by Stan Ruecker
“Okay,” the other guard said. “Get over here and give me a hand with this thing.”
He had Cinnamon trapped in a corner of the roof. She was doing her best to appear menacing by growling and showing her teeth. But the guard she’d bitten came close enough to hit her with the butt of his weapon, and she was knocked yelping to one side, where the other guard threw the pile of snakes equivalent of a coat over her.
“Cinnamon,” Hisssttnnn called out, trying to rise, but the guards had her neatly packaged and carried her away, leaving him alone and badly bruised on the rooftop.
Rachel sets up a meeting
“Golf?” Rachel said, nonplused. “But I don’t know anything about golf. I don’t suppose he ever goes to the rifle range?”
“He isn’t Teddy Roosevelt,” Hughes told her. “And besides, what is there to know? There’s a ball, and you hit it.”
“I think you’re on to something,” Rachel told him. “I’ll call the people who organize the Masters and let them know they’ve been on the wrong track.”
“Okay,” Hughes admitted, “so it isn’t as easy as all that. But you don’t have to play any golf. All you have to do is be in the clubhouse. I’m on security this afternoon, and we’re scheduled to be out on the links from 1:30 to 6:30. Then dinner in the clubhouse.”
“The game takes five hours? What kind of a game is that?”
“It’s called a round,” Hughes said. “And not every round of golf has to take five hours. But almost everyone plays the full eighteen holes. If you just do half the holes, you can play in half the time.”
“How about if you just do the one hole?” Rachel suggested.
“Unheard of,” Hughes said. “There are standards to uphold.”
“Like wasting five hours of your life chasing around looking for where the ball landed. That’s quite a bit of commitment, for a game.”
“It isn’t a game,” Hughes said, “it’s a lifestyle.”
“It would have to be,” Rachel said. “A fencing bout runs maybe five minutes. That seems about the right length of time for any game.”
“Golf has replaced fencing,” Hughes said, “as the leisure pursuit of the wealthy. Haven’t you heard?”
“Not all changes are improvements,” Rachel said. “Ask anyone who pays taxes.”
“Fewer people get hit in golf,” Hughes pointed out. “That has to be an improvement.”
“It depends how you look at it,” Rachel said. “If you have somebody who needs to do some hitting, they aren’t going to get it out of their system walking around after a ball.”
“But they do get to hit the ball,” Hughes pointed out.
“Ah,” Rachel said, “good. As long as there’s some hitting. People are aggressive, Gary. They need a chance to hit things, or they can’t stay healthy. That’s why I’m against team sports. The actual goal is to hit someone on the other team, but you cloud up the issue by introducing a ball or a goal line or whatever.”
“You’re against team sports?” Hughes asked.
“Absolutely. One person trying to stab another. That’s my idea of recreation.”
“What about building that old cooperative spirit?”
“Time enough for that when the hitting’s over,” Rachel said. “People can’t cooperate very well when their bloodstreams are full of aggressive chemicals.”
“You have a very low opinion of your fellow human beings,” Hughes said.
“I have a lot of experience,” Rachel answered.
“You cooperate within your own team,” Hughes persisted. “You just have to compete with the other team.”
“That’s sure wasn’t my experience,” Rachel said. “Any team I ever played on, there was always a star player.”
“But still—” Hughes said.
“And the other players are in a hierarchy. You know they are.”
“It’s true,” Hughes conceded. “But what about at work? Work isn’t always so competitive.”
“If there are promotions on the line it is,” Rachel said. “I’ve never worked anywhere that wasn’t each person out for their own advantage to some extent. It’s the way people are built.”
But she thought of her mission with Kim, where the two of them had gotten into trouble and helped each other out.
“I’m not saying cooperation’s impossible,” Rachel said. “I just don’t think team sports encourage it.”
“What about the professional ones?” Hughes suggested. “They must be different. For one thing, most of the people involved are just sitting in the stands.”
“I think that’s the worst,” Rachel said. “What good is it to be emotionally involved in a game you aren’t even playing?”
“I like it,” Hughes said. “I watch a lot of football.”
“It’s just entertainment,” Rachel suggested. “Like watching a movie.”
“Yeah,” he said.
“Then the element of its being a sport is more or less attenuated. The real question there is one of entertainment, and not whether a sport should be an individual one or a team sport. I don’t suppose you ever watch any fencing?”
“Sure,” Hughes said. “I saw some fencing matches for the last Olympics. I have trouble following what’s going on.”
“It goes fast,” Rachel said. “There’s no question about that. But here is a question—how do you propose I talk to the president?”
“I’ll get you through the screening,” Hughes said. “Make sure you don’t have anything that we could interpret as a weapon, or we’re sunk.”
“No problem,” Rachel said. “I’ll leave my exploding teeth at home.”
“Don’t joke like that,” Hughes told her. “This isn’t going to be easy.”
“Don’t worry,” Rachel said. “All I’ll have is an audio strip. And a player.”
