The Orion Plan

by Mark Alpert

  And Annabelle? That was the biggest challenge of all. Would she even want to see him again? Could she ever forgive him?

  She could, Joe. I could make her understand. Nothing is impossible for me.

  Yes, he thought. It’s possible.

  He believed it.

  * * *

  Half an hour later Joe approached Yankee Stadium. At 7:00 A.M. the sidewalks around it were deserted. The place looked bereft without the usual swarming crowds. An empty Cheetos bag fluttered down the street.

  The Emissary guided him past the stadium’s main entrances, which were now locked tight. He passed the shuttered ticket office too and the stadium’s press gate. He kept going until he reached the corporate entrance, the one that led to the offices of the baseball team’s owners and management.

  As Joe neared the glass doors he saw something moving in the darkness behind them. A man in a security guard’s uniform appeared behind one of the doors and unlocked it. The man looked young, a little too young to be a security guard, actually. The uniform hung loosely on his slender frame. He held the door open for Joe and beckoned to him. “Over here, amigo,” he called. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Joe stepped inside. He looked a little closer at the kid and recognized him. This was one of the teenagers from Inwood Hill Park. Not the leader of the gang, and not the one who’d kicked Joe in the ribs. He was the joker, the one with the braying laugh.

  That’s correct. His name is Carlos.

  The kid closed the door and locked it. Then he turned around and pointed at Joe. “Damn, what happened to you, bro? You look a lot better than you did in the park. Where’d you get that suit?”

  Joe knew he shouldn’t be surprised to see the kid here. The Emissary had infected the leader of the gang, and he in turn could’ve infected all his friends. Still, it was disturbing. Joe wondered how much the teenager knew. “I got the suit from the Emissary. You know who that is?”

  Carlos shook his head. “No idea. But it doesn’t matter.” Grinning, he turned to the right and headed down a long, carpeted corridor. “Follow me. It’s dark in here, so you better watch where you’re going. You don’t want to trip over that big dude there.”

  Joe looked ahead and saw a figure lying faceup on the floor, either dead or unconscious. It was a large, dark-skinned man stripped to his underwear. Carlos stepped over him and continued down the corridor, but Joe stopped and stared until he saw the man’s chest rise and heard him breathing.

  He’s one of the stadium’s security guards. I sedated him and nine of his coworkers so we could make use of this facility.

  A tentacle tethered the unconscious man to the floor. The gleaming wire stretched from a hole in the carpet and curled around the man’s waist. Its tapered point was embedded in the bare skin above his hip.

  “Christ.” Joe’s throat tightened. “What are you doing to him?”

  You don’t have to worry about his well-being. The sedation is temporary and won’t damage him in any way.

  Joe carefully stepped around the guard. Then he pointed at Carlos, who was several yards ahead. “What about his well-being? I notice you’ve done something to his right hand.”

  That’s also temporary. My devices allow me to influence his behavior, but I can’t communicate with Carlos as directly as I can with you. As I’ve mentioned before, it’s difficult to establish robust links with your species.

  “But the kid’s following your orders.”

  That’s only because I’m giving Carlos something he wants. He and his friends want to be strong and free and respected. I’m helping them accomplish their goals, and in return they give me their allegiance. I can’t force them to do anything against their will.

  Joe thought it over, trying to figure out if the Emissary was telling the truth. He found it hard to believe that the teenager had willingly agreed to have that shiny circle stamped into his palm. But he knew from his own experience that the Emissary could be very persuasive. Her microscopic devices searched the nooks and crannies of your brain until they discovered your strongest desires. Then you became her accomplice.

  Joe continued walking down the corridor with Carlos until they reached a stairway. As they descended the steps Joe expected to see a grimy basement full of equipment for the stadium, but instead they came to a pair of imposing wooden doors. Carlos pushed the doors open and turned on the lights. They were in the New York Yankees locker room.

