Payette extended a hand, signaling proceed.
“Thank you, Sir. First, Hugh, you're referring to Firesign Theatre's eighth album, not Weird Al. Second, I think that your harsh assessment might have something to do with the fact that you've always been a jackass and a moron.”
Hugh made to rise, but didn't.
“Finally, third, and I am loathe to speak thus in front of my CIC, but, if you ever call me a traitor, again, I will kill you. I will do so in a most disagreeable manner. Any questions, criticisms, or comments?”
The room fell absolutely silent.
“In case some of you don't know, Dr. Sherman and I served in the Marines together, back in the day,” seethed Hugh Quinn.
“I served. You only ever screwed the pooch.”
“Gentleman,” interrupted the chief of staff, “I don't think we're heading in a useful direction. Can we please keep this civil, and moving forward? The president's a very busy man.”
“True, but I sure find this refreshing,” the POTUS chortled, wearing a big smile. “Ah, I think we still have boxing gloves around from the Kennedy years, if you two need to resolve your issues.”
“That won't be necessary, Mr. President. I'll play nice,” replied Tank. “As to Hugh's choice of denialism as opposed to listening to scientific evidence, I don't know what to tell you. He's like the Climate Change denier idiots who nearly got us all killed. And before you say anything, Hughless I'm not being personal here, just illustrative.”
“Who's Hughless?” asked the president.
“Oh, sorry, that slipped out. That's what we all called Hugh behind his back, cause it rhymes with clueless.”
The president snorted. “I'm going to stick that in my back pocket. Anyway, here's the real issue. If you are right, and I must say I believe you, what can we do about the threat?”
Tank looked to me.
“Ah, that's a very different issue, Mr. President,” she said, but only barely above a whisper, due to a bad case of nerves. “We're astronomers, not weapons developers.”
“We realize that,” said the Army Joint Chief. “But we also know you've thought about this existential threat longer than anyone else, save Dr. Sherman himself.”
Tank shot her a guilty glance.
“I can only say this,” she began slowly. “We've always assumed there were other sentient life forms in the universe. Now we have proof one is out there. If there're two, us and them, then there are surely countless others. Using the law of averages, some are the most technically advanced while others are the least.”
“Your point, Ms. Jones?” pressed the president.
“Everywhere we look we see cored out galaxies. Most, but not all, large clusters of galaxies have been decimated by this alien force. This leads me to conclude that even the most advanced civilizations have confronted them, but were completely ineffective at stopping them.” She let that sobering thought sink in a bit.
“Frank, I've had enough,” Hugh said, standing. The fool was shaking he was so mad. “A couple galaxies a zillion miles away have holes in them, so now we have an unstoppable war juggernaut coming to kill us for certain. These Left Coast hoax-boasters are clearly smoking what they're all so famous for smoking, night and day. I'll be in my office for the next twenty minutes. I will be typing up my resignation. If you don't leave this monkey show, here, and come to dissuade me before twenty minutes are up, you'll find it on your desk.” With that he stomped out of the Situation Room. In what had to be divine intervention, he tripped on a chair leg he was passing and landed on his knees. The rest of his stomping out the door was performed with a nasty limp.
Frank Payette pointed to the open, empty doorway. “Hughless, eh?”
That brought down the house.
Back to serious, instantaneously, the POTUS scanned the room. “John … John Marshall, where are you?”
A somber looking man in his late thirties stood quickly. “Here, Mr. President.”
“Ah, good. John, I need a new NSA chief. Well, twenty one minutes from now, I will. You're it. I do not wish to waste time going through the normal process. You're Hughless's second. How about it?”
“It would be my honor, Sir.”
“Duly noted. The next order of business, which also happens to be our only business, from here on out, will be to defend our planet from a known alien threat.”
The room was silent. No one even breathed.
NINE
Over the next week, Tank and Sachiko worked long hours on various major radio telescope arrays, across the planet. They did so to be able to document what they already knew, from first hand observation. That, of the dozen clan ships tunneling through the galaxy, one was headed almost exactly toward Earth. They spoke with Jon a few times, to touch base and get specific updates. The Als were able to help them focus on what needed to be documented on the radio images, to make their presentations to the president fully credible.
Collins and Montgomery were their constant shadows. Teams of MIBs were assigned to all their work facilities and homes. Like it or not, Tank and Sachiko were going to be safe, and uninterrupted, while they labored. Late one evening, Sachiko was going over their findings with Collins.
“You see here,” she paused to yawn, “this void streak, which was heading away from us, made a minor course change a few weeks back. Then it resumed along it's original direction.”
Collins studied the numbers. “Okay, I can buy that. So, you're able to get nearly realtime images of their progress?”
She nodded, while yawning even bigger than before.
“I'm still bothered by the speed of light limiting these observations. If something changed a million light years away, if it just happened, it should take a million years for that information to arrive here.”
“I was caught on the rock, too, for a while. The twist is this. The light, containing the changed state of the stars, and reaching us, from a million miles away, did leave there a million years ago. Once these aliens suck the time out of a locus in space/time, then it will have always been like that. Then, when they change something else, ten minutes later, that's the way it's always been.”
