♦ ♦ ♦
In a bare stone meditation cell tucked away in a corner of the Lateran Palace a few kilometers from Vatican City, Pope Francis II, only recently elevated to the Seat of Peter, quietly, fervently and devoutly prayed. He prayed for guidance and for understanding. Did these aliens possess souls? Had Christ in one form or another visited them? Were they Children of God come from a far room in the “many mansions of the Father”?
♦ ♦ ♦
Lutheran Missions lay worker Helga Hendricksdottir sat on her stool before the awning-sheltered community TV of Takaba, Kenya, which usually picked up comsat programs on subsistence farming techniques and family hygiene. The brown-haired woman looked out at the 200 poor but proud people of this rural farming community near the Ethiopian border as they huddled before the town’s single TV. They had just watched a CNN rebroadcast of the incredible interview with alien visitors to Earth. Tired as she was from staying up last night to midwife a new son of a local farm couple, she was excited.
But she worried about whether she and her friends, who sought only enough to eat, fewer illnesses, fewer taxes, children who did not go blind or retarded from diseases preventable for pennies, would be left behind in the world’s rush to this new experience. She also wondered whether the Trade spoken of by these aliens meant better strains of sorghum, millet and lentils for the farmers of Takaba. Leaving such questions for the far future, she got up and headed toward the town water well to check out the new chlorinator. It was a recent gift from a church group in Trondheim. Bit by bit some things were improving. She hoped the coming of the aliens would also bring new hope.
♦ ♦ ♦
Arkady Sergeyevich Bochtov, President of the Russian Federation, sat at an ornate desk in a Kremlin room furnished by Catherine the Great, meditatively looking across the room at a picture of Vladimir Illyich Lenin. The picture hung above a rococo, non-functional fireplace. He was fresh from a meeting with the Council of Ministers, during which he had taken an encrypted satphone call from an alien called Arix Corin Arax. The alien discussed many things with him, including the status of the Motherland’s directed energy weapon acquisition radars and the two top-secret radiofrequency scalar beam installations built on Sakhalin Island for possible use in a certain move against Japan. The fact that the aliens knew of the installations, that they had mentioned them on a maser link, and that the Americans probably picked it up with their microwave spy receivers atop their new embassy building, was upsetting enough. What upset him even more was the fact that once more the Western societies would again have an opportunity to obtain powerful new technologies with which they could further threaten the Rodina’s interests around the world.
He was wielding the strong hand of the Czars, which had begun with the presidency of Vladimir Putin, to the benefit of all Rus. Their alliance with India was close to confronting the black nationalists of South Africa. The plan was for their joint navies to capture Capetown and land troops, thereby allowing them to control natural resources far beyond the diamond mines of Kimberly. Russia would control a populace that could be used, abused and expended, no matter what sanctions the United Nations might impose. And the Hindus cared only for removing a competitor for control of the Indian Ocean.
Now, aliens had come calling. A fact confirmed by the Rodina’s radar at Copernicus and the Konstantin Tsiolkovsky station’s telescope. Unfortunately, the Rodina had no Mars transit ship. But their shuttle Lenin was parked at Tyuratam. He wondered if the shuttle could be refueled quickly enough for a launch to visit this alien ship at the L4 location. Perhaps he should send Vice Premier Seramov up to their station to greet the aliens. He would think on it. A survivor, Arkady Sergeyevich rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling fatigued. He could not directly control these aliens with his security forces, he couldn’t threaten them in their Moon orbit, nor could he ignore them lest other nations obtain secrets which rightfully belonged to the workers’ leading nation. He stood up and walked over to a window looking down on Red Square.
