The Trojan Horse

by Christopher Nuttall

  Let us consider the possibilities for a moment. The aliens are steadily taking over the minds of our top officials – and doing it in a manner that makes it very difficult to detect, let alone prevent. It will not be long before the country’s government is partly under alien control, or perhaps completely under alien control. Think about it – how could a soldier know that he was receiving orders from the legitimate government, or a government controlled by alien dupes and drones? And how could he solve the dilemma when you consider that both forms of government may be combined in a single unit?

  I have attached a list of known people who have visited alien bases. In the absence of any real test for ‘pod people,’ I am forced to recommend that anyone who has visited an alien base be considered guilty until proven innocent. It is possible that a more advanced medical scan of their brains would uncover what was done to them and maybe even reverse it. It is certain that refusing to heed this threat will have disastrous results for human security, even survival.

  You think not? Consider this – we just buried the Vice President, and saw the Secretary of State installed in his place. Guess who has spent time in an alien base? That’s right – the Secretary of State! And if that isn't enough, let me ask you a second question. The Vice President was travelling on the most famous – and well-protected – airliner in the world. Air Force One was not intercepted by a flight of Chinese fighter jets; no terrorists lurked with portable missile launchers on beautiful Pacific islands to take a pot-shot at Air Force One. The detonation that destroyed the plane was a bomb, all the experts agree – and yet how did it get through the security cordon?

  Those who blame the attack on Islamic Terrorists refuse to ask how three Muslim crewmen managed to get a bomb onto the plane. They died in the explosion, so we will never know for sure – but I believe that the security was extensive enough to prevent anyone from getting a bomb aboard. The Secretary of State (now the Vice President) has been pushing the blame onto right-wing terrorist militias, yet they would still face the same problem. It’s worth saying again; Air Force One is the most heavily protected plane in the world. Any terrorists who could get a bomb through security would have waited for the President himself. Taking out the Vice President just isn't going to cut it.

  Hundreds of terrorist groups have claimed responsibility for the blast, yet none of them have provided any proof. And the FBI has turned up no real leads, according to my sources. The destruction of Air Force One may be an unsolvable mystery.

  I ask again – who benefits?

  There are those who would tell you that anyone who writes a post such as this one cannot be trusted – after all, I’m not telling you who I am. But I am telling you that I know this for a fact, and I am trying to warn you. If you heed my words, don’t trust your computers or cell phones. They can listen to you through your most trusted possessions. Watch your back at all times.

  They killed General Thomas. They won't have any hesitation about trying to kill you.

  Good luck – and God bless America.

  Jayne nodded as she reached the final section. It was alarmist, but at least anyone who reached the bottom would be warned about the dangers. And it was well to remind everyone that the country had been through tough times before and had come through them for the better.

  Picking up the sheets of paper, she headed over to the scanner. Once the document was saved and moved to a USB disc, she would take it to an internet cafe and have it uploaded with the help of some software a handful of her seedier friends had put together. It wasn't quite hacking the BAN, but everyone who subscribed to any of the BAN’s blogs would receive a copy. The little program attached to the message would automatically access their email address book, transmit a copy of itself to everyone in their contacts, and then shut down. Given a few hours, it would be all over the world.

  And then she would have to see how the aliens reacted. If they could track her down, she had no doubts about her fate. She’d be as dead as the other poor bastards who’d questioned the aliens, while the world continued on its merry slide towards doom.

  ***

  “Yes, I can confirm that the Junior Ambassador will be visiting your school,” Jason said, rolling his eyes. The frightfully-earnest headmistress had somehow obtained his number and was calling to confirm the arrangements – for the third time. Having a chance to boast that one of the Galactics was visiting her school was a major feather in her cap, assuming that everything went off all right. They’d offered to feed the Galactic visitor, but the Snakes had politely declined. Jason, remembering the food he’d had to eat at school, was privately relieved. They’d probably think that they were being poisoned. “They’re quite looking forward to it.”

  He scowled as he thanked the woman for her call and put down the phone. Nearly a month and a half after First Contact, aliens were still not a common sight in humanity’s cities. Washington had played host to a handful of Galactics on sight-seeing tours, but most of the Galactics seemed disinclined to play tourist. Jason suspected that it was something to do with the crowds that gathered everywhere they went, watching the aliens with wide eyes. He’d heard from one of the cultural experts that westerners in Imperial China had been followed by curious crowds. It seemed likely that humans everywhere were the same, taking interest in novelty.

  The Galactics, for reasons best known to themselves, had offered to send a set of visitors to schools and other educational establishments across the world. They seemed inclined to choose at random, finally deciding to send a representative to a school for young children in Washington. The oldest child was twelve, Jason had discovered while he’d been busy surfing the internet for details; they’d never have seen a live alien in the flesh. They’d probably wet themselves the moment they met the bright red eyes that marked the aliens as utterly inhuman.

