“Okay,” the speechwriter says, turning to face the President. “I think I’ve got everything I need. Give me a bit of time to get this written up.”
“Sure thing, Janice,” the President replies as the speechwriter gets up and leaves. McGuire returns as the production crew departs. They’ve run cables along the ground, leading to a portable studio control panel set up in the corridor.
“State is contacting each of the countries individually,” McGuire says. “Once you’ve made your address, we’re going to have to follow up with a detailed briefing. They need to know what to expect, what kind of action can be taken. Stuff like that. Detail is the key to avoiding fear. The more information we provide, the better. I’ve arranged for Nolan and Kath to talk to the news networks after your announcement.”
“Umm, that might not work as well as you think,” Kath says, “but not for any of the usual reasons.”
“Go on,” the President says, swiveling in her chair.
“The problem is accessibility. We run into this all the time at NASA. It’s one thing to have clear research. It’s another to get people to believe it. I mean, look at climate change. Hell, for that matter, look at Armstrong on the Moon or the supposed flat Earth. We can’t get roughly a third of the population to believe us on the basics. What are they going to think when we say An̆duru is going to pass through the upper atmosphere?”
“So you think this won’t work?” the President asks.
“They’re going to think it’s an attack,” Kath says. “Or an invasion. For a significant portion of the US population, this will be like throwing gasoline on a fire. At this point, you could say ice cream is cold, and they’d still want to debate you with their alien conspiracy theories.”
Nolan nods.
“Yeah,” McGuire says. “I guess we’re damned either way, right? Tell them the truth, and they’ll distort it. Withhold information, and we’re criminals.”
“Lizard people,” Nolan says. “We’re not just the bad guys. We’re reptiles—if they’re to be believed.”
The President sighs, shaking her head.
“Lizards?” Kath asks, genuinely surprised anyone actually believes that junk.
“Democracy is a two-edged sword,” the President says. “Democracy’s greatest strength is the very thing that weakens it—every vote counts. When it comes to the ballot box, my ignorance is as good as your knowledge. Regardless of whether someone believes in lizard people or quantum mechanics, everyone gets an equal say. There’s no law against stupidity.”
“There should be,” Nolan says.
The President laughs. Kath’s surprised by just how heartily she reacts to Nolan’s comment.
“If only,” the President replies, shaking her head.
“It’s no wonder democracies are so fragile,” Kath says.
“You have no idea,” the President replies. “It’s crazy difficult to get anything done between stupidity, blind ideology, selfishness, and corruption. Governing is like treading water. It takes a helluva lot of effort just to keep your head above the waves.”
“Oh,” the speechwriter says, realizing she’s walked into the middle of a conversation.
“No, it’s okay,” the President says. “Go ahead, Janice. What have you got.”
“All right,” she says, handing the President a printed copy of the speech. “I’ve drawn on some content from a couple of our other drafts, combined them, and loaded them up on the teleprompter. You’re good to go.”
Janice smiles, giving the President a thumbs up.
Oh, Janice, Janice, Janice… If only it was all that simple. Kath would love to be like Janice. She’s got a job to do. She throws herself into it with gusto—and then it’s over. No ramifications. No ripple effects. Damn, she’s good at crafting sentences. If only astrophysics was as neat and tidy. An̆duru has given Kath a continuous headache for what feels like several months straight.
Over the next few minutes, the production team finalizes the setup. Only the woman working the camera remains in the Oval Office. At a guess, Kath assumes that’s to avoid distractions, but it must leave the President feeling very much alone. As it is, even a camera operator isn’t strictly necessary. The shot has been preset to capture the Resolute Desk, the flags, and the drapes hanging over the window. The President is seated in the center of the image.
Kath, Nolan and McGuire huddle around the communications desk in the hallway outside the office.
“My fellow Americans,” the President begins, and Kath finds herself clenching every muscle in her body. Throughout the crisis, as McGuire calls it, President Aston has avoided an Oval Office address. Her reasoning was to try to downplay the severity by avoiding formality. She said she wanted to be a calming influence in the midst of the uncertainty. Now, though, she’s about to outline what must seem like the country coming under attack.
She speaks with gravitas.
“The times in which we live are beyond anything any of us ever expected to witness. Not only have we discovered life elsewhere within the cosmos, we’ve come to the realization it’s reaching out to make contact with us.
“When faced with the unknown, the temptation is to be afraid, but we must not panic. We must be resolute. Courageous. What to us might seem extraordinary—voyaging across the vast expanse between stars—is commonplace to our visitors.”
The tension in the hallway is unbearable. Everyone stares at the tiny screen showing the live feed. President Aston looks calm. How she does that is beyond Kath.
“We—must—not—panic,” the President says, speaking those words with deliberation. As Kath and the others can see the text on the teleprompter, they can all see she’s deviated from the script. The President knows. She must feel it—the storm that’s coming. Kath’s heart is almost pounding out of her ribcage.
“Our scientists are running various scenarios as they observe the approach of An̆duru. It has become clear to us the craft is traveling too fast to stop.
“Looking at the way An̆duru used Jupiter and Saturn to slow itself, we believe it will continue the same strategy with Earth and Venus.