“Don’t bother to bring that,” Hughes said. “There’s no way we could leave it with you when he comes in. Just bring the recording.”
“Okay,” Rachel said. “But will there be a player available?”
“The clubhouse’ll have something,” Hughes said. “But I’ll bring one too, just in case.”
“Good idea,” Rachel said. “So he’ll be there at 6:30. How long will the security check take?”
“If the game goes good,” Hughes said, “he can make it through in under five hours. So say 6:30 give or take half an hour. The check’ll take at least forty-five minutes. The scans are quick, but somebody will want to interview you ahead of time, and they need time to run your clearance through the net. So you’ll want to be there by 5:15 at the latest.”
“What usually happens when the president plays golf?” Rachel said. “Do they just close the whole place down?”
“Nobody’s that important,” Hughes told her. “This is golf, remember? But security’s booked three foursomes ahead and four behind, so he’s covered off that way, and this particular course is organized so there’s no overlaps greater than those three holes ahead and four behind.”
“Nobody gets to play through, I don’t suppose?” Rachel asked.
“I’m afraid we don’t allow it,” Hughes said.
“I see,” Rachel said. “And what about the clubhouse?”
“It’s usually cleared.” Hughes said. “But we can make an exception for you, if you’re willing to go through the scans and the interview. But you should know I’m jeopardizing my career with this. If anything goes wrong, I’m in big trouble.”
“What I need to tell him is important,” Rachel said. “Or I wouldn’t ask. How long have we known each other?”
“From the egg, wasn’t it?” Hughes laughed. “And if I remember it correctly, you got me my first job with RISK, didn’t you?”
“I just got you the interview,” Rachel said. “You did the rest.”
“You still don’t want to tell me about it ahead of time, though, do you?”
“I don’t think I should,” Rachel said. “You can get in enough trouble now. If I disclose too muc
h to you, there’s a couple of dangers involved.”
“I might just think you’re crazy,” Hughes suggested.
“That’s one,” Rachel agreed. “The other one is you become one more person who knows too much if this whole thing swings the wrong way.”
“They might think I am anyway,” Hughes pointed out. “You might as well get it for a secret you actually have, and not just because someone thinks you have it.”
“There is that,” Rachel said. “And there is some security for me in having the information in more hands. But I’ve already got one backup.”
“Okay,” Hughes said. “So the problem is really number one. You think I’ll decide you’re crazy, and refuse to help you. Are you crazy?”
“No,” Rachel said. “At least, no more than usual.”
“But it’s big.”
“Yes,” Rachel said. “It’s big. But that’s all I’m telling you, so don’t try to find out anything else.”
“You’ve got your hands on Elvis’s brain,” Hughes said. “And you’re going to bring him back to life.”
“Don’t even joke,” Rachel said. “Thing’s’re bad enough as it is.”
Hell ride
Ray was suffering from dysentery on the day they loaded him aboard the reconnaissance ship that used to be Lucy. He tried to explain about it to his captors, but they either didn’t care or couldn’t understand the nature of the problem.
“I’m not digesting my food properly,” he tried, but the piles of snakes just grabbed his arms and hauled him to his feet.
“We’re out of here,” one of them said to the other, and that was all the clue Ray got about where he was going. They hauled him down the corridor and out to the landing field, and there was a very unattractive service robot waiting to take over his custody. The robot looked like it had been patterned on a pile of snakes.
“I’m sick,” he told it.
“You’ll be able to make special requests once you’re on board,” the robot told him. “Come with me.”
“I can’t walk,” Ray said. “Not very well, anyway.”
So the robot hit him on the head, picked him up with a mechanical arm under his midsection, and carried him over to Lucy.
“Lucy,” he said, lying in a bunk in a room about the size of a card table. “I’m sick.”
“Prisoner,” the ship answered, using its mechanical voice, “there are no medical facilities aboard this vessel.”
“Can I get a glass of water?” he asked.
“Water will be provided according to standard policy,” the ship told him. “One-half litre per hundred kilos body weight, twice daily.”
He noticed the sanitary facilities—a sealed bucket in the corner of the room, mounted in a bracket on the floor to keep it from coming loose in freefall.
“Ship,” Ray said. “I want to be allowed access to the corridors.”
“Access denied,” the ship answered, and that was that.
Cinnamon, as far as Ray knew, had never been found. At least she hadn’t been put back in his cell with him.
Ray sat on the board that would serve as his bunk, rocking gently back and forth and humming.
He did have one privilege, but it only lasted a few minutes. The wall display came on, just as they were leaving the solar system, and showed the sun exploding.
Goodbye, Hisssttnnn, Ray thought. It was nice meeting you.
The flight back to Earth only took a few days, which was long enough for Ray to get his health back. But the short duration of the trip made him nervous. An alien technology that took several months between solar systems was one thing. One that travelled the same distance in a matter of days was a different threat altogether.
