The Origin of F.O.R.C.E.

The D-Cell battery-sized module that provided the power for the ray pistol proved to be frustratingly difficult to disassemble. Heinbaum and his assistant, Walter, had tried several ways to break into the power module, but they were forced to work with care to avoid the possibility of a catastrophic mishap if they blundered. Heinbaum had calculated it required 1 billion volts with 400 kiloamperes of direct current to power each shot from the ray pistol. That amount of energy was the same as your average lightning bolt; not the kind of power you wanted to inadvertently release inside your nice, state-of-the-art laboratory.

A close examination of the pistol’s power module with the lab’s electron microscope hadn’t revealed a way to take it apart. There was no visible seam, screw or hole anywhere on the device. Two small indentations or dimples in both ends of the module on either side of the pole contact points were the only markings on an otherwise smooth surface. The outer shell of the module was made from a silver porcelain substance that couldn’t be scratched by even a power-driven diamond drill bit. Other drill bits made of exotic materials slithered off the porcelain surface as if it was greased. General Collier had arranged for them to use a top secret, hypersonic water jet with a cutting force of 100,000 psi to try slicing the top off the module. The water jet could cut through stainless steel blocks like so much warm butter, but the silvery porcelain wasn’t even scuffed. They tried applying powerful, military-grade sulfuric, nitric and hydrochloric acid to the module without success. A specialized cutting torch had been brought in to try and burn the module open. The carbon subnitride torch produced a burn temperature of almost 5,000 degrees Celsius. They focused the bright, blue-white flame on the module for five minutes, and the silvery surface didn’t even turn red.

Heinbaum was infuriated by his inability to open the module. Storming around in a fit of rage, mumbling to himself like a crazy man, he swept a pile of report papers onto the floor. He wanted to take a sledge hammer and smash the module open, but his fear of ruining his wonderful lab with an uncontrolled explosive release of power held him back. Instead, he kicked an offending report, sending it skittering across the floor.

Cunningham stood off to one side, arms crossed, as Heinbaum stormed around the room. He knew Heinbaum was smart, but he had no common sense at all. Heinbaum could probably solve any calculus equation with ease, but if you put him outside in the pouring rain, he might not figure out how to open the umbrella in his hand. It was comical to watch the dichotomy between Scientist Heinbaum and Child Heinbaum. Child Heinbaum would furiously walk up to an expensive piece of equipment as if he was going to sweep it to the floor, smashing it to useless junk. After a couple of seconds, Scientist Heinbaum would instead sweep a short stack of report folders sitting beside the equipment off the workbench and stomp away, sometimes kicking a scrap of paper that dared get in his way. Walter had learned not to say anything to Heinbaum during these tirades. No use being yelled at by the supercilious scientist.

McPherson returned to the lab just as Heinbaum was acting out his latest display of pent-up rage. Sensitivity and emotional understanding were not personality traits McPherson ever bothered to develop.

Folding his arms across his chest and leaning back against a high workbench, the red-haired Scot shouted out, “What’s amatter, Heiny? Lost your tuna sandwich?”

Stopping in mid-stride, Heinbaum looked to see who had dared interrupt him. Narrowing his close-set eyes as he spied McPherson, he screamed, “You cretinous, slack-jawed hyena! You think you can take your caveman club and bash the module open? Bah! You’re useless!”

The widening smile on the face of the Scotsman served only to infuriate him. Not only that, but his pointed insults didn’t even faze the big lunk. Instead of being devastated and ashamed, the idiot feigned surprise, lifting his hand to his chest in a very feminine manner and mouthing the words, “Who, me?”

Turning on his heel, Heinbaum stomped away muttering, “I must get into the module. I shall get into the module. But I can’t get into the module!”

Remembering what the General had said about being stationed in Antarctica, the grin on McPherson’s face faltered. He looked at Cunningham, still leaning against a wall with his arms crossed, and asked, “Walter, mind telling me what you’ve tried?”