“I know this must be surprising. Alarming, perhaps. It surprised me to hear Venus was an option. Think of Venus as the catcher in a game of baseball. An̆duru is going to continue to slow by passing Earth and hitting the thick clouds of Venus. At that point, An̆duru will have shed enough speed to loop around Venus and come to rest beside us.”
The speechwriter pauses the teleprompter as the President again deviates from the script.
“We must not panic.”
The President returns to her speech.
“We must remember there has always been a first for every advance in space.
“Sputnik was the first object in orbit, but now satellites are commonplace.
“Yuri Gagarin was the first person in space, and yet now we have tourists going on spacewalks.
“Neil Armstrong was the first person to stand on the Lunar surface, but now there have been similar missions by the Chinese.
“Then there was the first time Hubble looked out at tens of thousands of distant galaxies. Most of them eclipse our own for size. Now we routinely make these observations.
“There was the first time we imaged a supermassive black hole. Now we detect the gravitational waves of black hole collisions several times a week.
“Yet again, we face another celestial first—contact with an intelligent extraterrestrial species.”
Janice stands beside Kath, nodding as the President continues. Damn, she’s good. With half an hour’s notice, Janice has hit the brief.
“We must not panic when faced with the unknown.”
Yet again, that’s not in the speech, but Kath agrees with the President’s intent. It’s the next few sentences that are going to set the world alight.
“Shortly after midnight on Thursday, An̆duru will pass through our upper atmosphere before heading on to Venus. I liken this to a hockey player swinging around behind the
goalie, kicking up ice as he comes to a stop. In the same way, An̆duru is going to loop around behind Venus before coming back beside us.”
Another slight deviation from the text, Kath notes, but a good one. Janice is biting her nails.
“An̆duru will enter over the Caribbean. Its flight will take it across the Gulf of Mexico, exiting somewhere over the Baja peninsula. Although this will only take a matter of seconds, our scientists expect there to be some atmospheric disturbance.”
Some? Damn, that’s putting it lightly. Kath wishes she could have got her hands on the speech before it was loaded into the teleprompter.
“To ensure our safety, I am working with the governors of the various Gulf states to effect an evacuation of coastal regions. The National Guard will be deployed to assist the states. FEMA will be mobilized. At this point, we are treating this as though it were a hurricane response spanning the entire Gulf. Where possible, people in the affected region should evacuate north. Those that cannot leave should shelter in place.”
The President stops for a moment, lost for words even though they’re sitting on the screen in front of her. Janice pauses the teleprompter. Everyone waits, hanging on the President’s remarks. She continues, reading from the script, keeping this part of the speech devoid of emotion.
“All flights within the US will be grounded. No international flights will be allowed to arrive or depart. All ships in the Atlantic, Caribbean, Gulf of Mexico, and Pacific are instructed to leave immediately or seek shelter in a nearby port. We are advising emergency services to be on standby. Police, Fire, and EMS are ready to respond as needed.
“The US military will work with those countries on the flight path. We will provide logistical support prior to and after the passage of the spacecraft.
“Although this is short notice, we have already mobilized our military assets ahead of the encounter. We are well placed to respond in an efficient and effective manner.”
She’s lying, but it doesn’t show on her face.
“I know this is unsettling,” the President says, going off script yet again. She is mashing up points from the speech rather than flying solo. “We must not panic. We need to coordinate our efforts. Once again, our country needs to rise to the challenge before it. We are at our best when we work together.
“For over two hundred and fifty years, the Great Seal of the United States of America has read E Pluribus Unum. From many comes one. Together, we will overcome. Together, we will see in a new era in our history. Together, we will be stronger.”
Kath hates the conclusion. To her, it’s wishy-washy, but she gets it. Right now, people are starting to lose their minds. And that’s only going to get worse over the next few days. As bland and tasteless as it seems, the ending sends a message—it’s business as usual. People crave stability. They need reassurance. They need to know the sun is going to rise again tomorrow morning. As much as the saccharine conclusion to the speech may not sit well with Kath, she’s hardly the average American. For most people, this is what they need—a gentle letdown, a smooth, predictable conclusion.
“Thank you, and may God bless America.”
War
“We are at war!”
Andy slams his fist on the desk, shaking the microphone. Veins strain on his neck. Spittle lands on the monitor.
“America is under attack!”
Andy knows how to bait an audience. A US flag dominates a wall screen behind him, filling every square inch. Computer-generated Stars and Stripes wave in an artificial breeze. Patriotism is the great unifier. Regardless of any petty differences, the tribe will rally when under attack, and he plays to that. It’s subtle, but he’s added a few dark singe marks and loose threads to the end of the flag. He’s not sure how many people will notice, but the implication is clear—the flag is in danger of bursting alight.
“War is brutal. There’s no such thing as a clean war. People will die. It’s just a question of who and how many.”
The live-feed monitor set below his teleprompter shows the number of current viewers. Comments are displayed in real-time. It’s not as engaging as a live audience, but Andy uses them to get pumped. Emoticons signal viewer support. Instead of a roaring crowd cheering him on, he sees a flurry of yellow caricatures pulling funny faces. They drift up the screen, slowly disappearing into the background.
