Quiet Invasion

by Sarah Zettel

  “Yes, Rosa,” said Vee in the tones of a child saying “Yes, Mommy.” She got up meekly and headed for her bathroom. “And shut off the lemons, will you?”

  “Yes, Vee.”

  After her shower, Vee dressed in an outfit she’d bought especially for the interview—wide navy-blue slacks and a matching vest with matte buttons over a sky-blue silk blouse. She stepped into the makeup station and selected a minimalist setting. The mirror glowed gently as it scanned her face and sent color instructions to the waldos, which responded by laying on just a hint of bronze to highlight her cheekbones and jawline, and a touch of deep wine to her lips.

  “Close your eyes please,” said the same too sweet voice that had given the wake-up call. Vee did and felt a quick puff of powder. She opened her eyes. Now her lids had a hint of burgundy coloring and a discreet sheen of gold dust glimmered on her cheeks, the very latest in conservo-chic.

  “Routine complete,” said the station.

  Vee studied herself in the mirror for a minute. It was a good face, with high cheekbones, strong nose, soft chin. Her brows were so pale as to be almost nonexistent. The rest of her was what she called “Nordic swizzle-stick fashion,” very long, very white, and very thin. “Handy for hiding behind flagpoles,” she liked to joke.

  Vee wound her mane of silver-blond hair into a tidy coil and pinned it in place. She selected a scarf that matched her blouse and fastened it so it covered her head but fluttered freely down over her shoulders. She nodded at her reflection, pleased. The effect was businesslike but not stuffy. It said that here was a person to be taken seriously.

  Vee had been stunned when she saw the v-mail message from the Colonial Affairs Committee. She had sat in front of her living room view screen for ten full minutes, playing and replaying the recording.

  “Hello, Dr. Hatch. I’m Edmund Waicek of the United Nations Colonial Affairs Committee Special Work Group on Venus.”

  Good breath-control exercise there, Vee remembered thinking, facetiously. Edmund Waicek was a tall man with red-brown skin and black eyes. A round, beaded cap covered his thick copper hair. His age was indeterminate and his clothing immaculate.

  “As I am sure you are aware, there has been a remarkable discovery made on the world of Venus. We have found what appears to be the remains of an alien base or facility of some kind. Because of the vastly important nature of this development, the C.A.C. has decided to assemble a team of specialists to examine and evaluate the discovery.” He leaned forward and flashed a smile full of carefully calculated sincerity. “We have reviewed your academic record and subsequent accomplishments, and we would like to invite you to participate in the interview process to see if you can take your place on this historic mission.” His expression grew solemn. “We will need your answer by Tuesday the eighteenth at 9 A.M., your local time. Thank you for your attention to this matter. I look forward to meeting you.”

  The Discovery on Venus. Of course Vee had heard of it. It was a solid indication that there had once been alien life inside the solar system, an idea that had been given up on years before Vee had even been born. When she was feeling cynical, she would tell herself it was nothing more than three holes in the ground. Except it was. It was three holes in the ground dug by nothing human, and they had left behind what everyone was certain was a laser, or maybe it was a laser component of a larger machine.

  It was that laser they wanted her to go up and take a look at. Well, they wanted someone to go up and take a look at it, and her name, somehow, had made the short list

  Veronica Hatch, science popularizer, temperamental artiste, and noted personality. The U.N. was setting all that aside and going back to the part of her that was Dr. Hatch, the part that had patents and papers and could do actual work.

  “Vee?” came Rosa’s voice.

  Vee realized she hadn’t moved. She was just standing there, staring at the reflection of a serious, competent stranger, and clenching her fists.

  “Coming.” Vee smoothed out her veil and turned away from the mirror.

  Rosa was in the sitting room, drinking what was probably her second cup of coffee. How she could suck that stuff down on an empty stomach Vee had never known. Rosa had selected a tunic and skirt suit in shades of forest green with emerald trim and a pale, silver scarf to cover her black hair. She looked Vee up and down and gave a small nod of approval as Vee twirled on her toes to show herself off.

