by Darrell Bain
“Yeah, and how come girls didn't dress like that when we were in high school? My, how time flies. Are the twins still doing everything together?"
“Up to the point when they both like the same girl."
Matt laughed. His friend's twin boys were always good for conversational tidbits. It was seldom that Hawkins didn't have some new antic of theirs to pass on.
They chatted a few more minutes, then Hawkins ended the conversation on a high note by relating the latest little green men joke. After hanging up, the general leaned back in his easy chair, thinking back to their college days at the University of Houston. There had been three of them; Matt Selman, Dan Saddler and himself. Matt with the uncontrollable red hair and freckles, who could solve quadratic equations in his head. Dan the computer geek, who went on to make a fortune in software development. And himself, the most stolid of the three, who nevertheless had his mind on space even then. They had done everything together, even though Matt was a few years younger than he and Dan by virtue of being a child prodigy and skipping several grades before entering college. Unlike many college friendships, they had kept in touch after graduation. Talking to Matt made him wonder how Dan was getting along in his new home. He thought about calling but then his phone dinged and soon he was using one hand to hold the phone and the other to pour himself another drink.
The caller was the CEO of a private space firm he was well acquainted with and got him involved in a technical discussion that lasted a half hour. They had just put a promising new spacecraft into orbit, one that by all accounts had a quick turnaround time. If the alien object went into orbit around Earth, as seemed likely, then the military might need more ground-to-orbit craft than NASA could possibly provide. Private space firms were a possibility and he had been talking to several. If they could offer anything dependable and reliable on short notice, he would recommend letting contracts to use them. Anything in a pinch.
* * *
Chapter Three
Dan and Stacy found themselves neglecting the landscaping and inside work on the house they had planned on doing over the next several weeks. The television or computer drew them inexorably into the den at all hours of the day and night, where they perused the web and contacted friends in numerous specialties, always wanting to know the latest. It got to the point where they began eating frozen dinners or taking turns cooking in order not to miss anything. Even so, there was little more to be learned.
“It's a big mother, isn't it?” Dan remarked as he finished the last bite of dessert from the TV dinner, three weeks to the day after they had first heard of the spacecraft. He pointed to the screen with his fork. “Over six hundred yards long and half as wide. That's a helluva volume inside, even if two thirds or three fourths is taken up by engineering and fuel."
“It doesn't seem to be using fuel, though,” Stacy replied, pushing her tray out of reach. “Ugh. You'd think someone would have developed better TV dinners by now. Maybe that's what we ought to get into after this is over."
“If it ever is over."
Stacy nodded. “There's that. God, I don't know when I've ever been so impatient for something to happen. It's like I was a kid again, waiting on Christmas. Or in high school, wondering if you were ever going to ask me for a date. It seemed to take forever before it happened."
“Then it was all over with in a few hours.” He patted her bare thigh below the hem of her shorts. “Christmas, I mean. Not us. I was so scared you'd turn me down; that's why it took me so long."
“You're forgiven since it worked out great in the end. But this won't, I'll bet."
“I wouldn't wager anything on that bet. But you know, sweetie, I thought of something no one else seems to be considering."
“What's that?"
“This thing accelerated and decelerated without any thrust we could detect. Know what that means?"
“Don't make me guess, Dan. You know I hate that."
“Sorry, but it just occurred to me. An invisible thrust that's not causing any heat means it could probably land without much of a problem, even as big as it is."
Stacy took a minute to consider her husband's insight. “You know, honey, you're right. By golly, I bet it does land!” She thought a moment more. “Oh, boy! Wouldn't that kick up some dust!"
Dan looked puzzled. “How so?"
“And you're supposed to be the bright one in the family. Just think: suppose it landed in China. Don't you just know we'd threaten war if that's what it took to gain equal access?"
He knew Stacey was every bit as intelligent as he was, if not more so, but let her first remark pass in favor of the second. “By God, you're right! Us and every other nation on Earth. Man, oh man, it makes me hope it won't land anywhere. If it just orbits, that'll limit the options somewhat. Us, Russia, China and Europe. But still...” He rubbed his chin, then ran his fingers through already rumpled hair, feeling the incipient bald spot in back, but for a change not wondering how much longer he'd hang on to what he had.
“Still what?"
“There's other kinds of threats than outright war. We ought to know that by now. Remember yesterday when the Grand Imam of Saudi Arabia ... uh, what's his name? Ashrah, something like that. He's saying the spacecraft is a message from God to the Islamic world. Infidels unwelcome and should stay away from the messenger."
“Oh. I remember now. Didn't he make a threat that any nation attempting a relationship with the Messenger—and he spells it with a capital M—without first seeking guidance from Islamic theologians, meaning him, will bring down the wrath of Allah on their heads?"
“Right. And the hell of it is, the bastards can do it if they really want to. We know Iran and Syria have nerve gas to go with their missiles and Iran and Pakistan both have nukes. Iran may not have many left after that dustup with Israel, but I'll bet they managed to hide some. Pakistan sure as hell has plenty though, and the new regime sides with the fanatics most days. Crap."