Pushing away from the wall and straightened his bowed back as much as he could, Walter explained every method they’d tried to open the module. Thinking hard, McPherson tried to put himself into the mind of a military man developing a weapon like the ray pistol. First, the weapon was powerful in the extreme which meant it was dangerous to both the user and the enemy if not handled properly. Second, the weapon was going to be used in battlefield conditions where accidents and unforeseen mishaps always occur. It was going to get knocked around, dropped, banged, subjected to all kinds of dirt, water, and in the case of space aliens, radiation from various sources. Yet, for battlefield purposes, the module had to be reliable, easily recharged and repaired. Based upon his own experience with military weapon design, McPherson thought he might have a solution.

He thought, “Like any good magic trick, it looked like magic until you found out what the trick was. Then the whole thing turned out to be simple child’s play.”

Grabbing a notepad and pencil, McPherson jotted down a list of items and looking at Cunningham with a wide, toothy grin, he said, “Walter, old man, why don’t you round up the stuff on this list and call me when you’re ready.”

Peering at the list for a moment, Cunningham replied, “Shouldn’t take long. Be ready in about 30 minutes,” and with that he left the lab.

A short time later, hunched over a workbench littered with bits of wire and torn insulation, McPherson wrapped the last bit of 14-gauge insulated copper wire around each of the two half-inch diameter, soft iron rods Cunningham had found in base storage. Prior to wrapping the rods with the wire, McPherson had taken a pair of hawk-billed pliers and bent each rod into a horseshoe shape. The space between the bent rod ends matched the configuration of the dimples at each end of the power module. Connecting the loose ends of the wires to terminals on a rheostat controlled generator, McPherson asked Walter to fetch one of the power modules.

Heinbaum watched the two men work together with poorly hidden amusement and contempt. “Let them waste their time with their kiddy toys,” he mused as he worked on his plan to force open a module. He had just decided on using focused sound waves of varying frequencies as a possible method for entry when his attention was again drawn to the yammerings at the workbench across the room. Curiosity overwhelmed him, and he ambled over to observe and enjoy the coming failure. Scanning the setup of equipment, Heinbaum grudgingly, and very silently, admitted to himself the electromagnet idea was intriguing.

McPherson took the silver module and clamped it into a raised pedestal. After attaching the horseshoe-shaped electromagnets to clamps at each end of the module, he aligned the ends of each magnet to the ends of the module until they were in full contact with the dimples.

After making sure all the alignments were good, McPherson looked over at Walter and said, “Turn up the generator power slow but steady.”

Cunningham flipped the power switch to the ‘on’ position and a low electric hum emanated from the small, natural gas powered 1500 watt generator. The rheostat dial on the generator was marked from 1 to 1,500 volts. Cunningham slowly turned the rheostat dial and as it reached the 1,000 volt setting, a smell of ozone became noticeable around the workbench. The hum from the generator grew to a whine as if something was opposing its power. There was still no reaction from the module. Motioning with his thumb, McPherson indicated for Cunningham to twist the dial to its maximum setting. As the dial reached 1,500 volts, the sharp smell of ozone became distinct, almost overpowering, and the generator whined more noisily. The insulation around the copper wires began to steam, not able to withstand the magnetic resistance of the module to the amount of current being forced through the wires by the generator.

McPherson motioned for Walter to shut off the power and the wires stopped steaming, but the ozone smell still bit at their nostrils.

With a loud snort, Heinbaum turned on his heel and strode back to his workbench. Watching Heinbaum’s back as he walked away, McPherson rubbed his chin and thought about what he’d seen. The wiring acted like it was misconnected. Thinking back to his childhood when he used to play with magnets on the kitchen table, McPherson remembered that like-poles on a magnet repel and opposite-poles attract. Looking at his apparatus, his eyes narrowed and a smile began to creep into his lips.

“Walter,” he said, as he turned back to the bench. “Let’s try something.”

