But if he had spoken up then, he might have been dismissed as a crackpot. He didn’t have all the evidence then that he had when he finally approached his friend, Doug Mickelson, who was the secretary of state. Doug had opened a pile of doors for him, and in many very real ways, got the Tenth Planet Project started.
Britt set down the Starbucks travel mug that Cross had bought for her after the last Tenth Planet Project meeting. The mug was steaming. She set down a Starbucks paper cup for him, filled with the lattè he’d asked for. He wasn’t sure, with the heavy breakfast, the interrupted sleep, and the awful way he’d been eating, that his stomach could take any more caffeine.
Robert Shane of the President’s Special Committee on Space Sciences, and one of the Project’s cooler heads, sat down across from Britt. Shane was a tanned, athletic man whose blond hair was cropped short. He had sharp blue eyes and a quick wit that, Cross suspected, served him well in his government post. Shane was first and foremost a scientist, and in all the meetings, through all the debates, Shane never forgot that, which was something Cross appreciated.
Britt took a sip from her mug, and tapped on her wrist-’puter. Taking time away from the office to spend the morning with Cross had cost her a lot. She had been working around the clock, canceling research times on the various space telescopes and trying to determine which agency now had priority with the vast machines. Before the aliens had arrived, the telescopes’ time was carefully parceled out to scientists and researchers all over the globe. Now the crisis took precedence, and Britt found her orderly life in complete disarray.
“I hope this damn thing starts on time.” Yolanda Hayes, the president’s science adviser, walked into the room. She had her dark hair pulled away from her face, and she was wearing minimal makeup. When Cross had first met her—what seemed like years ago, but was actually only seven months before—she was one of the most stylish women he had ever seen. She still wore the clothes, but the details were gone: no painted nails, no lipstick. It was as if she no longer had time for anything but the essentials. “I feel like I’m coordinating an army.”
“Maybe that’s because you are.” Jesse Killius, the head of NASA, followed her into the room. Jesse looked more tired than Cross had ever seen her.
“I guess.” Hayes smiled, but the smile was small. “My job used to be committees and advice. I never expected to coordinate a nationwide research effort in so many different areas.” “None of us did,” Shane said. “At least we have the information about most of the nation’s scientists at our fingertips.” Hayes nodded. “I’m just worried that we don’t have enough.” No one answered her. It was the fear they all had, on various levels, and it really had nothing to do with their areas of expertise. It had to do with the aliens, the tenth planet, and the fact that they were in the lull between storms they didn’t entirely understand.
“I can’t believe Clarissa’s the one who’s late,” Killius said. “She had her aide call me last night to remind me about this.” “She’s balancing too much,” Shane said. “She probably shouldn’t even be in this meeting anymore.”
“I’m glad she is,” Cross said. “She’s still representing the president.”
At that moment the door slammed back and General Clarissa Maddox strode into the room. She was a powerfully built woman who wore her general’s uniform like a shield. Her back was so straight that Cross sometimes wondered if it had been surgically altered.
She took her seat and nodded to the group. “I see I’m just in time for the uplink,” she said, which was probably the only acknowledgment she would make of being late.
“Coffee, General?” Shane asked.
Half a smile crossed Maddox’s face. “Right now, I’m subsisting on the stuff. I’d love some.”
Shane got up, went to the refreshments table, and poured her a cup. Even though there were pastries on the table as usual, no one had taken any.
The two flat vid screens were already down. As the clock hit 1 p.m., images appeared in various comers: the Japanese representatives, the European representatives, the Africans, and the newest members, the Chinese. Most of the groups were sitting at long conference tables like the U.S. group was, and Cross was surprised that he knew the rooms in those faraway lands as well as he knew this room here. In fact, it almost seemed as if the rooms were somewhere in this building, in parts he hadn’t been to yet.
The customary greetings in the various languages echoed. The official language of the Tenth Planet Project was English, partly because it had become the language of science, and partly out of deference to the Americans, who were the ones who first put this meeting together. But the greetings were always in the native tongues, and it was a custom no one wanted to forgo.
When the formalities were done, General Maddox sighed so softly that only those at the U.S. table could hear her. Then she smiled, a businesslike smile that had an edge of weariness to it.
“I have a personal announcement first,” she said.
Cross stiffened. Britt put her hand on his arm. Here it comes, Shane mouthed. Apparently he thought what they all were thinking: they were going to lose the general.
“I’ve been asked to leave the Project,” Maddox said, her voice strong.
Shane rolled his eyes and shook his head slightly, his commentary on the stupidity of government clear, at least, to the people across the table.
“But I have refused. I believe that the work we do here may be the work that saves this planet. I want to be a part of this as much as I want to be a part of the military team that eventually destroys those alien bastards.”
Shane turned his head toward her in surprise. Cross let himself relax. Britt squeezed his wrist, bowed her head, and smiled slightly. None of them wanted to lose Maddox.
