath. Opening the door she said, “There’s some men here, Mr. Newton. I don’t know…” Her voice trailed off. They went past her into the living room. Seated in chairs were five men; they rose quickly when Newton and Bryce entered.

Brinnarde was in the center of the group. There were three other men in business suits, and the fourth, wearing a blue uniform, was obviously the pilot of the Air Force plane. Brinnarde introduced them, his manner efficient, noncommittal. When this was done, Newton, still standing, said, “Have you been waiting long?”

“No,” Brinnarde said, “no. In fact we had you delayed at the Chicago airport until we could get here. The timing was very good. I hope you weren’t inconvenienced too much — by the hold-up at Chicago?”

Newton showed no emotion. “How did you manage to do that?”

“Well, Mr. Newton,” Brinnarde said, “I’m with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. These men are my colleagues.”

Newton’s voice hesitated slightly. “That’s very interesting. I suppose it makes you a… a spy?”

“I suppose it does. In any event, Mr. Newton, I’ve been told to place you under arrest, and to take you with me.”

Newton took in a slow, deep, very human breath. “What are you arresting me for?”

Brinnarde smiled politely. “You’re charged with illegal entry. We believe you’re an alien, Mr. Newton.”

Newton stood silent for a long moment. Then he said, “May I have breakfast first, please?”

Brinnarde hesitated, then he smiled in a way that was surprisingly genial. “I don’t see why not, Mr. Newton,” he said. “I think we could use some food ourselves. They got up at four this morning, in Louisville, to make this arrest.”

Betty Jo fixed them scrambled eggs and coffee. While they were eating, Newton asked casually if he could call his lawyer.

“I’m afraid not,” Brinnarde said.

“Isn’t there a constitutional right about that?”

“Yes.” Brinnarde set down his coffee cup. “But you don’t have any constitutional rights. As I said, we believe you are not an American citizen.”

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