Moonstruck. Part 3

The smallest set of slots was for practicing scientists and engineers. With only ten member spots to work with, he'd scoured academia and the federal labs for twenty-first-century Renaissance people. d.a.m.n! He needed biologists, physicists, and engineers of every type; astronomers; psychologists and sociologists; organic and inorganic chemists; economists . . . the list seemed endless, and ten seats didn't begin to cover it. After considerable anguish, he'd filled the few experts' positions. Time would tell what happened when seven n.o.bel laureates focused on one problem.

The hubbub outside was rising to a crescendo; he caught the eye of Myra Flynn, his admin a.s.sistant. She

did a final scan of the facilities, then nodded: the room was ready. He nodded back, dispatching her to open the doors.

Let the Galactic games begin.

* * * Squinting under the onslaught of ma.s.sed videocam lights, Kyle studied the faces arrayed around the table. Despite his earlier misgivings, he had to admit it: the hearing room was packed with achievers and overachievers, great Americans all. For this mission, it was impossible to be too competent.

It was time to stimulate their thinking. He took a sip of water while he tried yet again to vanquish his stage fright. "Fellow commissioners." The words came out as a croak. Another sip. "You have all been invited, and have graciously accepted the call, to serve your country at a time when great issues must be addressed. Great issues, indeed." He tapped the keyboard built into the lectern. An image popped up on the projection screen beside him, and onto the display of every PC whose owner had logged on to the committee-room network. The still picture was a close-up of the Galactics' highly impressive landing craft. "This is the tip of the iceberg."

Click. A second picture appeared, a telescopic close-up of the two-mile-wide mother s.h.i.+p. H'ffl said it was named S'kz'wtz Lrrk'l, which he'd translated as "Galactic Peace." "This is the iceberg. The civilization capable of building this vessel represents opportunities, and risks, which, I am convinced, we cannot yet even begin to fathom. It is our responsibility to explore those opportunities, to investigate those risks, and to chart a prudent course between them."

Click. An aerial photo appeared of the Was.h.i.+ngton Mall, with any trace of gra.s.s obscured by the myriads of people patiently awaiting the arrival of the Fellows.h.i.+p Station. "The people of America . . . " Click: a montage of aerial shots of major capital cities around the globe, each showing a sea of citizens greeting the Galactics. " . . . And of the world now look to their leaders in hope."

Click. For the first time, sound issued from the projection system: xenophobic rantings. After a few seconds tightly focused on the contorted face of the charismatic speaker, the camera panned back to reveal a few dozen rapt faces, then hundreds, then thousands. Kyle muted the harangue. "Or they look in fear. Fear of the unfamiliar. Fear of the unknown."

Click. A back-lit close-up of an orb, the instantly famous symbol of galactic unity, the crystal slowly, subtly, hypnotically changing colors and texture. The larger-than-life image emphasized the variations occurring throughout the sphere's crystalline depths: a thing of beauty beyond words. Kyle noticed, for the first time, that several commissioners had brought their own orbs to the session. "Our task, and it is a most challenging one, is to advise the President on whether, and how, to respond to an offer from the Galactics, should one be forthcoming.

"Let us all be up to that challenge."

* * * Chords crashed. Arpeggios rippled their way up and down the keyboard. Speakers all around Kyle poured out music so pure that his fingers imagined the stiff bounce of each key; his shoulders and arms tensed in sympathy with the pianist's. As the Saint-Saens second piano concerto enveloped him in its lengthy crescendo, he peered into a Galactic orb. Colors s.h.i.+mmering and swirling throughout its depths drew him ever inward. A lava lamp

for the twenty-first century, whispered some quirky corner of his mind.

He'd never seen the orb transform so rapidly. Colors flowed one into another. Textures waxed and waned, one blending imperceptibly into the next. Patterns formed and faded before a merely human intellect could capture their meaning.

The final chords, and some epiphany, seemed to hang in the air, tantalizingly just beyond his reach. As the music stopped, so, too, did the changes within the orb. Sighing, he picked it up from the coffee table.

