"But Mr. President—"
"—and this planet. I assure you, Mr. Hathorne—I never intended to remove the Committee from the decision-making process. It will remain in control of the Aquarius mission."
Hathorne glanced at the general, whose eyes had suddenly taken on a harder edge. Surprised? Hathorne wondered. He faced the President and asked quietly, "Is the Committee to be a party to the breaking of international law?"
The President grimaced. He raised his right hand slightly, in a half-completed gesture. His hand trembled as he spoke, and his voice strained. "It was to prevent that—to keep the Committee from bearing that responsibility—that we—went ahead without the Committee." He cleared his throat, and in the pause, Hathorne noted a flicker of anger in the general's face. This is not how Armstead heard it before, Hathorne thought. The President continued, "The Committee, though—the Committee must determine, in their wisdom—" and the President sighed with what appeared to be a bone-deep weariness, "whether to use the weapons—or to trust—" He left the sentence unfinished.
Hathorne was silent for a moment, thinking, None of us knows right now whether to trust the aliens, we don't even know if they're threatening us or just playing games. But you, you poor bastard—you're caught red-handed and you know it—and you want us to think you weren't really doing anything, and now we're just going to be good Committee members and international citizens. Well, even if that's a lie, I'm going to try to make you live it. "Perhaps," Hathorne said quietly, "I could ask you to fill me in on the operational orders—the real operational orders—of the Aquarius crew."
The President hesitated, tugging at the corner of his mouth. Finally he said, "General Armstead?"
The general was staring impassively at no one in particular. Now Armstead's the one who thinks he's been betrayed, Hathorne thought. This wasn't supposed to happen, was it, General?
Armstead turned his head. "What aspect of the orders would you like to know?" he growled.
The President answered, almost chidingly, "Orders regarding the use of force, General. Nuclear force."
Armstead scowled. "They are forbidden to use the weapons except upon direct order. And I may issue that order only on authority of the President."
Hathorne plucked at his teeth with his fingernail. "That's the only authorized use?" he asked.
Armstead shrugged. "Barring total communications failure, of course."
"You mean," Hathorne said, "if contact with Earth is lost, they can go ahead on their own?"
"Only in the event of imminent danger to Earth," said the general. "It's a last-resort authorization."
"Aren't they out of contact now?" Hathorne asked pointedly.
Armstead hesitated, then admitted, "Yes—because of interference from the aliens. But there's no evidence that we're under attack at this time."
"Do they know that?" Hathorne asked.
Armstead stared at him with undisguised distaste.
Hathorne rocked back in his seat and turned. "Mr. President, we have a difficult meeting ahead of us. I think it would be extremely helpful if you and the general would tell the Committee exactly what you've just told me."
The President's eyes focused inward for a long time before he finally nodded approval.
* * *
The alien vessel had penetrated the solar system with astonishing speed. It was now well inside the orbit of Mars, proceeding toward Earth orbit. Aquarius was two thousand kilometers from the target, and closing, despite continuing difficulty in precise tracking.
Ellis peered through the optical crosshairs, centering the twinkling target. He read the numbers in red digits above the image and touched a switch to lock them in. "Set."
"Burn in five seconds," Kouralt said.
The fusion drive kicked on. There was no visible change outside, but when it was over, the inertial guidance told the story. The burn was good. As time passed, the twinkling point became brighter, though not steadier, to the naked eye. They continued sending a challenge—by radio, modulated laser-com, and even simple flashes of the laser. There had been no response whatsoever, nor had HQ gotten a reply on the tachyon band—at least, not the last they'd heard.
Communications with HQ, however, had been out for almost twenty-four hours, apparently due to the strange tachyon-related phenomena around the Earth. More than anything, Ellis and Kouralt wanted to know: What was happening? At last report, the fireworkslike displays in the skies were continuing, with alarming intensity. Obviously, the Talenki were responsible—the tachyon activity had been traced to them—but Ellis and Kouralt had observed nothing that would explain what they were doing, or how. It seemed apparent, from the little information HQ had gotten through before the communications blackout started, that it was in some way a show of strength. Intended to create fear? Possibly a prelude to assault?
They had no way of knowing. Presumably, every spacecraft available was being put into Earth orbit and readied for action. But the first line of defense was Ellis and Kouralt, and Aquarius—here, at what one would have thought a reasonably safe distance from Earth. But if the aliens could affect Earth's skies at this distance, what else could they do? And if their intent was hostile, and they got past Aquarius, and the Russians and the Easterners trailing Aquarius, what chance would the near-Earth defenses have?
The two men didn't talk about it much.
Kouralt studied the high-magnification video image of the asteroid. "Very strange," he said. "Very, very strange. What do you make of that?"
Ellis fiddled with the video controls. The image was almost fluidlike—as though it were being viewed through a turbulent atmosphere, though in fact there was nothing but stark empty space between them. "Feels as though we're underwater," he muttered.
Kouralt scratched the back of his head. "I don't know. I don't like it. If they don't answer soon, let's try something a little different." He glanced at the flare launching panel. "Maybe if we light up their sky, they'll take notice."
