45 miles Northwest of Roswell, New Mexico
July 3, 1947


            Rachel found herself in the middle of a barren landscape.  All around was nothing but hard pan, dotted with scrub brush, cactus and rocks.  No trees and the only manmade structure was the rotting, wooden cedar posts linked together with strands of rusted barb wire.  In the distant south she could see the bluish hue and jagged peaks of the Guadalupe Mountains, tiny on the faraway horizon.  A slight breeze ruffled her hair, but the occasional wind was too hot to bring any cooling effect.

            At first she heard nothing, dead silence in a dead land; but, slowly, she realized that there was a sound coming from directly in front of her.  Squinting her eyes against the glare of the sun, both high in the sky and its reflections off the hard packed caliche she was unable to identify its source.  It was a scrapping noise with an occasional clink of metal against rock.  She walked forward twenty feet and was surprised to find herself on the lip of a ravine, invisible until she came directly upon it.
            Ten feet below she saw the back of a man, bent over and intently examining something that glittered in the sun.  The man was not unusual for this part of New Mexico.  He wore jeans, run down boots, a long sleeved white shirt and a large brimmed, straw cowboy hat.  Off to the right stood a horse, lazily grazing on the few bits of edible grass it could find.  All around the man and horse, up and down the bottom and sides of the ravine were pieces of metal and rubber, interspersed with what appeared to be silk fabric, wood and plastic. 

            Rachel couldn't see what she was looking for but she never thought finding it would be easy.  She shuffled forward, dislodging a stream of small stones that clattered their way down the sides of the ravine.
            At the sound of the stones, the startled man jumped and turned at the same time.  He dropped what he'd been looking at and glared at Rachel.  "Who the hell are you?" he demanded.
            Taken aback at his unfriendly challenge, Rachel hesitated before answering.  She knew who he was, of course, and she knew that she would have to be self confident and strong to get what she came for.  "William "Mac" Brazel, it's a pleasure to meet you, sir.  My name is Rachel."
            Reactive anger was instantly replaced by suspicious surprise and Mac Brazel, through squinted eyes, moved a few steps closer, studying the woman and trying to determine where he might have met her before; he must have met her because she knew his name. 

            As if reading his mind, Rachel said, "You don't know me, Mac, but I know all about you and what you're doing out here.  In fact, that's what I'm doing here, too."

           "Sort of," she mumbled under her breath.

           Men in this part of the country, in this day and age, were generally soft spoken, when they spoke at all, and the foreman of the Foster Ranch was no exception.  He stared at Rachel for a solid minute before responding.  "Is that right?  Well, one thing for sure - you're trespassin' young lady."
           Rachel bent her knees and stepped forward, sliding more than walking down the side of the ravine.  Amidst a chattering of rolling rocks and dust, she arrived at the bottom safely and purposely strode toward Mac until she was within a couple steps of him.  She looked around, raised her arms indicating the debris, "This, Mr. Brazel, is the wreckage of a flying disc - a spaceship from another galaxy.  After I get what I came for, you are going to report this to the local sheriff and become a very famous man." 
            She smiled and watched Mac's reaction turn from suspicious caution to surprised disbelief.  Finally, he chuckled and said, "You're about the craziest damn woman I ever met."
            Rachel laughed, "You might be right, Mac - you just might be right."  She moved around Mac and began walking the length of the ravine.

            Mac turned and watched as she strolled through the debris, head down, scanning side to side.  The entire episode surprised him so much that, for the moment at least, all his mind could handle was to wonder what this crazy young woman was looking for.  Where she came from and how she got here was so secondary to him that it never entered his thought processes.  Unable to merely stand and watch, Mac followed Rachel along the bottom of the ravine.

            "Whatcha lookin' for, anyway?  Maybe I've seen it already."

            Rachel stopped short and turned.  Why in the hell didn't I think of that?  She grinned, "You're right, Mac.  I don't know why I didn't think to ask you."  She walked back until she stood directly in front of him.  "I'm looking for a glass ball - it's a little bigger than a golf ball."

