The construction site was alive with noise and activity. People in hard hats passed and shouted to each other. Several large digging vehicles were parked around the area among the piles of excavated dirt.

    Suddenly, there was a shout. Everyone in the area turned their attention toward the disturbance. A worker man was pointing at the hole in front of one of the backhoes. Everyone else craned their necks, trying to see what was causing the uproar. Then it became visible at the top of the dirt pile, a smooth, round object of a green hue unlike that of anything any of the men had seen before. At once, one of the workers tentatively made his way toward the thing, anxious to see what it was.    

    After a few minutes, he walked back to his comrades, gingerly cradling the thing to his chest. He was amazed by the smooth surface and how incredibly spherical it was. If they hadn’t been in a secluded construction site, he probably would have mistaken it for a toy ball or a balloon. It was even roughly the same weight. It was exceptionally light for a thing the size of basketball.

    “Why isn’t anyone working?” The site supervisor had entered the throng of workers and was in the process of doling out death glares to each of the men. Finally, he approached the man with the sphere. His confusion was clearly etched on his face.

    “What’s that, Scott?” the supervisor demanded.

    The worker, Scott, held it out carefully to his boss, who took the sphere roughly. He turned it over slowly, admiring the smooth green shell.

    “It looks like an egg,” he said suddenly, looking back up at Scott. “Get back to work. I’ll get this thing checked out.” With that last word, the boss man walked away, retreating to the shelter he was treating as his office.

    Once he was alone, he began to examine the round thing more thoroughly. It was unlike anything within his experience. At a loss for anything better to do, he called the only place he could think of that would be genuinely interested in something so obviously extra terrestrial.

+++

    “The egg will be transported first thing Wednesday morning, which leaves us only three days to get everything sorted out for its flight.” There was a murmur of agreement at the coordinator’s words.

    “Actually, sir, I believe the specimen would be safer if we were to transport it to Area 51 by car.” Michael Kirk may have been the coordinator of the research center and my boss, but I had been named the lead on the alien egg project, and I was not going to allow him to put my prized specimen in danger.

    “Dr. Lindsay, I am aware you mean to keep the egg safe, but decision has already been made to send it to Nevada via aircraft. Driving would take too long,” Kirk replied.

    “Is there anyway I could change your mind, sir? I feel very strongly that it would be a better idea in the long run-”

    “Absolutely not, Ivan. The conference has already decided on it. The egg leaves on Wednesday.” There was no arguing with him when he used that tone of voice. It had been worth a try.

    “In that case, I demand to be permitted to travel with the egg to ensure its safety.” This was my final move. If he didn’t comply to this new, simpler request then I was out of luck. After a few moments, he nodded solemnly.

    “Fine. There is only room for three men on the Boeing B-47, so you will have to act as a crew member as well. That is my final decision, Dr. Lindsay.”

    Although it was still not the best plan in my opinion, I was willing to accept this compromise.

    “Thank you, sir,” I said, nodding and straightening my glasses on the bridge of my nose.

    “Now, on the transportation process,” Michael continued as though I had not interrupted his lecture. “The egg will be securely packed in the head of a twelve foot long bomb, along with 400 pounds of conventional explosives and a remote detonation system.”

    He seemed shocked by my approving expression. I obviously wanted to keep the egg safe, but I would rather blow it up and lose whatever alien creature festered inside it than have it fall into any hands other than my own. I didn’t feel as though I was being unreasonable; I just wanted to be famous for something, and few things sounded as appealing as going down in history as the man who discovered alien life on Earth.

    Realizing I was going to offer no disagreement this time, Michael continued with his briefing. The bomb would be loaded into a Boeing B-47 on the coming Wednesday, February 5, 1958. The flight would depart from Homestead Air Force Base, and it would be classified as a simulated combat mission. It would be easier to explain to the public that way, should anything go wrong. I had been praying for the past few days that nothing would go wrong, but I understood we had to be prepared for absolutely anything to happen.

+++

    The entire base had been preparing diligently for three days leading up to this moment. A group of men gathered on the tarmac in the dim early morning light. I checked my watch; it wasn’t even 2:00 AM yet. A machine drove up, carrying the bomb with the egg safely packed inside, and lifted it into the plane. I helped make sure it was secure and would not explode while on the plane.

    Within about half an hour, everything seemed to be sorted and ready to go. The pilot, Howard Richardson,  the other crewman, and I all took our places on the plane as we prepared for take off. It wasn’t my first time flying, but I was still nervous. This was definitely the most important plane ride of my life. I had a job to do. I had something I needed to protect.

    There were only two other planes taking off before us, so we didn’t have to wait long until we were able to get airborne. The morning sky was clear, and my anxiety gradually began to fade.

    That was before we saw the F-86 Sabre heading straight toward us. I’m not sure what either of our pilots were thinking, but the next thing I knew, the Boeing was shuddering in the air, threatening to drop. Out the window, I saw the pilot of the other plane eject as his ride hurtled downward toward the Pacific Ocean below us. I was about to follow his example when a thought occurred to me.