Maddox said, “I suspect that I will have to defend my place on this Project for some time to come. That’s my problem. However, I do have one favor to ask of the group ”
Cross noted that everyone in all the various conference rooms around the world was watching her intently.
“In the past we’ve had a bit of banter and a rather loose format for the meetings.”
“Loose?” Britt whispered so softly that only Cross could hear her. It was his turn to smile. Scientific meetings were never as structured as the meetings of the Tenth Planet Project had been.
“I would like now to run these meetings as efficiently as possible.”
One of the Russian scientists started to protest. Maddox held up a hand for silence.
“I understand the need for informal discussion,” she said. “I can no longer be present for that. So instead of holding those discussions within the structure of the meeting, I have arranged to keep the uplink going for as long as necessary after the formal meeting, so that the informal talks can continue. All I ask is that I am briefed on any new and important information that comes from the informal discussions. Is that acceptable to the group?”
All of the members of the Project nodded, and many spoke the word “yes” aloud.
Maddox’s smile was real this time. “Good,” she said. “Very good. Then let’s get this meeting under way.”
She touched her wrist’puter, where it seemed as if she had a list of notes. Britt also had notes, and several of the others at the international tables seemed to have notes as well.
“Since I started,” Maddox said, “let me continue with a matter the president has asked me to bring to your attention.” Cross cradled his cooling latte. He wondered if Jamison had had any luck yet in Monterey, and if so, why he hadn’t paged Cross.
“All of the world leaders have discussed this, but the president asked me to make a special point of mentioning it here.” Britt’s grip on Cross’s wrist eased.
“The Tenth Planet Project is something the press does not know about. Our governments have managed to keep a lid on our work, as well as on one other thing: no one has yet, in any credible way, leaked the news that the tenth planet will make a return visit in five and a half mont
hs. All our analysts believe there will be massive riots and destruction, with millions dead, if the world finds out that what happened two weeks ago was only a prelude to another alien attack. We cannot allow this to happen.”
There was a general murmuring of agreement. Cross waited for the rest.
“We have been ordered not to speak to the press about the future of the tenth planet. No hints, no leaks. We need to keep this information contained, and part of containment is this: if there is a leak, we have to squelch it, and quickly.”
“You want us to lie,” one of the Chinese representatives said.
“If necessary,” Maddox said.
“The news will get out eventually,” Britt said.
Maddox frowned at her.
Britt shrugged. “Scientists all over the world are familiar with the tenth planet now. They may not be part of our organization, but they’re not dumb. They’re going to come to the same conclusions we do.”
“We’ve already spoken to the best and the brightest in astronomy and physics, at least in this country,” Yolanda Hayes said. “They’re under instruction to send any new information to the president’s Science Office first. We’re forming a brain trust to be coordinated by me, Robert Shane, and two other members of the White House’s scientific community.” “You’re going to control the free flow of information?” Cross asked, unable to keep quiet any longer.
“In a nutshell, yes, Dr. Cross.” Maddox crossed her arms. “What’s your problem with this? I assume you don’t want the millions of dead, which rioting would cause, any more than I do.”
Her remark was like a slap, but he went on anyway. “Science doesn’t function with restrictions on information.”
“Are you familiar with the Manhattan Project?” Maddox’s voice was cold.
“You’re comparing us to a group of scientists hidden in the New Mexico desert, a group whose mission was to design the deadliest weapon of all time?” Cross turned toward her. “Leo,” Britt whispered. “Not now.”
He ignored her. The other members of the Project were silent.
“Yes,” Maddox said. “I am.”
“In many ways our mission is similar,” Hayes said.
Cross turned to her. “I can’t believe you want to stifle the free flow of information,” he said. “You of all people know how valuable it is to scientists.”
“I believe in a trade-off,” Hayes said. “If we don’t control this information, we’ll have rioting in the streets, and I personally can’t live with the idea I could be even partially responsible.”
Maddox looked pointedly at her watch. Cross ignored her. “I understand the press blackout,” he said. “It’s the rest of it. The brain trust, the control of information even among scientists—”
“Someone will leak it,” Killius said. “You know as well as I do that scientists don’t always have the best social skills. They sometimes don’t think about the people applications. Do you want some lower-level astronomer posting his notes on the tenth planet’s return on the Internet? Others’ll check it and—”
“How do we prevent it?” Cross said. “Just because you have the best and the brightest already on tap doesn’t mean that some amateur astronomer won’t figure it out on his own ”
“That’s a problem,” Hayes said.
“Yeah, it’s a problem,” Cross said. “It’s a twofold problem. The amateurs are often the ones who come up with the most creative solutions. And right now, that’s what we need. We need creativity, not some brain trust sitting around in a damn meeting!”
He slammed his hand against the table and the sound silenced everyone. They were all staring at him.
His heart was pounding, and he was breathing hard. They clearly knew that he was frustrated being in the room, but he wasn’t going to back down. He had a point. They had to see that, too.