            "Uh-huh.  And, what would you be needing this glass ball for?"  Mac stuck both hands into the front pockets of his jeans.  Rachel followed his hands with her eyes and locked onto the right hand which balled into a fist inside the pocket.

            She looked back up.  "You found it, didn't you?"

            Mac broke eye contact to look at the ground and then, back to Rachel's face with a stubborn look on his own.  "Maybe.  Depends."

            "Depends on what, Mac?"

            "What you want it for."

            Rachel had grown up believing that honesty was always the best policy, regardless of how outlandish the truth actually was. "The truth is, I don't know."  She paused, trying to guage Mac's demeanor which at the moment, was impossible to judge.  She plunged on.  "The truth, Mac, is sometimes stranger than fiction."  Mac didn't move, but his eyes squinted, listening with a large degree of mistrust. She didn't expected an answer from him, anyway and continued, "I come from the future, Mac - the year 2000 to be exact.  One minute I was in a place called Giant Rock - that's in California and the next; here I am in Roswell, New Mexico in the year 1947, with a voice in my head, telling me to find a glass ball."

            Mac stared at her for several seconds and then, abruptly, walked up the side of the ravine.  At the top, he stopped and turned in a three-hundred-sixty degree circle, surveying the countryside.  Finally, he looked back down at Rachel.  "We're about three miles from the Foster place.  Thirty-five, forty miles from any real civilization. In this heat, a pilgrim like you wouldn't last a mile, especially without water and you don't have any.  How did you get here and how did you know exactly where I'd be?  It's obvious that you haven't been walking around out here very long."

            Placing her hand over her eyes against the sun that was directly behind Mac, Rachel looked up and said, "I told you.  I don't know."

            Mac grunted and motioned her to the top of the ravine.  Rachel scrambled up, slipping on the loose stones.  Near the top she nearly lost her balance and Mac reached down, grabbed her arm and pulled her up.                      Standing again, face to face, Mac said, "That's the most **** I've heard in a long time."  He paused and looked around.  "But, I can't for the life of me, figure out how the hell you got all the way out here without a jeep or a horse."

            He pulled his fist out of his pocket and held it out, toward Rachel.  Slowly, he opened his hand to reveal the glass ball, that Rachel had described, in the palm of his hand.  "Take it," he said.

            Rachel reached out and tentatively plucked the ball from his hand.  She held it up between thumb and index finger.  The sunlight glittered on the surface and it appeared to create a rainbow effect inside the ball, but otherwise, nothing happened.

            "Huh," Mac said.

            "What?"  Rachel asked.

            "Nothin'.  I just thought that if you were really sent here...somehow...to get this thing, it'd do something when you touched it."

            Rachel nodded. "Yeah.  Well, like I said, I don't know what this is or what it does, if anything.  I...." 

            In mid sentence, Rachel disappeared.

            Mac jumped back, tripped and sat with a solid thump on his butt.  My God!  He thought.  Before he could get his thoughts together or get back to his feet, he heard the crunch of gravel behind him.  Mac whirled around and, on hands and knees, looked at the scuffed boots of another stranger.

            "Howdy," the stranger said, "you look like you've seen a ghost."

 

************

 

            "Did you ****' hear me, Rachel?  Who is this Critzer guy?  I mean, ****, he...."

            "Shush, Byron."  Rachel blinked and shook her head as the disorientation that muddled her brain wore off.  She reached down and felt the front right pocket of her jeans.  It was there.  The glass ball was real and in her pocket. 

            Poor Byron was hopping up and down, wringing his hands like an old woman.  His tears from earlier had dried leaving light colored trails down his otherwise filthy face.

            "Sit down, here, Byron.  Just relax and when I come back, I'll tell you everything.  Okay?"

            "But, Rach, I....."

            "Sit, Byron!" Rachel said and, without waiting for compliance, whirled and walked to where the huge slice of Giant Rock had landed.

