He glanced down at his palmtop. Over the last two decades, political advisors and spin doctors had developed powerful tools to monitor public opinion, knowing that the winner of any election would be the politician who trimmed his sails to ride the winds of public feeling. Already, mere minutes after the aliens had returned to their craft, the internet was buzzing with anger and an almost feverish excitement. The aliens hadn't pulled any punches – and neither were the commenters on the internet. They were making their opinions known...and governments were getting the brunt of their anger. The politicians who had turned NASA into yet another pork barrel for the distribution of political largess were taking the worst of it, but almost every political leader was being hammered. Toby knew that people were braver in cyberspace, where opinions and sentiment didn't always blur over into the real world, yet it was hard to escape the feeling that the alien speech was about to set off a political earthquake. Entire governments could fall within the next few days.
The President was already being escorted out of the chamber by his security team, his face pale and drawn. He wasn't the only Head of State to look shocked. The Chinese Premier, famous for his stereotypical inscrutability, looked as if he had been drinking. How would China’s population – increasingly angry at the old men who ran the country according to their version of communism – react to the alien speech?
And there were countries that had no tradition of peaceful changes in government...
Toby shook his head, remembering the brief moment when he’d glanced into the bright red eyes. The Galactics had crafted their speech very neatly, aiming it at the wider human population. And no one would want to be left out of the bounty they offered to the human race. After today, the Galactics would be embraced by most of the world. Toby wondered, as he rose to his feet to meet up with the President in a secure location, if he was the only one to be worried by their words.
He couldn't escape the impression he’d felt when he’d met the alien eyes. The Galactics were predators. And what did that mean for Earth?
Chapter Six
Near Mannington, Virginia/New York
USA, Day 6
The Colonel disapproved of TV dinners. In his opinion, one of the many reasons for the decline in American communities was the ability to park the entire family in front of the television while stuffing their faces with some mass-produced foodstuff that – just maybe – bore a passing resemblance to food. He’d eaten MREs in the Gulf that had tasted better than some of the slop served up in brightly-packaged containers; it stunned him that people could actually buy and like the quasi-food. But then they knew no better. The decline in home cooking had convinced an entire generation that fast food was actually edible.
But no one was going to miss the alien landing. Sure, there was never any end to the tasks on the farm, yet he knew better than to insist that everyone worked during the single most significant event in all of human history. One military rule that applied to civilian life was simple; never – ever – give an order you know won’t be obeyed. It weakens respect for commanders among their subordinates. And besides, the Colonel wasn't going to miss the landing himself.
As always, the media had surrounded the incident site with thousands of cameras. The raw footage was, in many ways, more affecting than the edited footage that would probably be streaming onto the internet by the end of the day. He studied the alien craft with considerable interest, feeling an odd kinship with the ship’s designers. It was impossible to escape the feeling that the boxy design of the craft – and a total absence of frills – indicated that it had been designed by or for the military. The aliens seemed to have a military mindset in both their starships and their smaller craft. And then there was the aliens themselves. There was something about them that made it impossible to believe that they were faked. Their movements were utterly inhuman, their bodily proportions chillingly different. They were real.
He listened to the alien speech in numb disbelief. The Colonel had never had any time for the UN, even though he’d never embraced some of the wilder conspiracy theories about the UN’s role in the world. And yet watching the alien lecture the world leaders – including the President – made his blood boil. Who were they to come and tell humanity how they should take care of themselves? The Colonel had grown up in a tradition of self-reliance, of knowing that the government couldn’t be relied upon to take care of oneself; the aliens seemed almost to be suggesting that they were here to take over – for humanity’s own good – and expected the human race to accept without demur. They were almost intergalactic social workers.
The thought made him scowl. His children had been deployed overseas, working near non-governmental organisations that tried to improve the lives of the poor and hungry in countries that owed much of their misfortunes to their own governments. Very few of the NGOs had succeeded in having a lasting effect; they didn’t understand the locals, they didn’t realise that their interventions could have negative effects as well as positive – and they often made their plans without any awareness of local realities. The thought that Earth might be a Third World state by Galactic standards shocked him, although some of the alien comments were alarmingly valid. One of the many scenarios they’d discussed for disaster had been an asteroid impact. No one had any faith in NASA’s ability to deflect an asteroid from Earth.
He watched as the aliens turned and left the chamber, allowing CNN to switch to yet another of its endless stable of talking heads. They’d been interviewing experts ever since the alien starships had been detected, experts who often knew little more than the interviewers. The Colonel suspected that they would have no trouble finding experts to confirm or deny the alien claims, depending upon their ideological backgrounds. It was easy to see how vested interests might manipulate the data to ensure that it supported their conclusions, suggesting a universal trait of the human race. What was the truth when vast amounts of money were at stake?
