by Scott Mackay
He paused, and leaned more firmly against the lectern.
“You get up in the morning, and the sun doesn’t rise, and the birds don’t sing. It’s dark, and it stays dark all the time. Today is June twenty-fourth. It’s summer in the northern hemisphere. The last spring blossoms have left the trees and the leaves are out. The wheat is still green, and the spring rice in Asia is just partway along. The vegetable crops are no more than young shoots. Now there’s no sunlight. What does that mean? I think this is what we have to concern ourselves with most. The immediate effect of the shroud is going to be on plant life. A lot of plant life is fairly resilient and can hang on through a lot of punishment. But depending on how long the Tarsalans decide to go on with this shroud… a farmer will walk into his field, and he’ll see his wheat or corn growing weaker every day and starting to wilt in the darkness, and at some point he’ll make the decision to plow it under because it won’t be harvestable.
You get enough farmers doing this, and the markets start to react, and consumers react, and panic sets in. And that’s what I think is going to be the most negative effect of they would send this to this… shroud… at least in the short term. This… unavoidable panic. People will hoard, and that will just make the situation worse. And really, the food-distribution system, at least in the U.S., isn’t set up to take major or prolonged strain. There’s about a one-week supply in the commercial food network, and as for national emergency stores, we’ve got a six-week supply. But you have to remember that most of these emergency stores are in Western Secessionist states, so that’s where we get a political factor, and the strain may be enough to worsen not only the panic, but also the hoarding.”
He paused to register the effect he was making. Judging from the blank looks, it seemed many of them, especially the Lunarians, didn’t know too much about the Secessionist Movement in the western United States. One middle-aged man, a doctor in a lab coat, looking as if he had just ducked over from the Aldrin Health Sciences Center, got up and asked him about it.
Gerry marshaled a few brief facts. “It’s been building for the last hundred years or so, and finds its origins in the general political polarization of the United States into red and blue states. Also, over the past fifty years, as the Hispanic population in these states has shifted from the minority to the majority, the movement has gained a cultural and religious impetus. Make no mistake, the governors in these states are hard-core, and they know their grass-roots constituents favor eventual secession, especially after their long and fractious fight over illegal immigration with the Federal Government. A few of these governors are so archsecessionist that I’m sure they’ll willingly blockade their emergency food stores for political gain. That’s going to adversely impact an already tenuous U.S. food-distribution system. This means the Federalist states could be facing major food shortages sooner than we’d like to imagine. And these food
shortages are going to be badly exacerbated by hoarding.”
The doctor sat down, seemingly satisfied with Gerry’s overview. Gerry continued.
“Western Secessionism is one of the reasons people are going to hoard. But if it gets dark and stays dark, they’re going to hoard because they won’t be sure if they can count on next year’s crop. We don’t know how far the Tarsalans are going to go with this shroud. Or if we can defeat it. As for third-world countries, the situation will be that much worse.” He gave everybody a good glancing over. “And what about us here on the Moon?” He caught the mayor shifting uncomfortably. “Given current stockpiles, and quick implementation of the mayor’s rationing program, we’re perhaps in a better situation than Earth.
But I imagine things will go critical fairly quickly.”
He paused.
“So that’s why I’m really glad the mayor has called this meeting. Because we should get working on this right away. I haven’t got too much else to say. But I think we should all try to appreciate how serious the situation can become. If the Tarsalans decide to go long-term with this, it could get bad. I’m talking really bad.”
The usual party atmosphere of the Moon was gone.
There wasn’t a rustle of sound anywhere.
It was like none of them could believe he was telling them this. As if they had come to party, but he had spoiled the mood.
He glanced around the room once more. And he had to wonder how his brother, Neil, would have handled the situation; whether he would have stood up here and listed problem after problem, as he had done, or if he would have tried to offer solutions. This was the essential difference between them. Neil had all the answers. All Gerry had were questions.
The mayor seemed to think so too, because he finally cleared his throat and got up from his chair.
“Thanks for that insightful… uh… overview of the potential… should I call them problems, or disasters… thanks for that, Gerry.”
He left the lectern and wasn’t sure if he had added anything substantive to the discussion at all. He glanced at Luke Langstrom. Langstrom didn’t look so amused anymore. He gave Gerry a solemn nod, then got up to say his own two bits about the shroud.
As Gerry sat down, Ian gave him a nudge. “Wow. Not exactly what I was expecting.”
“It’s not going to be a holiday, Ian. At least not if the Tarsalans keep it in place for a long time.”
And Gerry felt like the most unpopular man in the room.
The death of the party.
The guy people avoided because he was such a downer.
He did, indeed, feel like Neil Thorndike’s younger brother.
The meeting broke for refreshments an hour later. Mayor Hulke approached Gerry as he spigoted coffee into a Styrofoam cup. Nothing but coffee these days.
“Would you be willing to head this thing, Gerry?” asked Hulke.
“Me?” Gerry was surprised. “Wouldn’t it be better if one of the guys from AviOrbit did, someone who’s familiar with the scientific resources on the Moon?”
