Taken

And he was there.

Artemis, the squirrel.

Jesse propped himself up in bed and stared into the gray, furry face. The squirrel didn’t move, but he felt drawn to it, summoned to follow it. He slid out of his bed, walked to the window and opened it.

Artemis drifted away from the window and hung in midair, smiling softly and with an eerie sense of beckoning, as if to say, Come with me.

Jesse climbed out of the window, and stood on the second-floor ledge, his cowboy pajamas billowing out in the chill autumn breeze. At the edge of the roof, he stood stiffly, arms plastered to his sides, a little cylinder of flesh high above the green lawn to which Artemis had now descended, a huge gray doll in the rippling grass.

For a moment their eyes locked. Then Artemis blinked slowly, and Jesse heard his silent command, Jump.

He jumped and Artemis swept forward and up into the air and caught him as he fell, the two of them spi

A giant oak stood out from the rest of the trees, and Jesse knew that this was Artemis’ home. A black mouth gaped at the center of the tree, the door to Artemis’ world.

“Can I?” Jesse asked.

He felt Artemis’ soft furry arms embrace him and lift him to the doorway, then through and inside it, where he waited until Artemis leaped in, the door closing behind him, sealing them inside.

At first it was dark, then shade by shade the black air brightened and brightened until it shimmered all around, a light that came from everywhere, as if everything gave off its own radiant glow.

He felt the tree lift, like the slow rise of a rocket as it pushed against the heavy gravity of earth, then rising faster and faster, streaking across the nightbound sky. The next thing he knew, he was standing on the blue road, two beams of light closing in upon him like the shining eyes of a ravenous animal until the brakes shrieked loudly and the tires squealed to a halt and he stood in the truck’s blinding beams, a little boy, alone, Artemis hidden somewhere behind the stars, no more than the memory of a warmth he’d once known.

Owen Crawford stood on a ladder, hanging Christmas decorations outside his house while A

“Hey, watch it,” Owen snapped when Sam crashed into A

“Sorry,” A

“Just be careful,” Owen told her sternly.

He returned to his work, though he took no joy in it. For what was Christmas, after all, but an enforced holiday, trivial and meaningless, perfect only for people who had nothing better to do than hang these ridiculous lights.

From the top of the ladder, he saw the staff car move down the tree-lined street and pull up to his curb. Thank God, Owen thought, I can get out of here.

“I have to go,” he said brusquely as he hurried toward the car, leaving A

They reached Groom Lake a few minutes later. As the car moved smoothly across the tarmac, Owen glanced at the latest military advance, a black bomber with swept-back wings, a plane no radar could detect.

In the staff room, he took his seat at the end of a long conference table where various scientists and military perso

“We took this craft apart more than ten years ago,” Owen said. “More than ten years and we still have no idea how it ran. No clue what its power source was or what the aerodynamics involved were.” He nodded toward Dr. Kreutz. “This is Dr. Kreutz,” he said. “He has agreed to come over to our program for an indefinite period of time.” He cast a merciless eye over the assembly. “As of now,” he said, “the rest of you are reassigned to other duties.” He smiled coldly. “In Iceland.”

The men around the table glanced at each other in shock and disbelief.

Dull and unimaginative, Owen thought contemptuously, mere slugs, men who lacked the passion of pursuit, who did one thing until they were told to do another, men who lacked the mettle of a true commitment. Not one of them deserved any further explanation.

And so he gave none, but simply rose and escorted Dr. Kreutz out of the room.

“There’s something you should know, Doctor,” Owen said as the two men headed toward a distant hangar. “I report directly to President Eisenhower, and he is not a patient man. I’ve let him believe a few of your technological advances were derived from our research. I hope when you meet the President, you won’t disabuse him of his impression.”

Dr. Kreutz chuckled. “And wind up reassigned to Iceland a week before Christmas? Certainly not.”

They stopped at the doors of the hangar.

“Let me see your little bird,” Dr. Kreutz said.

Owen swung open the doors and it stood in the shadowy light, the craft Owen had retrieved from the desert years before.

“The interior wasn’t damaged,” Owen told Dr. Kreutz. “It’s exactly as it was when we found it.”

They had now reached a small stepladder that rose to the open door of the craft. Kreutz mounted the stairs, followed by Owen.

For a time, Kreutz moved about the interior of the craft, noting its sleek design, the seats with their finger-pad controls, everything smoothed and buffed to a shimmering perfection.

“None of those white coats could figure anything out,” Owen said with a smirk. “For years they’ve scuttled around in here, but they never came up with anything.” He laughed. “For all their degrees, they couldn’t even find out how the damn thing was powered.”

Kreutz shrugged. “It is easy to see what baffled your researchers,” he said. “No instrument panel. No monitoring devices.”

“You’ll notice some kind of energy field,” Owen said. “In about six minutes your head will begin to ache. Twenty minutes later, you’ll have a cerebral hemorrhage.”

Kreutz nodded as if not at all surprised, then pressed his hand against the smooth interior wall. “You will never get this craft off the ground without an engine.”

“But there is no engine.”

Dr. Kreutz smiled as he nodded to the five empty seats. “Actually, there were five of them,” he said.

“The crew?” Owen asked incredulously. “The crew supplied the…”

“Power, yes,” Dr. Kreutz said. “The power of the mind. That’s the energy source you’re looking for.”

“We had one alive,” Owen said. “He had powers.” He told him the story of Dr. Goldin’s vision, then his death and the visitor’s, how alien and human blood had briefly swirled together on the laboratory floor.

Kreutz looked at Owen pointedly. “We have to find someone else with unimaginable power of mind.”

Jacob Clarke held a Lone Ranger lunch box to his ear, as if listening for the sounds inside, its tiniest vibration. A group of fifth graders watched silently,

“Oreos and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich,” Jacob said quietly.