by Clyde Key
* * *
Eighty kilometers east of Needles, Ed and Marilee passed the last of the caravan of floaters fleeing Needles. But as they neared the city they began to see the hikers. Ed figured those people must have been the operators of the floaters that had wrecked when they left the highway and tried to cross the rough desert terrain. He felt a twinge of pity for the frantic band, but there were too many for them to rescue. Besides, as Marilee pointed out, neither of the government agents knew for sure where danger was anyway since aliens who could travel across spans of space measured in light years would certainly be capable of reaching any point on Earth.
Ed slowed the floater suddenly and stared. Some of the hikers were resting in the shade of the billboard he’d passed so many times he had become inured to it. “The Visitors are coming!” it proclaimed. “Remember they are our guests—make them feel welcome!” Then in smaller letters, it said, “They have much to teach us.”
Ed grumbled to himself. The billboards were Arlene’s doing! What a stubborn, stupid old woman!
Several kilometers after they passed the last of the hikers, the alien rockets came into view. Viewed from a distance, the space ships were gleaming silver needles protruding upward from the startling ebon of the charred desert floor. Ed was suddenly struck with the realization that the rockets must have been at least a kilometer high even though the perspective of distance had made them appear as small slivers. He wondered how many aliens each held.
Ed guided the floater to a point a few hundred meters southeast of the alien fleet, and left the vehicle set on autohover while they stared silently at the rockets and the burned desert surface.
“Look! What’s that moving down there?” asked Marilee, excitedly.
“Stray dogs. The campers must have lost them when they left in such a hurry.”
“They’re wandering close to the rockets. Do you think it’s still toxic down there?”
“I wouldn’t know. If it is, there wouldn’t be anything you could do for the dogs.”
“They seem to be doing very well. It looks like the fumes are gone,” said Marilee.
“Seems that way. I’m going to get us a little closer.”
Ed guided the floater over to the nearest rocket and slowly circled the huge craft. The entire outer surface of the alien ship seemed to be fabricated in one piece, even including the fins that extended from three sides and, despite the flames that had engulfed the bottom of the rocket during its descent, it was still bright and silvery down to the huge pods upon which it sat.
Then they dropped the floater to a few feet above the desert and viewed one of the pods closely. “I haven’t found a door or a hatch or anything like that,” said Ed. “I wonder how they get in or out of it?”
“They’ve probably forgotten, too,” said Marilee. “They’ve been inside there for two hundred years.”
“Hmm... Yeah. I don’t know how long they live but most of them were probably born in there and haven’t ever been anywhere except in the rocket.”
“There’s a hole in it,” said Marilee, pointing to the bottom of the pod. “I didn’t see that before. It must have just opened.”
“I think so. If it’s a door, those guys must really be small! It can’t be more than six inches across.”
As they watched, a gelatinous mass appeared at the hole. It began pushing through the hole, seemingly with great difficulty at first but then it fairly seemed to stream out until it came free and landed a few feet from the craft in a quivering heap. Then another form appeared at the hole. It was long and quite slender and it came through the hole quite easily. When it was completely out, they could see it was about five feet long, with a rough surface that seemed to be covered with blisters. Its mottled skin was shades of red and green and the colors seemed to change as it moved in the bright desert sun.
Then the wide-eyed government agents watched as the slender being leaped into the middle of the blob, and seemed to soak up the substance of the blob into its blisters.
“That’s disgusting!” said Ed. “That’s the ugliest, most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen!”
“Don’t let them hear you say that!” said Marilee. “You might make them mad. And you’ll certainly make the commissioner mad if he knows you said anything like that!”
“Don’t worry. There’s no comm on this floater. There would have been a unit installed by next week, but it’s completely safe to talk in here now.”
“You think,” said Marilee.
The first alien they had ever seen soon filled out into a rather large body that almost seemed to slosh as it moved. It had no legs, but moved about on wrinkles that appeared in waves at its bottom. It did seem surprisingly mobile, though.
After the first alien exited the ship, five more joined within minutes. All came out in exactly the same manner as the first.
“I hope we don’t have to identify them individually,” said Marilee. “They all look exactly alike to me!”
“Now don’t you start it,” said Ed. “That’s one of the things Ms. Sisk said you’re never supposed to say.”