“So we see really old, really new information instantly?”
“Something like that. If that were not the case, we'd never have picked up on these changes.”
“And this one, the one headed roughly toward us, how long until it reaches us, based on your findings?”
“Soon. I can be more certain in a day, maybe three.”
“Make it one, please.” He looked up to her with lines of concern on his face. “We seem to be running out of time.”
The next morning, Tank was propped with one leg on the edge of his deck, going over some data with Sachiko, who was seated in front of the desk. It had been another all-nighter. Perhaps it was because of their focus, or their deprivation of sleep, that they didn't notice Collins and Montgomery enter the room. They looked up, simultaneously surprised.
“Good morning,” Collins beamed, a paper cup in either hand. “I must say, you both look like shit.”
“Thanks, I'm sure,” responded Sachiko.
“Nice of you to bring coffee,” said Tank.
He held them up. “I figured they'd tide you over until we get to the plane. Helicopters don't normally serve coffee.”
“What, no limo this time?” Tank teased.
“Time is of the essence,” he grinned.
“Let me guess. My bags are packed and in the chopper?”
“They most assuredly are. Right in the middle of the Quad.”
“Do I have time to pee?” asked a nervous looking Sachiko.
“We'll be on the plane in ten. Can it wait?” asked Collins.
“Sure. Why not?”
“Before we take off, I want to discuss bringing some … additional coworkers with us.”
Collins shot up an eyebrow. “Who, and why?”
“Er, you probably don't know them, and because, they're the top specialist in this fiel
d.”
“I know everybody either of you know, or ever have known. And, what field are the tops in?”
“This,” Tank circled a hand toward the floor, “current field.”
“Do you know why I dislike my birthday, Professor Sherman?”
He didn't see that coming. “You … don't like getting older?”
“I hate surprises. Birthdays are synonymous with the concept of surprise. Who are these new surprises you wish to place in the Situation Room, right beside the President of the United States?”
“Jon and Sapale Ryan.”
Collins frowned, and his eyes danced in their sockets. He was thinking. “I do not know even one physicist named Ryan who is associated with this project or this university.”
“They're more like our consultants.”
“Birthdays, Professor Sherman. Keep always in mind my relationship with birthdays.”
“Yes, I understand that. But, this is important. If it weren't, I wouldn't insist, now would I?”
“So now you're making a demand?”
He looked to Sachiko for support. “No, not a demand. Look, everybody in this room wants Earth to survive this existential threat, right?”
“Of course.”
“If Jon and Sapale are in, we stand a whole lot better chance. It triples, at the very least.”
“Triples?” he responded, incredulously.
“Maybe more,” added Sachiko.
“Professor Sherman, what kind of name is Sapale?”
He looked to Sachiko again. “Uh, foreign.” It came out as a query, more than a declarative.
“Our plane leaves in ten minutes. How do you propose to have them make it. I can tell you with absolute confidence that it will take off in ten minutes and we all shall be onboard.” He spoke with sincere certainty.
“Funny thing is, they live in downtown DC. Small world, isn't it?”
“How remarkable. Did I mention I'm allergic to funny things, also?”
“No,” Tank replied, “but I'm not the least bit surprised.” He followed that with a toothy grin.
Once the jet was airborne, Tank took off his seat belt and plopped next to Sachiko. “Did they tell you what's up?”
“No, not specifically. But I did go over the latest data with Collins late last night. I finally got him to understand the instant time change thing.”
“Apparently so,” he grumbled.
“Apparently so.”
“Did you get a chance to call Jon?” he asked.
“Yup, when I took a potty break.”
“And they can make it?”
She gave Tank an oh-come-on-now look.
“How are they getting through security?” he wondered.
“Do you remember what Al said about being a great counterfeiter?”
“I thought that was just another of his lame jokes.”
“Maybe it was, but Jon said their IDs'll be more authentic than everyone else's,” she responded with a knowing grin.
He chuckled.
“What?”
“Maybe they're printed on Doctor Who's psychic paper,” he copied her grin.
“I wouldn't put it past him,” she replied. She then crossed her arms and shut her eyes.
They didn't talk the rest of the flight. Sachiko tried her hardest to not fall apart, completely, the entire way. Tank either tried to sleep, or was lost in his own, personal, nightmares. Somewhere along the way, she finally fell fast asleep. That was a blessing. Tank woke her to transfer to the helicopter. In no time they were back in the Situation Room. This time it was literally packed full. Behind those seated stood two rows of onlookers. Sachiko recognized a few senators and religious leaders. A lot those present wore a uniform, and all those were heavy with ribbons, stars, and aiguillettes. Four seats very close to President Payette were held open. Collins led them directly to two of the only available seats, then took up a position standing directly behind them.
“Alright, everybody, I'd like to begin. Er, Colonel Sherman, where are your associates? I really—” He stopped talking when there was an explosion of noise just outside the entrance.