Not for a lack of trying, all that he, or anyone, had learned was that the galactic unity icon responded to light and sound. Like snowflakes, no two orbs were ever quite the same, nor had any orb ever been seen to repeat itself. Fellows.h.i.+p stations kept manufacturing them on demand, requiring only occasional redeliveries of raw material from the F'thk.

From its cabinet across the living room, the red power LED of the stereo amplifier stared unblinkingly at him like a cyclopean eye. Setting the orb back down, he took up the remote control in its stead. He aimed the remote at the entertainment center. Zap.

A sea of sound once more immersed man and orb, changing both in ways too subtle to be immediately understood.

* * * Piles of reports lined the back of Kyle's desk; a floor-bound stack leaned precariously against a crammed bookcase. Even today's mound of executive summaries, precisely centered on his blotter, was daunting.

Sweeping sandwich crumbs from the top report, he read the t.i.tle: "Economic Repercussions of a Switch to a Fusion Economy." Below that he found "Pa.s.sive Infrared a.n.a.lysis of the F'thk Anatomy," "Means for the a.n.a.lytical Substantiation of Antimatter Power Systems," "On the Efficacy of the F'thk Visual Apparatus: a Follow-Up Investigation," and "Speculations on Interstellar Trade Modalities."

The top and bottom reports presumed that Earth and the F'thk reached a meeting of minds, and were light-years outside his area of expertise. He set those aside to review at home that evening. The middle three showed more promise.

Speed-reading its abstract quickly revealed that "Means for a.n.a.lytical Substantiation" was an elaborate plea for replacing the replacement Gamma Ray Observatory. He snorted. He hardly needed a presidential commission to tell him that the fingerprint of matter/antimatter energy conversion was gamma-ray production, and that the atmosphere blocked gamma rays. The good news was that a subst.i.tute for the satellite lost in the Atlantis explosion might possibly, if money were no object, be quickly constructible from the lab prototype. The bad news was that such an orbital observatory, even more than its huge and ungainly forebear, would need the services of a ma.s.sive booster-the shuttle-for delivery to s.p.a.ce.

Oh, the irony of a grounded shuttle fleet when the Galactics came a-calling. The Russians weren't flying manned missions either, although in their case the stand-down was due to an ever imploding economy. He wanted so badly for Man to be a s.p.a.cefaring race, even if only skimming the top of its own atmosphere, when dealing with the F'thk. Sans shuttle, the International s.p.a.ce Station had been vacated via its emergency lifeboat.

A fireball in a clear blue Florida sky returned, unbidden, to his mind's eye. One more horrible image, like the glowing streaks of the disintegrating Columbia, he knew he could never forget. He set aside the report, grabbing another for distraction.

The IR study of the F'thk was crisp and factual: just what he needed. Several conference rooms used for meetings with the aliens had, at the commission's direction, been instrumented with hidden infrared sensors. Satisfaction with the report faded, however, as he completed the introduction and moved into results. Computer-enhanced images from the sensor data revealed little more than sporadic hot spots in ambient-temperature bodies. Since the visitors seemed equally energetic and equally clothes-free in all Earthly climates, this apparent cold-bloodedness was yet another puzzle.

The low-resolution pictures provided the only anatomical data he had-the F'thk consistently declined all suggestions that they provide biological/medical information. Kyle's rationale for the request, that such data were necessary to avoid any inadvertent endangerment of either species, was politely dismissed. H'ffl a.s.serted full confidence in his guidance from the Commonwealth's scientists. The possibility of a biological incident seemed to amuse him. Beyond keeping their own knowledge to themselves, the F'thk also refused requests to be examined by X-ray, ultrasound, or any other active imaging technique. When pressed, they invariably answered, "Information is a trade good."

Flipping pages impatiently, Kyle encountered more excuses than derived anatomical data. The report ended with the predictable request for supercomputer time for additional image enhancement.

"Approved," he scrawled, and tossed it into his out basket.

One down.

