The Forge of God

by Greg Bear

  Ormandy, in his middle forties and balding, wore black pants and a gray dress shirt. His face was bland, almost childlike, but alert. His greeting was perfunctory. The driver closed the door and they were alone in the small, spare room.

  Ormandy suggested he take an armchair by a circular table near the window. Hicks sat, watching the man closely. Ormandy seemed reluctant to get down to business, but since he could obviously manufacture no small talk, he turned abruptly and said, "Mr. Hicks, I have become very confused in the past few weeks. Do you know what is happening? Can you explain it to me?"

  "Surely the President—"

  "I'd like you to explain it to me. In clear language. The President is surrounded by experts, if you know what I mean."

  Hicks drew his lips together and leaned his head to one side, organizing his words. "I assume you mean the spacecraft."

  "Yes, yes, the invasion," Ormandy said.

  "If it is an invasion." Now he was being overly cautious, reluctant to be pushed into conclusions.

  "What is it?" Ormandy's eyes were childlike in their openness, willing to be taught.

  "To put it bluntly, it seems that we've fallen in the path of automatons, robots, seeking to destroy our planet."

  "Could mere machines do such a thing?" Ormandy asked.

  "I do not know. Not human-made machines."

  "These are Godlike powers you're discussing."

  "Yes." Hicks started to rise. "I've been over all this with the President. I do not see the point in bringing me here, when you've advised the President to act contrary to—"

  "Please sit. Be patient with me. I'm hardly the ogre you all think I am. I am way out of my depth, and just two nights ago, that really came home to me. I've talked with the President, and made my conclusions known to him . . . But I have not been at all sure of myself."

  Hicks sat back slowly. "Then I presume you have specific questions."

  "I do. What would it take to destroy the Earth? Would it be significantly harder than, say, destroying this place called Europa?"

  "Yes," Hicks said. "It would take much more energy to destroy the Earth."

  "Would it be done all at once, a cataclysm? Or could it begin in one place, spread out, like a war?"

  "I don't really know."

  "Could it begin first in the Holy Land?"

  "There don't seem to be any bogeys in the Holy Land," Hicks said dryly.

  Ormandy acknowledged that with a nod, his frown deepening. "Could there be a way of saying, scientifically, whether aliens can be considered angels?"

  "No," Hicks said, smiling at the absurdity. But Ormandy did not see the absurdity.

  "Could they be acting on behalf of a higher authority?"

  "If they are indeed robots, as they seem to be, then I presume they are acting on the authority of biological beings somewhere. But we can't even be sure of that. Civilizations based on mechanical—"

  "What about creatures that have gone beyond biology —creatures of light, eternal beings?"

  Hicks shrugged. "Speculation," he said.

  Ormandy's childlike face exhibited intense agitation. "I am way out of my depth here, Mr. Hicks. This is not clear-cut. We're certainly not dealing with angels with flaming swords. We're not dealing with anything predicted in apocalyptic literature."

  "Not in religious literature," Hicks corrected.

  "I don't read science fiction much," Ormandy said pointedly.

  "More's the pity."

  Ormandy smirked. "And I'm not in the mood to cross knives with you or anybody else. What I'm saying is, I'm not sure I can present this to my people in a way they'll understand. If I tell them it's God's will . . . How can I be sure of that?"

  "As you said, there seem to be Godlike forces at work," Hicks offered. Perverse, perverse!

  "My people still think in terms of angels and demons, Mr. Hicks. They dearly love halos of light and brilliancies, thrones and powers and dominations. They eat it up. They're like children. And no one can deny there is beauty and power in that kind of theology. But this . . . This is cold and political, deceptive, and I don't feel comfortable attributing such deception to God. If this is a work of Satan, or of Satan's forces, then . . . The President, with my help, I admit, is about to make a tremendous mistake."

  "Can you get him to change his mind?" Hicks asked, less eagerly than he might have.

  "I doubt it. Remember, he called me, not the other way around. That's why I say I'm out of my depth. I'm not so proud I can't admit that."

