be captained by such a feeble thing.Leaning back in his chair, he glared at the empty screen. "You can'tsolve problems by wishing them away. You knew that once."
His mind wandered, and for a minute he thought he could actually feelthe growing pressure of three billion people waiting for the computersof Moscow Central to make their impartial choice from the world'schildren. Trained mathematicians, the best that could be mustered fromevery major country, monitored each phase of the project to insure itsabsolute honesty. One hundred thousand children were to be pickedcompletely at random; brown, yellow, black, white, red; sick or well;genius or moron; every child had an equal chance. This fact, this factalone gave every parent hope, and possibly prevented world-wide rioting.
But with the destruction of the planet an almost certainty, thecollective nervous system was just one micron away from explosion.There was nothing else to think about or talk about, and no one tried topretend any different.
Rothwell's eyes moved involuntarily to the little spherical tri-photo onhis desk, just an informal shot he'd snapped a few months back of Marthaand her proudest possessions, their rambunctious, priceless off-spring:Jim, Jr., in his space scouts uniform, and Mary Ellen with that crazyhair-do she was so proud of then, but had already forgotten.
"Damn!" he said aloud. "Dammit to hell!" In one quick movement, he spunhis chair around and jabbed at the intercom. "Get the heli!" His voicecrackled.
Grabbing his hat, he yanked open the door and strode into the suddenquiet of the small office. He turned right and went out through a sideentrance to a small landing ramp, arriving just as his personal helitouched down. He climbed in. "To the ship."
As he settled back in the hard seat, Rothwell offered a silent thanksthat, instead of asking which ship, Sergeant Johnson promptly lifted andheaded for the gray space vessel that dominated the field.
A few hundred yards from the craft he said, "You'd better set her downhere, Sarge, and let me walk in. Our friends might get nervous aboutsomething flying in at them."
He jumped out, squinting against the hot glare off the concrete, andthen, with a slight uneasiness, stepped into the dark shadow thatpointed a thousand feet along the runway, away from the setting sun. Hewalked towards the ship.
A few seconds later, his eye caught a small, unexplained flash and hethrew himself flat just as a section of pavement exploded, a dozen feetahead.
Cursing, Rothwell picked himself off the ground, brushed the dust offhis uniform, and stood quietly. He didn't have long to wait.
A small cubicle jutted out from the ship and lowered itself along amonorail running down to the ground. The side nearest him openedrevealing, as Rothwell expected, Commander Aku and his lieutenant whoboth hurried over to where he was standing, as if to keep him fromcoming forward to meet them--and in so doing coming nearer the ship. Asthe commander trotted rapidly towards him, Rothwell noted that he wasstill buttoning his jacket and that the shirt underneath lookedsuspiciously as if it hadn't been buttoned at all. Funny, he thought,that my presence should cause such a panic.
"General, what a pleasure." The commander's disconcerted look belied hiswords, but even as he spoke he began to regain his composure and assumethe poker face that Rothwell had come to expect.
"I do hope," said Rothwell, "that my visit hasn't inconvenienced you."
Aku and his lieutenant traded swift glances, neither said anything.
"Well," Rothwell began again, "I am here to convey to you the goodwishes of the President of our country and to submit a request from himand from the other governments of the Earth."
Aku straightened. "Though merely the commander of a poor trading fleet,I feel sure I speak for my empire when I wish your President goodhealth. The request?"
* * * * *
Rothwell spoke evenly, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice."Commander, when the attack comes we expect that Earth with all its lifewill be annihilated. But your offer to transport a hundred thousandchildren to your own home worlds has prevented despair, and has at leastgiven us hope that if we will not see the future our children will."
Aku nodded slightly, avoiding his eyes. "You take it well."
"But it takes more than hope, Commander. We need some assurance, also,that our children will be all right." He took an involuntary step nearerthe alien, whose facial muscles never moved, and who turned awayslightly, refusing to meet Rothwell's eyes.
