“Our studies suggest that your people are easily traumatized,” said Soliwik. “We would prefer that you make the initial contact by way of a personal presentation.” Both ears bent forward intently. “You must understand that the concept of multiple governments on a single planet, among a single species, is still new and alien to us.”
“To alleviate local concerns insofar as that is possible,” Caldaq added, “we will conduct simultaneous presentations for the two most powerful tribes.”
“I heard about the Russian officer on Vasarih,” Will informed them. “He’ll probably do a better job of it than I will. I wish my Uncle Emile was here. He was an alderman, knew how to talk to politicians.”
“You’ve known us longer than any of your kind.” T’var’s tone was soothing, reassuring. “You’ll do just as well.”
Thus committed, Will leaned forward, folding his hands on his lap. The back of his seat obediently flexed to accommodate him.
“How am I supposed to persuade people? They’re not going to believe this no matter what kind of pictures or tapes I take with me.”
“I will travel with you,” Caldaq replied, surprising him. “T’var will come also, together with a Hivistahm recorder and a Wais in the event of translator failure. I think the four of us in person should be sufficiently convincing, don’t you?”
“Not at first,” Will said dryly. “At first they’ll think you’re refugees from a movie. But you’re right: in the end they’re going to have to accept the evidence.”
“Accepting you won’t mean acceptance of your agenda, however. You’ll see. Once people realize there’s fighting involved, a major conflict, they’ll back off and demand that you leave.” He was feeling more confident. Revelation, he’d decided, did not necessarily mean involvement. Considering how far things had gone, it might even be for the best.
“Oh, you might get some countries to mobilize defenses, but no one will rush to send troops offplanet to help fight your war. You’ll see.”
Caldaq was about to reply when he was interrupted by Z’mam. Only the extraordinary circumstances allowed the commander to ignore the breach of protocol.
“That will be sufficient for now,” the S’van murmured. Caldaq eyed the squat being but kept silent.
“If we could get on television somehow…” Will was murmuring.
“No.” Soliwik was insistent. “In order to be convincing this must be done in person. Your primitive visual transmissions allow for considerable electronic trickery.”
“Be prepared for whomever we meet to be terrified of you,” Will warned them. “Humans can be very paranoid.”
“Your point is noted,” she replied.
Will sighed deeply. “Can one of your atmospheric shuttles make it as far as Washington? I’ll show you where that is on a globe.”
“We know where Washington is,” said T’var confidently. “While you’ve been busy with your music we’ve done our own work.” He gestured with short, stubby fingers. “I personally could find my way to the Lincoln Memorial, the Smithsonian, and the White House.”
“You know the city better than I, then,” Will told him. “If I’m wrong about this and you people are right, then it means the end of everything. Art, music, culture, a unified, peaceful world. Everything.”
“You sell yourself short,” T’var retorted. “If anyone should sell themselves short it ought to be the S’van, and we do not.”
Will had to grin at the diminutive alien. “Your kind would joke at the Apocalypse.”
“It is our way.” T’var was apologetic. “As you are well aware.”
Will turned thoughtful. “I don’t think we should set down on the White House lawn. We don’t want to cause a panic. It has to be some place where the government can’t lock us all up and study us at its leisure, either, or manage the news for their own purposes.”
“Where then?” T’var inquired.
“I think I know.”
* * *
Chapter Twenty-Three
Mr. Benjamin, sir?”
C. R. Benjamin looked up from his desk at the junior editorial assistant. Her face was flushed and her eyes wide. He leaned back in the recliner and put his hands behind his head.
“Let me guess. It’s Cambodia again, isn’t it? What is it this time?”
“It’s not Cambodia, sir.”
“Well, it better be something at least as important. I’m doing the final corrections for the Sunday. I can’t be bothered every time somebody stumbles across a minor crisis they’re convinced is worth an editorial. How the hell do they expect me to put out a paper? I don’t spend all my time at parties and fund-raisers like some people. Unlike them I actually involve myself in publishing.”
“I know that, sir.” She hesitated. “There’s a flying saucer on the roof.”
He leaned forward, glanced absently at his computer screen. “That’s not bad. Tell whoever’s responsible that they’ve brightened my day. See, I’m smiling.” His lips twitched infinitesimally at the corners. “Tell them also that what’s funny once isn’t funny twice, and if anybody bothers me again this morning they’ll find themselves spending the rest of their career composing obits. I take it you’re not responsible?”
“No, Mr. Benjamin, sir.”
He returned to his work, but only for a moment. “You still here?”
“S-sir? There really is a flying saucer on the roof. There’s a man in it. He says his name is William Dulac, and that he’s from Louisiana.”
C. R. Benjamin made a face. “Well. That explains everything, doesn’t it?”
“That’s not all, sir. There are four aliens with him. He says there are lots more of them waiting down in the Caribbean.”
“Really? What would they be doing there now when the season doesn’t start till November?”
A large bald man in his thirties appeared in the doorway, and the assistant gratefully made way for him. Benjamin squinted at the new arrival.
