Classified object By John Victor Peterson There was a comic book in the alien space ship--of a sort. But it wasn't meant for children. _Whether in science fiction or on the screen the starkly realistic documentary has become increasingly popular in recent months. When handled with deftness, and brilliant technical skill it is very likely to ring the bell at the apex of the entertainment meter. John Victor Peterson lives in Jackson Heights, close to the scene he describes. He has also a sound grasp of the intricacies of space navigation on all levels._ [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Fantastic Universe July 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] _This, for the greater part, George Winthrop learned later_: The harried controller observing the airport surveillance radarscope in the La Guardia Airport control tower that sultry night at first ignored the uncommonly bright blip creeping in from the 'scope's periphery. Blips thirty miles out are of little significance; there are too many other airports within the radius with their own traffic problems. This return was coming from northwest of Teterboro, New Jersey. Let Teterboro Tower worry about it! The weather was worsening and the Air Route Traffic Control Center already had traffic stacked up and holding--traffic he could not ignore! But his tired eyes were repeatedly drawn to the fantastically registering blip as it traced some object's bee line path in from the northwest, progressively advancing across the electronic range-marks, and maintaining a constant course toward the Airport, as charted by the indicator's reference bearing mark. Over New Hackensack now, moving across the 'scope's overlay map toward the George Washington Bridge-- The return's strength easily equaled that from a dirigible and far exceeded that from a commercial ship. The blip was too bright, the trail behind it too long, too remarkably persistent. Possibly the Air Force has some super-Globemaster that might account for the blip. But in that case a flight plan would have been filed on so huge a craft's trip into the metropolitan area. It was damnably puzzling! There was something inexorable about the steady, precise progress of the object which brought mounting, unaccountable alarm. He raised his head, his thin, tense face doubly shadowed by the amber light of the 'scope's filter and the radar tent's ultra-violet lighting. "Hey, Bill!" he shouted. "I've either picked up something strictly unclassified, or gone cockeyed!" The chief controller crowded into the radar tent beside him. "Where--_oh_, oh! I'm calling Mitchel Field. This is for the Air Force!" I