The networks’ babes and commentators talked about these sci-fi fantasy possibilities with straight faces. The reaction of the viewing public was predictable: Teenagers the world over began screwing like rabbits, unhappy spouses abandoned their families, people maxed out their credit cards in restaurants and jewelry stores, and survivalists took to the hills to fort up.
A tidal wave of people headed for Las Vegas, which for the first time in the history of the world had to declare itself full — closed to new visitors. Police turned away all traffic into town, and the FAA would allow only empty airplanes to land at McCarran. The casinos were packed wall to wall; strippers wriggled and writhed around the clock; hookers doubled, then tripled, and finally quadrupled their prices. Every woman in town with fake tits ordered a new car; Corvettes and Porsches seemed to be the most popular.
In cities and towns across America some people even went to church. Collection plates filled to overflowing as thousands of preachers dusted off their best sermon on “Where Will You Spend Eternity?” mounted their pulpits and spurred the choirs.
Inevitably the politicians wanted their constituents to see them molding and shaping events. Hordes of them descended on the White House, where the president was forced to admit them in waves of fifty each.
From Congress and statehouses and city halls all over America, the politicos demanded action. They wanted the government to protect everyone, to negotiate with the alien space monsters and remind them of the glories of diversity, and if that failed, to send them all straight to hell. Or to somewhere politically correct, if by chance the monsters didn’t believe in hell. A few pacifists and left-wing dingbats counseled nonviolence and turning the other cheek, but they were howled down or ignored.
“Find that saucer!” the president told P. J. O’Reilly every time he saw him. “Space Command said it came down in Canada, which is a very large place.”
“It might not even be in Canada,” O’Reilly protested. “Just because it came down headed for Canada doesn’t mean—”
“Find it.”
“Mr. President, that saucer could be anywhere. It might even be on the bottom of Lake Mead. Solo and the Cantrells might be partying in Vegas.”
“Find it!”
Being human, the president wondered how it would go down if aliens arrived to fight or parley. He had sweated all that during the first saucer crisis just over a year ago. The memory of those days gave him the shivers. He recalled that his political adviser then had told him to look presidential and not to give away the country or pee his pants. Sound advice that, he reflected.
Pulling off those three feats was going to be a real trick, however.
He glanced at his watch. He had five minutes before the next herd of politicians was due to storm the East Room. He asked the honor guard aide to send for Petty Officer Hennessey. They met in the hall outside the East Room. Through the closed door, the president could hear the herd shuffling in.
“These aliens,” the president began. “If they show up … Got any thoughts on that?”
“They’ll want something,” Hennessey said. “Wouldn’t have bothered to come all the way from wherever to here if they didn’t.”
The president nodded. Sure. He saw that.
“They’ll want to talk to the head dude. That’ll be you. You just gotta take charge, get what you want in return for what they want.”
“So what do I want?” the president asked aloud, staring at the wall.
“I dunno, sir,” the petty officer said. “Maybe them Fountain of Youth pills, which don’t sound too smart to me, or a cure for cancer. Give something, get something.”
“Yes. Yes.” The president straightened his shoulders and adjusted his tie. He could handle negotiations.
Hennessey thought so too. “You’re our guy, sir,” he said and saluted.
The Secret Service agent opened the door to the East Room, and the president strode in.
The president was taking a makeup and potty break between delegations when O’Reilly came rushing in with a message. He handed the sheet of paper to the president while he told him what it said. “The NRO has tracked the saucer. It’s in Manitoba.”
The president shooed out the makeup artist, a cute twenty-something female with a theater degree from a little college in New England. She was doing this gig powdering the presidential nose until something on or off Broadway opened up. The president watched her hips as she walked out.
“Manitoba, like in Canada?”
“Yes, sir,” said P. J. O’Reilly. “Near Hudson’s Bay. Or in Hudson’s Bay.”
“You know I don’t know all those damn initial agencies.”
“The National Reconnaissance Office. The spy satellite people.”
The president folded the paper into a little square and handed it back to O’Reilly. “Well, who are you going to send after them?”
“There’s this little problem, Mr. President, and State is working it. Canada is a foreign country, so we can’t just send a squad of U.S. Marshals or Marines up there to arrest them without the Canadian government’s permission.”
“Get it. Bet the people in the saucer didn’t go through customs or immigration.”
“Yes, sir, but there is a complication.” O’Reilly enjoyed telling the president about complications, so he perked up now. “Canadian sovereignty is at stake, according to their ambassador, and they are being sticky. State is drafting a formal request.”
The president stared at his shoes, then into the mirror at his powdered nose and forehead, which didn’t shine anymore, and at his balding pate. Finally he said, “O’Reilly, you are a good chief of staff because you are a first-class son of a bitch.”
He speared O’Reilly with his eyes and continued, “Still, there are a lot of sons of bitches out there, and if you want to keep this job you had better prove to me that you are the meanest and toughest of the bunch. Light a fire under that ambassador. Light a fire under ours. I don’t care if you burn their balls off. I want that saucer. I want Adam Solo and Egg Cantrell. I want that youth serum or pill or suppository. And, by God, I want them now!”
The new day came slowly at the cave on the bay. An ice fog obscured the ocean and surrounding land and filtered the daylight. It also penetrated the cave, despite the fire that kept the temperature just above freezing. The four travelers sat huddled around the fire eating from the bag of grub Rip had packed and washing the food down with bottled water.
“It’s going to be difficult to stretch our supplies for a week,” Egg said, frowning at his ham sandwich. “When your ride arrives, where will they meet you?”
Solo shrugged. “Anywhere I ask them to. In orbit would probably be best.”
“Another week,” Rip mused. “I suppose we could stay here that long, unless someone finds us. The bay is full of fish.”
Solo laughed. “I once spent a winter here. There were caribou in the forest and fish in the bay. With your rifle, we are well equipped to hunt caribou, and we can chip holes in the ice to fish.”
“Heck. This little penknife is the only blade we have,” Rip said sourly, holding up his. “Won’t cut much firewood or skin many caribou with this.”
“We’re also a little short of coffee and soap and a way to wash clothes,” Charley added.