“We thought an Earthling might be more appropriate. And of course you carry the Thorndike name.”
Gerry’s lips tightened. “I’m not my brother, Malcolm. If they’re expecting miracles just because I’m Neil’s brother—”
“No one’s expecting anything. But I touched base with the AviOrbit guys during the break, and they say they would be comfortable if you would… more or less direct things. All these guys from AviOrbit—they’re just techies. They get their orders from Earth, and they build according to spec, and they don’t know how to tackle a project like this, not if there’s going to be a lot of pure science involved.
Believe me, I know. I worked at AviOrbit for fifteen years before I became mayor. You’re the only real, working scientist in the group. What I said on the TV about there being a lot of scientists here on holiday… that was just to boost morale.”
“What about Professor Langstrom?”
“Professor Langstrom’s been retired for years. I think you’re the most suitable candidate, Gerry, and so do a lot of other people.”
Gerry nodded, and couldn’t help feeling flattered. He rarely got asked to be the head of anything. “If that’s the way they feel, I’d be happy to give it a shot. But you were talking about budget. Do we have any budget?”
The mayor looked away. “Not really. The city has an emergency fund for fixing unexpected pressure leaks. We haven’t had a leak in forty-five years, so we could dip into some of that. But it’s not going to be much.”
“I’m just thinking… we may need things… things that only the merchants here can provide. Some might donate. But others might be reluctant. We can’t ask people for their livelihoods. Not if they can’t afford it. So if we have at least a little leeway money—”
“I’ll get council to release some of the emergency fund. But you have to understand, Gerry, our tax base is small. We’ll be running things on a shoestring.”
Gerry put a reassuring hand on the mayor’s shoulder. “Malcolm, you don’t have to worry. I’ve been runnin
g things on shoestrings all my life.”
5
Neil sat in the Oval Office six hours later—with barely time to change into a suit. A Secret Service agent walked here and there through the Oval Office, aiming an aerosol can all over the place, spraying the corners, behind pictures, in the vents. The aerosol particles were charged with bug-disabling properties—the Tarsalans were fond of deploying flying listening devices throughout the White House, the Capitol Building, and the Pentagon. Once the Secret Service agent was done—the room turned out to be clean—National Security Advisor Julie Petrov launched into an overview of the situation.
“The Tarsalans still aren’t budging.”
President Bayard sat behind his desk, a lean man from New Mexico, tall, his cheeks lined and tanned, his hair nearly white, every strand combed meticulously in place. Vice President Ben Baldwin stood to one side with his hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels, chin thrust forward so his lower lip protruded over his upper one. Others present were the president’s chief of staff, Holden Gregory, and Secretary of Defense Joseph Sidower. Here to represent the National Science Foundation were himself and Dr. Robert Cruz.
“We advised the president to reject the Tarsalan demands,” continued Julie Petrov. “As far as this administration is concerned, all talks are at an end until the Tarsalans remove the shroud, call in their killer satellites, and restore our interplanetary communications. We’ve told them we consider the shroud an act of aggression.” She turned to the secretary of defense. “Joe? Do you want to talk about the military option?”
Sidower shifted forward and tapped his waferscreen a few times. “The Joint Chiefs of Staff are having the Pentagon draw up war plans against the Tarsalan killer satellites, as well as the mothership. The Seventh, Tenth, and I think the…” He consulted his notes. “The Eleventh Orbital Squadrons of the 101st Airborne have been put on highest alert and are prepared to move against the TMS at any moment.
My generals tell me that the main offensive strategy is not a direct attack against the TMS, but rather to establish a net of mines in a series of various orbits around the Earth, so that the whole forms a barrier the TMS will find extremely difficult to maneuver around. The mothership may heighten its orbit to avoid one string of mines, only to find itself smashing into another.”
The president spoke up. “Joe, say I decide to give the order and send the 101stAirborne in.” He tapped his cheek with two fingers. “What’s to stop the Tarsalans from mounting a retaliatory strike from their homeworld at a later date? And how long would it take them to mount a strike from their homeworld?”
Sidower glanced at Neil. “I better hand this over. Neil, maybe you can give us—or the president—an overview on the likelihood of this potential response from the Tarsalans.”
Neil nodded. “Tony, I wouldn’t put the risk too high. We’ve been gathering a lot of data from various observatories, radio-telescope installations, and space-based observation posts for nearly eight years, trying to track back the route the Tarsalans took to get here.” He motioned at the sky. “We’ve learned that the TMS traveled at up to and including—but not beyond—the speed of light.” He leaned forward on the sofa, putting his elbows on his knees. “Their drive emissions stop forty light-years away, in the… it was the 51 Pegasi star system, wasn’t it, Bob?”
“That’s right,” said Cruz. “My team made the preliminary findings. It’s confirmed. The 51 Pegasi star system. Previous observations tell us there’s an Earth-like planet in that system.”