"Visual Apparatus" was full of minutiae about F'thk viewing angles and stereoscopic vision. He was about to add this tome to the out basket unread when his thumbing-through uncovered a section on separate day-and-night vision systems. "The dilation of F'thk pupils," he read, "indicates that the upper

eye of each pair is optimized for day vision, the lower eye for night vision." He reached reflexively for his coffee cup as he began studying the report more closely.

The night-vision data was the result of one of Kyle's suggestions. The F'thk did not approve X-ray

imaging-and certainly could carry sensors to tell if their wishes had been ignored-but planning could widen the range of achievable pa.s.sive observations. After the surrept.i.tious tripping of a circuit breaker, low-light video cameras in a rigged room had caught the pupils of F'thk night eyes dilating with extreme rapidity. Pupil dilation-substantially wider than occurred when lights had been dimmed for a viewgraph presentation-was still in progress when the windowless room had become too black for the high-sensitivity CCD videocams to function.

Faugh. The coldness of the coffee finally registered; he emptied the dregs into the potted plant beside his desk. Pouring a fresh cup from the brewer on the credenza, he wondered what was bothering him.

Obviously, their night vision was suited to a moonless world . . .

Moonless. Was that the problem?The text-search program needed only a few seconds and some keywords to find the transcript; K'ddl's words at the White House reception were as he'd remembered. "I do not wish to offend, but no F'thk would ever invent such dark nights or such a paltry number of moons."

He shut his eyes in concentration, a finger marking his place in the report. How likely was it for such

ultrasensitive night vision to have evolved on a planet with several moons?

He didn't know, but that's why the commission had a biologist.

A delightful aroma-basil and rosemary? Kyle speculated-wafted down the State Department hallway. It was, happily, no longer considered necessary to fast in front of the aliens. One week into the commission's existence, a commissioner had fainted midsession. An amused amba.s.sador, upon learning the cause of the commotion, insisted that the F'thk did not consider it rude for the humans to dine whenever they wished. The aliens themselves needed to eat only once for each of their days, about thirty Earth hours. Rather than impede progress by suspending meetings for meals, they would be happy to continue while the humans ate. Really.

A group of commissioners and F'thk strolled slowly down the hall toward one of State's many dining rooms. Kyle's stomach rumbled as they approached the food, though from nerves rather than hunger. He was, for the first time, deviating from the visitors' explicit wishes. His right hand, hidden in his pants pocket, fondled a tiny ultrasonic beacon; the gadget, when triggered, would pulse once at a frequency to which a previous test had shown the aliens unresponsive. The isolation of a suitable frequency had required some experimentation-it had turned out that the F'thk communicated among themselves by modulated ultrasound, using a language human scientists had made zero progress in a.n.a.lyzing.

The hall narrowed where two china closets had been retrofitted. Behind the wooden doors on both sides of the cramped pa.s.sageway were the newest and most sensitive ultrasound imagers that money could buy. A F'thk named Ph'jk was in the lead; as he entered the s.p.a.ce between the hidden instruments, Kyle squeezed the hidden signaling device.

It happened too fast to register. Ph'jk reared up on his hind legs, las.h.i.+ng out with his front hooves at the right-hand doors. K'ddl galloped forward, squeezing into the narrow s.p.a.ce to shatter the doors to the left. Within seconds, slas.h.i.+ng claws and pounding hooves reduced wood and electronics alike to splinters. Ignoring the sparks and wisps of smoke rising from the wreckage, the F'thk continued wordlessly into the dining room. Splintered wood crunched beneath their hooves as they crossed the wrecked area. Dazedly, the humans followed.

H'ffl set a claw, talons retracted, on Kyle's shoulder and squeezed. "Information is a trade good," he said. "We trust you will not attempt again to steal it."

* * * Kyle wiped a swatch of condensed steam from his bathroom mirror. The long, hot shower hadn't done much for his shoulder or his mood; he scowled at his bruised reflection. A sore shoulder was all he had to show for yesterday's escapade.

The ultrasound equipment had been ruined beyond hope of recovery of any internal images of the aliens. Should've networked the d.a.m.n machines, he thought, hours too late. The data would've been out of their reach before they had the chance to react.