Grabbing one of the electromagnet horseshoes, he turned it 180 degrees so the poles of the magnet contacting the dimples on that end of the power module were reversed. Checking to make sure the magnets were again lined up and in contact with the dimples on each end, he motioned for Cunningham to power up the generator. This time as the rheostat reached 1,000 volts the hum of the generator remained unchanged, and there was no ozone smell. Motioning again with his thumb, McPherson indicated Cunningham should turn the rheostat to its maximum setting. This time, as the dial reached 1,500 volts, a line of dim violet light began to glow on the surface of the silvery module near its mid-point.

Letting out a whoop, Walter jumped for joy. The grin on McPherson’s face couldn’t get any bigger. Both men looked at each other and then swooped together in a bear hug, jumping up and down and shouting with glee. Heinbaum shoved his way between them, his close-set eyes threatening to bulge from his head. Grabbing a magnifying glass, he peered at the line of violet light, noting that it wrapped itself around the equator of the cylinder.

Turning to stare at McPherson, Heinbaum’s eyes narrowed as he said in a petulant voice, “Clever bastard.”

His amused look getting even bigger, McPherson waved a finger in front of Heinbaum’s face and replied, “Now, Doc, not in front of Walter. We don’t want him to get jealous of our close relationship.”

Turning back to the equipment in a huff, Heinbaum blurted, “Bah! The comic hyena returns.”

Then over his shoulder, head moving back and forth as he reviewed the power settings, Heinbaum growled, “Cunningham, advise General Collier I will need access to the Base emergency generator. I need power lines to supply a minimum of 100 kW of electricity. Rig a series of resistors to control the power. Let’s see if we can’t improve on the Lieutenant’s lucky guess.”

***

Two days following the McPherson breakthrough, Walter bent over the open electrical connection panel of a large, power generator reviewing the configuration of the heavy gauge wires running from the panel to a series of resistors lined up across his workbench. Each resistor fed into a circuit connected to a heavy-duty rheostat with a dial much larger than the one used in McPherson’s earlier setup. Ticks on the dial showed gradients from 1,000 to 100,000 volts in 500 volt increments. Heinbaum had ordered heavier gauge wiring for the horseshoe shapes and had tripled the number of wire wraps. With the larger generator, each tick on the rheostat would increase the voltage flowing into the electromagnets with a corresponding increase in the strength of the magnetic force flowing through the silvery porcelain module.

Heinbaum watched his assistant hunched over the equipment with growing impatience. He knew the resistor setup was cumbersome, but he needed a quick breakthrough to the power module puzzle. Cautious safety measures were impeding progress. It was galling enough that General Collier had ordered him to work with McPherson, but the maddening thing was the red-headed oaf was uncannily perceptive about the design of the alien tech. Heinbaum had never felt inferior to anyone, but the successes of McPherson were threatening his self-esteem and that was something he wouldn’t permit.

Clapping his hands together, Heinbaum said, “Cunningham, would you stop fidgeting over those connections. My goodness, man, we’re not testing an atomic bomb.”

Walter, staring at the wiring harness one last time, closed his eyes and shook his head. Straightening up as much as his curved back would allow, he turned towards Heinbaum and replied, “Doc, you can’t be sure that we’re not dealing with an atomic bomb.”

Only slightly sobered by the potential truth of what Cunningham said, Heinbaum growled, “Don’t be such a nervous Nellie, Cunningham. I’m sure we have perfect control of our experiment. Now close that panel, and power up the generator.”

“Well aren’t we just full of bluster today, Doc,” the irritating Scottish voice of McPherson declared. “If I didn’t know better, I’d guess we were getting ready to open a flashlight and change its batteries.”

Part of the reason Heinbaum had been rushing was to begin the experiment before McPherson returned to the lab from his daily jog. The damned Scot was always underfoot, running his big mouth, littering the lab with bits of gun-cleaning cloths, leaving his sweat drenched exercise clothes in dirty heaps. The list of horrors went on and on.

Heinbaum’s nose twitched at a familiar odor, and he realized the cloying smell of gun oil was beginning to permeate the whole lab. Turning to McPherson and crossing his arms, eyes narrowed in disgust, Heinbaum snapped, “If you’re so scared of the procedure, then leave my lab at once. I don’t expect an oaf like you to understand the intricacies of my genius. Begone!”

