Beyond the Event Horizon - Episode Four

by Albert Sartison

  The president laughed.

  “Am I supposed to believe that?”

  “No, really, I don’t have personnel qualified in this matter. Even if I wanted to...”

  John interrupted him without waiting for the end of his sentence.

  “I understand, but you think the fleet’s opinion is well grounded?”

  “Whatever the situation, sir, we should not let control of critical infrastructure out of our hands.”

  “All right, thank you. Good night.”

  “Any time, Mr. President.”

  The president took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and sat motionless for some time on the edge of the bed. Then he put on a dressing gown and went out onto the balcony, where he sat looking out towards the ocean. The closeness of the water and the mild climate awakened memories and brightened his spirits. There could not be a better atmosphere for thought.

  The project had to be unconditionally supported by all three groups. The scientists had to confirm that the long-term change of orbit would not destroy the Solar System; the engineers had to guarantee the structural stability of a planet with an empty core, as well as the possibility of an uninterrupted supply of energy from the core of the planets; and the military had to guarantee the security of the human race.

  A project of this scale also had to pass through parliament, where at least three quarters of the votes would be required. The parliamentarians were politicians. Most of them were opportunists, and the remainder were committed conservatives or innovators. No need to worry about the innovators. There was not the slightest doubt that their camp would support the project. As soon as they heard the magic words about a four-and-a-half-fold increase in living space, an endless quantity of absolutely clean energy and a great leap forward up several steps of the technology ladder, they would undoubtedly vote ‘for’. There was no need to convince them, they would convince themselves.

  The other idealists, passionately believing in conservatism, would strive with all their might against any innovative project, even the most beneficial one in the history of the Universe. And if the head of intelligence was right, they would have sufficient arguments to justify their retrograde thinking. Even if no such arguments existed, no-one yet had an answer to the power of demagogy. So there was no point in wasting time on them either, since there was no hope of convincing them that the project was viable.

  But as for the opportunists, that was quite another matter. He would have to deal with them. Firstly, they comprised the majority, and secondly, they would give their votes to whoever offered the most politically. If public opinion leant towards the project, they would support it.

  The president got up from the chair and took several deep breaths, trying to fill his lungs as much as possible with sea air. Sometimes, epoch-making decisions had to be taken ahead of time. The problem was that the ensuing consequences were absolutely unknown, and it was necessary to rely on intuition. As a rule, such decisions are not supported by their contemporaries, since the average man is incapable of assessing such radical prospects. Only true visionaries can see further than others, and if fate has rewarded them with power, they are simply obliged to use it for the benefit of all, even if it is not understood at the time. History will decide who was right.

  He went back to the bed and picked up his tablet again. This time he did not make a call, but simply dictated a brief text message:

  “Guys, you have worked well. I am sure that no-one in the entire Solar System could have done better. How about meeting for a coffee? I impatiently await the moment when I can meet with you face to face in the Oval Office.”

  After reading the message again, he made a few minor corrections and gestured for the tablet to send it to his secretary. After that he lay down in the still warm bed, turned over and, closing his eyes, was pleased to realise that he was rapidly becoming very sleepy. That was a good sign. It meant that the plan ripening in his head would enable the situation to be turned onto a path favourable to him.

  Before sleep finally enfolded him in its arms, one last thought flashed through his tired mind. When history put the finishing touches to the story, and it had become clear to later generations whether he had been the greatest politician on the planet or the greatest fool in the history of mankind, he would long have left the land of the living. Whether they put flowers on his tomb or spat on it would, by then, be a matter of complete indifference to him.

  3

  “This way please,” said the usher with a smile as she opened the massive door. Behind it was a spacious office, whose appearance was familiar to any citizen of the United States of Earth.

  Steve and Maggie entered the empty Oval Office. Before they had time to look around, a door on the other side opened and the president came in. A whole entourage followed him – several people were clearly from the president’s team, but most of them were reporters. As soon as they were in the room, they raised their cameras with their big zoom lenses and pointed them at the president and his guests.

  “Maggie, Steve, I’m very pleased to see you,” said the president, giving them a broad smile, practised to perfection.

  He extended his hand to Maggie. She returned the handshake and, from habit, would have withdrawn her hand, but the president wouldn’t let go. Instead, he turned towards the cameras and stood still, providing a good photo opportunity. After that, he did the same with Steve. Whereas Maggie was somewhat embarrassed by such a wealth of attention, Steve quickly adapted to the role of a celebrity and was himself surprised at how relaxed he was.

  “Steve, Maggie, I have something interesting for you,” said the president mysteriously, gesturing to someone. A woman from the entourage quickly came up to him, holding a silver tray with two medals on it. The hexagonal gold-coloured medals had attractive ribbons with blue and gold stripes. Steve and Maggie looked at each other in surprise.