* * *
The flares streaked away from Aquarius with a silent flash. A minute and ten seconds later, the first flare erupted with dazzling light, about a mile from the target. Ellis watched the telephoto images as the asteroid's landscape was revealed by the light of one flare, and then another—the tiny rockets braking and sailing in a timed pattern above and below, and to either side of the asteroid. He kept two cameras running, recording images for transmission back to HQ.
No amount of fiddling completely steadied the pictures; nevertheless, he could make out the surface well enough to see that it was apparently just rock, shimmering rock—at least on the near side of the asteroid. No metal or hardware was visible. If weapons were carried, they were on the far side, or concealed. If anything else, including a propulsion system, was carried, that too was on the far side, or concealed. Ellis attempted a penetrating radar scan, but obtained only an incoherent flicker on the screen.
The last two flares were at peak intensity when he heard, "Paul, what the hell is that?" Ellis turned his head to look out the side window. He felt a wave of dizziness. The space that formed a backdrop to the asteroid was crawling together, the star patterns rippling drunkenly, the constellations twisting and warping as though being stirred in a clear liquid.
Ellis looked back at the video monitors in bewilderment. The long-range pictures were wavering out of focus. There was another exclamation from Kouralt, this time in response to a blaze of light coming in the window. "Jesus!" Ellis said, shielding his eyes. It was one of their own flares sailing past, as though it had somehow—and this was impossible—looped completely around the asteroid and returned like a boomerang. "What the bloody Christ?"
The flare burned out a moment later, but a second was not far behind. This one drifted into a leisurely orbit around Aquarius, blazing steadily.
By the time Ellis checked the monitors again, the cameras had lost their target—as had the wide-scan radar. It took several moments for him to realize that the asteroid had moved—somehow�
�without seeming to. It was now . . . Where the hell was it? Ellis peered out the window. The last flare had gone dead, and there was no sign whatever, now, of the disturbance among the stars.
"Get me a fix on that damned asteroid!" Kouralt snapped. "Where did they go?"
Ellis quickly began a full sweep of the sky, searching for the Talenki. He found the answer—which he in no way comprehended. The aliens were a thousand kilometers farther away than before, and on a significantly altered course, ahead of them, on an inbound trajectory. Ellis swore and plotted a new intercept.
"Can we overtake them?" Kouralt asked.
"That depends on what they do," Ellis said, giving him the figures. "Hit it."
* * *
The reply from Earth was mostly hash, with a few recognizable words:
" . . .ASJDHREPEAT,,TRANSJOASSION,,UNCLKEAR@@@@VERIFYYY . . ."
"What are they saying?" Kouralt said. He was too busy flying to look.
"Gibberish," Ellis said, watching line after line appear on the screen:
"ASAODI,,USE@@,,WE@PONS,,SDAEAUTHORIXATIION,,,NNN@NDD,, NVIDENC@,,KKATTACK,, KBSS^AKK,,COMMIT@EE . . ."
The screen flickered and went blank. Cursing, Ellis adjusted the set. "We've lost it."
"Voice?" Kouralt asked.
"No. No voice channel."
"Did you get anything?"
Ellis scowled in frustration. Before answering, he checked the tracking figures and felt his blood pressure jump. "We need another burn," he said. "They're pulling away."
"What did the damn message say?"
"Something about weapons authorization. And attack. Evidence of attack."
"What about it? Is there or isn't there an attack?"
"I don't know. It got garbled." Ellis took a deep breath, trying to stop his head from reeling. "I'm sending a 'Say again,' now. But unless things clear up fast, I think we're on our own." He paused a moment to update the target tracking, and the numbers were alarming. "If you don't give me some delta-vee in the next thirty seconds, we're going to lose them."
He felt the thump of acceleration. For several tense minutes, he monitored the relative velocities of the two spacecraft. Aquarius had already used most of her fuel, and had very little reserve left for a chase. He turned to Kouralt and said, "Take a look at this, and tell me if you see the same thing I do."
Kouralt looked. The Talenki were continuing to accelerate ahead of them, widening the gap. "Paul," Kouralt said. "We're going to have to make a decision."
Ellis swallowed. "We can't catch them."
"No," Kouralt said softly. "But we can stop them."
Ellis stared at him silently for a moment. "Are we prepared to do that? Suppose we're wrong? Suppose there's another explanation. You know what's at stake."
"Yeah. Earth. Suppose we let them go, and we're wrong. For all we know, the planet's under attack right now." Kouralt's expression was icy and perfectly controlled, his gaze sharp. "Do you think they'll stop on their own?" Ellis was silent. "If they get by us here, who's going to stop them? The Russians? The Easters? They aren't answering us, either. We don't even know if they're still operating."
"It's the interference," Ellis said. "That's the problem."
"And who's causing that?" Kouralt paused. "We have a job, and in another minute, they're going to be gone. Switch on fire control and all recorders."
"Frank! What if we're wrong?"
