The Trojan Horse (13 page)

Dawlish stroked his chin.  “Maybe we’re more advanced than them in some areas,” he suggested.  “The Japanese moved ahead in civilian computing technology...”

“Because we had all of our brightest minds going into the military,” Packman countered.  “I find it impossible to believe that they don’t have everything we have and a great deal more...”

His voice trailed off, slowly.  “Oh.”

The Colonel looked up at him.  “Oh?”

“They need our industrial base because they don't have one of their own,” Packman said.  He shook his head slowly.  “If they need to use our industrial base, it suggests that theirs is somehow lost – or missing.”

“Or maybe they intend to upgrade ours once they have control,” Coleman suggested.  “How long would it take them to boost what we have to a level that can be used for building something comparable to theirs?  For all we know, it’s cheaper to build a new industrial base here rather than ship equipment in from thousands of light years away...”

The Colonel held up a hand.  “As interesting as this is, we need to start building a resistance,” he said, firmly.  “Bob’s pointed out that the aliens will have access to government databases.  We need to build a network without compromising ourselves – thoughts?”

“Nothing gets put online, ever,” Packman said.  “And we don’t make telephone calls – at least not ones where we discuss anything sensitive.  We meet our potential allies face-to-face...”

“Which would blow us wide open if the aliens have tagged one of them,” the Colonel said.  He was still reeling from the news about the alien surveillance devices.  If they’d bugged the President they could bug anyone – and it would be almost impossible to locate the devices without specialised equipment.  Perhaps Toby could get his hands on some of it...maybe.  “I think we’re going to have to assume the worst.”

“The worst is pretty bad,” Packman said.  “I keep up with a few friends of mine from the Agency.  We have ways of tracking people, even in godforsaken Afghanistan and Pakistan, without them ever even knowing that they’ve been tagged.  And then we call in a Predator and drop a Hellfire on their heads.  We must be
very
careful; someone who works with us may unwittingly lead the aliens to our location.  I think we need to start creating smaller cells, right fucking now.  The loss of one won’t destroy them all.”

The Colonel nodded.  “We’ll reach out to anyone we know with real military experience,” he said.  “We won’t touch anyone on active duty, not when their records are already in alien hands...”

“Our records will be in alien hands,” Packman pointed out.  “We’re all former military or former intelligence...”

“We’ll have to pray that we’re not noticed,” the Colonel admitted.  There were ways to pass unnoticed, even in modern society.  He’d have to start tapping some of his more dubious friends for false ID and other counterfeit documents.  The government had been more careful about identity fraud since 9/11.  “If we allow fear to paralyse us, we won't get anywhere at all.”

The discussion lasted long into the night.  After a few more ideas had been dropped into the mix, the Colonel started writing them down on a notepad.  They’d have to shred the paperwork once they’d finished the discussion, if only because the farm might be raided by government agents.  The Colonel still remembered the arrogant agent who’d turned up because of a vague report that the farm was selling unprocessed milk to locals – never mind the fact that everyone who’d bought the milk was an adult and knew the risks.  Government treated people like children or criminals...

“And we will have to devise a secure link to Toby,” he added, almost as an afterthought.  Toby was in the best possible position to know what was about to happen.  “How the hell do we do that?”

Chapter Thirteen

Washington DC

USA, Day 24

“Federation, Federation, Federation...”

Jason could hear the chanting protesters through the taxi’s closed windows.  The elderly Pakistani who was driving the cab looked nervous as the protesters came into view, a disorganised mob of young people – mainly students – with a hard core of professional protesters.  There were a number of police officers wearing riot gear watching the protest nervously, wondering if it would turn violent.  The radio claimed that it was the largest single protest in America; hundreds of thousands were thronging the streets, demanding that the Government immediately accept the alien terms for starting down the long road towards Federation membership.

He rubbed his tired eyes as the noise grew louder.  The alien terms had leaked two days ago and since then, SETI had found itself at the heart of both pro-alien and anti-alien protests.  SETI had always believed that ET would be friendly and there was a strong feeling running throughout the organisation that they should accept the Federation’s terms, but not everyone agreed with them.  There was a core of protesters who believed that the alien terms were demeaning and should be rejected without further comment.  The radio updates had started that there had been several violent clashes between the two sides and hundreds of protesters had been arrested.  Rumour online had it that protesters from all over the United States were being bussed into Washington, where they were making their feelings known to the Government.  Jason wouldn't have wanted to be a senator who stood against the aliens, not with tempers running so high. 

“Foolish children,” the taxi driver snarled.  A group of kids – they couldn't be more than fifteen years old – had run past the taxi, heading down to join the protest.  They wore grey alien facemasks, the ones that had become the logo used by the Witnesses.  It struck Jason as ironic – the legendary Gray aliens had never been friendly – but it did have worldwide recognition.  “Don’t they know that people have to work to eat?”