  It was a lot bigger and fancier than any locker room Joe had ever seen. The floor was covered with plush blue carpet emblazoned with the Yankees logo. In the center of the room were leather couches and easy chairs. The lockers ran along the walls, but they weren’t really lockers in the traditional sense—they were richly appointed alcoves with cabinets and closets and computer screens for each player. The uniforms hung on the closet rods and the Yankee caps sat on the shelves. It was the kind of place Joe had always dreamed of visiting, and he assumed that Carlos would stop for at least a few seconds to look at the hanging uniforms. But the kid walked right past them and headed for the doors at the other end of the room.

  They passed a row of batting cages and a big rack holding dozens of baseball bats. Then they banged through another pair of doors and marched down yet another corridor. This one had a blue sign overhead displaying a quote from Joe DiMaggio: “I want to thank the Good Lord for making me a Yankee.” At the end of the corridor Carlos climbed a short flight of steps. Joe followed him up the steps and then found himself on the baseball field. The Yankees dugout was to his right, and home plate was a few yards ahead.

  While Carlos stood in front of the dugout, Joe stepped toward the circle of dirt surrounding home plate. Turning around, he stared at the empty stands, the fifty thousand seats arranged in curving tiers. Now he realized why the Emissary had chosen this place for the meeting. The stands would hide them from anyone outside the stadium. Unless you were in an airplane flying over the Bronx, you couldn’t see the field.

  Now I will make the final preparations. When I’m done, even the airline passengers won’t be able to see you.

  “What do you mean? How—”

  Three black tentacles suddenly erupted from the dirt near home plate. They rose straight up into the air, then arced across the field, one tentacle stretching toward first base, one toward second, and one toward third. After reaching a height of about forty feet the tentacles descended toward the bases and dove into the neatly raked dirt, creating arches that soared over the base lines and the pitcher’s mound. A moment later, broad sheets of metallic fiber spread from one arch to another, draping a black canopy over the entire infield. It looked like a tent at first, but then it changed shape. The arches lowered until they touched the base lines on the ground and the top of the canopy became a glistening black dome.

  The structure wavered for an instant, shimmering like a mirage. Then it vanished.

  Carlos stepped backward and muttered, “Coño!” Joe was just as surprised.

  I’ve added a coating of plasmonic material to its surface. This material scatters the light rays that strike it, causing them to bend around the structure.

  “So the thing is still there, but it’s invisible?”

  Yes. You can’t see it from the outside. And if you stand inside the structure, it will shield you from view.

  Skeptical, Joe walked toward the first-base line. As he came within a yard of the base path, a black rectangle the size of a doorway appeared in front of him. Steeling himself, he closed his eyes and stepped through it. When he opened his eyes he couldn’t see the stadium anymore. He could see the infield and the pitcher’s mound, but everything beyond the base paths was black. There was a faint glow coming from above, though. When he looked up he saw the underside of a huge black dome, dotted with stars.

  It was frightening, but also magical. Joe felt as if he’d stepped into a secret cave, a hole in reality. The stars above him were arranged in unfamiliar patterns. He tilted his head back and marveled.

  The E
missary was patient. She gave Joe a few seconds to be alone with his thoughts. Then she spoke.

  The government officials are approaching the stadium. Before they arrive I want to reveal my information to you, all the details of my mission and the requests I’m going to make. You should know this information in advance, so you can effectively communicate my needs to the officials. But because we don’t have much time, I’m going to download all the data to your memory in one burst. You may find the experience a little disorienting.

  This warning made Joe nervous. “You mean I’ll get dizzy?”

  That’s one possibility. As a precaution, you may want to sit down.

  He looked around. The only place to sit was the pitcher’s mound. He walked toward the low hill of dirt and sat down at its center. He drew his knees toward his chest and wrapped his arms around them. “Okay. I’m ready, I guess.”

  Then lightning flashed inside his mind.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Sarah was surprised when Luis brought her to Yankee Stadium. But she was astonished when she saw Tom Gilbert there. For twenty years she’d fantasized about a vengeful reunion with her ex-fiancé, but she’d never imagined it happening at a ballpark.