Stacy patted his knee and stood up. She held out her hand for the remains of his dinner. “Sweetheart, there's not much we can do about it regardless, so please don't let it bother you so much."
Dan sighed. “You're right, hon. Sorry. I'll try to keep my worries private, but I can't help thinking about you."
Stacy bent over and kissed him before leaving the den to bring coffee. “You always do. And what do I tell you?"
Dan forced a grin. “You tell me you're a big girl now and can take care of yourself. I don't care, though. I'll always want to protect you."
She kissed him again and took the trays into the kitchen, thinking to herself what a good man she had married. If he worried too much over her in situations where he couldn't help ... well, there were far worse faults he could have brought to their marriage. And she had to admit—she really didn't mind too much. It was nice to know he thought of her so often.
* * * *
Premier Feng sipped cautiously at the hot tea which had just been placed in front of him by an unobtrusive aide. He picked up the folder giving him a summary of the options his science advisors had prepared for him. After scanning the outline and the first few pages, couched in wordy bureaucratese, he returned the folder to his desk. He sipped again at his tea and sighed heavily. Would they never learn that when he asked for advice, he didn't want to see weaseling or what they thought might please him? Now, more than any time in the past, he needed sage wisdom from the specialists. Perhaps he needed it more than any ruler in China's long history ever had, for a mistake now might cost not only the nation its place among the high councils of Earth; it could conceivably ruin the whole world.
Was caution in order, or a bold stroke, risking much for commensurate gain? How could he decide with so little to go on? And yet he must. The people of China might live or die; the nation might rise high or fall into the ash heap of history on the basis of a few words from him. When had a decision by China's head of state last carried so much importance? Feng thought of a war now far in the past. Korea. Yes, then the po
or Chinese nation had risked nuclear devastation by confronting the Americans and yet ultimately had won, if not outright victory, at least much prestige, much face. The people had reveled in the very thought of fighting the great nation of America to a draw. And now they must be confronted again, one way or another. Fortunately, this time China was in a stronger position for a challenge, if it came to that. Their Earth-orbiting spacecraft were as good as anything the Americans had. And China was nuclear armed.
Still ... he snapped his fingers, thinking he needed a small amount of stimulant before making his decision. “Brandy."
A moment later his tea cup was replaced with a brandy snifter. He took a full hour to empty the big balloon glass of amber colored liquor while weighing the options. Not the least of his considerations was the intermingling of economies brought on by global trade. War, or even direct threats of war, would disrupt an already shaky financial situation across the world. Eventually, he decided what must be done and called for General Chou En Song. First he would insist on equal access and see what kind of reaction this drew, though truth be told he already knew what it would be. The Americans and Russians would send back comforting words, then do all they could to put their nations in a favorable position to gain first access to the oncoming spacecraft. Just as his nation would. An old proverb came to mind. May you live in interesting times. The western world attributed the curse to China but in reality, its source was unknown. Nevertheless, it fitted this situation perfectly, he thought.
* * * *
King Alim Alhusain of Saudi Arabia sometimes thought he might have been better off had he gone into business rather than politics. Certainly he had reached the pinnacle of power by overthrowing the old regime, but with power always comes responsibility and the necessity for hard choices, sometimes involving injury to those he cared for. In this case, choice had necessitated the execution of his own beloved nephew, advisor to the Grand Imam, for refusing to listen to his most explicit orders. The spacecraft might indeed be a Holy Messenger, but one should never make threats unless prepared to carry them out. The kingdom was not yet self-sufficient. There would be time enough in the future to sever the relationship with America but it had not yet come.
King Alhusain knew he could not completely silence the Imam; he, too, had power and followers. But they must go slowly. He had personally taken the measure of the new American president and knew him to be a weak man, ruled by the constantly changing leanings of his polyglot constituents. Yet he was not completely a woman, not when he received advice from General Binds, who was most certainly a warrior without a speck of the woman in his blood. Grand Imam Ashrah had overstepped his bounds when he threatened destruction of any who sought converse with the Messsenger without his let. Allah protect him from the truly holy! Blessed they might be, but in the arena of geopolitics they were best kept on a short leash.
But how long could he hold the Imam in check? The king sipped slowly at his scotch, savoring the warm smoky essence. Drink was a sin, to be sure, but who among men had not sinned? He wondered if the American president would be told the significance of the public execution of poor Ali? Would even their specialists in Arab affairs discern the meaning?
An aide knocked, then entered the palace lounge where the king customarily took his afternoon solace. He presented a single yellow page of print, bowed and withdrew. The king scanned the words hurriedly. A smile crept across his face, almost buried by his beard but there nevertheless. He re-read the key words. Your cooperation is greatly appreciated. Should your neighbors present you with problems beyond your admirable reach, we are your brother. Good, very good. President Berne would offer protection should the kingdom require it. Oil wealth still carried weight, though it was becoming less so as the west desperately tried weaning themselves of dependence on middle-eastern oil. Yet who could trust the Americans for long periods of time? They were an impatient people, always wanting instant solutions. However, the reply would do for the present. All that was needed now was to see that it was discretely leaked to the proper individuals. He rang for his director of regional affairs. Best to get started. Time was growing ever shorter.