“Well,” he said, finally. “That’s us told.”
The sitting room was packed, loaded with his friends, family and workers. They’d all watched the show, not daring to speak for fear that they might miss something. On the screen, a talking head was discussing the dangers of global warming, something the Colonel knew to have been disproved scientifically – a fact that escaped the governments meddlers who thought that a degree and a lofty title allowed them to dictate to America’s farmers. In fact, the Earth was actually getting slightly cooler, a point that portended other global changes. The aliens had been right to point out, in effect, that the human race had all of its eggs in one basket. A single worldwide disaster could exterminate the human race.
He stood up. There would be time to return to the television – or the computer – later. For the moment, he needed time to digest what he’d seen and try to think of what it meant for him personally. At least the aliens hadn’t launched an immediate attack on Earth; he’d once watched Mars Attacks with Mary and the seemingly-psychotic aliens had declared war by slaughtering the Senate. The cynic in him told the Colonel that they’d probably aided the human war effort. It seemed that there would be no immediate disaster from space.
“Time to get back to work,” he said. The small collection of food could be cleared up later, once they’d dealt with the endless series of chores that had to be done on the farm. “We can talk about it at teatime.”
With that, he walked out of the door and onto the farm. There was much work to be done.
***
Jeannette McGreevy, ever since she had grown old enough to understand what politics actually was, had been consumed with a single thought. She would be President one day. It had been an ambition actually encouraged by her father and her grandfather, who had served in politics for so long that the clan could no longer consider a life outside Washington. They might not be as famous as the Kennedy Family, or the Bush Family, or even the Clinton Family, but that worked in her favour. The family had far fewer skeletons in its closet than any of the more famous
clans, something that had helped ensure that only the Bush Family could boast two Presidents in their line. Jeannette intended to be the first of her clan to sit in the Oval Office and be addressed as Madam President.
She smiled to herself as she walked towards the alien chambers. Her appearance had been – like everything else – carefully calculated for maximum effect. She wore a stiff suit, one that made her look businesslike, and had her hair tied up in a tight bun. Margaret Thatcher, one of the few women to wield supreme power, had served as her idol. A President had to appear impassive and approachable, capable and yet vulnerable. It wouldn’t be long until the next election cycle, when she would attempt to knock President Hollinger off the ticket and run for President herself. Her aides had already started the long process of securing contributions and support prior to the nominations. The family’s long service in Washington gave them a network of allies and clients and she had no intention of wasting them. She would be President, the first female President in America’s history. No one would ever forget her name.
Her aides buzzed around her, each one competing to provide her with the latest update from her corps of political monitoring personnel. The winner in any political campaign would be the one who understood the national trends in public opinion and Jeannette had no intention of being behind the curve. Reaction seemed to be mixed, but there was a general trend towards an admiration for the Galactic Federation – and a drop in support for the government. Even those who might be counted upon to be patriotic seemed inclined to condemn the government – a condemnation that would fall on the head of the sitting President, even if the trends they condemned had started long before his administration. Jeannette listened with a practiced ear as the results of the latest polls were shoved in front of her, before dismissing her staff. She would make the walk to the alien chambers alone. As always, it was a carefully planned political gesture; the aliens had walked into the heart of human society without fear and she intended to visit them just as openly.
The aliens had requested a set of chambers within the UN complex for their personnel use and the UN had scurried to comply. Jeannette knew that every other ambassador, special representative and even some of the world leaders still in New York would be scurrying to secure a private interview with the aliens. The promise of alien technology and a change in the global balance of power was irresistibly attractive. Jeannette knew that the nations with the least to lose – debtor nations that felt as if they were exploited by the West, fairly or unfairly – would be the ones most inclined to buy into the promise of a brave new world order. At worst, they would be no worse off than they already were…and they would have the satisfaction of seeing their tormentors brought down to the same level.
A UN security guard waved her through into an antechamber, where she encountered what had to be an alien version of a security guard. The alien waved a device over her body, checked the results and – apparently satisfied – allowed her to proceed into the next chamber, where the alien Ambassador rose to greet her. Up close, the alien was utterly inhuman; his eerie body moved in a manner that sent chills down her spine. She reminded herself firmly that this was another intelligent being and – more importantly – had the backing of seventeen starships in orbit. The aliens could not be taken lightly.
“Thank you for receiving me,” she said, as she took the chair the alien indicated. He seemed to show no inclination to sit down at first, and then perched himself on a stool. Jeannette wondered if it was a deliberate sign – either a gesture of respect or a deliberate slur – before realising that the alien wouldn’t find a human chair very comfortable. “It is my hope that we can proceed together towards a mutually-satisfying dialogue that will respect the needs and inclinations of both our peoples.”