Instead of leaving, McPherson pulled a chair around backwards, rested his chin on the chair back and grinned at Heinbaum.

Infuriated, Heinbaum pressed his lips into a grimace and savagely motioned for Cunningham to start the generator.

Sighing, Walter closed the panel and flicked the switch to the ‘on’ position. The machine vibrated on its rubber foot cushions as it whirled up to speed, running with an even, low hum.

Standing near the pedestal clamp holding the power module, Heinbaum glanced at Cunningham and said, “Adjust power to 1,500 volts. That’s the setting where the visible reaction began.”

As Walter turned the rheostat to the 1,500 volt setting, the line of dim, violet light began to glow at the mid-point of the silver power module. McPherson got out of his chair and looked over their shoulders as Heinbaum adjusted a large magnifying glass mounted on a swivel to a fixed position over the glowing violet line. Enlarged by the magnifier, the violet line appeared to be dashed rather than continuous.

Per agreed protocol, Heinbaum motioned with a raised thumb, and Cunningham turned the rheostat dial to 10,000 volts. As the voltage increased, the violet line dashes lengthened until at the 10,000 volt mark, the line appeared continuous under the magnifier. Emboldened by the change, Heinbaum again motioned with his thumb and Cunningham increased the voltage to 20,000. The edges of the violet line sharpened.

Looking at Cunningham, Heinbaum pushed his glasses back up his nose and said, “Increase power to 50,000 volts.”

“Doctor,” Cunningham replied. “Agreed protocol was no more than 10,000 volts increase at a time. We have no idea what we’re dealing with.”

“Bah!” Heinbaum shouted back. “I’m in charge here. You will obey my instructions, or I’ll find someone who will!”

“Sir,” Cunningham replied in a calm voice. “I’m just pointing out the dangers of moving too fast into unknown territory. Please, sir.”

“Doc, Walter has a good . . ” McPherson began.

Heinbaum ignored them. Reaching across the bench, he twisted the rheostat dial from 20,000 to 50,000 volts.

The men heard a loud metallic snap. The magnifying lens was no longer necessary. The violet line was now well-defined. The snap had come from the power module itself. There, in the center of the violet line was a thin, dark line. The module had split open along its equator.

A thin smile appeared on Heinbaum’s lips, and his eyes narrowed with satisfaction. With a triumphant look, he said, “Nervous Nellies.”

McPherson and Cunningham looked at each other with extreme concern across their faces. Heinbaum whistled a tuneless ditty as he removed the swivel magnifier.

***

With the magnifier pushed aside, Heinbaum picked up a pair of insulated tongs and touched one end of the module. No spark jumped between the module and the tongs, and the audible hum from the generator didn’t waiver. Emboldened by the lack of response, he ordered Cunningham to reduce the voltage on the rheostat to 40,000 volts.

Glancing at McPherson and getting an approving nod, Cunningham lowered the voltage. Just as the setting dipped below 50,000 volts, a sharp click sounded from the power module. McPherson and Cunningham had been watching the rheostat so they didn’t see what happened, but Heinbaum had been focused on the violet line at the moment the voltage was reduced. The dark line bisecting the module had disappeared with a click as the voltage was reduced.

“Aha!” Heinbaum exclaimed with a bang of his hand on the workbench.

Glancing at McPherson with a smug look, Heinbaum began fiddling with the clamp holding the electromagnet on the right-hand end of the power module. He cleared a space on the workbench near the base of the clamp.

Guessing what Heinbaum was planning, McPherson warned, “Doc, you realize that module is basically an insulated can for the storage of lightning bolts, right?”

Heinbaum, still clearing the work area, replied with great irritation, “Of course. I’m the one who made the calculations.”

McPherson continued, “We know how to open the gizmo, but we don’t know what protections are needed when the module shielding is removed. We’re like a monkey peeling something that looks like a banana but really isn’t.”