“Marcus? Don’t tell me they suckered you into this, too?”
The city editor had a deep, bemused voice. “It’s for real, C.R. I mean, it’s not huge, but you couldn’t helicopter it onto the roof.”
“What is all this?” Benjamin rose sourly from his recliner. “Can’t I get any work done around here? If you people want to play jokes, fine, but have the decency and common sense to wait until lunchtime!”
The city editor edged into the room while the editorial assistant uttered a strangled sound and ducked into a corner.
Something tall entered, ducking to clear the doorjamb. Its angular form was covered with fine gray fur and a tight-fighting jumpsuit cut off at knees and elbows. Additionally it wore a belt studded with strange devices. Long arms hung toward the floor. A toothy elongated muzzle sniffed constantly at the air.
It was followed by something resembling a small tailless dinosaur, differently clad and equipped, which advanced with the stride of a nervous ballet dancer. In succession appeared an extremely hairy, muscular dwarf, an ostrich clad in haute couture, and a man.
“Should I call Security?” The city editor hovered near a wall panel.
Silently C. R. Benjamin regarded his visitors, ignoring the rising clamor in the hallway beyond. Eventually his gaze settled on the sole Human among them.
“Tell me one thing, young man. Do you really have a flying saucer on the roof of my building?”
“It’s only an atmospheric shuttle,” Will told him. “It’s not even saucer-shaped.”
“I see. You know how people are. Always reaching for the easy description. That’s why it’s so hard to find good writers anymore. They all seem to use the same words.” He glanced at his city editor. “No Security, Marcus. But do close the door.”
The city editor nodded, did as he was told despite the crowd that was now pressing tight around the portal.
C. R. Benjamin slowly took his seat. “We’re not going to have any trouble here, are we, Mister… what was your name, son?”
“
Dulac. William Dulac.”
“If you were in Nawlins right now, what would you likely be having for lunch?”
Will frowned but replied. “Oyster po’boy.”
The editor nodded approvingly. “Then you are from Louisiana. If you’re a fraud, you’re a Southern fraud, and at least they’re more interesting than most.” The noise in the hall was growing louder.
“Marcus, tell those people to get back to their desks and that everything in here is under control.” The city editor complied. Gratefully, Will thought. The pretty editorial assistant accompanied him without having to be told.
C. R. Benjamin rubbed his hands together theatrically. “I like stories that walk into my office. It’s cheaper than paying correspondents. Now then, if this is some kind of elaborate gag or stunt now’s the time to enlighten me, son. You’re not from the Fox network, are you? I know our reviewers been giving their new shows hell.”
“We’re not from Fox, sir, and this is no gag. I sincerely wish it was. These people,” and he indicated his silent companions, “really are from other worlds. Each represents a different species. They’re united in an organization they call the Weave.”
Benjamin waved a hand. “I suppose you’ll allow me time and means to confirm what you’re saying? Right now I’m only operating on what I can see and hear, which is no way for a journalist to act.”
“My friends are amenable to physical examinations,” Will assured him. “They understand your caution because they’ve encountered it before, on other worlds that they’ve visited.”
Benjamin grunted slightly. “Let’s just for the moment proceed on the assumption that you all are what you claim to be. This Weave of yours, it’s kind of like the EEC?”
“Sovereign and independent worlds united for reasons of trade, commerce, and mutual defense,” replied the Wais in accentless English, startling the editor.
Will thought that under the circumstances the old man was exercising remarkable self-control. Of course it was unlikely that anyone would become editor in chief of one of the most important newspapers in the United States without it.
“So this is the long-anticipated First Contact.” Benjamin thought to turn off his computer screen and activate the recorder on his desk. “With not just one alien race but four. I wouldn’t have thought there’d be four.”
“Sir, there are hundreds,” Will informed him quietly.
“Hundreds.” Benjamin considered. “And they decide to make contact here in my office. Excepting you, of course, young man. They obviously contacted you a day or two earlier.”
“I’m afraid not, sir. Actually they’ve been here for a number of years now, observing us, learning, working with some of us in secret.”
“I see. I presume you will in due course enlighten me as to the reason for this secrecy.”
“Yes, sir.”
Benjamin indicated the Wais. “The one with the feathers speaks better English than my sportswriters.”
“Linguistics is a Wais specialty, sir. However, all of these here speak some Earth languages to some extent. I speak some of theirs. And we have these translators.” He held up the device hanging from his neck, touched his earpiece.
“Well, if it’s not the first contact it’s still quite a scoop. Biggest of the past thousand years or so. And you’re presenting it to me. I’m very grateful to you, Mr. Dulac. How does a young man from Louisiana come to…?”
“Everything will be explained, sir,” Will said, interrupting. “Right now we have to deal with more important matters. And you’re not quite getting an exclusive here.”
“Oh. New York Times!”
“No, sir. The other major tribe.”
“Tribe?” Benjamin frowned.
“Izvestia, sir.”
“I see. Well, I don’t think that’s going to cut into my circulation much. I’m sure you have reasons for proceeding as you are, which you no doubt will disclose in due course.”