The aliens had to know that she could only speak for the United States – no one could really claim to speak for the world – but they’d allowed her to be the first to visit their chambers for a series of private discussions. That had to mean something, she told herself; the aliens talked a good game, but if they wanted to work with the human race they’d have to work with the most powerful nations on the planet. Jeannette was more than familiar with the high ideals and lofty blether of politics – and how rarely the words of political leaders translated into any form of great and lasting change.
“We welcome you,” the alien said, in a whispery tone. “There is much we must discuss.”
Jeannette leaned forward, careful to keep her face impassive. There was no way of reading the alien’s body language, but the aliens might be capable of reading human body language. They’d been intercepting transmissions for years and many of those transmissions would have been educational, intended to teach a human audience about everything from the economy to basic biology. They might have even determined how to read human expressions, or monitor internal physical reactions that could indicate if a person was trying to lie…there was just no way to know the limits of their capabilities.
“Of course,” she said. “I would be very interested in hearing what you have to say.”
***
“They’re offering us what?”
Toby sat in one corner of Air Force One’s Presidential Lounge, listening carefully as the President, Jeannette McGreevy and Albert Demeter, the Director of the CIA, discussed the alien’s offer. The Vice President’s face could be seen on one of the screens; he’d been told to remain in a secret underground bunker until they knew for sure that the Galactics came in peace. General Elliot Thomas should have been included, but he’d had an urgent appointment elsewhere.
“They’re offering us ten fusion power units,” McGreevy said. Her hawkish face – Toby distrusted her and had ever since she’d tried to bribe him away from the President – was flushed with excitement. “According to the figures they’re offering, they would be able to power the entire nation alone, without the need for any fission power plants, wind farms or any other means of producing power. They’re clean and environmentally friendly…”
The President twitched. Bare hours after the alien speech, the environmental lobby was already pressing their political representatives to start reducing pollution sharply – never mind the fact that most global production came from China and the Third World. The price of rapid growth and the development of heavy industries was pollution, a price that dictatorial governments willingly paid to ensure that they became more independent of the free world. No one knew for sure just how badly the USSR’s government had polluted Russia, but what had leaked into the public domain was horrifying. The former USSR might be the most polluted country on Earth.
“They’ve also offered to start licensing certain items to our industrial firms,” McGreevy continued, seemingly unaware of the President’s concern. Her ambitions were an open secret in Washington, but few were prepared to challenge her openly. “From what they’ve offered us, we can produce advanced batteries that will allow us to become energy-independent of the Middle East, medicines that will allow us to cure most diseases and hundreds of other devices that will improve the quality of life all over the world. And all they ask in exchange is some land.”
Toby frowned. The aliens had asked for only one thing; a small area of territory within the Continental United States that they could make their own. It wasn't an unreasonable request, but there were sticking points. Galactic Federation law, which no one on Earth knew anything about, would govern the territory, effectively granting the aliens extraterritorial rights and freedom from American law. It struck him that the Chinese must have felt just as stunned and offended after the Opium Wars, when the Westerners had demanded the right to create enclaves in China that were not responsible to Chinese authorities.
The aliens hadn’t threatened anyone. They hadn’t pointed a gun to the government’s head and given them a choice between surrender or dying bravely. What they’d done was far more subtle – and dangerous. If the President refused to accept the alien technology – refusing to allow the aliens to establish an enc
lave on Earth – the United States would be cut out of the technological advances that would blossom all over Earth. Toby knew that fusion power could change the world – and refusing to accept such a boon would be political suicide. The President’s impeachment would be a foregone conclusion.
“Tell me something,” the Vice President said. “Did they have anywhere in mind?”
“They said we could choose,” McGreevy said. Toby knew that there would be an immediate political catfight over the location of the alien base. Some Congressmen would want it for their states; others would fear the consequences of having the aliens so close to their constituents. “They have a list of requirements, but none of them are particularly onerous.”
Toby glanced at the list. The aliens wanted fresh water, a certain degree of isolation and an airport capable of taking human aircraft. An old military base would serve as an ideal location, one that could be controlled. After all, as soon as the aliens were established, the Witnesses would be on their way to picket the alien base and welcome the star gods to Earth.
“True,” the President agreed. “Have they made the same offer to the other nations?”
“It’s impossible to tell,” the CIA Director admitted. It was an open secret that the CIA – and every other intelligence agency in the world – spied on the UN. “We had the room bugged, but something happened to the bugs – we have no independent record of what took place during any of the meetings. I think we have to assume the worst.”
The Trojan Horse Page 6
