NNL February 5

“Dr. Vukovitch, I was hoping to talk to you.” Jarod pulled away from Ballard in the hall outside her lab and popped his head in the door. Olga pulled her glasses off to look at considerably taller Jarod. “When will you be free?” Jarod's voice sounded hopeful. Olga moved away from the table of specimen tubes she'd been working on.

“For dinner?” The Russian scientist kicked herself for being so forward.

“Dinner, yes.” Jarod beamed. Ballard came cruising back to his new colleague, a red sucker rolling between his skinny fingers. He sat quietly eavesdropping on their conversation.

“I'll be free at six.” Neither of them paid attention to the spectacled scientist looking up at them.

“Six is great, meet you here at the lab?” Jarod grinned. Olga agreed.

“Frank is going to give Seaborg a rough way to go when he hears this.” Ballard thought to himself. “I can't wait to tell him.” The eclectic genius popped his sucker into his mouth, avoiding laughing out loud.

Twenty minutes later....

“Hey, Olga, are you babysitting Einstein or do you want to go to a movie tonight?” Frank tapped on the door frame. A baseball went up and down, landing in one hand then the other.

“Sorry, Parker, Dr. Seaborg and I are having dinner tonight, I'm sure Donovan will go to the movies with you.” Olga didn't even look up from the microscope. Frank dropped the baseball.

“That sounds like loads of fun, NOT!” The chrononaut scoffed, stooping to pick up the baseball at Olga's feet.

“Hey, you're wearing the perfume I like, you only wear that when you go out.” Frank's fingers curled around the baseball until his joints turned white.

“Nonsense, Parker, I wear it to work quite often.” Olga turned from the microscope to look at the petulant chrononaut. Talmadge stepped in just as Frank opened his mouth to contest.

“Dr. Vukavitch, we have a meeting at eight o'clock tomorrow morning, Dr. Ballard and Dr. Seaborg will be outlining the necessary modifications. Frank, you and Donovan will be working on the interior read outs in the sphere after the meeting.” Talmadge handed Frank a file folder and left the lab.

“Excuse me, Mr. Parker, I have to freshen up before dinner, Dr. Seaborg will be here in ten minutes.” Olga's eyes lit up as she studied her slim, gold-faced watch.

“You and Einstein have fun talking about quantum physics or whatever.” Frank slouched out. Olga could hear him muttering something about alien babies as he left.

Scene Break

Las Vegas, Nevada February 5

David Barber sat at his desk, a red pen in one hand and a bologna sandwich in the other. Too many years of working from daylight to dark had left him alone and weather beaten. His first wife had left after ten years of neglect; the second after five years of the same. Barber figured he was better off married to his work anyway. Work was cheaper.

“Mr. Barber, there are people to see you, a Miss Parker and two others, from back east.” A twenty-something stringer in jeans and a t-shirt leaned his head in the editor's office. With a heavy sigh he had the boy send them in after hiding his sandwich in a drawer.

“Mr. Barber, thank you for meeting us at such a late hour.” Miss Parker sat down in the straight backed chair opposite Barber. In Las Vegas, over the years, he'd seen some beautiful, brassy women, but he hadn't seen Miss Parker. She was an eye full, with her long legs and fragile figure.

“What can I help you with, Miss Parker?” Barber eyed her fully before moving on to her companions. Barber's instincts told him something was definitely fishy. Parker's boots alone cost a year's grocery money for the old bachelor. The younger of the others had the nervous expression born of snapping to attention too often. A dark, perceptive glint to the older gentleman's eyes spoke of a survivor. His surface was calm, but Barber sensed the torrent beneath.

“I'm here about an article you wrote in March, 1970, 'UFO or Weather Balloon'.” Parker pulled out a Xeroxed copy of the article from her blazer pocket. Barber leaned back, article in hand. His hefty paunch spread his shirt buttons to their limit.

“Where did you say you were from, Miss?” Pale, grayish eyes, didn't let a single detail escape. Barber's thick, wooly eye brows pulled down to make him seem more fierce. His mind raced to recall the warning he had received all those years ago.

“Someday, someone will come asking questions. Whatever you tell them, don't tell them about what really happened.” Barber reread the article. He'd forgotten how clearly he saw things back then. The world was different; black and white. Now the old news hound lived in shades of gray.

“I didn't say, Mr. Barber.” Parker's voice dipped seductively as she leaned forward.

“I was a cub reporter back then, my editor sent me out to investigate. I asked a lot of nosy questions and got very few answers. Then I heard about Cheryl Helms from an anonymous tip left on my desk. The rest is history. Took me five years to live that story down before I got another shot at a serious piece.” It was the bare minimum and Parker knew it. Barber didn't trust her.

“Did anyone come asking questions, about the crash, either of these men perhaps?” Parker showed a picture of a young Major Charles and one of Jarod.

“I've never seen him before.” Barber handed back Jarod's picture. “This one didn't ask any questions about the crash, but I did see him at the base, he was one of the MP's who 'escorted' me off base.” The reporter tossed the black and white picture back at Miss Parker. She looked at the old editor's stony face. Both of them knew it was over.

“Thank you, Mr. Barber, have a good night.” Parker's icy voice crept up his spine like a spider. He watched them leave, waiting until they'd left the floor to turn on the crank dial radio he kept on the window sill of his modest office. A loud, gung-ho commentator called a basketball game. With sufficient cover noise, the experienced reporter grabbed the phone, and with a chubby finger, punched in a number he'd kept handy since late March, 1970.

“They showed up, just like you told me they would.” Barber listened for a moment to the voice on the other end. In the thirty or so years since that article, David Barber had been waiting to make this call. Back then, a stranger looking for his son had saved his life. Eager MP's had been ready to shoot the nosy, cub reporter. More recently, a young stranger had solved the murder of a local casino dancer left in a coma.

“Yes, I'll keep you in the loop, Major Charles, take care of yourself.” After a goodbye from the other end, Barber hung up. He found his bologna sandwich and returned to the story a young stringer had written,'Think Tank Exposed as Government Conspiracy'.

Scene Break