I'm standing on the side of a mountain in the Pacific Northwest, looking across a valley at a mountain twice as high as the one I'm standing on. It's late at night, 3AM or so, but everything is visible because the moon's out, illuminating everything in an almost phospherescent glow. I look across at the other mountain, and there's a cable running from it across the valley and terminating just above my head. I put my hands on a couple of handlebars and push away, racing high over the valley far below. As I get closer to the other mountain I see that there's a door there, going into the mountain. I finish my ride to the other side and walk in through the door, which leads down a narrow corridor lit overhead by circular lamps. It has a very 1940's'ish feel to it, like some kind of an abandoned military base. Every few hundred feet there's an office door with a translucent glass panel. Every one is dark and as I walk down I open one of the doors and look inside. It's an enormous underground airplane hanger, so large that the planes can actually use most of the hanger for taking off and landing, and at one end there's massive doors that open and close in the side of the mountain. The hanger itself is mostly empty, and noticably dusty, as if it hasn't been used in many, many years. Off to one side are a few old World War Two fighter planes, missing wheels, holes in the fuselage, fallen on their sides and disused, left for junk. I leave the hanger and go to the end of the corridor where there's a light on in a door there. I walk inside and it's another hanger, though much smaller than the others, almost the size of a couple of car garages in a home. Inside one part is sectioned off for storage, and large metal drums of oil and gas and spare parts in boxes sit on shelves or on the ground. Behind a large canvas curtain though is the most fascinating thing of all: An actual flying saucer, but very small, about twelve feet to fifteen in diameter and looking like something straight out of a 1950's sci-fi flick, right down to a clear plastic bubble canopy. Looking inside I see an alien, again resembling the 1950's stereotype of an alien resembling a wizenly old man with an enormous, malformed head with bulging veins and narrow, slit-like eyes. He looks out at me from inside the flying saucer, looking a little frightened but not too bad. I try to reassure him but can't think of anything to do or say; he doesn't speak my language and I don't speak his, nor do I think would he understand any gestures I might make. At this time Albert Einstien walks up to me and starts talking about what I'm seeing and how it all came to be. I walk around the spacecraft as he's telling me this, nodding my head, scratching my chin. As I come all the way around the flying saucer to where I began, a little girl comes around the canvas covering sectioning off the garage/storage area. She's dressed in a blue floral dress in a 1950's style or cut with a sweater on top, she's about 6 or 7 years old. She's smiling as she looks at all of us, then sees the flying saucer and begins to walk towards it, still smiling. As she gets close to it, she reaches out towards a lever that is sticking out of the side. Me and Al just watch her, but the alien inside suddenly becomes very, very frightened and is shaking violently, drawing his arms up around his head with his mouth open in a scream. As the girl pulls the lever, the next thing I see is a nuclear mushroom cloud. And the dream ends.