by Stan Ruecker
“Ted,” the president said, looking up from his breakfast. He was eating oatmeal with raisins. “What can I do for you?”
“Our solar system has been invaded,” Ted said.
“What’s that?”
“There’s a fleet entering our system as we speak, and it’s demanding the unconditional surrender of our planet.”
“I’m not sure I follow you, Ted.”
“Never mind,” Ted said. “I want you to get on the phone to Ben, all right? Ask him how he wants you to handle the media. There must be somebody we can get out there to represent us. We need a mediator.”
“These aren’t your people, are they, Ted?”
Jones didn’t even blink.
“No, they aren’t.” he said. “It wasn’t supposed to be this way. They don’t come swarming in and demand anything. That isn’t the way we think.”
“So who is it?”
“You’ll probably know as soon as I do, but I’ll let you know if I figure anything out.”
Ted hung up the phone and finished drying off. It had to be someone from a different galaxy altogether, in which case they’d come in over the edge. The technology to undertake that kind of mission wasn’t currently in place. Ted asked the computer for the time. It was 7:30 in the morning.
“Put out my suit,” he said. “And don’t forget to include the transporter.”
It might be time, Ted thought, to retire altogether. He’d been promising his family a nice holiday, somewhere different. With the options the aliens had given him, he could take them places no one else had ever seen. Somebody else could defend Earth from now on.
Home again, home again
The probe that had once been Lucy pulled up to Phoenix II with only a terse cautionary message.
“This is reconnaissance unit 75389,” the ship said. “I will be docking in your port 19 to disembark one human.”
“Affirmative,” the station answered. They didn’t sound very happy about it. But they didn’t try to resist.
“Earthling,” the ship said.
“Yes?” Ray answered.
“This is your station. We will release you here. Please inform your authorities of what you have seen.”
Wow, Ray thought. That isn’t going to be easy. And why would they want me to do that, anyway?
“What if I refuse?” Ray asked.
“Your compliance is not my concern,” the ship answered equitably. “My directive is to give you your instructions.”
“Do your directives indicate why I should tell the authorities what I’ve seen?”
“My directives don’t tell me to give you any further instructions.”
“I’m not asking for instructions,” Ray said. “I’m asking for information.”
The ship was silent.
“I’d be more likely to carry out your instructions,” Ray suggested, “if I knew why they were given.”
“Your race will survive longer,” the ship said, “if they know more about us.”
The ship didn’t mention that destruction was inevitable. But vast experience had shown that the return of earlier abductees, provided they were more or less intact, helped increase the length of time conquered races could be expected to last, and therefore to suffer, to the greater pleasure of the invaders.
The ship disembarked Ray without ceremony, simply snaking its portable bridge up to the airlock and unlocking his cabin door to let him up the corridor and out.
“Goodbye, Lucy,” he said, but he knew it was too late for that.
The ship pulled out from the station and went about its business elsewhere.
Cinnamon was being looked after by a neglected subroutine and stayed in her room, still wishing she at least had an old boot to chew.
Ray was met by armed guards at the airlock.
“What is this?” Ray asked, but no one answered.
“I need to get to a phone,” Ray said.
“I’m afraid that isn’t possible, sir,” said one of the guards.
“No, really,” Ray said. “I’m not kidding here.”
“Please come this way,” the guard said.
“Is this way the way to a phone?”
Nobody said anything. It occurred to Ray that he might not have anyone to call, even if a phone were available.
They took him to a small dorm room, locked the door, and left him there. Pinned to the pillow was a note with only three words.
“You are fired,” it said.
Resistance
Rachel got the news of the alien invasion from Kim.
“I don’t think they’re our aliens,” Kim told her. “The M.O. is wrong. We were looking at quiet invaders, not a strike force.”
“I’m afraid I have to agree with you there,” Rachel said. “But we still can’t just sit here and take it.”
“That’s what I thought,” Kim said. “So what’ve you got in mind?”
“I’m thinking we should do a little behind-the-scenes work.”
“The way they came kiting in here,” Kim said, “they aren’t going to be easy to chase out. We don’t have the technology.”
“It’s always technology with these aliens,” Rachel said. “What ever happened to superior tactics?”
“There’s only so much that tactics can accomplish,” Kim said. “When the enemy’s got you beat every way from Sunday with its tech.”
“Okay,” Rachel said. “Then maybe we should look at an underground. We stockpile some essentials—food, shelter, medical supplies—”
“And arms,” Kim said. “Don’t forget we should have some kind of weapons. Just in case.”
“It never hurts,” Rachel said. “But my problem is that I’m not really sure what our agenda should be. Are we going to fight, or are we going to go into hiding, or are we going to infiltrate?”
“Fight,” Kim said. “I say fight.”
“Guerrilla tactics or open warfare?”
“We can’t manage open warfare,” Kim said. “Not with ships that move like those move.”