Not since the failed attempt to regain the Baltic nations had he felt such frustration. At that time he had been working covertly with local Slavs to provide a pretext for the Red Army to invade. But some of the Slavs had been double agents working for the CIA. Which loss of secrecy meant NATO quick reaction forces had landed in the Baltic nations an hour before the Rodina attacked Estonia and Latvia. The loss of two armored divisions had halted the attack on the NATO member nations. The loss to Russian prestige, and their control of eastern Ukraine and Chechnya, had been disastrous. That disaster had been followed by the death of the insane North Korea dictatorship, which had made the mistake of attacking an American supercarrier in the Japan Sea. Despite their possession of simple atomic weapons, the North Koreans had been overrun by the combined South Korean and American forces. Those forces had stopped at the Yalu River border with China. Which nation, paradoxically, later formed an alliance with America and Japan to send the first manned mission to Mars! And now shared a Mars colony with the two capitalist regimes. On neither the Pacific rim of his nation nor the Baltic Sea border was the Rodina able to end the encirclement of his people. Only to the south, by alliance with the ostracized Hindus of India, had the Rodina made headway in counterbalancing the Western powers, Brazil and China.
Since the Baltic Disaster of ‘39, Russian-American affairs had been an expensive stalemate of two overheated economies. Now these aliens showed up with their sweet words! Arkady shook his head in frustration. Well, he would play their game for a while. He would send Seramov up to Tsiolkovsky station and invite the aliens for a visit. He would turn the warm summer face of the Motherland to them—for awhile. Afterwards, after more was known of their intentions, ships and weapons, he would reassess his options.
♦ ♦ ♦
Ling Ping stared at the yellow satphone that moments earlier had conveyed a maser signal from an alien of the name Aret Kagen Terai, who was of the same Horem species as the Sargon wolf-being who had been interviewed moments earlier by the American vid-reporter Jack Harrigan. The satphone did not resemble a snake. But he felt toward the call as if a snake had indeed bitten him. Looking away and focusing instead on a Ming Dynasty painting by Sun Lung, one of several that decorated his private residence within the walls of the Imperial City, he considered his options.
The Middle Kingdom had always led the people of Earth, first in science and later in overseas trading expeditions long before the Westerner Columbus landed in the Caribbean Gulf of America. Since the revolution of 1949, the world had come to respect the land of Chin. It had taken their detonation of nuclear weapons in the 1960s to awaken the Europeans and Americans, but later came respect for the orbiting of taikonauts, the creation of the Tiangong space station, the building of their Moon base at Langrenus crater and finally, their launching of the first landing on Mars, in alliance with Japan and America. Now, Chin was one of only three world nations that regularly traveled from Earth to Mars. Sadly, the Mars transit ship Yinghuo was halfway between the two worlds and not available for a visit to this L4 site. But their Tianzhou shuttle was at Langrenus. His cousin Ling No-wan was its pilot. Could he trust his cousin to fly to L4 and represent the land of Chin?
That would be a decision for the upcoming meeting of the Politburo Standing Committee, a meeting he had called upon seeing the Harrigan interview. In ten minutes it would begin. He had eaten a bowl of rice, drunk cold green tea and was now dressed in his best suit. It was time for the General Secretary of the Communist Party, the Chairman of the Central Military Commission and the President of the People’s Republic of China to attend that meeting. Since he held all three posts as Paramount Leader of Chin, none would oppose him at the Politburo meeting. But several members would have questions. And some questions have implications for his ability to lead a nation of two billion people.
Ling Ping opened the door leading outside and to the iron gate that fronted his residence. Stepping down the steps, intensely aware of the satphone videos
even now being taken of him from obscure corners of the Imperial City, he straightened his posture, lifted his head and, bare-headed, walked toward the black Lambda limousine that would take him to the Politburo meeting. He did not hurry. Whatever other nations of the world chose to do, the land of Chin would consider, discuss and explore all its options. Only then would it act. And when it acted, the world would admire that action! Of that, Ling Ping would make certain.
♦ ♦ ♦
One hour after the sat-vidcast first aired, four armed FBI agents entered the CNN International building. Walking past the receptionist they pushed into the elevator and exited on the fourth floor. In unison the four barged into Lesley Ann Jacobs’ sat-vid interview of Jack and Colleen about their encounter with the aliens in Tennessee and in orbit. The agents demanded Jack accompany them unless he wished to learn about an obscure paragraph of the National Security Act of 1950 and the Patriot Act of 2001 as amended. They left with him after a short delay.