  The president picked up the medal on the left and approached Maggie in a triumphal manner.

  “Permit me, ma’am?”

  He pinned the medal to the lapel of her jacket, made sure it was on straight and again extended his hand for a handshake.

  “Miss McClaren, it is a great honour for me personally to present you with the State Achievement Medal for your outstanding research in the field of astrobiology.”

  The camera shutters clicked madly, as if a horde of clacking insects had suddenly filled the office.

  Then it was Steve’s turn. When the second medal was in place on his jacket, the president looked at them with an expression like that of a delighted parent congratulating his offspring on graduating from school with distinction.

  It was always the same on occasions like this when the president presented an award to someone for a particularly important achievement. His manner seemed so spontaneous and natural that Steve had always been surprised that the president was so genuinely pleased for them. But now, standing only a foot away from the most important person on the planet, it was almost impossible not to notice the affectation and falsity of his emotions.

  “Steve, what was it like to be a pioneer?” asked the president.

  The question finally threw Steve off balance. He looked in confusion at the entourage observing the scene with indifference, then at the reporters, forever clicking away with their cameras, more interested in getting a good shot than in what was being said. The room was full of people looking attentively at the president and at the two of them, but no-one was listening to the guests of honour. And why was the president asking about the contact in the presence of various nondescript civilians? The project was top secret, surely! So how should he answer? To the point, or just with empty words?

  “It was splendid,” Steve forced himself to say while watching the president’s reaction carefully, who nodded in satisfaction; it was obviously exactly the sort of answer he had been expecting.

  Ten minutes later, they were both sitting in a taxi carrying them away from the Presidential Palace. A dismayed silence reigned in the passeng
er compartment. Steve, who had not taken off his medal, looked at it uncomprehendingly, trying to understand what it meant.

  “For outstanding service in the study of space,” read the inscription around the medal’s hexagonal rim. He fingered the inscription, trying to find out if it was in relief or just applied by the laser beam of a hologram.

  “I don’t know about you, but I thought that was the strangest ceremony ever,” said Maggie suddenly, turning away from the window. She was apparently tired of being left alone with her thoughts.

  Steve stopped studying the medal.

  “Have you been to many ceremonies?”

  “No, but... well, it was total garbage, really. He called us in to meet us, to discuss things, ask questions... But he didn’t ask a single normal question. It was a pure formality.”

  “Do you think the president has time to chat with any Tom, Dick or Harry?”

  “But we’re not any ‘Tom, Dick or Harry’. So far we are the only people who have met the aliens. Surely he can’t be totally uninterested in talking to us?”

  “He already knows all about it without asking us. What do you think the intelligence service is for? But you’re right. I also expected more from the meeting.”

  Maggie turned back to the window. The disappointment in her voice was so great that she could not hide it and Steve even felt rather sorry for her. He had just got up as usual and had gone to the meeting without any kind of preparation; although, granted, he had put on his best suit. But it was obvious from Maggie’s appearance that she had spent much more time making herself look the part. Steve knew very well what sort of a person she was. She had probably spent the whole evening preparing, and he would have bet that she had with her a full report about the meeting with the aliens in the memory of her tablet. The president might at least have asked one or two real questions, if only out of politeness. She was now sitting with her lips pursed in disappointment and he tried to distract her with conversation.

  “What surprised me,” said Steve, “was that the project is top secret, yet the president discussed it with us in the presence of those reporters. You don’t beat the drum in public about such things. That’s why it’s secret! We would have been nailed to the cross for one careless word, but he just chatted away as if it were some nonsense he was talking about.”

  “That’s why he’s president, to behave as he thinks fit. The project was made secret by his direct order; he has the right to annul that order.”

  “I realise that, but he hasn’t annulled the order.”

  Maggie had a sudden thought.

  “Look at the White House page, perhaps they’ve already issued a press release,” she suggested. “That’s where they keep a record of all official meetings.”

  “Where did you learn that?”

  “I saw it when I was reading about the etiquette.”

  “About what?”

  “About the etiquette. The page has advice for those invited on how they should behave, what they should wear... Don’t tell me you didn’t read it?”

  Steve said nothing, as if he had not heard the question, and continued to study the page. If Maggie had known about the casual way he usually approached important events, she would surely never have agreed to fly with him to meet the aliens.

  “Yes, here it is...” he said, pretending to be absorbed in his reading and hoping not to give Maggie the chance to ask him about it again.

  “Well, what does it say? Get on with it!” said Maggie.

  “Hold on, I haven’t finished reading it yet.”

  After reading the text to the end, he put the tablet down.

  “So what have they written about it?” asked Maggie impatiently.

  “That the president met two young scientists to present them with awards for special services in the field of space research. They even have photos of us, look!”

  “Good God, look at the colour of my face!” she said, instinctively passing her palm over her cheek. “But I wouldn’t have thought they would give the public even that much information, considering how secret the project is.”