  “Very nice.” Rosa drained her mug. “Do you want to order in, or go out for breakfast?”

  “Would you mind if we dropped by the Coral Sea? I promised Nikki.”

  Rosa made a face. “That place is overdone.”

  “Hey.” Vee drew herself up indignantly. “I helped design the effects on that place, thank you very much.”

  “And you overdid it.” Rosa stood up. “In your usual stylish, trend-setting way.” She grabbed her briefcase off the couch. “Let’s hit the deck, shall we?”

  Vee and Rosa took a glide-walk up through the layers of the Ashecroft Hotel to the main pedestrian deck and the clean, clear, Pacific day. U.N. City had been built during the first decade of what some people still called the Takeover. The Takeover happened halfway through the 2100s, when the United Nations went from being a pack of squabbling diplomats to a genuine world-governing body. Because national feeling still ran very high back then, it was decided that the seat of world government would not be given to any one country. It would float around the world on the oceans. The mobility created some trouble with time zones, but that was deemed a minor problem compared to the endless bickering caused by the debate over where to put the capital of the world.

  The city itself was huge. Toward its center, you couldn’t even tell you were on the ocean. Ashecroft was in the fashionable edge district however, and the first thing Vee saw when they emerged was sunlight sparkling cheerfully on the broad, blue Pacific. In the distance she could just make out three of the cordon ships that sailed in a ring around the city, serving as escort and border guard.

  On the main deck, U.N. City was wide awake and in full swing. Crowds of people swarmed between the buildings and the parks. Their skins were every color, from snow white to midnight black. They wore all styles and colors of clothing and every possible level of body enhancement, both organic and mechanical. Some drifted between the boutiques, studying the holo-displays that took the place of windows. Some strolled along the city’s sculpted rail looking out at the calm, sapphire ocean, maybe hoping to see dolphins or, better yet, whales. Some just hurried from glide-walk mouth to glide-walk mouth, catching a few precious moments of sunlight between meetings and appointments down in the heart of the city.

  How many of them are hustling to something related to the Venus Discovery? Vee felt a twinge of guilt at being happy for U.N. City’s restrictive public assembly policies. You could barely move in Chicago without tripping over another “citizens meeting” or “public discussion” about Venus’s underground chambers and their contents and what, if anything, should be done about them.

  The Coral Sea Cafe was a few blocks from the railing, nestled in the corner between one of the observation towers and the Council of Tourism Welcome Center. The mirrored door scanned them both, found them admissible, and slid itself open. Vee stepped into the undersea-scaped interior with its wavery, water-scattered light, which she had fine-tuned for them. Schools of tropical fish swam lazily across the walls. The chairs and tables mimicked rounded stones or coral outcroppings.

  “Just too-too,” murmured Rosa. Vee slapped her shoulder.

  A woman almost as tall and thin as Vee emerged from the office door, probably alerted to their arrival by the door. She looked like she was in her mid-twenties, but Vee knew she was using body-mod to keep middle age firmly at bay. Not even forty, Nikki had already waved her rights to children and signed up for long-life.

  Nothing like knowing what you want.

  A circle of blue glass shone in the middle of Nikki’s forehead, probably concealing a personal sc
anner and database to let her know just who she was dealing with.

  “Vee!” Nikki cried happily.

  “Nikki!” Vee exclaimed, embracing the woman with the expected level of fervor. “Love the third eye. You look great.”

  “And you look”—Nikki pulled back just a little—“subdued.”

  “Ah.” Vee held up one, long finger. “Someone’s actually vetting me for a science job today.”

  Nikki’s smile grew conspiratorial. “This is about the Venus thing, isn’t it? I heard your name on the lists.”

  “Well surely, nothing important can happen without my name on it,” announced Vee regally.

  “Surely, dear, surely,” said Nikki, grasping Vee’s hand.

  Rosa coughed.

  “Oh, right. Nikki, breakfast? Clock’s ticking.”

