The Wanderer

The jeep that had brought Major Humphreys down the gully from the heights still growled behind him and stared with its unnecessary headlights. One of the two soldiers with him sat at the wheel, the other stood at his side. The heavily-armed soldier on guard at the gate stood outside the fence in the dark doorway of the guard tower. His eyes were on the major. His submachine gun was in shadow except for a purple ring showing on the muzzle.

Major Humphreys had the thoughtful eyes and downturned mouth of a schoolteacher, but right now his dominant expression was the same as that of the soldier on guard — tension masking dread.

Paul, his soft, handsome face firmed a bit by the responsibility he felt, said: “I was hoping it would be you, Major. This saves a lot of trouble.”

“You’re lucky, because I didn’t come on your account,” Major Humphreys retorted sharply, then added in a rush: “A few others of the L.A. section made it before the Coast Highway went. We’re hoping the rest will arrive by the Valley — over Monica Mountainway or through Oxnard. Or we’ll lift them out by ’copter — especially Cal Tech. Pasadena really got it in the second quake.” He checked himself with a frown and a headshake, as if irritated at having impulsively said that much. Then he continued loudly, speaking over the flurry of exclamations from the saucerites. “Well, Paul, I haven’t got all night — in fact, I haven’t got a minute. Why’d you come by the beach gate? I recognize Miss Gelhorn, of course—” He nodded curtly toward Margo — “But who are the others?” His gaze flickered across the saucer students, pausing doubtfully at Ross Hunter’s full brown beard.

Paul hesitated.

Doc, looking like a long-faced, modern day Socrates with his hairless dome and thick glasses, cleared his throat and prepared to risk all by rumbling: “We are clerical members of Mr. Hagbolt’s section.” He suspected that this was one of those moments when a large white bluff is essential.

But Doc had hesitated a fractional second too long. The Little Man, pushing to the front between him and Wojtowicz, fixed the major with a benign stare. A confident smile nestled under his brush mustache as he said with lawyer-like glibness: “I am secretary and we are all members in good standing of the Southern California Meteor and UFO Students. We were holding an eclipse symposium at the Rodgers beach house, having signed permission from the Rodgers estate and — although it was not strictly needed — approval from your own headquarters.”

Doc groaned, fringe-audibly.

Major Humphreys froze. “Flying saucer bugs?”

“That’s right,” the Little Man retorted sweetly. “But please — not bugs — students.” His left arm was jerked back and he rocked onto his heels as Ragnarok, in a flurry of uneasy effacement, tugged at the leash.

“Students,” Major Humphreys echoed doubtfully, looking them up and down, almost, Paul thought, as if he were going to demand to see their college registration cards.

Paul said earnestly: “Their cars were buried in a landslide along with mine, Major. Miss Gelhorn and I would hardly have got here without their help. There’s nowhere for them to go now. One of them has had a heart attack and one is a child.”

Major Humphreys’ gaze hesitated at Rama Joan, who was standing behind Hunter. She stepped forward around him and showed all of herself — her shoulder-length, red-gold hair and her white-tie evening clothes — then smiled gravely and made a little bow. Ann, with her matching red-gold braids, came forward beside her. They looked as strangely beautiful and as insultingly perverse as an Aubrey Beardsley illustration for The Yellow Book.

“I’m the child,” Ann explained coolly.

“I see,” Major Humphreys said, nodding rapidly as he turned away. “Look, Paul,” he said hurriedly. “I’m sorry about this, but Vandenberg Two can’t possibly take in quake refugees. That question’s already been explored and decided. We have our own vital work, and an emergency only tightens security regulations.”

“Hey,” Wojtowicz broke in. “You’re saying the quakes were really big in L.A. County?”

“You can see the fires, can’t you?” Major Humphreys snapped at him. “No, I can’t answer questions. Come in through the tower, Paul. And Miss Gelhorn — by herself.”

“But these people aren’t ordinary refugees, Major,” Paul protested. “They’ll be helpful. They’ve already made some interesting deductions about the Wanderer.”

As soon as he spoke that last word, the gold-and-purple orb, momentarily out of mind, was once again dominating their thoughts.

Major Humphreys’ fingers gripped through the mesh as he drew his face dose to Paul’s. In a voice in which suspicion, curiosity, and fear were oddly mixed, he demanded: “Wanderer? Where did you get that name? What do you know about the…body?”

“Body?” Doc cut in exasperatedly. “Any fool can see by now it’s a planet. Currently the moon’s orbiting behind it.”

“We’re not responsible for it, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Rama chimed in lightly. “We didn’t conjure it up there.”