The Flying Stingaree: A Rick Brant Science-Adventure Story

"In tables, and on a map," Rick explained.

"Fine. We can do it tonight. Want anything else?"

Scotty groaned. "I couldn't even drink a glass of water."

"Same here," Rick agreed.

"Then let's leave the crabs behind and take a ride."

On the way back to Cambridge, Steve Ames mused aloud. "You know, it's an odd world. A few years ago there were flying saucer reports by the dozen. Each one was given lots of newspaper space. The Air Force conducted investigations. Then flying saucers got unpopular, the Air Force closed its project, and the newspapers wrote a funny story every time a report came in. Now we have a rash of sightings in one small area. People talk about it, but no one gets excited. The authorities brush it off as just hokum. Yet, your investigation today shows that people are seeing something, even if we don't know what."

Rick nodded thoughtfully. "What's even odder is that a well-known man disappears, people search for him for a couple of days, and then do nothing but talk about it. The police aren't even interested, so far as we can tell."

Steve laughed. "You're right. But look at it in another way. Assume you're the local policeman. Someone rushes in and tells you that Joe Doakes has been carried off by a flying saucer. You don't believe in flying saucers, but you know Doakes. You investigate. His boat has been found, but his body is missing. What do you assume? That he was really toted off by some mysterious object? Nope. You assume he was hurt or killed falling out of the boat. You know that sharks come into the bay and sometimes swim up creeks. You figure that the currents sometimes act in odd ways, depending on the winds. You figure a dozen natural kinds of things, none connected with mysterious flying objects. You call a coroner's jury, and not a man on it is willing to say for the record that he believes in flying saucers. What happens?"

"Case closed," Scotty said slowly, "because the body isn't around. No proof of death, or even of accident. Pending proof of death – meaning the body – the jury finds that Joe Doakes is missing under mysterious circumstances and may have met with death or an accident by misadventure while engaged in his lawful business of crabbing."

"That's about it," Steve agreed. "It isn't really odd when you look at it that way. But you can bet the case isn't closed. It's just inactive, until something turns up. Remember there's no detective squad in a small town."

There was a combination gas station and store on the outskirts of Cambridge. Steve drove in and honked the horn. A young boy looked out of the store and called, "Howdy, Steve. Want gas?"

"Not tonight, Jimmy. Ask your grandfather where Calvert's Favor is located, will you?"

The boy came out of the store and walked toward the car. He was a freckle-faced towhead, with a grin wider than the Choptank River. "Heck, Steve, I don't have to ask gran'pop that. Everybody knows where Calvert's Favor is located."

"Not everybody," Steve returned. "I don't. How about letting us in on the secret, Jimmy?"

"It's no secret. Everybody around here knows it's located across the river from you. It's at the head of Swamp Creek."

CHAPTER VII

Sighting Data

Steve's living room was an excellent place to work. In fact, it was a shade too comfortable. Rick and Scotty spent a half hour arguing over who would do what in putting their data down on paper, and both knew perfectly well that they were just stalling.

Finally Rick said, "Let's admit it. We're both stuffed with crab, a little sleepy, and too comfortable in these armchairs."

Scotty waved a hand languidly. "All right. I concede the point."

Steve Ames chuckled. "Suppose you move to less comfortable chairs. Those dining-room chairs should keep you upright. Get to work and I will too."

The boys hauled themselves to their feet reluctantly. Rick walked to the door and looked out through the screen. He could see the creek glistening, and, out beyond the dock where the houseboat and runabout were tied up, he saw ripples spreading where a fish had jumped. The air was still, and he could hear cicadas in the trees and shrubs.

"This is the land of pleasant living," he observed. "I'm surprised anyone on the Eastern Shore ever gets a lick of work done."

"You certainly don't," Scotty retorted. "Come on over here and stop admiring the scenery."

Steve had produced large sheets of white paper, a ruler, and pencils. Rick sat down. "I'll act as recorder."

"Volunteering for the hardest job?" Scotty inquired. "The air must be affecting you."

"Nope." Rick shook his head. "I have just enough energy left to be realistic. I can't read your writing. Suppose I put down the headings. Location, date of sighting, time of sighting, direction of sighting, number of persons who saw object. What else?"

"Description," Scotty suggested. "Maybe that ought to be in two parts. One for shape and one for color."

Rick nodded. "Good idea. I'll rule lines as we go." He drew lines for the columns, printed his headings, and put in the first several horizontal lines. "Ready," he announced.

"We'll start with the first one. Location: five miles south of Wye Mills on Route 50."

Rick printed: "5M S Wye Mls Rte 50."

"Date of sighting, July 10. Time of sighting, between five and six in the evening."

Rick printed industriously. Scotty read from his notes until over twenty lines of information had been printed on the chart. Then Steve interrupted, bringing a tray of tall glasses of iced ginger ale.

The young agent put the tray down and scanned the columns while the boys helped themselves. In a moment Steve nodded. "There's a pattern taking shape, at least in the descriptions. But I can't make much out of the dates and locations, yet."

"We'll keep plugging," Rick said. "Maybe we'll need to rearrange the columns before they make sense."

"You have a point," Steve agreed. "Use the chart for the source, then we can fill out sheets on the individual items, or I have some four-by-five-inch file cards that would be ideal."

"But we'll be at it all night," Scotty objected.

"I don't think so. Once the basic data are on paper, it will go fast. Keep at it. Yell if you want refills on the ginger ale. I need to finish my own homework."

The boys returned to logging the data while Steve settled down with a bulky report. In another hour the notebook had been exhausted, and the big sheet of paper was nearly full of ruled lines and columns, recording data.

"We're done," Rick announced.

Steve put his report aside and joined them at the table. The boys waited expectantly while the agent scanned the sheet.

"You've done a good job of collecting information," Steve said. "Now it needs breaking down some more. The mixture in the 'color' column bothers me. I have a hunch those colors may be related to the position of the sun. Look."

Rick watched as Steve's forefinger touched a line that showed the color as "dark." The finger moved across the line to the time of day, eleven A.M. Steve pointed to another line where the color was listed as "orange." The time of day was seven fifteen P.M., with an additional note of "twilight."

"Got it," Scotty agreed. "You think the objects may actually be dark, but appear in various colors depending on the position of the sun and the position of the viewer."

"It makes sense," Rick agreed. "All of the colors listed – red, orange, silvery, bright – could be reflections of the sun on a smooth object."

Steve walked to a bookshelf and pulled down a copy of The World Almanac. "Sunrise and sunset times are listed in here. You can figure out quickly enough where the sun was in relation to the observer. It will take another sheet of paper and some more columns."

"You gave us an extra sheet," Rick replied. "How should I head the columns?"

Steve thought for a moment. "Three columns for the position of the sun. Rising, high, setting. Four columns for the position of the observer in relation to the flying object – north, south, east, or west. One column for color, and one for other comments such as 'shiny.' And, of course, you want a column for the time."

Rick recorded the data as Scotty read it off, checking The World Almanac for the sun's approximate positions. Steve was obviously interested. He started to read his report again, then abandoned it and came back to the table where the boys were working.

When the data had been transferred, the three studied it. Rick ran his eye down the columns quickly, getting an impression, then he went over the data slowly. "You're right, Steve," he said finally. "It all tallies, even at a quick look. In every case where the object looked colored, the observer saw the sun striking it. Where it looked dark, the object was between the observer and the sun. Or, at least, the observer wasn't in a position to see the sun reflect off the object."