The Girl With the Jade Green Eyes by John Boyd Read Free Book Online Page A

swelled into an affirmation, and the wind rush of her coda brought again a sense of motion resumed through the far-flung glitter of stars.
    Her singing ceased. She dropped the ranger’s hands.
    Peterson snapped from his stupor. His eyes focused on Kyra, and his voice was clear though apologetic. “I never doubted you, Kyra. I knew Breedlove wouldn’t be calling me unless something big had happened. I didn’t tell anybody you were here. Still, I’d appreciate it if you’d sign for your group. Where’s my pad?”
    Breedlove handed him the clipboard, and he took a pen from his pocket. “Sign here, Kyra.”
    She drew three characters at the bottom of the form. The lettering resembled Arabic script. She handed the pad to Breedlove, who took it and chided her. “You never sang like that to me.”
    “Pete had something in his mind blocking his belief in me,” she said. “Now, you take the papers back to the helicopter. I want to speak to Pete alone for a moment.”
    Breedlove turned toward the helicopter, hearing Peterson say, “So, you’re actually from outer space.”
    “It depends on your point of view,” she said playfully. “To me you’re from outer space.”
    Moving out of earshot, he returned the clipboard to the helicopter, wondering about the mental block that affected Peterson’s belief in Kyra’s origins and how the girl had discovered it so quickly. Despite her disclaimers she might well be a supermind, either that or a highly skilled diagnostician, but whatever else she might be she was certainly a superb singer of wordless songs and a genius at the art of persuasion.
    Leaving Peterson to Kyra’s ministrations, he pretended to check the cables on the voice amplifier attachéd to the far side of the helicopter and was not drawn back to the two until he smelled smoke. Peterson had regained his self-control. He was lounging on the grass, smoking a cigarette and showing Kyra photographs of his family.
    “Tom, you can quit worrying,” Peterson said as Breedlove walked up. “Kyra’s told me all about her troubles. Of course, they’re not solved yet. I’ll fly her back to your folks, and that’s when the situation starts getting hairy.”
    “You and I believe her,” Breedlove said. “Somebody in the government with the authority to dispense the uranium will believe.”
    “If it were that simple I’d fly her over to Hanford and pick up a cupful of the stuff, but she’s an unregistered alien, and radioactive uranium is hemmed in by all kinds of restrictions, national and international.”
    “I figured we could pass her up the chain of command to the Secretary of Interior,” Breedlove said.
    “She isn’t going up my chain of command,” Peterson demurred. “I never told you why I resigned my Air Force commission. I just told the little lady and she suggested that I tell you, since now we’re partners in the crime of believing. When I was a captain, which is as high as I got in rank, I flew wing tip to saucer’s rim with a flying saucer in broad daylight in a flight from Laramie to Cheyenne. I waved at the pilot and he waved back, a little baldheaded guy as green as this lady’s hair, and when I reached the base with my report I was sent to the wing’s psychiatrist and held for observation. I wound up with a reprimand from my commanding officer for making flippant flight reports. I don’t want another incident on my record, so I’m delegating you to stay with Kyra in Spokane until the authorities get there, and you can make all the reports.”
    “Will you certify my sanity?”
    “I’ll sign anything you type up, but I’m not guaranteeing I’ll read it.”
    “What authority will you notify?”
    “Immigration and Naturalization. It happens that the regional chief in Seattle’s an old flying buddy of mine. Kyra’s an unregistered alien, so she’d fall under his jurisdiction.”
    “Pete, we’re not using our heads. Other bureaus hog the publicity picture. Why not get a little