  "Have you told him your misgivings?"

  "No. We haven't met since I . . . became unsure."

  "Are you fixed in a theological interpretation?"

  "Emotionally, by all that my parents and teachers handed down to me, I must believe that God intervenes in all our affairs."

  "What you're saying, Mr. Ormandy, is that when push comes to shove, and the end of the world comes on apace, you no longer yearn for apocalypse?"

  Ormandy said nothing, but his frown intensified. He held out his beseeching hands, ambiguous, opinion fixed neither one way nor the other.

  "Can you talk to the President again, at least try to get him to change his mind?" Hicks asked.

  "I wish he'd never involved me," Ormandy said. He hung his head back and massaged his neck muscles with both hands. "But I'll try."

  27

  November 5

  Arthur was in a late night conference with astronomers in Washington, discussing the appearance of the ice objects and their possible connection with Europa, when word came that William D. Crockerman was projected to win election as President of the United States. Nobody was surprised. Beryl Cooper conceded the next morning, at one A.M., while the conference was still proceeding:

  No conclusion was reached by the astronomers at the meeting. If the ice chunks had come from Europa, which seemed undeniable given their paths and composition, then their present almost straight-line orbits had to be artificial, and some connection with the extraterrestrials could be assumed. The facts were clear enough: both were fresh, almost pure water-ice; the smaller of the two, barely 180 kilometers in diameter, was traveling at a velocity of some 20 kilometers per second and would strike Mars on December 21, 1996; the larger, some 250 kilometers in diameter, was traveling at about 37 kilometers per second and would strike Venus on February 4, 1997. Whatever had caused Europe's destruction had not warmed the objects substantially, perhaps because ablation had carried away the heat. Both were quite cold and would lose little of their mass to vaporization by the sun's energy. Consequently, neither would show much of a cometary coma, and both would be visible only to sharp-eyed observers with telescopes or high-powered binoculars.

  Arthur left Washington the next day, convinced that his team now had solid evidence for making a connection. He had sufficient time, he thought, to prepare a case and present it to Crockerman, that all of these events were linked, and that some grand strategy could now be worked out.

  He could not convince himself the President-elect would listen, however.

  November 10

  Major Mary Rigby, the latest in their series of duty officers, buzzed them all at six-thirty in the morning to listen to the radio. Shaw bunched his pillows up and sat in his cot as "Hail to the Chief played—a true Crockerman touch—and the Speaker of the House listened gravely to the announcement of the appearance of the Presidentelect of the United States.

  "Maybe the old fart's going to write our ticket out of here," Minelli said, his voice raspy from a night of protests and shouting. Minelli was not doing well at all. This infuriated Edward. But cold, subdued fury had been his state of mind for the last two weeks. This experience was going to leave all of them warped in one way or another. Reslaw and Morgan said very little anymore.

  "Mr. Speaker, honorable members of the House of Representatives, fellow citizens," the President began. "I have called this emergency conference after weeks-of deep thought, and many hours of consultation with trusted advisors and experts. I have
an extraordinary announcement to make, and a perhaps even more extraordinary request.

  "You have no doubt been following with as much interest as I the events taking place in Australia. These events in the beginning seemed to bring hope to our stricken planet, the hope of Godlike intervention from outside, of those who would act to save us from ourselves. We began to feel that perhaps our difficulties were indeed only those of a young species, faltering in its early footsteps. Now these hopes have been dashed, and we find ourselves in even deeper confusion.

  "My sympathies lie with Prime Minister Stanley Miller of Australia. The loss of the three messengers from outer space, and the mystery surrounding their destruction— perhaps self-destruction—is a deep shock to us all. But it is time to confess that it has been less of a shock to me and to a number of my advisors. For we have been following a similar series of events within our own country, kept secret until now for reasons which will soon become clear."

  Disembarking from a shuttle bus at Los Angeles International Airport, on his way to Death Valley and then to Oregon for three days' rest, Arthur entered a lounge area to await his taxi and heard the President's voice. He sat before a color television with eleven other travelers, his face ashen. He's jumping the gun.