  “Twits,” he commented, sourly. The Welcome Foundation seemed to rely on paperwork; paperwork on alien activities, paperwork on alien technology and – ever popular – a list of applicants to visit the alien ships, once they finally agreed to allow humans to travel into space on one of their shuttles. Jason knew that hundreds of interns had been hired to help handle the paperwork, but most of them had been delayed until they’d been vetted by the FBI. The Witnesses in particular had refused to cooperate, seemingly convinced that they were being singled out for investigation. They might have been right.

  He glanced up in surprise as the door opened and an alien inched into the room. They did move like humanoid snakes. He’d started to learn how to tell the difference between individual aliens, but this alien was a newcomer, wearing a simple gray tunic that was devoid of rank badges. It hardly mattered; they still hadn't deduced what each rank badge meant, leaving them uncertain who or what they were dealing with.

  The door closed behind the alien as he came forward and placed a device on Jason’s desk. There was a faint click, followed by an uncomfortable sensation in Jason’s ear, as if he was on a plane that was steadily rising ever higher in the atmosphere. The alien sat down and stared at him with bright red eyes. Jason had read endless reports that speculated that the alien homeworld was actually some distance from its primary star, but he didn't really care. Familiarity had bred the awareness that it was still fucking creepy.

  “There are no communications devices active in this room,” the alien hissed. The voice was so incoherent that it took Jason a moment to understand what he had said. And then he realised that the alien wasn't using a voder. He was talking with his inhuman mouth, somehow making the words despite an oddly-shaped snout and very sharp teeth. “They cannot hear us.”

  Jason stared, wondering if he’d heard correctly. “Who...who is listening to us?”

  “Your people and my people,” the alien said. “Nothing happens in this building that they do not hear. Everything you do is recorded and studied for analysis. You must be very careful what you say in this place.”

  Jason tried to think. His mind insisted on reminding him of all the times h
e’d gone to the toilet in the building, or of all the times he’d taken a shower...the aliens would have watched everything. It was absurd to believe that the aliens might be interested in his naked body, but his mind refused to accept it. They’d been watching everything...

  Cold ice flared along his veins, reminding him of his duty. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because you must understand the danger,” the alien said. His red eyes seemed to widen slightly, although the expression on the scaly face was unreadable. But his words forced Jason to concentrate on him, without any real awareness of his alien nature. “Your world is in terrible danger. And I want to defect.”

  Jason gritted his teeth. He’d have to call Sanderson...

  “What danger?” He demanded. If the world was in danger...dear God, what had he unleashed upon the world? SETI had believed that aliens would be friendly, and yet...the Galactics had hidden much from Earth. “What’s going to happen?”

  “Call your authorities, carefully,” the alien said. “I will speak only to those who are willing to assist me. Take me to your leaders.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Washington DC

  USA, Day 45

  “It’s a beautiful day.”

  Toby turned sharply as Jeannette McGreevy turned from the windows and peered towards him. She looked delighted to see him, which probably boded ill. And was it his imagination, or was there a glint of triumph in her eyes? The newly-confirmed Vice President had barely taken up the position when she had ordered a reshuffling of her staff, including dismissing several of the previous Vice President’s staff, even ones who’d been in Washington for most of their lives. She would soon be surrounded by her faithful. And then what would she do? She was one bad day away from the Presidency itself.

  “Yes, it is,” he agreed. And it was; the sun was shining down on Washington from a clean blue sky. High overhead, he could see the contrail of a fighter jet patrolling the secure airspace surrounding the city. The defences had been surprised once on 9/11. It wasn't going to be allowed to happen again. “The President ordered me to brief you on a number of government programs…”

  McGreevy waved her hand, casually. “We can go over those later,” she said, as if they meant nothing to her. “Right now, I want to know how we’re proceeding with the drawdown. We need to satisfy the Galactic Federation if we are to become an advanced race.”

  Toby kept his face expressionless. Washington was known for a high level of political corruption – with hypocrites and double standards everywhere – but McGreevy was just…the worst he’d ever encountered. She wanted power – the power of the Presidency itself – and she would do anything to get it. Even before the Galactic Federation had arrived, she’d been dangerous; the President had only included her in his Cabinet because it would prevent her from sniping at the Administration from outside. The last thing the party – and the country – needed was a power struggle in dangerous times. And now she had the support of the Galactic Federation. Knowingly or not, she was watched by the aliens at all times. Gillian’s improved detector had shown that there were no less than four bugs on her person and five more scattered through her office.