“Pardon me,” one of the British physicists said, “but I do see both your points. Dr. Cross is right; it is always better to share information among like minds. However, if perhaps we set up a web site or a contact number for people who believe they have valuable information, we will still be able to get the input of the creative amateurs.”
“And who’ll monitor the sites?” Hayes asked. She sounded as frayed as Cross felt. “That’ll be a full-time job in and of itself.”
“Graduate students,” Shane said. “Research assistants.
Maybe some high school science teachers. Folks who we can trust with the knowledge but who won’t be on the brain trust.”
“This is a compromise, Dr. Cross,” Maddox said, “and I believe it’s the only one you’ll get. It’s better than anything I would have mentioned. But then, I have a military mentality, as some of you are fond of pointing out.”
Cross made himself swallow hard. Maddox was right. This was a compromise, and it was probably the best one he was going to get. “We’re going to need someone to coordinate this effort in each country.”
“I’m sure that’s something that can be determined after I leave,” Maddox said.
“I think it can, General,” Shane said quickly, with a look toward Cross. “I have some ideas that might make it work.” “As long as any new information is contained, I don’t care what you do,” Maddox said. “But believe me, if something leaks, I’ll have that leak traced and the leaker’s butt in a sling so fast that he won’t even know what hit him. Is that clear, Dr. Cross?”
“I won’t leak anything, General,” he said. “I kept this a secret for a lot longer than anyone else.”
Her gaze met his and in it, he thought he saw a trace of sympathy. So the general understood his argument and the problems with silence. Good. He hoped the others did.
“Good,” she said. “Moving on. The second item on my agenda is, ironically enough, the sharing of information between governments. We need to keep our people in the dark to prevent rioting, but we, as governments, need to share as much as possible. With that in mind, I’d like to update you on the U.S.’s military position.”
As she talked about troop counts and training and increased weapons buildup, Cross finished his now-cold latte and calmed himself down. Without the free flow of information, Cross would never have put together the facts that led to the discovery of the tenth planet. He had contacted archaeologists via e-mail, amateurs and professionals alike, asking simple, pointed questions. He’d brought Edwin Bradshaw into his circle—Bradshaw, who had been a man ahead of his time, and then had been disgraced for research that was now proving central to the tenth planet itself. Cross could have done none of that with the strictures the governments wanted to impose.
.. in the history of the world,” the German military representative was saying, “there has never been a military buildup like this one. Not this quick, not this uniform, not worldwide.” “Every country that has a military is deploying it,” said the British Cabinet member who was fulfilling the equivalent of Maddox’s duties in his tenth planet group.
“We’ve stepped up production of aircraft, weaponry, and anything else we can think of that might defeat these aliens,” Maddox said.
Cross wondered why. The weapons had done no good against the alien ships last time. Or at least not much good. He guessed building weapons was the only thing the military knew how to do.
“Please,” the head of the Japanese group said, “my people have a special request.”
Everyone was silent. The Japanese listened more than spoke at these meetings.
“We are not only conscripting our young people for military duty,” the Japanese leader said, “but we are also taking our youngest scientists, the award-winning students, and putting them to work on various projects that might help us defeat the aliens. We believe we are alone in this program. We ask that other countries do the same.”
“A modified way of dealing with your objections, Dr. Cross,” Shane said.
Cross shrugged. “It’ll do.”
“It’s a wonderful idea,” Britt said.
“I think,” Kil
lius said, “we might also want to consider funneling some of our young people into accelerated astronaut programs.”
Her words were met with another silence as the members contemplated them. Then, one by one, the leaders of the various groups nodded.
“Excellent,” Maddox said. “We’re accomplishing more here than I thought we would.”
Yeah, Cross thought. And if the world survives, everything will be different We won’t recognize the military culture we’ve built. Or be able to control it.
But he said nothing, because as far as he could see, there was no choice.
“Dr. Cross,” Maddox said. “Has there been any progress on the nanomachines?”
He sighed. “Not the kind I want,” he said. “We haven’t found one. But we do have a device that might make finding one possible. We have teams at the various damage sites”—he was already using euphemistic language himself—“searching for the machines. I was there myself until I was called back here, a move that the general probably regrets.”
There was laughter all around. Maddox even smiled.
“We can disagree, Dr. Cross, but your opinion is extremely valuable to this Project,” she said.
“Thanks,” he said. “Statistically, we should find more than one nanomachine—enough were left to form a fossilized record in the past—so it’s only a matter of time. The key is, the sooner we find one of these things, the more time we have to study the aliens’ technology. And if we’re going to defeat them, we’re going to defeat them through knowledge, not guesswork.”
“That said,” Maddox said, “does the South American team have information from the downed alien craft?”
On the vid screen in front of them, one of the men sitting at the South American conference table stood up. He folded his hands together and nodded toward someone off the monitor.
That someone, a man, joined him. Both men were thin and wore dark suits. They could almost have been twins if it weren’t for one man’s thick head of hair, and the other’s baldness.
“We have just begun work on the ships,” the first man said. “We have very little by way of preliminary findings, only that it was not what we expected.”
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