“So it’s guerrilla tactics?”
“Definitely surveillance first,” Kim said. “It never hurts to know more.”
“We don’t know much right now,” Rachel said.
“We don’t know anything. Except they’ve got us beat before we ever start.”
“So we infiltrate,” Rachel said. “We get close to the people in charge, and we take them out.”
“That’s the system, all right. Assuming they have leaders.”
“Assuming that removing the leaders will stop them. What if they’re self-promoting or ambitious? Then removing the leader just gets you a new leader.”
“It isn’t going to be easy,” Kim said. “But we can’t do nothing.”
“In the meantime,” Rachel said. “It wouldn’t hurt to put together a few caches.”
“I’m on it,” Kim said. “But is there anything we can do about the infiltrating?”
“For one thing, they’re in space,” Rachel pointed out. “And we aren’t.”
“We take a few ships,” Kim suggested, “and we go talk with these people.”
“The company only has two big ships insystem right now,” Rachel said. “And one of those is definitely out of commission. They’re rebuilding the engines as we speak. The other is out by Phoenix II.”
“That leaves the regular shuttles,” Kim said.
“There’s fifteen of them.”
“Against a fleet of interstellar warships.”
“Fat chance,” Rachel said. “But we might commandeer one of them for sending out a representative.”
“The governments will be arranging that already,” Kim suggested.
“Not necessarily. My guess is that if anyone’s going to try to speak for Earth, it’ll be someone from the company.”
“It’s a nice thought,” Kim said. “So is it going to be you or me?”
“I think you should concentrate on getting some organization going,” Rachel said. “And I’ll
see what I can do about putting together a reasonable delegation.”
Ray uses his new skills
Ray relaxed on his bunk for a couple of minutes, then remembered he knew more about the invading forces than anyone else from the whole human race. He sat up and put his head in his hands.
I should tell somebody, he thought. I need to let someone know all the things I’ve learned.
He stood up. Okay, he thought, so I’m the authority on these aliens. What exactly do I know about them?
They’re invincible, he thought. They’ve been around forever. They’re way ahead of us technologically. They’re merciless.
He sat down again on the bunk.
There isn’t much point in telling anyone that, is there? he thought.
But on the other hand, I can’t just let them keep me in this room forever, can I?
He went over and examined the door. There was no way for him to get at the lock, so all his practice locksmithing wasn’t going to help any. But once he’d started looking at it, he realized it was only a standard door, with hinges and a lock. And the hinges were on the inside.
Ray took off his shoe and used it to push the bolts out of the hinges, then looked cautiously through the crack between the back of the door and the doorframe. There was no guard outside, so he squeezed through and headed down the corridor.
The first section he came to was a sort of public food court. He went straight past the tables and through a swinging door and ran right into a flustered man in a suit.
“Where have you been?” the man demanded of Ray. “I thought they were sending you over half an hour ago.”
“Me?” Ray said.
“Are you my chef, or aren’t you?” the man asked.
“Yes,” Ray said. “I’m your chef.”
“Great,” the man said. “The kitchen’s right over here. You’re just in time to catch the shift change.”
Ray stepped into the kitchen and found half a dozen people frantically cutting vegetables, breaking eggs, and generally running around in a panic.
“Glad you made it,” a young man said to Ray. “Creance’s been going crazy.”
“Can I get a look at the menu?” Ray asked. “What’s the special?”
It was liver and onions.
So far, so good, Ray thought. I can cook liver and onions. And for the next six hours he never had a minute to himself. He stirred, sautéed, diced, fried, baked, mixed, ground, and chopped. He co-ordinated the work of his prep cooks. He made it up as he went.
I could live like this, Ray thought. It’s not that different from what I know.
Creance came into the kitchen as the last customers were leaving.
“Good work,” he said to Ray. “I like your attitude.”
“Thanks,” Ray said.
“But you aren’t my chef, are you?”
“No,” Ray said. “I guess I’m not. How did you know?”
“You weren’t swearing enough,” Creance said. “I’ve never met a chef who actually enjoyed himself in the kitchen.”
“Really?” Ray said. “Why not?”
“Too much pressure,” Creance said. “That’s what happened to my last one. One day he just cracked. One of the waiters almost lost an arm.”
He made a swirling motion beside one temple, to emphasize how crazy the chef had gone..
“They don’t know when he’s getting out,” Creance said. “But it’ll be a while.”
“What are you going to do?” Ray asked.
“I don’t know,” Creance said. “I wish I could keep you on. But they tracked you down, so I’ve got to turn you over to them.”
“Who tracked me down?” Ray asked.
“Security,” Creance said. “They’re right here.”
A man and woman came up behind the owner.
“Well,” Ray said. “Thanks for the opportunity. Maybe when I get out I’ll come back.”