"Commander, you and your lieutenant are the only members of your racethat we have ever seen, and then only on official business. We wouldlike very much to meet the others. Why don't you land your ships andgive the crews liberty, so that we can meet them informally and they canget to know us, also? That way it won't seem as if we are giving ourkids over to complete strangers."
Without turning his head, Aku said flatly, "That is impossible. Do youwant reasons?"
"No," Rothwell said quietly. "If you don't want to do something, it'seasy enough to think up reasons." He ached to reach out and grab thealien neck, to shake some expression into that frozen face. "Look,Commander, surely the friendship of a doomed race can't bring any harmto your crew!"
Aku faced him now. "What you ask is impossible."
Ashamed of the desperate note that crept inadvertently into his voice,Rothwell said, "Commander, will you let me, alone, briefly enter yourship, so that I can tell my people what it is like?"
Aku and the lieutenant traded a long, silent look, then the lieutenantalmost imperceptibly shrugged his shoulders. Without moving, turnedpartly away from Rothwell, Aku said, simply, "No." The two started towalk back to the ship.
"Commander!"
They stopped, but didn't turn.
"Commander Aku, if you have any sort of God in your empire, or any sortof honor that your race swears by, please tell me one thing--tell methat our children will be safe, I won't ask you anything else."
The two aliens stood still, facing away from him, towards their ship.Minutes passed. Rothwell stood quietly, looking at their backs, humanappearing, but hiding unguessable thoughts. Neither of them moved, orsaid a word. Finally, he turned and walked away, back towards his heli.
He leaned back in the little heli's bucket seat and ran a large handthrough unruly yellow hair that was already flecked with white. Thefirst evening lights of Brooklyn and Queens and, off to the left,Manhattan, moved unseen beneath him as the craft headed towards hishome. Dammit, he thought, is it that Aku just doesn't care what wethink, or that he cares very much what we would think if we knewwhatever it is he's hiding?
He banged his fists together in frustration. How the hell can anyoneguess what goes on in an alien mind? His whole damn brain is probablycompletely different! Maybe to him a poker face is friendly. Maybe he'shonestly not hiding anything at all. He looked out as the heli slowlystarted its descent. No evidence, he thought. Not a shred, except asuspicious mind and, he glanced at the dirt on his trousers, and a shellexploding in my face.
He slapped his hat back on and whirled to the surprised pilot. "Dammit,I don't make the decisions, I'm just in charge of loading, and if thePresident says it's okay, then it's okay with me!" He stepped out ontothe grass of his yard, and quashed a little shriek of consciencesomewhere in the back of his mind.
* * * * *
Blinding lights pinned him in mid-stride. A familiar voice sprang out ofthe glare, "Here he is now viewers, General James Rothwell, commander ofthe western armies, and head of the Earth evacuation project. General,International-TV cameras have been waiting secretly in your yard forhours for your return."
As his eyes adjusted, Rothwell distinguished a camera crew, their smallportable instrument, and a young, smooth-talking announcer that he hadseen several times on television. He forced the annoyance out of hiseyes. This, he thought, is all I need.
"What the general doesn't know," the announcer went on, "is that earlierthis evening it was announced by Moscow Central that the computers hadpicked his son as one of the evacuees!"
The shock was visible on 150,000,000 TV sets. Completely unexpected, thesurprise of the announcement hit Rothwell like a physical blow; his eyeswidened, his chin dropped, and for an instant the world's viewers readin his face the frank emotions of a father, unshielded by militaryveneer. Then years of training took command, and he faced the camera,apparently calm, though churning internally. The odds, he thoughtconfusedly, the odds must be at least ten thousand to one! Then herealized that someone was talking to him, waving a microphone.
"Er, I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch ..." he mumbled at the camera.
The announcer laughed amiably. "Certainly can't blame you, this must bea really big night! How does it feel, General, for your son to