The Infinity Link (64 page)

A laughing drawl drifted back to him: "Shee-it, man. Fourth of
Joo
-lie come early this year!"

Fan-n-n-
tastic!
Jimmy thought, as he lay back. He snaked an arm around and under Kelly's shoulders and cuddled her closer. She didn't resist a bit this time.

* * *

Payne had already sifted through most of the reports by the time the New Phoenix sky was dark enough to see for himself. Though military alerts had been called world-wide, no actions had been reported—perhaps because no foes had been identified. The source of the phenomenon had yet to be officially determined; however, numerous smaller nations were blaming it on the Americans or the Russians, or both. So far, there were few reports of civil disturbances; on-the-spot interviews of citizens-in-the-street seemed to indicate that in this country, at least, more people were afraid of the military alert than of the lights in the sky. Few serious reports had made the connection to previous stories about approaching aliens. He still had a chance for a first, if his sources came through.

When the devil was Jonders going to call him back? he wondered.

At the first sign of twilight over New Phoenix, he went outside to look for himself. The sky darkened to reveal the ghostly effect, just as the first words appeared in the lights.

* * *

Jonders saw his chance. Marshall had disappeared for a teleconference with Hathorne and the Oversight Committee—and probably half the leaders of the western world. If he was ever to have a few minutes to himself, this was it. He pressed the intercom switch and said, "Keep transmitting that signal. I'm going out for some air."

He stopped by the office for his jacket, then headed for a side exit. Once outside, he took a dozen long strides away from the building, before looking up. He took an involuntary breath. He had seen numerous video images, but the replays had not done the sight justice. The night sky was filled with curtains of luminous silk, adrift and glowing in a dozen ghostly shades of ruby, fluted with amber and gold, and fluttering as though stirred by some turbulence in the cosmic wind. It looked as though the light must encircle the globe, although he knew it didn't; it was visible only from the night side of the planet. There was no clue to the naked eye whether it was floating high in the air over the mountains, or a million miles away in space.

It was the work of the Talenki, of course. The problem, from his point of view, was that the Talenki weren't taking calls right now. Over and over, Homebase had tried to contact them, using radio and laser-com, and every known permutation of tachyon signal, always without response. How were the military leaders reacting to this? Jonders wondered. He thought of his recent conversation with Marshall, and the one with Joe Payne that had preceded it, when Payne had practically demanded a meeting with him, and had laid out in shocking detail the allegations he was prepared to broadcast.

Stunned by Payne's information about the manned ship
Aquarius
, Jonders had agreed to discuss the matter with Marshall, and to urge full disclosure—in preference to the publicizing of a highly speculative and perhaps damaging version of the truth. Marshall's answer was: to the best of his knowledge,
Aquarius
was only lightly armed, and certainly not with nuclear weapons—but he would bring the question to Hathorne's attention.

Looking up into the sky now, Jonders doubted that he had accomplished much more than betraying the fact that he had spoken to the press; but he wondered if even that mattered much anymore.

The celestial light patterns were changing now, like shifting set pieces in a play. Jonders walked farther out across the grass and away from the building's glare. For the first time, he realized that he was not alone outside. Dozens of people were scattered about the grounds, craning their necks or talking in excited whispers. Jonders recognized Lusela Burns standing near the outer fence.

"Have you seen any messages?" he asked, joining her.

She shook her head. "An hour ago, I heard, there was something—some crazy jingle. It flickers every now and then, as though something's about to happen, and then—" She shrugged. Jonders nodded and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. "Have they answered?" she asked.

He sighed. "Nothing. Nothing at all." He looked up.
"Damn them, why don't they respond?"

Lusela stared at him soberly. "What do you suppose they're intending?"

Jonders felt a ball of anxiety gather in his chest as he gestured helplessly. In Marshall's office and in New Washington, that question and others were being debated. And somewhere in the deep of space—not far from the approaching Talenki, by now—were three spaceships, at least one of which perhaps carried hydrogen bombs. What were the commanders of the warships thinking as they closed with their quarry and listened to reports of strange fires in the Earth's skies?

Jonders wished suddenly that his wife and two daughters were with him.

There was music in the background now.
Music?
He realized abruptly that it was in his head, the music, and it was surrounding him, not too loud, but coming from
everywhere
, and growing in volume. What was it—some sort of adventure theme, with trumpets and French horns and strings—something vaguely familiar, a movie theme from long ago, he thought. There was a murmur from a nearby group of people, rising above the music. He glanced up again, and his heart jumped.

Overhead, the curtains of light were coalescing into tendrils of fire, squirming in the sky. At first their motion seemed chaotic, and then a pattern emerged from the disorder. The light was forming alphabetic letters in flowing script—and in various sizes and designs—until the words:

HI!
¡HOLA!
BON JOUR
JAMBO
NIHAU
PRIVYET
KOMBANWA
 

filled the breadth of the sky.

Jonders held his breath as the letters in light twisted. The pattern came apart, and the tendrils danced away from one another like tiny snakes of fire. Gradually, then, they recombined, this time spelling the words:

THE TALENKI
ARE IN TOWN!
 

Jonders felt his stomach tightening. What next? After a minute, that message dissolved, and a series of phrases formed, each lasting a few seconds before being replaced by another:

SO GET DOWN
 
GET HIGH
 
READ THE SKY
 
BURMA SHAVE!
 

As he stared up in astonishment, Jonders dimly heard his name being called. He was wanted back inside, on the double.

General Armstead's image scowled.

"They were prepared in twenty-fifteen, too," Hathorne said, his voice tense with modulated anger. "Ready on a moment's notice. 'Flexible response,' I believe they called it—without any of these irritating civilian controls—"

"Now, just a damn minute!"