Jon Ryan, wearing an academic's tweed suit, elbow patches and all, smiled exuberantly from the doorway. He even had on coke-bottle glasses. He preceded Sapale. Well, it must have been Sapale. It was, however, impossible to tell. She sported a full, dark gray, burqa. Oh yeah, she turned all the heads with that get up.
Collins growled, “What the hell?”
Jon spied where his friends were sitting. He threw his arms in the arm. “Tank, you old son of a gun, there you are!”
Collins pushed his way to the entry. He stood face-to-face with the veiled figure. “I'm afraid I'm going to need to see some ID, ma'am.”
“No problem, nice young man,”she chimed. From under all that cloth, she produced a folded document.
Collins's eyes basically bulged from his face. The photo ID showed someone wearing—you got it—a full, dark gray burqa.
“This,” he shook it in front of her, “is never going to do. I need that headdress off and I need a positive ID, now.” He came down hard on the word now.
Jon eased between the two bodies, smiling like a traveling salesman. “Now,” he shot a peek at Collins's badge, “Agent Collins. Do you suppose we'd have made it this far into the White House if my associate hadn't been able to satisfy any number of professionals? Come, now. Let the meeting begin,” he said with great flare. Jon held up his temporary ID, the ones issued by security upon entering a sensitive area.
“Dr. Ryan, I do not have to think about who may or may not have screened this woman. That's the joy of being a mindless drone,” menaced Collins.
Jon drew his hand through the air separating their heads. “You don't need to see her identification. She's not the droid you're searching for. She can go about her business. Move along.” He waggled his eyebrows in the air.
“Dr. Ryan. You say anything like that, again, and I will shoot you,” the agent stated with confidence.
“I think not, but, seriously, thanks for the offer. It seems nowadays nobody cares enough about their fellow man to volunteer to kill someone. Color me lucky for having known you.”
“Collins,” shouted the president. “I need to get started. Let them in. Honestly, what, do you think, they used a Tardis to materialize in the next room, or what? If they got this far, they're good to go.”
Collins stared intently into Jon's eye. “Yes, Sir.” He stepped aside to let them pass.
Jon and Sapale sat in the last two open spots.
“We will begin.”
The president's words silenced the room instantly.
“Most of you know a snippet or two about the present situation. Few of you, however, know just how bad matters really are.” He sighed. “I may not even know everything there is to know. What you are about to see and hear is not to be discussed outside this room.” He leaned over and signed a long looking memorandum. “I have just declared martial law.”
The gasps were deafening.
“It will likely never be lifted. As a result, please note that if anyone breeches the security I have just ordered, they will be summarily executed.”
Not a peep was heard. That was too paralyzing.
“I will ask Dr. Sherman to give us a brief, but full summary of what he's discovered. Dr. Sherman.” Payette sat back down.
“Over the last few months, Dr. Jones,” he gestured to me, “and I, have become convinced our planet is in significant risk of alien attack.”
That brought howls and protestations.
Sachiko eyed Tank, curiously. She was a doctor all of the sudden? Up until then, she thought she was working on her Ph.D., hoping to be Dr. Jones, someday.
“Silence,” roared Payette. “The person that starts the next uproar will be shot. Collins,”
He nodded back.
“Unholster your weapon.”
Collins whipped out an IMI Desert Eagle and rested it by his shoulder, pointing upward.
It was a frighteningly powerful handgun.
“Continue.”
“We believe an alien race is systematically destroying large sections of our galaxy, as we speak. They have significantly damaged many nearby galaxies, already. Dr. Jones conjectures that this hostile race must have defeated any and all opposition they're certain to have encountered. We are, if this is true, basically helpless and defenseless. I recently confirmed with a colleague,” he nodded to Jon, “that possibly two expeditionary forces of this alien race are headed toward Earth. In all, that's probably six or seven ships, working as one unit, each. Based on our best estimates, they will arrive in two months. That's it in a nutshell.” He sat down.
“Two months?” wheezed Payette. “That's news to me. Are you certain?”
Tank shrugged. “Give or take a couple weeks. We'll know better in a day or two.”
Payette shook his torso violently. “Okay, people, you know what the next question is? What can we do in self-defense? And, for the love of all that is holy, no one better respond we'll need to form a task force. If you do, Collins'll drop you like a wet towel. I kid you not. General Masterson, what've you got?”
The head of the Joint Chiefs, Darlene Masterson, stood. “We have a vast number of nuclear missiles, both land based and at sea. Most can be easily reprogrammed to fire into space, but they are currently incapable of leaving Earth orbit, completely. I'm certain any other country with similar weapons can do the same. I feel it is possible to launch them into space, refuel them there, and then fire them at our enemy.”
“Do we presently have that technology?” Payette asked bluntly.
She lowered her head. “No, Mr. President, we do not.” He looked back up. “I can promise that my people and I will not rest, after I leave this meeting. We will make it happen.”
“I believe you will, Darlene. I believe you will,” state the president, with proud confidence.
“We could then launch maybe ten thousand projectiles capable of striking a target in space. Other players could add perhaps another thousand, or so. Counting MIRVs, I'd estimate we could throw, if all the ducks line up in our favor, hopefully fifteen thousand missiles at them.”
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