  "Late last September, three young geologists discovered a hill in the desert not far from Death Valley, in California. The hill was not on their maps. Near this hill they found an extraterrestrial being, an individual in ill health. They brought this individual to a nearby desert town and notified authorities. The extraterrestrial being—"

  Trevor Hicks listened from his Washington hotel room, the remains of breakfast spread on a serving tray at the foot of the bed. Just yesterday, he had learned that Mrs. Crockerman had moved to her flat permanently. Later that afternoon, he had heard the first rumors of David Rotterjack's resignation.

  The President-elect's version of what happened in the Vandenberg laboratory was clear enough; he could find no fault so far.

  "... And as I spoke with this being, this visitor from another world, the story it told me was chilling. I have never been so deeply and emotionally affected in my life. It spoke of a journey across ages, of the death of its home world, and of the agency of this destruction—the very vehicle which had brought it to Earth, now landed in Death Valley and disguised as a volcanic cinder cone."

  Ithaca called Harry in from the bathroom, where he had just finished taking his shower. She wrapped him in a thick terry robe as he stood before the television, feeling how warm his skin was. "Great fucking birds flapping in the air," he breathed.

  "What?" Ithaca asked.

  "He's making the announcement now. Listen to him. Just listen to him."

  "When I asked the Guest if it believed in God, it replied .in a steady, certain voice, 'I believe in punishment.' " The President paused, staring across the fully attended house. "My dilemma, and the dilemma of all my advisors, military and civilian, and of all our scientists, was simple. Could we believe that our extraterrestrial visitor and the visitors in Australia were linked? They told such different stories ..."

  There was a knock on Trevor's door. He closed his robe and hurried to open it, hardly even seeing who was outside, his attention still focused on the television.

  "Hicks, I owe you an apology." It was Carl McClennan, dressed in a raincoat and clutching a bottle of something wrapped in a brown paper bag. "That's him, isn't it?"

  "Yes, come in, come in." Hicks didn't bother to ask why McClennan was here.

  "I've resigned," McClennan said. "I read his speech last night. The bastard wouldn't listen to any of us."

  "Shhh," Hicks said, holding his finger to his lips.

  "I wish that I brought news of some comforting solution to all who listen to me today. But I do not. I have never been a faithful churchgoer. Still, within myself I have held my own faith, and thought it wise, as the leader of this nation, not to impose this faith on others who might disagree. Now, however, through these extraordinary events, I have had my faith altered, and I can no longer keep silent. I believe we face incontrovertible evidence, proof if you will, that our days are numbered, and that our time on Earth—the time of the Earth itself—will soon be at an end. I have sought advice from those with more spiritual experience than I, and they have counseled me. I now believe that we are facing the Apocalypse predicted in the Revelation of John, and that on Earth, the forces of good and evil have made themselves known. Whether these forces be angels and demons, or extraterrestrials, seems to be of no importance whatsoever. I could say that I have spoken with an angel, but that does not seem literally true—"

  "He's even departing from his text. Damn him," McClennan shouted, sitting with a bounce on the bed next to Hicks. "Doesn't he understand what he's unleashing? What social—"

  "Please," Hicks admonished.

  "I can only conclude that in some fashion, our history on Earth has been judged, and we have been found inadequate. Whether the flaw lies in our bodies, or in our minds, it is clear that the history of human existence does not satisfy the Creator, and that He is working to wipe the slate clean, and begin again. To do this, He has sent mighty machines, mighty forces which could begin, at any moment, to heat this Earth in God's forge, and beat it to pieces on a heavenly anvil."

  The President paused again. Raised voices on the floor of Congress threatened to drown him out, and the Speaker had to rap his gavel many long minutes. The camera pulled back to show Crockerman surrounded by a phalanx of Secret Service men, their faces grim, trying to look in all directions at once.

  "Please," the President pleaded. "I must conclude."

  The noise finally subsided. Sporadic shouts of anger and disbelief rose from the representatives.