“Probably not,” Jason agreed.  He kept his other thoughts to himself.  If he’d known that all that awaited him after he graduated was a hard scrabble to earn enough money to stay alive and in reasonable comfort, would he have worked so hard at college?  It was easy to see why so many youngsters loved the ideal of the Galactic Federation; they knew nothing about it, apart from the fact it offered them hope.  And hope was something that could warp and twist a person’s thoughts out of all recognition.  “I don’t think we’ll get through in a hurry.”

He reached into his pocket and produced a handful of dollar bills.  SETI had paid for his trip to Washington and they could afford the bill, particularly now that donations were going through the roof.  Everyone wanted to claim that they’d had a hand in the Discovery, and First Contact, and if that meant pouring enough money on SETI to build an observatory on the moon, they’d do it.  The taxi driver offered the change, but Jason told him to keep it and opened the door.  The racket struck him full force the moment he stepped onto the street.

It was terrifying, almost like being caught up in a riot.  As a student, Jason had gone to parties and matches where everyone had just been caught up in the music or game, but this was worse.  Thousands upon thousands of people seemed to have formed a hive mind, the undertow of their emotions threatening to pull him into the mix.  Their deafening shouts for Federation membership and an end to war seemed loud enough to shatter buildings.  If any of them recognised Jason, they couldn't make themselves heard over the racket.  Silently grateful, Jason hurried through the blocked streets to his destination.  A handful of policemen guarding the streets looked as if they were going to block his way and then changed their minds.  The entire street felt as if it was on a knife edge.

The chant changed, almost spontaneously.  “No more nukes, no more nukes, no more nukes...”

Jason shook his head as the sound grew louder.  His ears were starting to hurt, shivers of pain that threatened to generate a real headache.  He started to move faster and then he burst into a run, although he wasn't sure what he was running from, or even where he was running to.  His head started to spin, seconds before the sound finally – mercifully – started to fade.  The numbers of policemen blocking streets was rising rapidly, almost as if they were trying to contain the protests.  It felt as if they were on the verge of a riot.

High overhead, a line of helicopters roared over the city.  Jason found himself wondering where they were going – and why.  The White House wasn't too far from the protesters; the radio had said that the protesters intended to march down to the White House and present their demands to the President in person.  Somehow, Jason doubted that it would go well.  He kept his legs moving, heading towards the meeting place.  Time was running out.

***

SETI had turned into a lobbying organisation surprisingly quickly, which was part of the reason it had transferred its headquarters to Washington and even positioned many of the review sections – where Jason had worked before he'd become the Discoverer – in Washington.  The easiest way to get funding from political leaders was to prove that the funding would help the politician’s chances of getting re-elected, and that meant pork – lots and lots of pork.  SETI couldn't compete against the military-industrial complex when it came to building new factories in specific states, but it had had influence.  And now it had a great deal more.

Jason sipped a cup of water gratefully as the meeting room slowly filled up.  He shouldn't have been in the room at all – and wouldn't have been, if he had not been the Discoverer, the man who had become famous around the world.  Crenshaw and the rest of SETI’s senior directors hadn't hesitated to take advantage of Jason’s fame, using him to attract funding to SETI and convince politicians to support SETI’s vision of the universe.  And that fame came with a sting in the tail.  If Jason went off-message – if he decided that the aliens weren't friendly – it would rock their little utopia.  The money they’d received since the Discovery would be at risk.

He sat up sharply as a familiar scent intruded upon his nostrils.  An alien had just entered the room, escorted by a pair of plainclothes officers from the Washington PD.  Personally, Jason suspected that the officers were actually from the CIA, but there was no way to know for sure.  The alien waved one hand at Jason – he’d learned that that was a loose greeting from a Snake – before sitting down on a weirdly-shaped stool.  Jason had to take his eyes off the alien’s body as it moved and sat.  It was so
wrong
to human eyes that he almost felt sick.

Fighting it down, he studied the alien carefully.  It was still hard to tell them apart, but he was starting to realise that tiny indentions and colour patterns over their faces served to differentiate them from one another.  There was still no way to separate the sexes; hell, no one even knew if the Snakes had two sexes.  They could easily be functional hermaphrodites, with asexual bodies, or perhaps their females laid eggs which were then fertilised by the male.  There was no way to know.  One of the many subjects upon which the aliens refused to discourse was their own biology. 

Jason frowned as the alien eyes turned to meet his.  He had never considered himself a xenophobe – xenophobes never went into SETI – but there was something about the glowing red eyes that seemed to awaken old instincts long buried behind the veneer of civilisation.  There were people in America who had trouble looking into the face of a black man; Jason understood, just now, what they must have felt.  They could never have explained the feeling and perhaps concealed it, fearful of the dread accusation of racism.