Kouralt gazed at him steadily. "Better to be wrong and safe than wrong and dead," he said finally. "Fire control on."
Ellis took a breath, swallowing his emotions. Then training took over, and all feeling vanished from his body except the reflexes in his fingertips. He snapped the safety switches. "Fire control on. Recorders on," he said flatly.
"I am sending a final challenge," Kouralt stated. "I am ordering them to stop. If they don't reply, we must assume hostile intent. Compute a last point to fire before they're out of range."
The two officers worked silently and efficiently. Numbers streamed through the fire-control computer. Checklists were cleared, warheads armed, safeties placed on hold. Aquarius boosted at full thrust, in pursuit. The warning challenge went out on every available channel. A summary and urgent request for advice was transmitted to HQ.
From HQ came only static in reply; from the aliens, nothing, as the asteroid shrank away from them, accelerating toward Earth at an impossible rate. "Fourteen seconds to last fire, before they're out of range," Ellis advised.
Commander Kouralt hesitated only a moment, then said, "Fire one and two together on my order. Safeties off."
"Safeties off." The words passed coldly.
Two seconds went by. "Fire."
Ellis pressed the button hard. He felt a jolt as the missiles burst away. When he pulled his hand back, it was trembling. "One and two away," he whispered.
"Transmit a report to HQ," said Kouralt, his voice tightly controlled. "And continue tracking."
Sliding filters over the windows, Ellis watched in the monitors as the missiles sprinted toward their target—and he waited for two small suns to fill the heavens.
Chapter 67
It was impossible to follow everything that was happening. The Talenki were warbling with delight at their light show; but the effort was so concerted, so demanding of their attention that, in the end, no one was free to provide explanations. Communications with Earth had been neglected, as well. Numerous transmissions from the planet had been ignored, or not noticed at all, because the Talenki orchestrating the dizzies, the deep nodes through which all tachyons were channeled, were too busy choreographing the display; and any incoming signals were lost forever.
As for the approaching spacecraft, the polite thing would have been to send messages of greeting to each—if only the timing were better. The first ship would be reaching them soon; but for the duration, the Talenki would be almost literally unable to respond. They trusted to patience, and hoped that the performance itself would suffice. There would be time enough for introductions later.
Mozy understood only a fraction of what the Talenki were doing—primarily that it involved a system of carefully focused tachyon beams. It reminded her a little of the way one "rippled" through space, and was about as comprehensible. However it worked, the final result was to be a spectacular light show; and while she couldn't see it firsthand, she was excited about what it should look like. They'd consulted with her on some of the wording, of course. She hadn't even known that she knew any foreign languages, until they'd asked, and she'd become aware of knowledge unconsciously annexed from Mother Program and Kadin.
At the moment, however, her concern was growing about these spaceships approaching them. She wasn't sure that the Talenki were taking them seriously enough. She gathered an exterior view and watched the three pinpoints of mass strung out along the orbital curve, one now fairly close. From time to time, she observed a twinkling from one or another of the points, as drives were switched on and maneuvering rockets fired. These were probably ships with crews. She wondered what they were thinking and planning, what their orders were.
(Don't you think we ought to send a message to them?) she asked, sending a runner of her awareness back into the center of activity.
N'rrril was there, somewhere, but was too occupied to answer. She heard other voices, all muttering in convoluted tones and rhythms, timing and cuing movements and changing viewpoints in the presentation. They heard her question, but no one was free to reply.
(The spaceships,) she repeated, more forcefully. (I think we should speak with them.)
There was a response this time, but it was more like a purring reassurance than a real answer.
She wondered if there might be a way to make contact with them herself. A tentacle of her thought went out, probing the connections to Father Sky, still resting silent on the asteroid's surface. Perhaps she could use its radio equipment. She investigated cautiously; and what she found were links that were open but empty, the systems aboard Father Sky dead. She doubted that she
could reanimate them—not, at least, without help.
Disappointed, she sent a tendril of awareness down into the sea at the center of the asteroid to listen to the deep nodes, in hopes that she might catch signals that the Talenki were missing. Rarely had she ventured this close to the dizzies, and never during such intense activity. The dizzies themselves were still, silent nodules—but when she slipped inside them she found herself in a booming chamber, in a whirlwind, a kaleidoscopic symphony, a cacophony of light and sound and touch. It was a hall of many orchestras, all playing different works, competing and yet meshing, a thrumming bass rhythm of one overlaid by a whippoorwill flute from another, and the tapping of distant drums playing an altogether different song. Some of the strains were metaphors for other senses; but there were real musical melodies that she recognized, resonating oddly—something old by Tchaikovsky, and something not quite so old by Williams, a classic space-adventure theme. It was music much loved by the Talenki, picked up from Earth broadcasts over the decades, and now here smoothly, cunningly interlaced with the shifting light display. In the dizzies, in the very core of the asteroid, it all converged, light and sound and a weightless wind, all touching and swirling together, and flashing out to Earth and other secondary points of convergence.
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