The analogy brought Heinbaum up short. “Damned if he’s not right,” he thought, but his pride was hurt by the string of successes McPherson enjoyed, and he was not about to let the opportunity for a success be delayed.

Turning on McPherson with all the contempt he could muster, Heinbaum replied, “If you don’t have the guts to stay and watch, just run away. Hide in fear you pseudo . . Urk!”

He never finished the sentence. McPherson had endured enough of the insults from the weaselly scientist. Grabbing Heinbaum with tight-fisted handfuls of his shirt and lab coat, McPherson picked the man off the floor and pulled him to within an inch of his angry, red-flushed face. Heinbaum had never in his life been physically overpowered by anyone. He was speechless and helpless as his feet dangled above the floor. Every word coming from McPherson’s mouth felt like a sharp wind against his face.

“Listen to me, you damned, white-coated weasel! You insult me again, and I will beat the ever lovin’ snot out of you! And nothing and nobody will keep me away from you! Are we clear?”

Heinbaum’s head nodded, his eyes bulging, his glasses sliding almost off the end of his greasy, long nose. McPherson released him with a shove, and he fell back against a stool near the workbench. Walter watched all the commotion and decided to keep his eyes down and directed towards the rheostat dial, but he resolved to ask for McPherson’s autograph when the next opportunity arose.

With what dignity he had left, Heinbaum levered himself up to a full standing position and with shaky hands, brushed at his lab coat and pushed his glasses back up his nose. Lifting his chin in a sign of defiance, he turned to see if Cunningham was looking. Finding Walter reviewing the rheostat setting, he turned his gaze on McPherson and with all the haughty bluster he could manage, declared, “You’ll regret your outburst, Lieutenant. A complaint will be filed with General Collier. A few days in the brig should suffice to knock you off your high horse.”

McPherson’s response was a smile so big it almost split his face. Walking over to cowering Heinbaum, he straightened the collar on the man’s lab coat, put his long, right arm around the man’s narrow shoulders, looked him in the eyes and said, “Doc, what in the world are you prattling on about? Why, you and I are the best of friends. Right?”

With the word, “Right,” Heinbaum felt a squeeze to his right shoulder so powerful he was sure McPherson’s fingers sank all the way to his shoulder bone.

Grimacing in pain, amazed and scared by the power of the grip, Heinbaum looked up at McPherson, recognized the sharp glare in his eyes and grated, “Right. Yes.”

Releasing his grip, McPherson slapped him on the back with a tremendous blow jarring the poor scientist so much he staggered a step. “That’s the spirit, Doc! Now let’s see what we can do about opening up this little can with an emphasis on safety.”

***

The next day, a heavy box of 1 inch thick lead, 3 feet high and 5 feet wide, sat on the workbench. The electromagnets and the pedestal clamp holding the ray pistol power module were assembled inside it. The box had been used at the Oakridge National Laboratory during work on the atom bomb so it was guaranteed proof against radiation exposure. It had a lead-glass view port designed for work with radioactive substances. Two mechanical arms with bellowed sleeves ending in grasping claws provided a method for manipulation of the power module once the electromagnets did their work.

Even with the lead shielding, McPherson couldn’t shake a feeling of impending danger. As an added precaution, he asked Cunningham to attach heavy gauge grounding wires from the box to the laboratory lightning arrestors and had a series of specialized sensors hooked up to measure any changes which might occur inside the container when the power module opened.

“Feel safe and secure now?” Heinbaum sneered as he flipped through checklists on a clipboard.

The corner of his mouth curling into a frown, McPherson said, “I’ll feel a lot better once we have real test results instead of your educated guess.”

Ignoring the insult, Heinbaum turned his attention to Walter. “Cunningham, aren’t you ready yet? No more delays. I’m sick of delays.”

Walter responded in a resigned voice, “I’ve double-checked all the connections. I guess we can proceed.”

“About time.”