Neil sat back, took his palms from his knees, and raised them upward. “If that’s where they came from—and we’re fairly certain it is—we hypothesize that the TMS took at least forty years to get here.
Since that time, the technology on their homeworld may have improved. And we also have to take into consideration that the Tarsalans trade with numerous other species in several other star systems, and that such trade is bound to accelerate the rate of their own technological advancement.” He paused, caught up in his own speculations. “But while it’s… possible they may have developed a faster-than-light drive
by this time—and that a retaliatory force could arrive here soon—it’s highly unlikely. Even given their current capability to communicate instantaneously over large astronomical distances, the possibility of an attack is remote. Should they in fact decide to retaliate, it would take them four decades to get here, and only if they left fairly immediately after the first Mayday.”
The president lifted his chin, leaned back, and put his hand against his desk blotter. “So in other words, we have forty years to prepare for a retaliatory strike?”
“From the homeworld, yes.”
The president turned to the secretary of defense. “And based on current intelligence, Joe—on everything we know about their military capability—do you think such a retaliatory strike would be… could they make a go of it in any significant way, given the distance they have to travel? I mean, talk about fighting your long-distance war.”
Two creases came to Sidower’s forehead. He reached up and scratched his bald pate. “Tony, if you’re asking me for my best guess…” His eyes narrowed. “Would they fight? Could they fight? From that distance? I’m doubtful. It’s not beyond the realm of possibility that they just might pack it in and give up.
Look at it this way. Are they willing to sink another forty years into gaining the right to immigrate to Earth? It doesn’t seem worth it to me. Not really. Especially when we’ve played hardball with them right from the beginning. I can’t speculate with a hundred percent certainty, but I believe a sustained military campaign against Earth from a distance of forty light-years would be like… like trying to write the history of the world with a broken pencil. It wouldn’t work. They’d be fools to try. And if they do try, I believe they’ll again use a passive weapon, like the shroud. Maybe they’ll poison the oceans the next time around.”
“And what’s so passive about the shroud?” asked Ben Baldwin, stepping forward. The vice president glanced around. “All the Tarsalans have to do now is play a waiting game. I hate them for putting us into this position, but maybe we should draft a second counterproposal to their immigration demands. I know our policy is not to deal with blackmailers, but at the same time we might prevent massive loss of life if we go back to the table. Maybe, if we double the original offer, they might accept a compromise and dismantle the shroud. Maybe we should propose a special session of the United Nations and see if we can come up with something that will appease them for the time being. At least so we can buy some time.
Because we need time. We’ve been rushed into this. We had no idea they were going to play this card.”
“In other words, you suggest we stall,” said President Bayard.
“Exactly.”
“And if we come back with a second counterproposal, and they accept it—what then?” asked Sidower.
“We open the door. They see that we’re weak. That’s sending the worst kind of signal, Tony. I personally think you should give the 101stAirborne the order. I think we should destroy as many of those killer satellites as we can. That will give us a freer rein to bust up the shroud with whatever means Neil and his team can devise. And we might even mount some kind of strike against the TMS directly.
Because I think ultimately that should be our focus. They must have some means to control the shroud aboard, and if we can get our hands on it… That doesn’t mean I think we should stop trying to figure out a way to dismantle the shroud from the outside. That’s the whole reason Neil and Bob are here.”
The president paused as he considered the secretary’s words, lifting his hand to his chin and resting it there in a contemplative pose before taking it away and leveling his blue eyes on Neil.
“Neil, could you give us an overview of both the long-term and short-term effects of the shroud?”
Neil sat back as he considered the possible repercussions. “Well… you have the obvious: no crop growth, food shortages,
and possible famine. But you also have an overall breakdown in Earth’s various ecosystems. Starting with the oceans, there won’t be any light to generate plant life. That means many creatures will starve. And if these smaller creatures starve, the larger ones that feed on them will starve as well, and so on, up the food chain. If it goes on long enough, atmospheric deterioration might become a problem. Plant life sucks in huge amounts of carbon dioxide and spits out oxygen. So there could be a basic chemical change in our atmosphere.”
“So a greater greenhouse effect?” ventured the president.
“Not in the short term. Short term we’re looking at a significant cool-down. With heat and light from the sun blocked, we could be looking at snow in July. But don’t get me wrong. Even though light won’t get through, heat still will, according to current analysis, and the shroud will trap this heat over the long haul.
Computer models tell us this heat will begin to build. So while we might start off cold, it will get hot fairly quickly. When you take all these things into consideration, the socio-political fallout might be immense.”
The room grew still, and he could tell everyone was thinking of the Western Secessionists.
The president continued. “Why do you think the Tarsalans have decided to use the shroud against us in the first place? If they’re so technically superior to us, why don’t they just mount a full-scale invasion?
Why don’t they just come in and take what they want instead of applying this slow pressure thing on us?”
“For one thing, they don’t have the resources aboard the TMS to mount a full-scale invasion.
Remember, there’s only fifty thousand of them up there, and many of them are just immigrants who want to live on Earth. For another thing, it’s not in their nature to be violent.”