Colleen, keeping her mouth shut, had not been taken. After all, their orders only mentioned Jack Harrigan, not a petite, 47 year-old, red-haired vid producer. Leaving Colleen McIntyre her freedom was a miscalculation on their part which they would sorely regret.
Feeling intensely frustrated by Jack’s federal kidnapping, she resolved not to hide her frustration under a bushel basket.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Jack,” called Colleen from the cabin’s loft, “we can’t hide out here anymore.”
He looked up at his lover, yearning for a time when he wasn’t known worldwide. When he wasn’t in demand by the media, by Tommy Newsome, by President McDonnell, by everybody. He sighed and nodded his slightly balding head.
“You’re right. But I had to get back to the Smokies to center myself, to grab hold of the real Jack Harrigan.” He smiled up at her from the kitchen’s two-burner hotplate, now warming up a breakfast of bacon and eggs. She was still naked from their early morning bout of love-making. At least that hadn’t changed—she was every bit as hot-blooded as he was.
“So,” she said peaking over the loft railing with a freckled grin for him, green eyes twinkling with sheer love of life, “are you centered now?”
“Yep. Right above your navel!”
“Jack! How delightfully raunchy you are. But,” she stepped back and began pulling on jeans, a green flannel workshirt and hiking boots, “three times today is enough. We’ve got work to do. You have to report in to the FBI, I’ve got a piece to do for Working Woman online about our interview of Sargon, and we need to deposit that gold Sargon gave you for the interview.”
“I agree. Colleen—”
She looked down at him, half-dressed. “Yes, darling?”
“Thanks for screaming bloody-murder when the FBI picked me up—those sat-vid news stories quoting you as wanting your kidnapped partner back seemed to make a difference at the White House.” He turned the eggs, laid out sourdough bread and butter on the table, and looked back up to her. “They could have stuck me in the sub-sub-sub-basement of the Pentagon and thrown away the key.”
Colleen came down the ladder, now dressed. “I only did what you’d have done for me, Jack.” She stood on tip-toes and gave him a kiss. “Anyway—what’s the point in being a worldwide media celebrity if you don’t use it?”
“Quite right.” He turned back to the skillet of bacon and eggs, smelling the coffee pot perking nearby. The muted thump of Colleen’s hiking boots receded behind him as she went out the front door onto the cabin’s stoop.
“Jack—the FBI cordon is still out here,” Colleen called.
He grabbed two coffee mugs, two plates and silverware from a cupboard. “I know. Saw them earlier when I got up. At least it’s a protective cordon—rather than a roust-out.”
He heard Colleen come back inside. “Jack.”
Jack turned, seeing Colleen leaning against the front door frame, distant shapes of FBI men evident beyond her among the surrounding oaks. Colleen’s look was not her usual light-hearted look. She looked worried.
“What darling?”
“Why do you need an FBI cordon?”
He dodged as the pan grease spat, turned the electric burners off, and put the bacon strips on paper to drain. This was something he knew the answer to, but hadn’t wanted Colleen to worry about. Wiping hands on his apron, he turned around and leaned back against the counter rim. Colleen looked expectant, thumbs stuck into her jeans as she leaned against the door frame.
“To protect me, Colleen.”
“From who? Or what?”
“Fanatics.” She looked skeptical. “Actually, from counter-espionage types of other nations. Somebody might be stupid enough to think that if they held me hostage, they could gain an edge with the aliens. Or think I know more than I’ve already told the President. Nations, like people, want an edge.”
Colleen walked up to their kitchen table and sat down across from him in the place Sargon had sat in not so many days ago. He put down plates, silverware and the coffee mugs as she settled in, elbows on the table, chin resting on folded hands, green eyes inspecting him intently.
“Jack—what does it mean to be the Liaison for Sargon and the aliens?” she asked.
He turned back, grabbed the skillet, ladled out the eggs and bacon, dropped the skillet in the sink, and put the coffee pot down between them, avoiding an answer in necessary work. She gave him until he set the pepper and salt shakers down, then kicked his shin under the table as he sat, eyes downcast.