The generator whirled up to full power, and the rheostat was turned to the 50,000 volt setting. All the men heard the muffled, metallic snap from inside the lead box. Peering through the lead-glass window, they saw the familiar sharp, violet line with the thin dark line splitting the power module at its equator. Heinbaum pushed his arms inside the sleeves of the mechanical arms and grasped a pair of tongs with the right claw. Using the other claw to hold the lefthand portion of the power module, he grabbed the right-hand end of the module with the tongs and pulled. Sliding along three short rails arranged triangularly within the module, the right-hand end slid outward to reveal a softly glowing capsule.

All three men were entranced by the subtle beauty of the glowing capsule. The inside of the capsule appeared to be a whitish fluid with gray accents that roiled around like something alive moved in it. The capsule was held in place by an enclosing metallic mesh, half of which had pulled away when the right-hand end of the module slid open.

Blinking his eyes to break his concentration, McPherson glanced at Cunningham and said, “Walter, what kind of readings are you getting?”

Walter looked at the radiation counters and various gauges they had set up to measure electric potentials and discharges. He replied, “No known radiation is being emitted. Geiger counter is quiet. No gamma or X-ray. No electrical discharge detected. No increase in heat. In fact, the temp inside the box has lowered three degrees Celsius.”

Heinbaum declared, “There is no danger, Lieutenant, and I can’t do my work from outside this ridiculous lead box. I demand you remove all these impediments to my research at once.”

Still uneasy but with nothing concrete to justify an objection, McPherson sighed, “Ok, Doc, but you better be right.”

Looking at Cunningham, McPherson said, “After the Doc gets the module closed back up, let’s unhook everything and remove the shielding.”

Then with a second thought, he added, “Keep all the monitoring equipment. We’ll watch for any changes.”

Two hours later, the lead box was gone, and the power module opened. Every gauge they trained on the module told them the area remained safe. Interestingly, the thermometer measuring ambient temperature around the open module indicated only a 1-degree C. drop instead of the earlier 3-degree C. drop in temperature. Encouraged by the readings, everyone focused on the glowing capsule.

“Look at this, Gentlemen,” Heinbaum purred. “A capsule slightly larger than a kidney bean containing energy sufficient to discharge the power of lightning multiple times without apparent diminution of output power. In other words, a power storage unit of prodigious capacity with no impedance. No resistance whatsoever. And yet, no loss of potential. Amazing!”

“Yea, Doc, fine,” McPherson replied. “But what’s it made of? Can you duplicate it?”

“Patience, patience,” Heinbaum muttered as he concentrated on the wire-like mesh holding one end of the glowing capsule. “I want to get a sample of the mesh for spectrographic analysis.”

Still gazing at the capsule, Heinbaum shouted, “Cunningham, bring me the snips.”

Rummaging through the drawers in his kit, Walter pulled out a pair of wire snips and handed them to Heinbaum.

Moving with care, Heinbaum reached into the righthand end of the module away from the glowing capsule. Securing a sliver of the mesh with a pair of tweezers, he snipped it and dropped the cut off piece into a petri dish.

McPherson kept a close watch on every move Heinbaum made. He still thought the Doctor was reckless. As Heinbaum snipped off the small piece of the mesh, a chill ran over McPherson.

“Damn,” McPherson thought. “I’m getting jittery. Too much work with unknowns.”

A sudden idea hit him. “Doc, now that the module is open, you think maybe the outer shell edge might be soft enough to get a sample for testing?”

Heinbaum’s eyes flicked back and forth as he considered what McPherson had asked. At last he responded, “Can’t hurt to try. Interesting idea. Let’s see.”

Positioning the cutting edge of the wire snips against the lip of the open edge on the right half of the module, Heinbaum squeezed hard, attempting to cut off a sample of the outer shell but with no success.

Tossing the snips in disgust, Heinbaum looked at McPherson and said, “Still too hard.”

At that moment, Walter walked back from the spectrometer and took up his usual position near the rheostat. Seeing him there gave McPherson an idea.

“Doc, we got the module open with a magnetic force of 50,000 volts.”

