He thumbed in a blank crystal and made another copy, for safety’s sake. Then he sat and read the message on the wall:
We will arrive on Earth exactly one month from now, landing at Cape Kennedy 1200 Greenwich Standard Time on January 1. We will use the old shuttle landing strip. Please make sure it is clear and smooth.
We have a message that must be delivered in person. Recognizing the need for some ceremony, we will stay for a short time. Soon after landing, though, the runway must be clear for our departure. The nature of our message will make it clear why timing is crucial.
If we are delayed, your planet will be destroyed.
If any action is taken against us, every human being on Earth will die, whether we survive or not.
Our intentions are peaceful, but we know your nature well enough not to come unprotected. We will provide a small demonstration of our power as we approach, by destroying the martian moon Phobos. Be sure that there is nothing of value on that moon by Christmas.
We do come in peace, and we bring a message of hope.
Norman grinned. The third partita would be Christmas hymns, combining and then clashing, building to chaos and silence.
He would write the fourth partita after he heard what they had to say. If composer and audience were still alive.
Rory came bustling in with Deedee and Pepe, all of them drenched. They stared at the message, wordless. The phone chimed, over and over. Someone important, or the secretary would just file a message.
Still looking at the writing on the wall, Rory groped behind her and found the chair at her desk. She sat down slowly and pushed a button. “Buenos.”
“I don’t know how you did it.” President LaSalle’s face on the screen was blotchy, livid. “But it’s not going to work. We will have those weapons in orbit in a week.”
“Ms. President,” Rory said, “I just saw this message one minute ago for the first time. I assume it did come from the spaceship?”
“That’s what the NASA people say. But the timing is too perfect. I don’t know how you did it, but you did it. And it’s not going to work.”
“Why don’t you ask your NASA people how I could manage that trick?” she said slowly. “I assume they picked it up on the Moon as well as here. So by simple triangulation, you can tell how far the message has come. It was probably sent before we began to talk.”
“Impossible,” the president said, and disappeared.
“Pepe, go check on the Moon?” The phone started chiming again. Rory shook her head and stabbed the button.
It was Marya Washington, her face distorted and bouncing around the screen. “Rory, I’m in a cab to JFK.
The station’s putting me on their own plane; I’ll be down in Gainesville”—she looked at the inside of her wrist—“in maybe ninety minutes. Can we have lunch?”
“Uh … sure. We have a lot to talk about.”
“That Mexican place on Main Street? At twelve o’clock?”
“Yeah, fine.”
“Good. Más tarde.” The screen went blank.
“What the hell was that all about?” Norman said. “The prez?”
“That’s what our meeting was about. She wants to orbit those killer satellites. The secretary of defense’s idea, I take it. But all the cabinet’s behind it, except Pauling.”
Norman let out a little snort. “I guess this means we won’t be invading France. Just frying it.”
Pepe was mopping his long hair with a paper towel. “Surely she’ll reconsider after she calms down.” He gestured at the screen. “Or wiser heads may prevail.”
“Wiser heads better get her out of office,” Deedee said. “The woman is seriously bent. She sees everything in terms of conspiracy.”
“Yeah,” Norman said. “Poor old Brattle.”
“Who’s Brattle?” Rory said. Everybody looked at her.
“Undersecretary of defense,” Norman said. To the others: “She doesn’t listen to the news.”
“She had him charged with sedition,” Deedee said. “Sedition! ‘Moderation’ is more like it. But he’s being investigated by a closed committee. Essentially under house arrest.”
“Well, she can house-arrest me.” Rory smiled at Norman. “At least I have a good cook. She’s going to be terminally pissed off after I talk to Marya.”
“Don’t do that,” Pepe said. “You mustn’t do that. Not yet.”
“Somebody has to stop her.”
“Somebody will. In Washington.”
“You sound pretty confident. For someone who’s usually nothing but sarcastic about government.”
“Just give it a day or two, and see what happens. If you violate the president’s trust, you’ll be out of the game completely. And you probably will go to jail somewhere.”
“I think he’s right,” Norm said. “Where there’s a loose cannon on deck, you want to be belowdecks.”
“So what do I tell Marya? I left her a message that we were conferencing with La Presidente this morning.”
“Just tell the truth,” Pepe said. “That important matters were discussed, but you were sworn to secrecy.”
Rory shook her head. “We’re talking about the survival of the whole human race, versus my going to jail.”
“Just give it one day,” Pepe said. “See what Washington does. If they conceal it, hell, you’ll give Marya even more of a story.”
“I think he’s right,” Deedee said. “Another couple of days won’t make a big difference. Stay out of jail and hold on to your professorship. That’s my strategy.”
Norm nodded at the screen. “You’ll have plenty to talk about. I mean, now it really is an invasion from outer space.”
“I’ll do something useful,” Pepe said, “besides checking the Moon. See whether we can calculate how big a boom it would take to blow up Phobos.”
“It’s just a little pebble, isn’t it?” Norm said.
“Compared to a planet,” Rory said. “About twenty kilometers in diameter?”
“You’re asking me?” Pepe said. “I’m not a planet guy. But that’s twice as big as Mount Everest is tall. Think about a bomb that could level Mount Everest. Then multiply it by eight; two-cubed.”
“Considerable bang,” Rory said. “Interesting that they chose the larger one. If memory serves, Diemos is only half its size.”
“I’ll go see if I can find Leo.” Leo Matzlach was their Mars expert. “Maybe I can get you a number before launch.”
“That would be good,” Rory said. “Anything concrete. We’re not exactly in a data-rich environment.”
Running out, Pepe almost collided with the chancellor.