    “We need to drop the bomb.” All the other two men looked at me like I had lost my mind. “If we don’t jettison the bomb, it runs a risk of exploding too near to us!” I continued, more urgently.

    Finally, the Howard nodded and pressed the button to release the bomb from the underside of the plane. I held my breath as I watched it drop 7,200 feet into the vast blue mass below, taking my scientific discovery along with it. My heart lifted a little when I didn’t see an explosion upon impact with the water. There was a chance to get the egg back. We would just need to find it. I took a moment to check our position- 32°0′N 80°51′W, near Tybee Island off the coast of Georgia.

    The continued shuddering of the plane jerked me back into my current dilemma. Howard was guiding the damaged bomber toward the ground as best as he could. The most I could do was follow his orders and hope we would survive.

    My prayers were realized when we landed safely, if a bit beaten up, at the Hunter Air Force Base. We stumbled out of the plane and were checked for injuries. We were all unharmed- even the other pilot had survived. Unfortunately, my alien was gone.

    Of course, I was thankful to be alive, but I couldn’t help but focus on the negative of the situation. That egg had been my ticket to the history books, and now it was gone, sitting on the bottom of the ocean somewhere near Georgia.

+++

    My crew and I were transported back to our base, where a meeting was held to decide what to do. Obviously, some recovery efforts would have to be put into effect; I was not going to give up on the world’s only piece of alien matter that easily.

    Some decisions were made, some strings were pulled, and the very next day, the Air Force 2700th Explosive Ordnance Disposal Squadron and 100 Navy personnel mounted a search, equipped with hand held sonar and galvanic drag and cable sweeps.

    It was several months before we got any news back. We had been busy during that time, though. Many people had seen or heard the crash, and we needed to fabricate some cover story. I suppose it had been a true stroke of genius putting explosives in the bombshell; we weren’t technically lying when we told camera crews about the “simulation mission” and the dropped bomb. Sure, a bomb sounded dangerous, but we had to keep in mind the public reaction if we had them what was really in that capsule. The world would descend into pure anarchy.  

    Then, on April 16, we received word that the search had been unsuccessful. This was the final straw for me. I had come to realize that everything would have worked out much better if Michael Kirk had allowed me to drive my specimen to Nevada myself. I had given up at that point. The search had narrowed down an area about the size of a football field, but were unable to do any more than that. They guessed that in the time the capsule had been underwater, between five and fifteen feet of silt and sand could have washed over it and hidden it from our sonar. In short, there wasn’t much hope left.

    I suggested one last meeting be called to decide what the final step was. A few days later, a committee had been formed, and we were ready to find a solution.  

    “I believe that in light of the recent developments in the search for the egg, it would be the wisest decision to detonate the explosives and eliminate any evidence of the presence of alien life on Earth,” I said, addressing the room. I was met with some gasps and many shocked expressions. With a sigh I continued, “I know it may seem selfish, but we have no idea what could be in that egg. It would probably be safer for everyone just to destroy it.” I didn’t bring up the fact that my main reason for abandoning the search was because I didn’t want anyone to find my alien and steal my glory. I didn’t want to look like such a selfish jerk now, not when I could still go out of the spotlight with dignity.

    A vote was taken, and the choice was unanimous: blow it up.

+++

    I felt a pang of guilt as I stood, looking out over the sea, my finger hovering over the button that was about to destroy the sole piece of alien life in the history of humanity. It wasn’t enough to stop my finger coming down, though. I felt a small tremor in the ground, marking the submarine explosion. I sighed and turned away, unable to face the water. After a few moments of silence, I walked away.

    My life was nothing special now. I had had an amazing opportunity, and it was gone. Sometimes, I caught myself wondering if I had imagined the whole thing when I was particularly bored by mundane, terrestrial experiments. I knew I hadn’t, but I also found myself wishing I had.

+++

    Deep in the Pacific Ocean between the coast of Georgia and Tybee Island, a huge crater had been formed. The explosion had been so recent and monstrous that there were still white hot bits of metal floating around and coming to rest in the silt on the sea floor. In the very center of the crater, among shards of glowing metal and boiling bubbles, was something unnatural. It was round and smooth, about the size of a basketball, and a vibrant green color. Despite the destruction around it, this object appeared to be completely unharmed. That is, until a wide crack severed the shell into two pieces. Then, slowly, almost sneakily, a long, thin stream of black something seeped from the crack in the shell. It twisted around several times, getting accustomed the liquid surroundings. Once it had become comfortable with its environment, the black turned back to the green shell now laying in two pieces in the sand. With a sharp movement, it surged forward and engulfed the shell, reducing it to a pile of dust in seconds flat. With renewed energy, the black stretched into a long cord shape and slithered away, disappearing into the darkness of the ocean and leaving little piles of dust everywhere there had been smoldering metal moments earlier.