“I’d appreciate that,” Creance said. “It’s hard to find somebody who doesn’t crack under pressure.”
The guards escorted Ray back to a different cell. This one had the hinges on the other side of the door.
Left and right
Ray lay down on the bunk. He stared at the ceiling for a while. He sang a couple of songs. He took his socks off and put them over his hands.
“Hello there,” the left sock said.
“Hey,” said the right.
“You are not too smart.”
“I am not. I am as stupid as a bag of hammers.”
“That is why I like you.”
“I like you too.”
The socks kissed, then pulled back.
“I am tired of this,” said left.
“Me too,” said right. “Enough is enough.”
“Maybe we should go out and watch the ducks.”
The two of them worked their way up Ray’s chest until they stood close to his face.
“Hey,” he said. “You two need a bath.”
“We have no bath,” left told him.
“We do,” said right.
“What do you mean?”
“There is plenty of water, right over there in the tap.”
“No soap,” said left.
“Why don’t we just call it a night?” Ray asked, and tucked his hands under his armpits.
“But what about the stench?” said a muffled voice from Ray’s armpit.
“We can have a bath in the morning,” he said.
When Ray woke up, Kevin Fliegel was standing just inside the door. He had the key in his hand, and was cautiously keeping the door part-way open behind him.
“Are you dangerous anymore?” he asked.
“No,” Ray said, carefully.
“I didn’t think so,” Kevin said, and closed the door quietly behind him. Then he stopped.
“Why do you have your socks on your hands?”
“I was cold,” Ray said.
“You’re a liar,” said the left sock.
“Maybe he was cold,” said the right sock.
“I really was,” Ray told Kevin.
Kevin took it all in stride. He reached into one of his oversized pockets and took out three little bean bags. He started to juggle them. It took all of his attention, then he dropped them anyway.
“You might as well come with me,” he told Ray, while stooping to retrieve the bean bags. “Aside from your socks there, nobody else seems to care whether you live or die.”
“As if I care,” the left sock said. But it shut up when Ray put it back on his foot.
DNA
Ray sat with Kevin in a bar. Some people behind them were playing foozball with the usual accompaniment of clatter and shouts.
“So you don’t think we have a chance?” Kevin asked.
“I’ve seen records of these things blowing up entire planets,” Ray said, remembering Lucy’s home movies. “I saw them blow up a sun.”
Kevin looked at the floor.
“Did you know that it left something behind?”
“What left something behind?”
“Your space probe.”
“It’s a she. Was a she. I don’t know what it is now.”
“Excuse me?”
“It had a personality. The space probe, after I got on it, the space probe told me that its name was Lucy. We got to be friends.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“She gave me a dog.”
“Listen,” Kevin said. “Are you sure you don’t want to go back to your room and rest for a while?”
“No, I mean it. She was a friend of mine, and she gave me a golden retriever. That dog helped keep me from going crazy. Her name was Cinnamon.”
Kevin took a drink.
“I never had a dog,” he said.
“Me neither. Cinnamon was my first.”
“It left a coding sequence.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your space probe—Lucy—when she was accessing our databases here, she dumped a coding sequence into the computer.”
“You mean, like computer code?”
“No, I mean like DNA. My theory is that this code she left isn’t anything of its own, but if you subject it to the right conditions, it might build something.”
“Like a template.”
“Yeah. You know. DNA wants more protein or whatever, so it runs some off. You end up with an entire person from just one cell.”
“Where did she leave this thing?”
“All over the place. It was very invasive. You know how usually you can just look at the partition table or the resource fork or wherever your active code is?”
Ray tried not to look blank. He nodded.
“Well, this stuff was written every which where. It was strung through data files and transmission packet information and it created fake bad sectors, kind of like little colonies. Hard to get rid of it.”
“But you did?”
“Pretty much, yeah.” Kevin was staring straight ahead, not blinking.
“So why do you think she left it?”
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
“It seems pretty useless to worry about it now, don’t you think? You got it all out of the computers.” Ray took a slow drink.
“Yeah, we cleaned them good. But why do you think she left it?”
“Maybe it was an attack.”
“Was it?”
“No. What did you say it was for?”
“It looks like some kind of encoding process. The closest analogy I can make is to DNA, but I don’t know what it’s designed to do. You have a finite number of possible matrices. Certain segments trigger behaviour in others. They reproduce; sometimes they join up when they reach contiguous memory locations. It’s all very low-level. Sections jump and attach themselves somewhere else.”
“Did you keep any that I could get a look at it?”
“As if that would have been allowed.”
“The looking or the keeping?”
“The keeping. They wanted this stuff off this station, and you better believe they weren’t going to let anybody make any copies of it. They screened us good, right from the soles of our shoes to the caps in our teeth. Any computer attached to the station net was subjected to a total purge.”
“So where do we have to go to get a look at it?”
“Over to my room.”
Kevin’s explanation