Andy hits the turbo-boost button within his mind.
“The Prince of fucking Darkness is coming! This is it! This is the great battle of Armageddon. The End Times, baby. They’re upon us.”
870,000 people have already tuned in—if that’s the right word in the digital age. As he broadcasts during the working day, Andy normally only gets tens of thousands of hits by this point. That he’s closing on a million is exciting. By this evening, he should be up around eight million! His biggest surge arises within about six hours of posting a video as word spreads. His largest view-count is thirty million for a video he did a couple of years ago about the cover-up at Roswell.
“Goddamn it!” he yells, standing half out of his seat. Andy presses his knuckles against the table, flexing his thick shoulders. Theatrics demand improv. He’s at his best when he’s in free-form, winging his killer points.
“This ain’t no game, people! This ain’t a movie! Tom Cruise ain’t coming to save you! There’s no silver bullet to bring down this werewolf! War ain’t like that.
“War is chaotic. War is evil. War is a fire raging out of control. Make no mistake about it, ain’t nothing good going to come from this.”
He slumps in his seat, shifting the dynamic.
“We glorify war because it gives us heroes, but that’s folly. War is savage. There ain’t nothing honorable in war beyond victory, and victory always comes at a cost.
“People are going to die. A lot of people. Millions of people. Billions. But not you. Not me. Why? Because knowledge is power. Knowing what we’re up against gives us the power to defeat our enemy. Military intelligence has won more wars than bombs or bullets. We’ve got to be smart about this.”
The pace of comments and emojis increases. They scroll past too fast to read. More and more people are joining his live-stream. Within minutes, he’s topped a million. If this keeps up, he could beat his record. All he’s got to do is deliver. Feed the beast.
“War is the only logical outcome when civilizations clash. Don’t give me all this we-come-in-peace bullshit! Peace has only ever come from crushing your enemy. You know it. I know it.” He points at the roof, adding, “And they know it!”
Andy watched the President’s emergency address. Since then, social media has been going ballistic. In his line of business, chaos equals cash flow. Controversy brings in the viewers, boosting his ad revenue, which makes up 60% of his income. Even if only a handful of those viewers go on to buy some of his merch, he could get tens of thousands of sales. Sweet.
Andy focuses on the cues on his teleprompter. He understands the need to stay on track and present a cohesive argument.
“Truth is the first casualty in any war, right? You know that. I ain’t telling you anything you don’t already know. So if truth is the first thing to go, you have to ask yourself, have they been lying to us all this time? Ever since this thing passed Saturn?”
He laughs.
“You know they have.”
To his astonishment, the counter on his social media monitor has become a blur. Andy can see it increasing, but he can no longer track individual numbers. He’s clocking thousands of new hits a second and climbing toward two million. Pay dirt, baby.
“So you’ve got to ask yourself, why do they lie? What purpose do these lies serve?”
He throws his arms wide, inviting a response that will never come.
“I’ll tell you. I’ll be honest with you. They lie to catch you off-guard. They lie so you’re not prepared for what’s to come. They lie to keep your defenses down.”
Andy pulls a 9mm Glock from his desk drawer, holding it side-on as he points it at the c
eiling. He’s an actor on a stage. He makes sure the camera gets a good shot as he pulls back on the newly greased slide. There aren’t any bullets in the magazine, but his viewers won’t know that.
Andy is paranoid about loaded guns. As much as he may rail on liberals about the Second Amendment, he keeps his guns and ammo separate—and with good reason. His brother shot off his foot with an accidental discharge. A split second’s inattention has left him crippled for life. This Glock has never been loaded, let alone fired. As far as Andy’s concerned, it’s a movie set prop. The dissonance between how Andy handles firearms and the fiery rhetoric in his online shows is buried deep within his soul. Venom drips from his words.
“They ain’t taking my guns! Goddamn libs have always wanted to disarm us, and now you know why—Invasion!
“They laughed at us. Preppers, that’s what they called us. Preparing for the end of the world. Shit, we weren’t preparing for the end of the world. We were taking commonsense measures to protect our way of—”
Andy never gets to finish his sentence. Sirens sound outside. The windows in his garage have been blacked out with cardboard. Blue and red emergency lights flicker through the gaps. There’s thumping on the door.
“Police! Open up!”
“Oh, shit,” he says, breaking character. Without realizing it, his eyes dart down and to either side as he tries to figure out what to do. Panic strikes. Andy’s lost without a script.
The gun falls from his trembling fingers, clattering on the table.
“DC Metro Police. Open the door, Mr. Anderson.”
“I…”
Andy stares straight ahead at the primary camera. He’s oblivious to the way his automated routines have caught onto the change in tempo and zoomed in for a close-up of his face. The color washes from his cheeks. With his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide, he somehow manages, “I’m being raided.”
In seconds, the hashtag #TruthRaidLive begins trending. The yelling and thumping continues. Police officers pound on the front door, the side door to the garage, and the back door leading from the yard to the kitchen. Andy’s stunned. His social media counter races toward three million as his hands shake.
Wherever Seeds May Fall (First Contact) Page 17