  "I can only say to my people, and the inhabitants of Earth, that the time has come for us all to pray fervently for salvation, in whatever form it might come, whether we can expect it or not, or even whether we truly deserve salvation. The Forge of God cannot be appeased, but perhaps there is hope for each of us, in our private thoughts, to make peace with God, and find a way out from under the blows of His anger and disappointment."

  Sitting in the airport lounge, a woman weeping softly beside him, several men loudly arguing with each other and the television screen, Arthur Gordon could only think of Francine and Martin.

  "All hell's going to break loose," a bulky middle-aged black man shouted as he stalked out of the lounge.

  "We'd better not fly now," a young man told the pregnant girl, hardly more than a teenager, sitting next to him. "They should ground all flights."

  Trying to stay calm, angry at how deeply the speech had affected him, Arthur made his way through the morning crowds to an airline counter to again check his reservations to Las Vegas.

  McClennan had stopped his tirade of swearing and now stood by the blank television, fumbling at a cigarette and lighter. He still wore his raincoat. Hicks had not moved from the edge of the bed.

  "I'm sorry," McClennan said. "Christ, I haven't smoked in five years. I'm a goddamned disgrace."

  "What will you do, now that you've resigned?" Hicks asked. What an amazing situation. Straight inside line on this story.

  McClennan gave up on the cigarette in disgust. He flung it into the hotel ashtray, on top of an unused book of matches, and more gently lay his plastic lighter beside it. "I suppose the President will appoint replacements for David and myself. I imagine Schwartz will stay on. I imagine just about everybody will stay on." McClennan looked at Hicks with suspicion. "And you'll write about all of it, won't you?"

  "I suppose I might, in the long run."

  "Do you think he's crazy?" McClennan asked, pointing at the blank screen.

  Hicks considered the question. "No."

  "Do you think ..." and here the rage returned, making McClennan's hands tremble, "he's violating his oath of office, to carry out the United States Constitution and promote the general welfare?"

  "He's calling them as he sees them," Hicks said. "He thi
nks the end of the world is at hand."

  "Christ, even if it is . . ." McClennan pulled out the desk chair and sat down slowly. "He's in trouble. He's showing his weakness. I wouldn't be surprised if there's a move now to block the inauguration, or to impeach him."

  "On what grounds?" Hicks asked.

  "Incompetence. Failure to promote the general welfare. Hell, I don't know ..."

  "Has he done anything illegal?"

  "We've never had a President go nuts in office. Not since Nixon, anyway. But then, you think he isn't nuts. Listen, he disagreed with you, even after he brought you into the inner circle . . . What is he trying to do?"

  Hicks had already answered that question, after a fashion, and saw no reason to do it again.

  "All right," McClennan said. "What he's doing, what it all comes down to, is he's surrendering without a single shot being fired. We have no idea what these . . . bastards, these machines, these aliens, can do. We can't even be sure they're here to destroy the Earth. Is that even possible? Can you tear a world apart, or kill everything on its surface?"

  "We ourselves can kill all life on Earth, if we so choose," Hicks reminded him.

  "Yes, but the Guest talked about leaving nothing but rubble behind. Is that possible?"

  "I suppose it is. You'd have to unleash enough energy to place most of the Earth's mass into orbit about itself, so to speak, or to give it escape velocity. That's an awful lot of energy."

  "How much? Could we do it?"

  "I don't think so. Not with all the nuclear weapons we have now. We couldn't even begin to."

  "How advanced would a . . . Jesus, a civilization have to be to do that?"

  Hicks shrugged. "If we posit a straight line of development from where we are now, with the rate of major breakthroughs increasing, perhaps a century, perhaps two."

  "Could we fight them off? If they have that ability?"

  Hicks shook his head, uncertain. McClennan took the answer for a negative. "So he calls them as he sees them. No way out. What if they aren't here to destroy the Earth, just to confuse us, set us back, keep us from competing . . . You know, like we might have done to the Japanese, if we'd known what they'd put us through, in the twentieth century ... ?"