            The Rock completely covered their old campsite by several feet around.  It was now the marker for the graves of four of her best friends.  Alex, poor, brave Alex.  He'd have been safe had he not rushed to save Byron.  The voice had been right, Alex's death hurt her deeply, hurt her heart.  But, there was no time for tears, not now.  She would have to wait to mourn Alex's death. 

            She pulled the glass ball from her jeans and held it up, looking through it to the standing half of Giant Rock.  Instantly, the glass began to glow.

 

************

 

45 miles Northwest of Roswell, New Mexico
July 3, 1947

 

            Mac scrabbled to his feet.  He took several steps backward, looking wildly around.  The stranger stood smiling and waited for Mac to calm down and look at him.

            "Mr. Brazel, I pressume?  It seems that you've met my little runaway.  How long ago did she leave?"

            "Who...who..."  Mac couldn't get his head together; too many wierd things had happened, too fast.  His mind was mostly mush.

            "Who am I, is that what you're asking?"  The stranger laughed and said, "Well, you won't remember after I'm gone, but if it'll make you feel better, the name's Frank.  Frank Critzer."

            "I...I...."  Mac mumbled.

            Frank was getting annoyed.  He'd already lost too much time.  If I hadn't smoked that damned cigarette, I could have been right on her tail and I wouldn't have wasted all that time looking for her at Area 51.  I was so sure she was headed there.  The damned Venii are certainly expert at misdirection.     

            "Listen, Mac, I need to know what the girl did here.  Was she looking for something?  What?"  Frank wanted to shake the man and get his answers, but he knew that wouldn't work.  Mac Brazel's brain was fried.  There was only one he could do; Frank looked inside Mac's head.

            The girl...Rachel.....vanished...into thin air....she just - poof - disappeared.  She wanted that glass ball ...but, it didn't ...it didn't work or something...she came out of nowhere....she....          

            So, she came here for a glass ball.  Now, where would she go with it?  Frank hadn't a clue what the glass ball was or why the Venii wanted it.  It didn't matter at the moment, however.  What mattered was where the hell she was, now!

            Frank looked at a man on the verge of total insanity and said, "Everything will be fine in a few minutes.  Have a nice life, Mac." 

            He wiped Mac's memory clean of the last hour; he figured that would be enough.  He turned away, paused and turned back again, erasing another hour of memory from Mac's brain.  Can't be too careful, he thought. 

            With a wave at Mac, Frank sprang off the edge of the ravine and disappeared into thin air.

            Mac came to his senses and looked around, wondering what the heck he was doing up here.  The last thing he remembered was picking up a glass ball.  It was hot from sitting in the sun.  He'd tossed it back and forth, hand to hand until it was little cooler and then briefly looked it over before sticking it into his pocket.  He'd check it out more closely, later.  It reminded him of the "Bumbo" marble he had as a kid.  This ball was larger, though; bigger than a golf ball, in fact. 

            He slapped his right, front jeans pocket.  The glass ball was gone.  Instantly, he doubted ever having it.  "You're getting old, Mac," he mumbled to himself as he shuffled back to the lip of the ravine and half walked half slid his way to the bottom.

 

************

 

            The glowing glass ball began to vibrate in her hands and she heard a now familiar voice in her mind.  "You've done well, Rachel.  We knew you were special and that we could depend on you.  The glass ball you hold is an Inducer .  It is critical to the functionality of the Integratron.  Others have components that were removed from the Integratron after Van Tassel's death.  They will meet you there.  Your piece, the Inducer, and the powers that we have bestowed upon you will combine to make Van Tassel's dream a reality that will benefit all of mankind.  Make haste, Rachel, there is no time to lose, for our enemies approach from all sides."

            Rachel shook her head to clear her thoughts and stuffed the glass ball, clear and dormant again, back into her jeans.  She ran back to Byron and pulled him to his feet.

            "Come on, Byron, we've got to go."

           Still confused, he shook himself away from her and said, "**** that!  Go where?"

            "The Integratron."  She grabbed his arm and pulled him to his vehicle.