  “Of course, dear.” Nikki ushered them to a corner room shaped like a supposedly cosy undersea grotto. “I’ll have your waiter over three seconds ago.”

  “There’s a relativity problem there, Nikki,” said Vee as she slid into her seat.

  “What?” Nikki’s face went politely blank.

  “Science joke. Never mind.” Vee smiled sunnily. “Have to get back into practice.”

  “Of course. Good luck, Vee.” Nikki squeezed her shoulder and breezed away.

  Rosa was looking at her. “What?” asked Vee.

  Rosa picked up her napkin and made a great show of smoothing it across her lap. “It just never ceases to amaze me how fast you drop into the artiste persona.”

  “Hey.” Vee stabbed the table with one finger. “That persona has kept us both living very comfortably. I wouldn’t complain.”

  “Never,” said Rosa flatly. “Just commenting.” She called up the menu from the tabletop display and began examining it.

  The cafe was tony enough to have real humans as servers, but, fortunately, not so over-the-top as to put them in any form of swimwear. Rosa and Vee ordered coffee, white tea, rolls, and fruit cups from a young man in the ultratraditional server’s black-and-white uniform.

  When he left, Rosa jacked her briefcase into the table and unfolded the view screen.

  “How’re we doing today?” Vee asked. If Rosa heard her, she gave no sign. She just skimmed the display and shuffled the icons.

  “Your money’s good,” Rosa said at last. “The family trusts are percolating along nicely, and I think we’re going to be able to put Kitty through college without a problem.”

  “Same as yesterday.”

  “Same as yesterday,” agreed Rosa. “Want to see the latest on the Discovery?”

  Vee shrugged, trying to be casual about it. “Might as well see what I’m getting into.” Inside, her stomach began to flutter and she wondered where breakfast was. Food might help settle her down, except all of a sudden she wasn’t hungry.

  Rosa lit the back of the screen so Vee could follow along and called up her favorite news service.

  The lead stories all came under the heading of The Discovery on Venus, as they had for the past month. Today was a pretty light news day. Only three new stories had been added since Vee checked it last night. Rosa touched the title Venus Colonists Say No Help Needed and the Silent option. The main menu vanished, and the text and video story unfolded in front of them.

  Sources at Venera Base, home to the incredible discovery of what may be signs of alien life on Venus [long-range, color-enhanced picture of the spherical settlement with its airfoil tail floating through billowing clouds], are saying that the governing board strongly resents the formation of the new United Nations subcommittee on Venus. The governing board insists that the Venerans already in residence have sufficient expertise to deal with this most unexpected find.

  While Dr. Helen Failia, founder of the base and head of Venera’s Board of Directors [video clip of a short, gray-haired woman with a severe face giving a lecture to a group of what looked like college students], still refuses comment, sources close to the board say that petitions have been filed to render the Discovery [dissolve to the now familiar glowing hatchway] proprietary to the funding universities and therefore outside the realm of government probes or restrictions.

  Dr. Bennet Godwin [jump cut to a split picture with a still shot of an iron-gray-haired man with permanent windburn in one half, and a hardsuited figure standing on a yellowish-red cliff in the other half], also on Venera’s board, had this comment [the man’s picture flickered to life].

  “We welcome all serious research into any aspect of the world of Venus. That’s what Venera Base is here for. What we cannot welcome, or tolerate, is interference by nonscientists in what is a scientific inquiry [the face froze].”

  Dr. Godwin later issued the following clarification of his statement [the face flickered to life again, but now much more rigid and controlled]. “When I said nonscientists, obviously I meant unauthorized or inexpert personnel. This discovery is of massive importance to all humanity, and its investigation must be conducted in the open with all available assistance and resources.”

  “Who got you to add that disclaimer?” murmured Rosa, picking up her newly arrived cup of coffee and sipping it appreciatively. Vee swallowed some of the peach-flavored tea and poked at a strawberry in her fruit cup. The scent of fresh fruit and baked goods was failing to bring back her appetite in a rather spectacular fashion.