2
Nov. 16, 2025
Because he was ordinary in most ways and of small stature and quiet manner, Evan Saxon escaped notice much of the time. However, Saxon had a keen intellect that had been exploited many times to the benefit of his employers. At Bennett University, where he had been an assistant to the dean in the Physics Department for more years than would have been tolerated by someone with a yearning for a full professorship or a department of his own, Saxon was known to most around him as the real author of papers that listed him with only minor research credit. Saxon may have wished for recognition, but it was not apparent to those around him.
Perhaps it was a secret desire for fame that led Evan Saxon to accept an appointment from the President of the United States to a seat on the newly formed Domestic Affairs Council. Then again, it could be that Saxon wished to remain largely anonymous, a behind-the-scenes presence who contributed much while drawing scant reward. It may as well have been the latter because that was a precise description of his position on an advisory board whose unstated purpose was to develop strategy for improving President Kermit Rogers’ waning popularity with the American voting public.
This November day in 2025 found Evan Saxon at the White House in the large East Conference Room. Saxon sat almost at the end of the long mahogany table, so far from President Rogers that he had to strain to hear the president’s words.
“This represents an unparalleled opportunity for the administration,” said the president. “History will remember me as the president who led this nation and our world to establish contact with intelligent beings from outside our own solar system. It is your collective task to help me...”
“Beg pardon, sir,” said the heavy, balding man who sat to the president’s immediate right. “I’m afraid we can’t take credit for that, for a couple of reasons.”
Rogers was visibly annoyed at the interruption. “And what are those reasons, pray tell?”
The old fellow smiled. “The number one reason you can’t claim credit for it is that it really happened over four years ago. Our scientific advisor, Mr. Halloran, tells us that it takes a very long time for radio waves to travel that far in space. You weren’t president when the astronomer guys figured out what it was and started sending that message back.”
“Thank you, Jantzen, but I understand the distance is only a little over two light-years.” Rogers raised his voice. “I was already president two years ago.”
“It takes twice that long for a round trip,” said Jantzen. “It has been four and a half years since that message was sent, and it wasn’t us who sent it. It was the Puerto Ricans.”
“But... Puerto Ricans, you say? Was that before or after the New Arrangement?
“After,” said Jantzen. “If you try to take credit for this at all, it will seem both self-serving and extremely dishonest. I think you should leave it alone unless we can come up with
some new stuff that can’t be tied back to the Puerto Ricans.”
Evan Saxon raised his hand, but then he was embarrassed at the thought he must have looked like a timid schoolboy asking permission to speak. After an uncomfortably long time, the President acknowledged Saxon. “Yes, Mr., ah...”
“Saxon. Evan Saxon from Bennett University.” Evan was unsure whether to stand when addressing the President. He started to stand, then sat back down when he remembered that Jantzen had remained seated. But then, Jantzen was right next to the President. “I have an idea, Mr. President. It’s true the Puerto Ricans made contact, but they used equipment the US installed at Arecibo before the New Arrangement. It is also true that mathematicians from Bennett University first noticed the signals repeated. The Puerto Ricans just don’t have access to the kind of computers we have, so I don’t think they’ll be able to really communicate—to break the signals down and understand them.”
“That’s good!” said Rogers. “They can’t do anything with it anyway, so we’ll just take over! We’ll build an antenna just like that one except bigger, and we’ll blow them away!”
“That’s not exactly what I had in mind, Mr. President. Their antenna is quite big enough since it was designed to probe the farthest reaches of the universe. What I meant was that we should offer our cooperation to the Ricans—a joint effort with them receiving and transmitting signals and we do the decoding. You can take credit for improving relations with Latin America and it won’t cost us nearly as much because we already have the supercomputers.”
President Rogers considered this, and then turned to his right. “Jantzen, what do you think?”
The large man nodded. “It’s possible. We should at least explore it.”
Evan spoke again, louder this time. “Mr. President, I’d like to propose that you appoint a commission to deal with extra-terrestrial communication. It wouldn’t take a large budget for a big return, and I know a number of people who are eminently qualified to serve.”
“That’s good!” said the President. “Jantzen, I want you to organize this. You might even use Mr., ah... the gentlemen over there, on your panel.”
“Saxon,” said Jantzen. “He said his name is Evan Saxon, from Duke University.”
“No. That’s Bennett University,” said Evan. “We’re the ones who discovered the signal repetition.”
“Whatever,” said President Rogers.