* * * *
Matt's face brightened as Tara came into the office. She was wearing dress jeans and a light blue turtleneck sweater with sleeves pushed to the elbows. Her raven-black, shoulder length hair was tousled from April winds coming in off the gulf and she looked achingly young and delightfully fresh.
“Good morning,” he greeted her. “Would you report me for harassment if I told you how nice you look today?"
She pursed her lips as if considering, then smiled prettily. “Not if you promise never to tell anyone I'm inviting you over for a home cooked meal Saturday night. I feel a kitchen binge coming on and could use some company."
His face brightened even more. An invitation to dinner was the last thing he was expecting. “That sounds like a good deal to me. What time? Can I bring some wine?"
“Seven o'clock and yes. ‘Scuse for a moment while I untangle my hair. The wind is fierce this morning."
Tara retreated to her corner of the office where she deposited her purse on her desk and took out a brush and mirror. It took Tara only a minute or two to rearrange her hair to her liking. She tucked the purse away in a drawer and joined Matt in the central alcove where the large monitor they usually watched was displaying several windows.
“Anything new?"
Matt shook his head. “Still decelerating. Still headed right for us. Still no communication."
“How long now? Three weeks?"
“Three weeks and three days to be exact until orbit or impact or a landing. And in case you're wondering, I'm still of the opinion it's going to land rather than orbit or come in hard."
“Me, too. What did you think of the president's speech last night?"
Matt shrugged. “Political pap for the masses. I turned it off after the first few minutes."
“Same here. Sometimes I wonder how the country has survived so long, considering the caliber of men and women we put in office."
“Uh huh. That stuff about ‘with only one alien intruder, our armed forces will suffice to protect the nation under any foreseeable eventuality’ made me laugh. I'll bet three quarters of the people listening couldn't define ‘suffice’ or ‘eventuality’ if they tried. However, there was one bit of data from Hawaii I didn't mention. They've pretty well pin-pointed the place where the craft exited. And they're now calling it a warp point, like the science fiction writers and fans were already doing."
Tara's face lit up. “Oh, boy, they're the ones really enjoying this, aren't they?” She mused for a moment. “And truth be told, I guess you'd have to include me in that class."
Matt raised a brow in query. “You, too?"
“You mean you like science fiction?"
“Sure. Most astronomers do. Ever been to a con?"
“No, but I'd like to go to a convention sometime. I've heard they're lots of fun."
“Depends on what you like and whether you get a kick out of meeting the writers.” He laughed lightly. “As of now, the writers have become prognosticators. And so have I. In fact, I prognosticate we'd better get to work. Dean Morrison is planning on dropping by later today."
“Whoops!"
“Yeah. I've already made the coffee. Why don't we put a little dog and pony show together for him? Something to keep him happy until the big event."
“That I think we can manage, even if we don't have much to say."
* * * *
The following week, President Berne used an executive order to declare a three day holiday, from May ninth, the day before the projected arrival of the spacecraft, until May eleventh, the day afterward.
“Smart thinking,” Dan said to his wife. “The eleventh falls on a Friday, so that'll leave two extra days for most people to stay home and see what develops."
Stacy yawned as she poured coffee for them at the little kitchenette in the corner of the den opposite the bar. They ha
d begun starting the morning in the den, an hour or so earlier than normal. “If the fundamentalists don't shut the world down before then. I swear, honey, people are going absolutely crazy over this thing."
Dan nodded as he took the mug of Jamaica Blue Mountain, made from freshly ground beans, and sniffed appreciatively before taking a sip. “Thanks, hon. What did we ever do before we could afford this stuff?"
“Suffered, my love. Just like the peons who can't afford it still do."
They sat down together on the big lounger and watched the morning news. At present, the anchor of a national network was narrating scenes of huge gatherings at various places in the world. Some of them were political demonstrations but the majority were of a religious nature. Millions of Muslims were either congregating in Mecca, the holiest site in the Muslim world, or were on their way. And it wasn't even the time of Ramadan, the annual pilgrimage all the faithful were expected to take to Mecca at least once in their lifetime.
It was Sunday and another window showed the Pope blessing thousands upon thousands of Catholics gathered in St. Peter's Square at the Vatican. He was expected to issue a preliminary encyclical any day in an attempt to calm the masses. A more definitive one was anticipated once more was known about the “Emissary from the Stars", as the Pope was calling the spacecraft.
That window changed again. A camera panned across a Mississippi revival by a renowned fundamentalist preacher. The camera roved the crowds for a moment then focused in on the Reverend Murray McCoy as he warned the congregation in harsh, stentorian tones not to let themselves be mislead by Satan in the guise of otherworldly beings. Among his fist-shaking exhortations to return to the Lord's house, there was a call for “love offerings” to support his ministry “in these parlous times".
“I guess Hindus and Buddhists are getting much the same from their leaders, even though they're not on the program,” Dan observed.
“Uh huh. They all seem to know exactly what's best for us, don't they?"
