“Why haven’t these aliens revealed themselves to us?” she asked.
“They know how disruptive it would be to human culture. We’ve seen this in our own world: when an indigenous people come in contact with technologically advanced Western society, their own culture is almost inevitably destroyed.”
“So you’re saying we’re sort of like a primitive tribe, living in a nature preserve, protected from contact with the outside world,” said Skip.
“Exactly,” said Bitan.
“My next question,” Nora said, “is why did the government give you a permit to excavate? It’s federal land, and you got a federal permit. If the government was trying to cover it up, why let you dig? It doesn’t make sense.”
At this, Bitan turned to Tappan. “That’s in your court.”
“This is BLM land, which is under the Department of the Interior. I got the permit directly from the Secretary of the Interior, who happens to be an old friend of mine. Years ago, between high school and college, we met as rafting guides in the Grand Canyon. He was my sternman. That’s like being war buddies—you really get to know your fellow boatmen. Anyway, when I first applied for the permit, there was some pushback out of left field—and then it was suddenly dropped. Interior went ahead with the permit with, I might add, the backing of the president. I’m also in the wind-power business, and we’re involved with Interior on some of our larger projects. So, yes, I got the permit through the help of some very powerful connections.” Tappan shook his head. “We never could figure out where those objections came from, but I’d guess there are some people deep in the Pentagon unhappy about what we’re doing. They withdrew their pressure before drawing attention to themselves.”
“Yes,” said Bitan. “And that’s why I showed Lucas how to check his car for explosive devices!” He laughed loudly at his joke. “Do you have any other questions?”
“Just one more. If these aliens had the advanced technological capability of interstellar travel, how is it that they stupidly crashed their spaceship?”
Bitan looked at her a long time. “I’ve asked myself that, too.”
There was a long silence.
“Well?” Nora asked.
He gave a little smile. “The only answer I can come up with is that even aliens make mistakes.”
Nora had the sudden, distinct feeling that Bitan was not being straight in his answer; that he had another theory, one he didn’t wish to share.
“I know why,” Skip said out of the blue.
All eyes turned to him.
“Those alien pilots just can’t hold their liquor.”
There was a moment in which nobody spoke. And then, suddenly, the room erupted in laughter. Skip grinned, obviously pleased with himself. Already, Nora thought, he looked at home here.
5
THE MAN WITH chestnut-colored hair locked the door carefully behind him, trotted down the front steps, then—as was his habit—paused to gaze around and breathe in the morning air. It was a crisp spring day, the kind Virginia rewarded its inhabitants with after a cold, wet winter. The residential street was quiet, the tidy houses still asleep in dappled shade.
As he stood there, steeling himself for the morning commute, he saw his neighbor, Bill Fossert, descend his front steps. This was unusual: it was quarter to eight, and Bill, an investment banker, usually left for work around nine. Maybe he had an early meeting.
Fossert saw him as well and paused. “Hey, Lime.”
The man with chestnut hair nodded in return. “Fossert.”
“Looks like another nice day,” the man said, glancing up as if to divine the weather through the labyrinth of tree branches.
“Looks like,” Lime replied.
“Last cold front of the winter coming in this weekend, though.”
“So I heard.”
“Well,” the neighbor said, “I’ve got to run. Nice seeing you.”
“Likewise.”
Bill Fossert stopped at the front door of his car. “We’ll have you over for dinner,” he called out. “It’s been too long.”
Lime, who by now had reached his own Subaru, smiled in return. “Sounds good.”
He got into the car and waited while Fossert started up his BMW 5 Series, backed it down the driveway, and headed off. There was a time when he’d been pretty chummy with the Fosserts. Lime had shown Fossert how to change the spark plug in his snowblower, and how to remove the ground loop causing 60-cycle hum in his expensive sound system. Fossert’s wife had been close to Caitlyn, especially once Cait got pregnant. But time had passed, and now Lime only met Fossert by accident—like today—to exchange pleasantries and invitations that were never followed up on.