“Well?”
“Hey—I’m hungry.”
“So am I. Answer me, darling.”
He looked up, seeing serious worry, maybe even fear in Colleen’s beautiful green eyes. He poured coffee for them both.
“Maybe it’s just what Sargon said—a go-between for the Compact aliens with us Earth humans? Even though they’ve monitored us for years and had a Probe team down in Chennai, they aren’t infallible.”
Colleen picked up her fork, twisting it in her fingers as she eyed him. “Maybe. When will you really know?”
He sliced his eggs up. “I guess when he contacts me next. Why is this so important for you?”
Colleen looked startled, then pushed her fork into her eggs, eyes downcast. “Uh . . . I just wondered why you accepted something so open-ended. Without much in the way of specifics. It’s not like you.”
Why had he? He liked Sargon. He liked this Compact idea. But he’d been around too long to buy every hard-luck story. Then again, he’d never before spoken to an alien werewolf. He recalled the gambles he’d taken for the two Pulitzers he’d earned. Looking back, he saw Colleen chewing a mouthful of scrambled eggs. Her tongue licked the grease-fried eggs into ruby-red lips. She smile-squinted back at him—a real trooper.
“Because this is unique. Because . . . I felt driven to do it—for the story.” She nodded, pretending nonchalance. “Colleen, you’ll come with me—won’t you? To this Hekar starship?”
She looked up, her expression stricken. “What if they didn’t include me in the package, Jack? What if this is a one-person, one-way ticket to the starship?”
“No!”
She smiled weakly, laying down her fork. “Yes, Jack. Maybe yes. You do have to do this, you know. I know you too well. This isn’t something you can walk away from.”
Could it be a solo invite? “I . . . didn’t ask Sargon about bringing you along. I just assumed it was . . . understood.”
She shrugged, sipping coffee, eyes downcast. “Maybe it was. Maybe they really do need someone to interpret human behavior for them. Someone they feel they can trust.”
He reached across the table, taking her free hand in both of his. “Colleen—why didn’t you bring this up before?”
She sighed, looking away quickly. Was there a diamond-twinkle of a tear in the corner of her eye? “Because, Jack, I didn’t want to stand in your way. I know what this means to you.”
He squeezed hard. “I’m not giving you up!”
She looked back, mil
ky white face looking drawn. “Do you have a choice?”
The trouble with making decisions on your feet is that sometimes the decisions turn out to be right for the wrong reasons. Would this Liaison job cost him Colleen? That he couldn’t accept. Wouldn’t! He smiled.
“Did you ever know Jack Harrigan not to have a choice? Not to have an ace up my sleeve?” He squeezed her hand softly. “And I will tell Sargon to find another Liaison if you can’t be with me all the way.”
She finally laughed, a real laugh, with only a hint of pain. “So I’m included. So it’s a package deal with Sargon. Good. Uh, what do you think about being this Liaison, Jack?”
He turned back to the cooling sunny-side up eggs, scooping some up on the fork. “I get the feeling this is going to put me between a rock and a hard place.” He took a bite of the thick-cut bacon and spread some butter on the sourdough bread he’d laid out earlier. “I’m no alien, but I can bet the average person is going to be damn suspicious of someone who looks like they’re doing the aliens’ bidding.”
Colleen nodded, sipping from her second cup of coffee. “Jack, there are always narrow-minded people around. But think!” She pointed a piece of bacon at him to emphasize her statement. “This is a unique moment in human history. It’s the first and only time we’ve met other people besides ourselves. We’re at the crest of a new era in human history. It’s as momentous as the move into space! Or when the Cro-Magnon folks took over from the Neanderthals.” Colleen shook her curly red hair, looking for the problems and the good points now that she knew this was a partnership, not just a one-person show. “This is history-making, Jack. And we’re going to be the crest-riders, riding the wave of unique, one-time only events. Yes, there’s a Pulitzer here. Along with a few Nobel prizes for some human researchers. But there’s also the long haul. Where are we going to be in five, ten years from now?”
Retread Shop 1: First Contact Page 21