Maybe she was right, Ray said to himself. Maybe they have been everywhere and done everything. Maybe they are invincible. But if they know so much, why did Lucy’s personality change? If they had the final answers, there shouldn’t be any renegade space probes, should there?
But he missed Cinnamon, who spent the trip two rooms down the hall, refusing to eat and wondering the whole time what had happened to Ray.
The President
Rachel sat in the clubhouse, trying to regain her composure. Hughes was running this security team, one of a dozen squad leaders assigned to the president, so he had plenty to do besides worry about her. Right now his people were efficiently scanning the walls, while another team was walking the perimeter of the building, checking for recent excavations. Rachel wouldn’t have been surprised if there was a ground-to-air launcher somewhere in the parking lot, watching the skies.
But she’d gotten through her clearance checks without any trouble, and she had a martini, which might not have been the best idea, but it gave her something to worry about rather than her upcoming conversation with what was arguably the most powerful man on Earth.
She’d just checked her watch—it was 6:10—when there was a quickening of attention over by the door, and in walked a party of three men and a woman, surrounded by even more guards. Two of the guards started towards Rachel, but one of Hughes’s men waved them off.
“Not a bad day,” one of the golfers was saying. “Not bad at all.”
“I could use a drink,” the president said. “I don’t know about anybody else.”
“Scotch,” the woman said. “And soda.”
“Same,” the other man said.
“Who’s this?” the president asked, noticing Rachel.
“I’m Rachel Norman,” she introduced herself, standing up as she spoke. “I’d like a minute of your time, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“I don’t suppose you can afford a minute of my time,” the president said. “I’m pretty expensive.”
Everyone laughed, except Rachel, who smiled as cheerfully as she could and didn’t say anything else. But she looked straight at him while she waited.
The president waved the other members of his party over to a table.
“I’ll join you in a minute,” he told them. “But get me a drink.”
He waited until his companions were out of earshot.
“Well, Rachel Norman, why should I spend any time with you?” he asked, genially enough.
“Earth is in danger,” she said. “From one of your people. The whole planet.”
“That’s not as unusual as you might think it is,” the president said. “If you know anything about the agents who work for RISK.”
“I’m one of your agents,” Rachel said.
“Ah,” the president said. “I see.”
He looked over at a couple of Hughes’s security people, who were hovering as close as possible without actually intruding. One of them put his hand to his earjack, then nodded confirmation.
“Apparently you are,” the president said. “But that has nothing to do with me.”
“It’s Ted Jones,” Rachel said. “He’s involved with agents from another planet. They have at least some technology that’s quite far ahead of ours, and I think they’re planning an invasion.”
“Rachel,” the president said quietly, “what’s your evidence?”
“I had a team monitoring a location where someone used gravity waves to teleport in a camera. We watched for the source of the energy, and it was near Ted Jones. We monitored him—audio only—and have a conversation with his alien contact.”
“Are they coming soon?” the president asked. “Or do I have time for a drink?”
“I don’t know,” Rachel admitted. “But I thought you’d be able to find out, if anybody can.”
“Maybe I can,” the president said. “But I’ll want to do some checking. Which of my people let you in here?”
Rachel felt her face go blank. She didn’t want to damage Hughes’s credibility. On the other hand, it wouldn’t be hard for the president to find out.
“Hughes,” she said. “He’s one of your team leaders.”
“Ah,” the president said.
“He’s known me throughout my career,” Rachel said. “He knows how rel
iable I am.”
“That’s good to hear,” the president said, which meant nothing to Rachel one way or the other. I hope I didn’t get him in trouble, she thought. Hughes took a chance for me.
“Here’s the recording,” she told the president, almost having forgotten it. She passed it across to him. He looked at one of the security people, who accepted it from Rachel so the president never had to touch it with his own hands.
“Just a habit of mine,” the president explained. “I try to be careful.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Rachel said. “I hope everything works out all right.”
“Leave it with me,” the president said. “Thank you.”
“Thank you, sir,” Rachel said.
“My name,” the president told her, “is Aram Hanhessian. And I should be getting back to my friends. Good luck, Rachel Norman. You’re a very brave woman.”
Rachel stood up with him as he got up, and watched him walk back to his table. Then she headed out of the room and went home.
An alien fleet
Whenever the fleet invaded a new zone, it was surrounded by a peripheral fleet of probes. Along with the smaller gunships, these probes rode the fleet vessels through hyperspace, then disengaged in the system to perform additional fact-finding operations. They could also be used to place mines at strategic sites and to provide points for message relay, so that none of the ships could be isolated by solar or other eclipses.
As they entered the solar system, the point ship began broadcasting its message.
“Surrender or die,” it said. “We don’t really care one way or the other.”
Since the point ship was being followed by a fleet of fifteen battle cruisers, each blinking out of hyperspace at one-minute intervals, Earth surrendered.
Ted Jones was in the shower when the fleet arrived. He grabbed a towel and ran into the living room, shouting to the computer to get him a connection to the president of RISK.