When Heinbaum nodded, McPherson continued. “So it stands to reason if we can crack it open with 50,000, then maybe we can soften it up with 100,000. What say you?”

Considering what the Lieutenant asked, Heinbaum replied with a thin smile, “I think some of me may be wearing off on you, McPherson. Good thing too ’cause I was getting concerned about your brain power.”

When McPherson gave him a non-committal shrug, Heinbaum said, “Trouble is, some of you is wearing off on me. We’ll start with 60,000 volts and increase power as needed. No use acting rashly. Right, Lieutenant?”

McPherson cocked his head towards Heinbaum, hesitated at the backhanded compliment, then grinned and slapped the Doctor on the back with the force of a battering ram, almost knocking the wind out of him.

“You know, Doc, you might just grow on me. Actually might find you tolerable in a few years.”

Pushing his glasses back up his greasy nose and smoothing down his slicked back hair, Heinbaum pulled his shoulders back to realign his spine from the friendly blow and thought, “Dear God, where did this ape come from?”

Looking at Cunningham, Heinbaum ordered, “We’re going to increase the electromagnetic power to see if the module casing will soften enough to get a sample.”

Cunningham shifted his eyes to McPherson and saw a confirming nod.

Heinbaum continued, “Begin with an increase to 60,000. When I signal, increase by increments of 10,000 volts until you reach the maximum of 100,000. Understood?”

Nodding, Walter placed his hand on the rheostat and waited. Picking up the snips, Heinbaum hesitated.

“Cunningham, get me a hacksaw blade.”

While Walter rummaged through his kit for the blade, Heinbaum explained to McPherson, “I may be more successful getting a sample with an abrasive than with the snips.”

Hesitating again, Heinbaum called to Walter and said, “Cunningham, while you’re at it, the air-conditioning is set way too low. It feels like a meat-locker in here.”

Taking a moment to walk over to the thermostat controlling the temperature in the lab, Cunningham noted the thermometer reading showed 60 degrees even though the dial setting was 72 degrees. Shrugging his shoulders, he moved the dial setting to 75.

Having found the hacksaw blade, Walter again positioned himself at the rheostat. At the signal from Heinbaum, he turned the dial to 60,000 volts.

Observing no change in the appearance of the module, Heinbaum signaled another increase. At 70,000 volts, a shimmering aura encompassed the power module halves. The aura had the appearance of a desert heat haze mirage, wavering layers of unfocused images of the module emanating around the open halves.

Grunting with satisfaction, Heinbaum picked up the abrasive blade and put it against the lip of the open right half of the module. Sawing produced a small cloud of silvery particles showering down on the workbench.

Turning to McPherson, Heinbaum declared, “It worked.”

When he spoke, a cloud of white mist came from his mouth as if he was exhaling on a snowy morning. His look of surprise was comical.

McPherson, whose attention had been focused on the shimmering module and the success of getting the sample, widened his gaze to the workbench and saw a layer of frost beginning to form. Thinking quickly, he shoved over to the rheostat and turned the dial all the way down to zero.

The power module snapped shut with the familiar, loud click. The area around the workbench remained very cold, but the creeping layer of frost stopped growing larger.

“Damn,” McPherson exclaimed, exhaling a cloud of white as he crossed his arms and rubbed himself.

Heinbaum was engrossed in thought, oblivious to everything. Cunningham busied himself pulling warm jackets from a closet and passing them out. When Heinbaum ignored his offered coat, Cunningham draped it across his shoulders. He moved over to the thermostat which now read 25 degrees and raised the heating temperature to 80. Hot air began flowing from the ceiling vents.

Speaking to himself, Heinbaum mused, “I think I understand. Damned brilliant alien bastards. But I think I have their number now.”

“Cunningham!” he bellowed, ignoring the white cloud of mist coming from his mouth. “Brush these particles from the module into a petri dish and start analysis with the spectrograph.”

“Lieutenant McPherson, would you please accompany me to the alien saucer power room. I think we may be able to use your electromagnetic trick in there as well.”