“Thank you all for coming,” Crenshaw said.  Jason looked up from the alien, surprised to see that the room had filled up without him noticing.  Many of the faces were familiar from SETI, or political broadcasts, but a handful were strangers.  He caught the eye of a Japanese woman of indeterminate age who winked at him when she noticed him staring.  Feeling as if he didn't belong in the group, he sat up and tried to pay attention.  “As you can tell, feelings are running high outside.”

Jason winced inwardly.  The room was supposed to be soundproofed, but he could still hear the protesters as they thronged the streets of Washington.  Their demands had blurred into a deep roar that was all the more chilling for being barely understandable.  He wondered if someone had also leaked the fact that this meeting was being held; SETI had once needed all the publicity it could get. 

Crenshaw nodded.  “The Washington police tell us that we should be safe in here, but we do need to keep an eye on the situation,” he continued.  “Without further ado - Jeannette McGreevy.”

Jason felt his mouth fall open as the Secretary of State stood up.  She was shorter than he’d expected, somehow, which might have been why he hadn't recognised her.  Even so, there was an air of bulldog determination in her face that suggested that anyone who got in her way was in for a very hard time.  He hadn't seen anyone so determined since his mother had confronted his father over rumours that his father had been cheating on her.  It wasn't a pleasant memory.

“I had a long speech with praise for the Discovery and the Discoverer,” McGreevy said, “but I’m afraid I will have to ask you all to take it as read.”  She smiled at Jason, who found himself on the receiving end of an almost shark-like smile.  “The Secret Service has taken the precaution of placing a helicopter ready for emergency evacuation, so I don't want to stress the poor dears.  They work so hard to protect us from threats.”

There was an amused note in her voice that Jason didn't like at all.  “It is my belief,” McGreevy continued, “that the Government will accept the terms offered by the Federation.  After much intense negotiation, the Federation has agreed to bring forward the schedule for integrating Galactic-level technology into humanity’s general technical base – in exchange for prompt acceptance of their terms.  It will help cushion us from the inevitable economic earthquake when the full effects of the terms make themselves felt.”

Jason nodded, impatiently.  Disposing of the world’s nuclear stockpiles might not cost the world anything – particularly if the Galactics could be convinced to fly them into space and push them towards the sun – but every other term would certainly have an economic effect on America, as well as the rest of the world.  There were trillions of dollars tied up in the defence industry – everything from producing tanks to training and hiring out mercenaries – and all of those dollars would be at risk.  Some production plants could probably be retooled to produce components for space-based industries instead, but others would have to be scrapped.  The protesters outside demanding that the human race join the Federation might not be so enthusiastic when they realised that they’d lost all prospect of getting a job in the economic crunch.

“It is our belief that SETI – the organisation that detected the Federation’s presence – should be reconfigured as the Welcome Foundation,” she concluded.  “The Welcome Foundation will have two goals; one, it will prepare the world for membership in the Federation and two, it will help cushion the economic problems by suggesting new uses for our industrial plant.”

There was a long pause.  “Any questions?”

Jason hesitated, remembered that he was the Discoverer, and held up a hand.  “Our general tech base is well behind the Federation’s,” he said.  “Why do you expect industrial corporations to retool for space when they will be effortlessly outmatched by Federation products?”

McGreevy looked, just for a second, angry.  Oddly, it was the alien who answered.  “The Federation will ensure that your economic base has a chance to adapt to the new situation by levelling protective tariffs on Federation technology entering your system,” he said.  “There will be a number of incentives provided for shared development, but such incentives will depend upon Federation corporations working with their human counterparts.”

“That will be one of the roles of the Welcome Foundation,” McGreevy said.  “I trust that this is acceptable to you all?”

Jason was unsurprised to see Crenshaw and the others agree at once.  They’d wanted to be important and now they were.  And his global fame would help them.  Everything McGreevy had said had made sense, and yet...somehow, Jason was worried.  Something didn't quite add up.

***

“So why did you come here today?”

“Because the government, like, will cover it all up if we let them,” the young girl said.  Jayne had her doubts that she was old enough to escape being branded jailbait.  She was blonde, with a tight top showing off everything she had, carrying a sign that read NO NUKES NOW!  “They cannot be trusted; we must, like, like them know what we feel.”

Jayne sighed inwardly.  The BAN had sent several reporters to the protests and she'd volunteered to be one of them, although her true interests were different.  A few hours of data mining had revealed that the protest networks were being funded by a wide range of different interests, all working together to ensure that the protests were as loud and noticeable as possible.  The latest update from the Washington PD suggested that there were nearly a million protesters in Washington.  It certainly looked that way.