"I took a spot check," Brazier said grimly. "The old coot who runs the hotel came originally from El Paso. A couple of the old uranium hunters rang true on background." There was a pause as they climbed the slope. Then Brazier's frown deepened. "But it isn't the people—they're not what bothers me."
"Then what?"
Brazier's voice was sharp. "I don't know, damn it!"
Brooks was surprised. "All right—all right. Don't bite me about it. I'll send the message...."
They were silent as Brooks turned the jeep and nosed it over the broken country toward the village. Silent, but each occupied with his own grim thoughts; thoughts concerning things the nation had not been told; that the flying saucer joke was no longer that but a very serious matter. Certain facts had come to light and had been discussed in high-level conference and they added up to good reason for panic. Creatures from outer space were hovering over the planet. They were hostile and they wanted to take Earth over.
All the revelations were not catastrophic however if considered comparatively. Fortunately, the aliens, while advanced and of superior intelligence, had physical characteristics that set them apart. They could not put down and lose themselves among the planet's population. Also, they did not appear able to overwhelm with superior weapons. Still, they were vicious, crafty, and their coming could mean the end of Terran freedom.
Brooks rolled the jeep past a tilted sign reading, 'Mesa Flats—Pop. 21'. The lettering, very old, was almost obliterated.
Another ancient sign hanging over one of the false fronts said, Elkhorn Hotel. Brooks pulled up and the two Security men climbed out. Two ancient desert specimens sat in tilted-back chairs on the porch. One of them stirred enough ambition to turn his head. The other went on chewing tobacco and stared out across the desert.
Inside an equally leather-faced oldster presided behind the desk. He said, "Howdy, men," and extended a battered pencil across the register.