Her husband was fumbling with the camera and lenses. "I can't get this damn thing on," he muttered.
Distractedly, she turned and helped him change the lens. When she looked again, the light in the sky had doubled in size, and was still growing.
She cocked her head suddenly. Now, what was that? Music, echoing over the water? There was a strange quality to it; it sounded as though it were emanating from the water rather than over it. The whales? That didn't seem right. It was faint and garbled, but it sounded like symphonic music.
Her husband fiddled urgently with the camera, and she stood behind him, saying nothing, as the music swelled in volume and the patch of light grew.
Five minutes later, a full quarter of the sky was afire.
* * *
The night watchman may have been the first on the island to notice the peculiar phenomenon. Weary of sitting in his booth, he had gone out for a stroll along the seawall to check the moorings.
It was the music that he noticed first, but that, he assumed, was merely a loud stereo from one of the neighboring buildings . . . only there were no neighboring buildings, except for the marine biology lab, and that was locked up and empty. Where the hell was it coming from, then? Echoing off the water? It was a familiar piece, something he'd heard before, maybe at the symphony. No doubt it was a boat offshore; sound could play amazing tricks over water.
Descending the steps of the south breakwall, he chanced to look up over his shoulder toward the north and west. He stumbled and caught the railing, forgetting all about music. There was a light in the sky, something far off above the horizon that looked as though it were alive—crawling in the sky, with violet and green flames twisting through it. The watchman clutched the silver cross and chain around his neck and swallowed hard, whispering a silent prayer. A spacecraft must have broken up on reentry. It had finally happened; it had been waiting to happen. What a terrible way to die, broken and burned and scattered across the sky!
After a few moments, he started to change his mind. The light wasn't moving; and instead of dissipating like debris, it was growing in intensity, and expanding. Could it be the Northern Lights? He'd seen them once years ago, in the Navy, on Arctic patrol. This didn't look quite right, though—and anyway, he'd never heard of them this close to the equator.
He scratched his neck uncomfortably, and then something popped into his head, a newscast he remembered from, Lord, months ago. He hadn't paid it much heed at the time, but there'd been some scientist claiming to have received messages from aliens, on their way to Earth.
That seemed awfully far-fetched. A light in the sky didn't mean that aliens had come to invade.
The watchman turned the thought over in his mind a few times, and then bolted for the telephone.
* * *
At the Guam Naval Air Station, the meteorological team was working frantically, and futilely, to provide an explanation for the atmospheric phenomenon. Lieutenant Commander Andrews peered over the shoulder of a young radar operator and frowned. "Are you picking anything up?" he asked.
"No sir," said the operator. "Nothing except that storm front to the west."
The commander's scowl deepened as he turned to the communications console. "Here are the reports," the com-officer said, running his finger down the log. "Maybe you can make sense of it. I can't. Weather ship Bristol reports apparent ionospheric activity. Flights 231 and 179 both report negative on that; they think it's above the atmosphere."
"Have you raised Argus yet?" Andrews said.
The com-officer nodded and moved his finger down the page. "LEO-Station Argus observed nothing unusual, even when they passed directly over the center of activity on last orbit. However, there's a report from GEO-Four of a dense tachyon influx in the near-Earth environment."
"Are they offering that as an explanation?"
"No, sir. Just an observation."
As Andrews was about to turn away, the officer raised a hand to stop him. "Something else coming in now, sir." He made several adjustments, then added, "It's from Pearl. Advisory notice." A message appeared on one of the monitors, as a hardcopy began scrolling out. The com-officer was silent for several seconds before saying, as Andrews read it for himself, "Pacific fleet has been ordered to alert status."
Andrews stared at the printout for a long moment before reaching for the telephone.
* * *
The crowd outside the temple was well into the hundreds now, and swelling. The priests stood outside the doors, watching the lights in the sky with everyone else. One of the priests had just been on the phone to his superiors in Xiangfan, where matters were deemed more serious. Reports had come in from Shanghai of scattered outbreaks of panic throughout the eastern Asian continent. Of greater concern, emergency councils were being called in Beijing, Tokyo, New Delhi, and throughout the West. Was this going to be the start of the world's next Terrible Mistake?
The crowd here seemed unperturbed. They were chanting peaceably, their voices now louder than the strange music that resonated distantly out of the hills. Children were laughing and pointing, delighting in each new change in the pattern of lights that filled the heavens.
The priests glanced at each other, and exchanged nods. Whatever was happening, at least here, it would surely be pleasing to the Buddha.
* * *
"1812 Overture," Jimmy said, his face in the grass. "That's what it is. Tchaikovsky." Jimmy was a classical music freak. He was also stoned, which perhaps accounted in part for the music that he heard echoing, probably across a very long distance, to the deserted hillside. "It's by Tchaikovsky. Do you hear it?"
"Jimmy, look up there," Kelly said dreamily, pointing to the stars, as she exhaled a lungful of smoke.
Jim laughed, forgetting the music as he raised his head. "I'd rather look at this," he said, reaching toward her left breast. She was wearing a denim shirt, which he hadn't yet succeeded in getting unbuttoned. His fingers twitched over the modest-sized bulge in her chest.
She giggled and slapped his hand away. "Come on, Jimmy, you're missing it. Look up there."
He laughed and copped a quick, light feel before taking the joint from her. He rolled over on his back, blinked as he took a drag, and sat up choking. The southeastern portion of the sky was filled with ghostly fire. "What's that?" he gasped. He peered at Kelly. She was smiling woozily up into the heavens.
He leaned back on his elbows and took another toke. "Whooee. I don't believe this." Patches of crimson and cyan were glowing high in the sky to the west. The light grew as he watched, until it seemed to encircle the hillside. He turned and yelled to his left, "Hey, Mike and Lorrie, what was in those cookies? You see what we see?"
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. Marsh
all 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.
Chapter 66
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 ag
ainst 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—"
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