“Yes, sir. We’re here because there’s information that needs to be disseminated, and fast. If it was up to me it would stay a secret, but that’s no longer possible.”
“Very well. My organization will be more than happy to assist. But if I may inquire, why here, and why in this manner? It’s not what I would have envisioned.”
“We need to get the word out uncensored as well as quickly, sir, devoid of possible government spin.”
“Then you chose well, son. If this is all for real you won’t have to twist my arm to clear tomorrow morning’s front page for you. Will tomorrow morning be all right for your purposes? That’ll give us some time to work up articles, get some expert opinions, and take some pictures. You don’t mind pictures?”
“Not at all,” said the Wais.
“We will be accommodating. It serves our needs,” added Caldaq in rougher but still comprehensible English.
“Excellent. Of course, if this turns out to be some kind of elaborate prank, I’m going to make everyone involved wish they’d never been born.”
“I wish it was just a prank, sir,” said Will somberly.
“The reason for our presence…” Caldaq said to Will.
“Not yet. He needs reassurance first.”
“Excuse me?” Benjamin’s gaze shifted from alien to man.
“Sorry,” said Will, aware he’d been speaking in Massood.
“You spoke of hundreds of intelligent species. That’s a pretty daunting revelation, son.”
“What’s even more daunting is the fact that not all of them may be friendly.”
At that Benjamin’s gaze grew narrow. Believing it would have more impact, Will allowed the Wais to explain the history of the Weave-Amplitur conflict, concluding with a summation of the current situation. When the ornithorp had finished, the editor sat silently in his recliner, trying to absorb the import of what he’d heard. Every light on his desk console was flashing for attention. Irritably he turned them off.
“We don’t have to get involved,” Will said carefully into the silence. “It’s not our fight. We’re not members of this Weave.”
“That’s true.” Benjamin noted the expectant stares of the four aliens. He could not read any of their faces, knew nothing of their expressions, but there was no mistaking the intensity of their gazes.
“The bird-thing said these Amplitur, the creatures who lead the opposition, want every other kind of creature to believe exactly as they do. The people in this Weave feel otherwise. They’ve quietly recruited some Humans to help in the fight and that’s why the Amplitur are coming here. To keep any more of our people from joining up.”
“Something like that,” Will admitted. “The question is, are they coming to fight or are they coming to talk? Or are they even coming this way at all?”
“No, son, those aren’t the questions. The question is can we afford to sit around on our duffs and wait to find out without making any preparations? Now don’t get me wrong: I’m as peace-loving a man as you’d ever want to meet. If you’ve ever read my paper you know I don’t even approve of these little so-called ‘surgical strikes’ where we go in and clean out a drug lord or two.”
“On the other hand, I don’t much like the sound of these Amplitur, and I’m not sure I want them having anything to say about the way my grandkids believe when they grow up.”
“You must join with us.” Not trusting his command of the language, Caldaq relied on his translator. “If only to protect yourselves.”
C. R. Benjamin’s gaze shifted shrewdly back and forth between Will Dulac and the alien commander. “Do I detect a slight divergence of opinion here? No matter. Whatever final decisions are made I think it behooves us to at least look to our own protection. You see anything wrong with that, Mr. Dulac?”
Suddenly Will felt that all the years of work with the Massood and their allies meant little. That in a couple of moments his importance to them had been superseded by the old man behind the big desk. It had taken place so quickly that realization of the fact was only now beginn
ing to set in.
“It is not required.”
A startled Will turned on Caldaq. “Wait a minute. You said that…”
“What we said,” replied Caldaq, speaking slowly to insure that his translator would have ample time to choose the best words, “was that the Amplitur may be coming this way and that given that possibility your world should be prepared to defend itself. We did not say that you would have to participate in that defense. It was recommended, not demanded. If necessary, the Weave alone will see to the defense of your world.”
“We’re not members of your organization,” said Benjamin. “Why should you stick your necks out for us? Those of you who have necks.”
“For years now several thousand of your people have been fighting on our behalf. Not a great number, but not an insignificant one, either. Some have died in Weave service, if not for Weave ends. It would not be civilized to abandon their home-world to the Amplitur.”
“That’s very altruistic of you.”
“It is not in any way altruistic.” Caldaq had to wait on the translation. “We would do this because some of your kind have rendered us service and more may do so in the future. And because we see danger in allowing the Amplitur to have their way here.”
“What if this Cajun’s right?” The editor pointed at Will. “Suppose when the people hear about your conflict they don’t want any part of it? Suppose they just want you and your friends to take off and leave them alone?”
“What is your opinion?” The Hivistahm recorder spoke for the first time. “What do you think the majority of your population will do?”
“I don’t know. That’s why we hire pollsters. And I can only speak for this country, not any others. What do you think these Amplitur will do if they come here?”
“First they will try and talk,” Caldaq told him. “Then they will attempt to have close contact with your leaders, in order to adjust their minds. If they are prevented from doing these things, they will try to control you by force. Finally, if they consider you more dangerous than potentially useful, they do their best to exterminate you.”