  “The drawdown is proceeding,” he said. “We’re shipping soldiers back home and discharging them, but we’re still paying their wages for the next three months while they look to find civilian employment. The President has ordered the creation of a number of schemes to keep the former soldiers gainfully employed, but some of those schemes are meeting powerful opposition in Congress. I must add that military morale isn’t particularly high at the moment and that there is a great deal of bad feeling – which will only get worse as the effect of soldiers entering the workforce in large numbers make themselves felt…”

  “That doesn’t matter,” McGreevy informed him. She waved him to a seat and sat down facing him. There was something uncannily intimate about her position. “The important thing is satisfying the Galactic Federation. The Welcome Foundation predicts that we will be in a position to take advantage of the Federation-sponsored economic boom and we will see full employment not long afterwards. And then we will go to the stars.”

  Toby wasn't so sure. All of the projections were based upon factors outside humanity’s control. The research programs had yet to find a way to duplicate alien drive fields – or however they lifted cargos from planetary surfaces to orbit – and without that technology, there were limits to how much could be lifted into space. And if the Galactic Federation refused to share, for whatever reason, the economic depression would become far worse very quickly. And all of that depended upon the Galactic Federation living up to its own words. If they had darker motives in visiting Earth, all of the projections would be useless.

  “So we are told,” he said, neutrally.

  “So we are told,” McGreevy agreed. She looked up at him, her bright eyes fixed on his face. “I’ve been studying your record, Mr Sanderson. You’re quite determined to stay out of the public eye.”

  Toby felt a flicker of unease. Where was this leading? “I find that my work is easier without public recognition,” he said, finally. “I have never sought to be a political leader.”

  “But you have had influence behind the scenes, as it were,” McGreevy pressed. It wasn't really a question. “The President’s campaign was largely run – and won – by you. You were able to create a President who appealed to just enough of the voters to scrape into the White House. He was almost your tame monkey.”

  “The President is his own man,” Toby said, tightly. Even if she’d been entirely accurate, he wouldn’t have said anything else. The Presidency was surrounded by a host of contradictions; Americans disliked strong leaders, and yet they wanted them. Toby suspected that it was because they both wanted someone in charge and yet feared the damage a bad President could do to the country. The President had little power to make things better – a point that was conveniently forgotten by his opponents – but he had a lot of power to make things worse. “I would not presume to advise him on anything.”

  “And yet you do,” McGreevy said. She placed one hand on Toby’s knee, just for a second. “Let’s not mince words. You advise the President on matters political. You serve as his representative on matters that he finds uncomfortable – secret intelligence, for example. You may not be the power behind the throne, but he listens to you – and so do others, who know that you are close to the President.”

  Toby said nothing, waiting to see where she would go. If he’d been as immoral as her, he realised, he would have accepted the unspoken offer immediately. But then, it wouldn’t have been a wise choice. There was no way that McGreevy would trust him so close to her, not completely. It wouldn’t be long before he was removed from his position. An assassination in Washington didn’t have to leave someone injured or dead to be effective. And character assassination was an old art in Washington.

  “I would like you to come and work for me,” McGreevy continued. “Let’s face it; the President is not going to run again. You’ve seen how he’s having trouble coping with the brave new world; I doubt he’d want to remain in his post for another four years. And besides, the National Committee isn’t going to re-nominate him. They’re going to put me forward instead.”

  Toby considered it, thinking hard. The National Committee had quite a few of her supporters sitting on it, but there were also members who hated her, or feared her ambition. And yet…she might be right. Her work with the aliens had won her a large base of support within the party itself, something she could probably parlay into a nomination to run for President. And if the President refused to even try to run again…

  “You may be right,” he conceded. He was mentally running through a list of committee members who could have their arms twisted. Perhaps he could built a counterweight…but it would all depend on the President being willing to stand again. It would be the political catfight of nightmares. The contest between Hilary Clinton and Obama would be nothing in comparison. “Wh
at do you have to offer me if I abandon the President?”

  “Oh, I don’t want you to abandon the President just yet,” McGreevy assured him. “I want you to report to me on his activities…to prove your loyalty, so to speak.”

  And get thrown under a bus when my usefulness runs out, Toby thought, wryly. Knowing McGreevy, it might even be literal. And the aliens had killed the Vice President…

  “I will certainly take it under consideration,” he said, finally. “And I will expect a token of your loyalty in return.”

  McGreevy smiled and they got down to bargaining. Afterwards, Toby felt dirty, even though there was little choice. The resistance would need a spy in the enemy’s camp – and McGreevy was unquestionably the enemy. Toby’s position could make the difference between life and death for millions of people. The thought didn’t help. He still felt dirty.

  He was still fighting the urge to shower when he returned to his office and discovered that one of his phones was blinking alarmingly. Picking it up, he heard a message from Jason Lucas, the Discoverer. He wanted an immediate meeting. Nodding to himself, Toby called back, made the arrangements and then left the office. Whatever it was, it had to be better than worrying about McGreevy’s vaunting ambition, or if he’d sold her his soul.