Gerry put a reassuring hand on the mayor’s shoulder. “Malcolm, you don’t have to worry. I’ve been running things on shoestrings all my life.”
5
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 101stAirborne 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 101stAirborne 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.”