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 101st Airborne 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 101st Airborne 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 sociopolitical 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.”
“You know this … this Kafis on a fairly personal level, don’t you?” asked the president.
“He’s one of their senior scientists. I’ve had him as a guest to Marblehill, my home in northern Georgia, numerous times. He’s also one of their junior negotiators, and is responsible for establishing diplomatic relations with the inhabited moons and the inner planets.”
“Is there anything you’ve learned from him that might help us in this particular situation?”
“Only that the shroud fits right in with the teacher-student emphasis of their whole culture. They don’t want to punish us into accepting what they want. They want to teach us that, ultimately, Tarsalan immigration to Earth is the only logical and acceptable proposition. It’s a known fact that Tarsalans have two brains. Many tests have been performed on them, in particular the Cameron Chess Study, and in terms of intelligence quotient it’s been shown that they far outstrip even the most brilliant human being. They’ve come to the Earth with the notion that they can teach us quite a lot because they’re more advanced than we are.”
“I find that presumptuous as hell,” said Sidower.
“Nonetheless, the teacher-student aspect of their culture, developed over a million years, is hardwired into the way they think about everything. Kafis has a phrase he uses sometimes: Instruction through discipline. They have an instrument on their home planet. It’s called a cinerthax. On Earth we’d consider it an instrument of torture. Tarsalan students purposely tie themselves to the cinerthax while they study, and the cinerthax twists and turns their bodies in the most painful ways. It doesn’t injure them. But it certainly motivates them to learn. That’s their way. And that is, I think, one of the guiding principles behind their decision to mount this shroud around the Earth.”
The president stared at his desk blotter, thinking. “What about the shroud itself, Neil? If we get rid of it, then the pressure’s off, and we can turn the whole thing around.”
Neil didn’t hesitate. He never hesitated, always showing everybody, especially the president, that he belonged in the Oval Office. “If we take an aggressive scientific approach to the shroud, I think we can destroy it in as little as two weeks.” Neil looked around, gauging reaction to this can-do proclamation—and saw hope. Now it was time to cash in. “But Mr. President, I’m going to need resources.”
“Neil, you can have whatever you want. Make a list.”
“For starters, I need a sizable sample of the shroud. We have to get a piece of it into the lab. We have to see what it is, and analyze it on a molecular level. Bob and I have talked about it, and we’ve decided that this is the way to go. You don’t know what something is until you’ve looked at it under a microscope. I’m sure that once we examine it microscopically and analyze it in a number of different ways, we’ll see that it’s an extremely simple compound. I believe the Tarsalans are going to have to do things on the cheap because they don’t have the resources to do things otherwise. And that means simple. Which means there should be an equally simple solution as well, perhaps a chemical one, something that will break the bonds that hold the shroud together. But as I say, in order to arrive at any solution, I need samples. And substantial samples.”
“Any ideas on how we’re going to get these samples?” asked the president.
“We get our friends at the National Center for Atmospheric Research involved. We ask them to loan us three of their HIAPER aircraft.”
Everyone paused.
“And what exactly is a HIAPER aircraft?” asked Julia Petrov.
“HIAPER is an acronym.” Yes, he had it all at his fingertips. Six hours between Trunk Bay and the White House, and he was formidably prepared. “It stands for High-Performance Instrumented Airborne Platform for Environmental Research. They’re great little jets with suborbital capability, the best of their kind in the world. We usually use them for tracking pollution plumes, or collecting data from the tops of storms, or monitoring the lower edges of the stratosphere. They can attain altitudes most research aircraft can’t—even spend brief periods in space—which makes them ideal for reaching the shroud. They’re easily equipped with the kinds of scoops and intakes necessary for gathering our sample. They fly out of Colorado, and I think it would be a good idea to have them fly with military cover. Joe, what’s the Air Force base in Colorado?”
Sidower squinted as he thought about it. “That would be Peterson,” said the secretary of defense. “And come to think of it, Peterson’s also home to the First Space Wing, so if the HIAPERs need any space support, they’ve got it.”
“Good. Mr. President, I suggest we get our samples first, before you mount any definitive military action. Let’s get that stuff into the lab and analyze it. Once we have samples safely returned to Earth, you can launch whatever strikes are necessary.”
The president nodded. “Sounds like a plan.” He turned to Sidower. “And Joe, I’m glad we can get Colorado in on this. These Western Secessionist states—this is just the kind of thing they’ll capitalize on. And it worries me because if things get really bad … they’ve got a real breakaway mentality these past few years, and considering they house some of our largest food-supply depots—anyway, I’m sure you get my drift.”
“We’ll try to make the bastards feel as if they’re helping.”
Julia Petrov spoke up. “I should point out that we’ve received a communications drop from the Moon. It parachuted through the shroud without detection, and the Navy recovered it a thousand miles north of Easter Island yesterday. The mayor’s office in Nectaris says the Moon is mounting its own scientific effort to neutralize the shroud.”
Neil felt some alarm. “The Moon?” he said. “Why’s the Moon getting involved? All they’ve got up there are gambling casinos, strip joints, and cannabis bars.”
The vice president interjected, “They have some top interplanetary-spacecraft design engineers.”
“Yes, but … we don’t want them screwing up our own operations. I’m sure their interference is going to be misguided, to say the least. They don’t have nearly the same expertise we do. Nor do they have the resources we have.” Neil turned to Julia Petrov. “Any idea who’s heading the project?”
“Your brother, as a matter of fact.”
Neil felt his face warming, and was momentarily disconcerted by this odd juxtaposition; poor old Gerry, as a matter of fact, being spoken about in the Oval Office.
“My brother?” He shook his head in disbelief. “With all due respect to my brother …” His usual tact seemed to desert him. “They can’t let Gerry take charge up there. I love him dearly, and he’s brilliant in his own way, but he has an uncanny knack for making wrong decisions, and for taking the wildest kind of risks. Mr. President, you have to get the State Department to talk to this mayor in Nectaris and tell him … tell him …” He raised his palms in consternation. “I urge you to have a midlevel diplomat, or even a senior diplomat, send a drop to this mayor in Nectaris and tell him to … to stand down.”
The president glanced around at his team, hesitant to give an immediate answer.
It was Chief of Staff Gregory who finally spoke. “But Neil, we can’t dictate to the Moon. They have their own sovereignty up there now. And don’t we need all the help we can get?” The chief of staff gestured out the windows behind the president’s desk. “Look at that thing. All we have left is a bit of open sky far to the east. Don’t you think we could use the Moon’s help?”
“Yes, but the Moon can’t help us,” said Neil, now exasperated with the thought of his brother balling up the whole effort. “They have no scientific expertise. Mr. President, if you want, I’ll sign a recommendation against their interference, and we can send it to them in the next drop. Who knows? They just might end up provoking the Tarsalans. For the sake of their own safety—and ours—we should strongly advise Nectaris and the other CLC communities to butt out. Otherwise I can’t guarantee the success of this thing.”