  Steve nodded in agreement.

  “He seems to be deliberately trying to pour oil on the flames. There’s more gossip than you’d ever want anyway. The whole Internet is full of various conspiracy theories, each one wilder than the last. Actually, some of them even suspect that the government is in contact with aliens.”

  “He was probably just trying to use us for PR purposes. When the story breaks, he will even have photographs and will be able to say ‘I coordinated the process from the very beginning’...”

  “Could well be.”

  Maggie gave a deep sigh, showing how disappointed she was. Noticing this, Steve chuckled.

  “Welcome to big-time politics, the world of show and hypocrisy.”

  “I’ll never ever vote for him again!” snorted Maggie.

  “Do you think the others are any better?”

  “A plague on all their houses!”

  4

  Space Force One made its landing approach and rushed towards the runway just behind the Parliament building. The president lay back and stretched out comfortably in his seat, observing the monitor relaying an image from the ship’s external cameras. Every now and again, he moved his fingers to switch from one camera to another.

  “The place sure looks lively,” he remarked thoughtfully, addressing his secretary, who was sitting in the seat opposite him and reading something on his tablet screen.

  The secretary raised his eyes to look at the president, then at the screen showing the image from the external cameras. From an altitude of at least a thousand metres, the area around Parliament looked like an anthill. There was considerably more ground traffic than a fortnight ago, when the president had, unbeknown to the public, met a narrow circle of parliamentarians. Then, the city had looked half empty, since the secrecy restrictions had limited traffic permitted close to important state institutions and critical elements of infrastructure. The white barrier at the perimeter around Parliament was clearly visible against the background of dark green grass, and the side facing onto the square was besieged by a huge crowd.

  The annulment of the secrecy classification had been planned for the day after Parliament had reached its decision. It was considered that excessive public attention would exert too much pressure on members of parliament, and that they would then make their decision based not on common interest, but on the political situation.

  Unfortunately, this well-intentioned plan was not destined to be fulfilled. Since the reactivation of the project known as ‘Dawn-2’, which had imposed severe limitations on various freedoms, particularly in the field of space commerce, conspiracy theories had been circulating among the public. The rumours and misinterpretations had reached unprecedented heights in the past few days, and the president had been forced to move the timing of the lifting of secrecy to before the parliamentary session on the terraforming and sphere construction proposed by the aliens. The last straw was a minor event, barely noticeable among hundreds of others, but one which in the prevailing atmosphere of government mistrust drew the attention of millions, and filled the public’s minds.

  The report on the awards to Steve and Maggie had produced the effect of an exploding bomb. Two hours after the press release was published, the Public Relations Department had been subjected to a real bombardment of questions about the reasons behind the awards. Who were these unknown scientists, who had not once been cited in scientific journals, to whom the president was presenting awards for special services? What was the nature of their work? Who had financed their space research? And how could people so young, barely out of university and on their own, without the supervision of experienced scientists, achieve something worthy of the personal attention of the president himself?

  The president’s public relations service gave only evasive replies and avoided answering to the point. On the evening of the next day, the domestic intelligence service warned that against t
he current background of government mistrust, the level of public curiosity had risen so much that there was a real possibility of riots in the big cities. The president had no alternative but to lift the curtain of secrecy.

  “Yes indeed,” replied the secretary, more out of politeness than because he was impressed by what he had seen. “John, I have received the document you asked for from Intelligence.”

  The president drew in his legs sharply and sat upright in his seat.

  “What’s in it?” he asked impatiently. It was obvious that, with every fibre of his being, he wanted the sphere-building project to go ahead. Over the past few weeks, the project had started to become a real obsession.

  “The scientific group supports the project. So do the technicians. The military are against it. The project won’t get through.”

  John snorted in annoyance and lay back in his seat again.

  “We’ll see about that!” he said after a pause, turning back to the screen. “They don’t make the decision, Parliament does.”

  By this time, Space Force One had almost landed. It was now level with the roof of the Parliament building and was losing altitude very slowly, so as to avoid tiring the president with excessive jolting and unpleasant overloads during landing.

  The hall in which Parliament was sitting looked much more spacious from the inside than it did from the outside, or so it seemed to the president. He now looked attentively at the building once again, trying to understand how such a large hall could fit into such a compact building. Perhaps the hall was partially below ground level? There were no windows inside, so it was hard to tell.

  The ship rocked as its wheels touched down on the runway. The president jumped out of his seat and quickly put on his jacket, which had been lying next to him. Adjusting his tie, he glanced in the small mirror hanging above his seat and, satisfied with his appearance, set off at a rapid pace for the exit.

  The session was beginning just as he entered the hall. After greeting the Speaker, he took the place of honour at one side of the platform and the hall doors closed. It was a closed session, although not a secret one, and the press was not admitted.