  She saw him step out of a black limo parked in front of the stadium’s corporate entrance. The limo looked official enough, exactly the kind of vehicle the White House science adviser would tool around in. But the two young men who accompanied him didn’t look official at all. Unlike Tom, they weren’t dressed in drab gray suits; instead, they wore baggy pants and sleeveless shirts, and their bandannas matched Luis’s. They also had matching implants in the palms of their right hands.

  The boys walked on either side of Tom, gripping his arms to steer him toward the stadium’s glass doors. He didn’t seem to be physically hurt—he had no visible bruises, at least, and he wasn’t limping—but as Sarah drew closer she saw the agitated expression on his face. He’d lost some hair and gained some weight over the past two decades, and there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead. He opened his mouth when he saw Sarah and Luis, as if he were about to yell for help, but he gave up on the idea when Luis greeted his friends in Spanish. Then, as the teenagers bumped fists, Tom stared at Sarah, scrunching his face as he recognized her.

  “Jesus,” he hissed. He sounded more annoyed than frightened. “What are you doing here?”

  She didn’t respond. With one question he’d squashed whatever sympathy she’d felt for him. Sarah’s presence here was just a distraction for him. His only concern was his own safety.

  He hasn’t changed a bit, she thought.

  While they stared at each other, a fourth boy emerged from the darkness on the other side of the glass doors. He let them inside, and then all six of them headed down a long corridor. Two of the boys walked in front and two behind. Sarah walked alongside Tom but remained silent. After several seconds he edged closer to her.

  “Can you believe this?” he whispered. “These delinquents broke into my house in Bethesda at three in the morning. They scared the shit out of me, forced me into the backseat of my car, and drove me all the way up here. And I have no fucking idea why.” His voice rose, but the teenagers didn’t seem to notice or care. “Did they do the same to you?”

  “Not exactly. I was in a jail cell.”

  “What? How did—”

  “It was your friend, General Hanson. Turns out that he wasn’t the best person to give all those emergency powers to. In plain English, he’s gone wacko.”

  Tom scowled. “First of all, Hanson’s no friend of mine. Second, it’s your own fault that he has those powers. You’re the one who gave him his so-called evidence. Your name is all over the reports he’s been sending to the White House.”

  “So you’ve seen everything? The analysis of the probe’s trajectory? The sample with the nanodevices?”

  “Yes, I was at the National Security Council meeting where Hanson’s report was discussed. I didn’t agree with his conclusions, and neither did the defense secretary or the Joint Chiefs. But the national security adviser took Hanson seriously and authorized the emergency operations.”

  “Well, Hanson’s no friend of mine either, but the White House should be taking him seriously. The alien probe is using its nanodevices to establish a foothold. Its machinery has spread miles beyond the landing site.”

  “Oh, I don’t doubt the seriousness of the threat. I just don’t believe that aliens have invaded Manhattan.” Tom’s voice was heavy with disdain. “The Russians have been working for years on nanotech weapons. It’s a thousand times more likely that they’re the ones who built and launched this probe.”

  Sarah shook her head. The problem with Tom was that he had no mind of his own. In bureaucratic language, he was a team player; in cruder terms, he was an ass-kisser. If most of the people around him believed that extraterrestrial life was a fantasy, Tom believed it too. That had been his attitude twenty years ago when he’d betrayed Sarah, and it was still his attitude now.

  Frowning, she pointed at the pair of boys in front of them. “What about them? Who do you think they are?”

  He shrugged. “They look like gang members. Someone’s probably paying them to do this. Maybe the Russians.”

  “Look at their hands, their right hands. Don’t you see what’s implanted there?”

  “Yes, I see it. It’s some kind of initiation ritual, I suppose. The gangsters brand their hands or pierce them with cheap jewelry.”

  Sarah rolled her eyes. Tom was incredibly obtuse, especially for a scientist. That probably explained why he’d given up research and become a science adviser—on some level he must’ve recognized his lack of imagination and decided he was better suited for government work. She found it mind-boggling that she’d once been attracted to him.