Or maybe not. Over his first cup of morning coffee, he called the commission staff desk to confirm his suspicions. Pa.s.sive sensors also hidden in the hallway had revealed three other ultrasound sources to have been present: each of the F'thk had apparently carried a jammer. It wasn't a big surprise: the immediate response proved that they'd been carrying detectors; why not jammers, too?

He'd brooded all night for nothing. There had been no lost opportunity to have spirited away stolen imagery by network before the alien reaction. Sighing, Kyle headed to his office and the staff's overnight report on the incident, at once eager and reluctant to read what else he'd missed.

* * * The private-sector commission members had largely disappeared with the opening session's TV lights-to return when the cameras did. Glory came of being named to the commission, not in serving on it. Staffers were more than happy to fill in for the vacant members.

The latest gathering in the committee room resembled the colloquium of scientists, engineers, and policy makers he'd expected in the first place. For at least the hundredth time since joining the administration, he decided Britt was dumb like a fox. He was also, to Kyle's unspoken chagrin, sitting in today-bosses have prerogatives. So far, Britt had been a silent observer.

"Here's what we've got." Kyle gestured at nothing and no one in particular. "Clean, essentially limitless, fusion power, the technology for which they'll swap before they leave in return for downloads from our public libraries-if we've voted to join the Commonwealth. They will sell only to governments, who can then license fusion to power-generation companies. Their reasoning is that government control will minimize disruptions to the economy.

"Point two. If a . . .""Wait," called Darlene. "Why not license fusion just once, through the UN?"Fred Phillips from Commerce rolled his eyes. "Give it a rest. The Galactics choose not to deal with the UN, and they don't want to talk about it. Besides, I like the precedent: we have far more to d.i.c.ker with

than most countries."

"And it doesn't strike you as odd that a galactic commonwealth, talking planetary members.h.i.+p, is practicing national divide and conquer?"

"Objection noted," interrupted Kyle. He agreed with Darlene, but knew no one else did. Majority

opinion, led by Commerce, was that bypa.s.sing the UN eliminated a human cartel. Just shrewd business.

"Point two. If a majority of nations," he gave Darlene a warning look, "ask to join the Commonwealth, the F'thk say they'll submit Earth's pet.i.tion. Members.h.i.+p, as far as any of us can tell, appears simply to regularize the trade relations.h.i.+p."

Krulewitch from MIT spoke without looking up from his palmtop computer. "I thought we were still

being evaluated."

"We are." Kyle fidgeted with the laser pointer someone had left on the lectern. "The pet.i.tion will be accompanied by their own report about our suitability."

"Then isn't the fusion-for-library-access trade a conflict of interest? And they won't let us send our own

amba.s.sador?""Yes, and no way. Not only can't we send an amba.s.sador, we can't set foot on the landing craft, let alone the mother s.h.i.+p." Kyle rubbed his cheek ruefully. "I've asked for that privilege a dozen times. They always change the subject."

"Antimatter production?" asked Krulewitch.

"A flat no. K'ddl suggested that a species stuck on one planet shouldn't use the stuff." Playing the Galactic, Kyle changed the subject, ignoring the MIT physicist's knowing grin. K'ddl's answer rubbed salt in a still open wound. "Point three: lots of loose ends and seeming contradictions, none of them

having any obvious bearing on whether this august body recommends a US vote for joining the Commonwealth."

He rattled off some of the more vexing observations. The apparent overconservatism of the mother

s.h.i.+p's lunar parking orbit. The ducking of most questions. The unwillingness to let human biologists examine the F'thk. The inexplicably good F'thk night vision. The absence of trace toxins around the F'thk, despite the claimed toxicity of their food. The failure of air filters to capture any hint of the F'thk organic chemistry. The . . .

"They're playing countries off one against the next," piped in Darlene.

"Point four," called out an undersecretary from Energy. She gave a nasty edge to her voice.

Kyle set down the borrowed pointer. He paused to make eye contact with everyone in the room. "Three