"Fingers on the triggers, and military procedure driven by its own momentum—and what did it get us? Thirty million dead, and cities with names like
New
Washington,
New
Phoenix, Moscow
Two
 . . . shall I go on?"

The general glared. The other seats surrounding the conference table were empty; but in a little while, they would be taken by the remaining members of the Oversight Committee. Hathorne was determined to have this out with General Armstead before then.

"Our priority," Armstead growled, "is the protection of the Earth and its people. If that's not clear enough—"

"It's not clear," said Hathorne, "that attacking our first interstellar visitor is the best way to protect Earth and its people."

"We have no intention of attacking," the general said coldly. "We're simply prepared for defense, should the need arise."

"I see. And who is to determine that? You, General?"

"The President."

"Let me remind you that
Aquarius
is under the authority of this Committee—which does not operate under the U.S. flag," Hathorne said. "Most of the members don't even
know
about the armaments. Were you planning to tell them? Why did
I
have to hear about it from Slim Marshall, who heard it from a reporter?" Thank you, Slim and nosy newscoper, whoever you are, he added silently. It was just the extra shot I needed. "I can't blame Slim for wondering just what the fuck we think we're doing," he continued aloud. "General, you've overstepped your authority. You've usurped the authority of the Committee—"

"I've usurped nothing," snapped the general.

"Then how do you explain violating the Committee's orders?"

"I am first and foremost under the command of the President of the United States—who agreed that the armament was necessary and justifiable," Armstead said calmly. "Obviously, we could not do this openly without generating a great deal of debate—"

"Obviously."

"—which," Armstead added in an annoyed tone, "could have delayed the mission and compromised its security."

Hathorne gazed at him icily. "In other words, you took it upon yourselves to sidestep the chain of authority."

"As I told you, the President approved our actions."

"Even the President needs to think hard before setting aside an international agreement," Hathorne said. A red light blinked on his console. He frowned and touched a switch.

"The President did think about it," said a new voice. A hologram materialized in the seat to Hathorne's left.

"Mr. President," Hathorne murmured, hiding his surprise. "Thank you for joining us."

The President of the United States placed a finger against his cheek and looked from one to the other. "Gentlemen. I apologize for listening without announcing myself, but I wanted to hear what you had to say, uninhibited by my presence. Mr. Hathorne, you are displeased."

"Mr. President—" Hathorne took a breath "—the Committee will be shocked to learn that it was excluded from this decision."

The President's forehead wrinkled. "That was necessary," he said stiffly, "for the sake of the mission—the real mission—which is to ensure the security of this nation—"

"But Mr. President—"

"—and this planet. I assure you, Mr. Hathorne—I never intended to remove the Committee from the decision-making process. It will remain in control of the
Aquarius
mission."

Hathorne glanced at the general, whose eyes had suddenly taken on a harder edge. Surprised? Hathorne wondered. He faced the President and asked quietly, "Is the Committee to be a party to the breaking of international law?"

The President grimaced. He raised his right hand slightly, in a half-completed gesture. His hand trembled as he spoke, and his voice strained. "It was to prevent that—to keep the Committee from bearing that responsibility—that we—went ahead without the Committee." He cleared his throat, and in the pause, Hathorne noted a flicker of anger in the general's face. This is not how Armstead heard it before, Hathorne thought. The President continued, "The Committee, though—the Committee must determine, in their wisdom—" and the President sighed with what appeared to be a bone-deep weariness, "whether to use the weapons—or to trust—" He left the sentence unfinished.

Hathorne was silent for a moment, thinking, None of us knows right now whether to trust the aliens, we don't even know if they're threatening us or just playing games. But you, you poor bastard—you're caught red-handed and you know it—and you want us to think you weren't
really
doing anything, and now we're just going to be good Committee members and international citizens. Well, even if that's a lie, I'm going to try to make you live it. "Perhaps," Hathorne said quietly, "I could ask you to fill me in on the operational orders—the
real
operational orders—of the
Aquarius
crew."

The President hesitated, tugging at the corner of his mouth. Finally he said, "General Armstead?"

The general was staring impassively at no one in particular. Now Armstead's the one who thinks he's been betrayed, Hathorne thought. This wasn't supposed to happen, was it, General?

Armstead turned his head. "What aspect of the orders would you like to know?" he growled.

The President answered, almost chidingly, "Orders regarding the use of force, General. Nuclear force."

Armstead scowled. "They are forbidden to use the weapons except upon direct order. And I may issue that order only on authority of the President."

Hathorne plucked at his teeth with his fingernail. "That's the
only
authorized use?" he asked.

Armstead shrugged. "Barring total communications failure, of course."

"You mean," Hathorne said, "if contact with Earth is lost, they can go ahead on their own?"

"Only in the event of imminent danger to Earth," said the general. "It's a last-resort authorization."

"Aren't they out of contact now?" Hathorne asked pointedly.

Armstead hesitated, then admitted, "Yes—because of interference from the aliens. But there's no evidence that we're under attack at this time."

"Do
they
know that?" Hathorne asked.

Armstead stared at him with undisguised distaste.

Hathorne rocked back in his seat and turned. "Mr. President, we have a difficult meeting ahead of us. I think it would be extremely helpful if you and the general would tell the Committee exactly what you've just told me."

The President's eyes focused inward for a long time before he finally nodded approval.

* * *

The alien vessel had penetrated the solar system with astonishing speed. It was now well inside the orbit of Mars, proceeding toward Earth orbit.
Aquarius
was two thousand kilometers from the target, and closing, despite continuing difficulty in precise tracking.

Ellis peered through the optical crosshairs, centering the twinkling target. He read the numbers in red digits above the image and touched a switch to lock them in. "Set."

"Burn in five seconds," Kouralt said.