  “You’re way off, Tom. The implant’s a weapon, a high-energy laser. And I think they’ve already used it.” She pointed at Luis. “The kid told me there was a battle with Hanson’s soldiers in Inwood. It happened early this morning, about three o’clock.”

  Tom shrugged again. “The delinquents had already kidnapped me by then, so I can’t say for certain that he’s lying. But if someone told me there was a laser battle on the streets of New York, I think I’d be a little skeptical, wouldn’t you?”

  While they were arguing they descended a staircase and walked through the Yankees locker room. Sarah had no interest in baseball, so she didn’t give the place a second glance. Then the teenagers brought them outside, leading them past the dugout and on to the baseball field. The morning sun had risen above the stands and now it shone upon the outfield and its neatly trimmed grass.

  Sarah gazed at the deserted field and the empty stands and the blank video screens. She didn’t understand why Luis had brought her here. The boy had said she needed to meet someone, a man who had a message for her. But no messenger was in sight.

  One of the other boys, the one who’d opened the glass doors at the stadium’s entrance, went into the dugout and grabbed a baseball from a carton on the bench. Casually tossing the ball up and down, he started walking toward the infield. He stopped a few yards away from the first-base line and cocked his arm. Then he threw the ball toward left field, even though nobody stood out there.

  Sarah heard a thud. Instead of flying over the pitcher’s mound, the ball bounced back to the teenager and rolled to a stop near the dugout. At the same time, the air above the infield seemed to shimmer. For an instant Sarah thought she saw something solid there, a huge black dome.

  She ran toward it. She stopped near the infield and took a few careful steps forward. Then she stretched her hand into the air above the first-base line.

  Her fingers touched a smooth, cold wall. She couldn’t see it, but it was there.

  Tom stepped forward too. His eyes were wide and his mouth hung open. He stood a few feet to Sarah’s left and extended his arm. His face quivered as he touched the invisible wall.

  Sarah turned to him. “You see?”

  For once he di
dn’t argue. He couldn’t argue. The evidence was right in front of his nose.

  As they stood there, side by side, part of the wall dissolved. The section in front of them softened under their hands and then melted away. In its place was a rectangular doorway, about five feet wide and seven feet high, just big enough for both of them to pass through at the same time. Sarah squinted but couldn’t see anything through the doorway. It was pitch-black.

  Tom let out a barely audible whimper. He took a step backward, and for a moment it looked like he was going to run away. But Sarah grabbed his elbow. “No, you’re going to see this. You owe me that much.”

  Then she went through the doorway, dragging Tom with her.

  * * *

  Sarah held her breath as she stepped under the black dome. She expected to witness something strange and mysterious, something that transcended human knowledge so completely that she might not even be able to comprehend it. But instead she saw a middle-aged man in a blue suit. He stood on the pitcher’s mound, about thirty feet away, looking like the world’s most overdressed baseball player.

  The light under the dome was dim and gray, like the sky on a summer evening ten minutes after the sun goes down. Although the walls were black, the underside of the dome seemed to glow. It was peppered with stars, just like in a planetarium, but when Sarah looked up she saw none of the constellations, neither northern hemisphere nor southern. This made her feel uneasy, disoriented. She looked again at the man in the blue suit, and he pointed at the dome and smiled, trying to put her at ease.

  “Yeah, I also noticed that,” he called. “The different stars in the sky.” He waved at her and Tom, motioning them to come closer. “Why don’t you come over here so I don’t have to shout?”

  Sarah stepped forward, eager to find out who the hell this guy was, but Tom just stood there, rooted to the turf. He seemed too scared to move. She had to grab his elbow again and pull him toward the pitcher’s mound.

  She halted at the edge of the mound, keeping her distance from the mystery man. His body was like a pitcher’s, tall and lanky, but he was clearly past the major league retirement age. He had long, graying hair and a weathered face, with deep furrows in his forehead and around his eyes. The man seemed old beyond his years, marked by fatigue and hard living.