  She read on.

  When asked what he thought about Dr. Godwin’s comment, Edmund Waicek [dissolve to the same man who had sent Vee her interview invitation], spokesman for the newly formed U.N. Work Group on Venus, said only, “We are glad that Dr. Godwin and the rest of the members of Venera Base realize how important openness and cooperation are at this historic time. This discovery affects the whole of humanity. Humanity’s elected representatives need to assist in its uncovering and understanding.”

  “Mmmph.” Rosa buttered a croissant and bit into it Vee drank a little more tea, trying to get her stomach to open up enough that she’d actually be able to get some food down. The only thing that little piece made clear was that there was animosity between Venera Base and the U.N. That did not bode well, and Venera was probably going to live to regret it. It also meant she was walking into a hornets’ nest, which made it even less likely that a controversial candidate would get the job.

  “Eat, Vee,” ordered Rosa. “You’re not doing either of us any favors if you go in there on edge.”

  Vee obediently munched on strawberries, kiwis, mango, and pineapple. But she couldn’t make herself face the rolls. Instead, she watched Rosa’s screen. The other two stories were public-reaction sensation videos. One showed a public meeting in good old free-speech Chicago. The other was an interview with a pair of bald, neutered, Universal Age synthesists explaining how this was the first step toward the human worlds being accepted into the Greater Galactic Consciousness. There were, of course, links to the thousands of papers, discussions, and wonder-sites that had mushroomed since the Discovery was announced.

  There had been aliens on Venus, and Earth was alive with all the wonder that the idea brought. At first, a lot of people had been worried that there would be riots and panics, but, so far, no one had seen fit to go twentieth over the news.

  Something on Rosa chimed. “Time to go,” she said, shutting down her briefcase. She picked up a danish and put it into Vee’s hand. “Eat.”

  Vee gnawed the pastry without tasting it while Rosa authorized an account deduction on the table’s screen. As they left, the fishes on the wall called, “Good luck, Vee,” causing the other patrons to whisper and stare.

  Vee made a mental note to tell Nikki never to do that again without permission and followed Rosa out the door.

  Their appointment was in the J. K. McManus administration complex, which lay deep in the heart of U.N. City. It took Vee and Rosa twenty minutes, four glide-walks, and three ID scans before they reached the central atrium of the gleaming crystal-and-steel administration mall. Philodendrons, morning glories, and passion flowers twined around gl
ass-encased fiber-optic bundles that stretched from floor to ceiling. Diplomats, administrators, lobbyists, and small herds of courier drones flowed in and out of transparent doors. They jammed the elevators and escalators running between the complex’s eight floors. The muted roar of their voices substituted for the rush of wind and waves on the deck.

  Vee and Rosa presented themselves to a live human security team and were asked to write down their names and leave a thumbprint on an impression film registry. In return, they were presented with audio badges and directed to Room 3425. The badges would tell them if they took a wrong turn.

  Rosa clipped the badge to her briefcase strap and stepped onto the nearest escalator. Vee followed obediently, brushing restlessly at her tunic and smoothing down her veil.

  They want me here. They want me here. I’ve done good, solid work and it’s on record. I can do this. They believe I can do this, or they wouldn’t have invited me in.

  Room 3425 was a conference room. Rosa presented her badge to the room door, which scanned it, and her, before sliding open. On the other side waited an oval table big enough for a dozen people. An e-window showed a view of a tropical park on the sun-drenched deck with parti-colored parrots preening themselves in lush green trees.

  The room had three occupants. Edmund Waicek sat at the conference table looking like he’d just stepped out of the story clip Vee viewed at breakfast. Next to him sat a tiny Asian woman in a pale-gold suit-dress. Her face was heavily lined, and her opaque red veil lay over pure-white hair. Behind them stood a slender, dark man who could have been from any of a hundred cities in the Middle East or North Africa. He wore a loose, white robe and a long orange-and-red-striped vest. A plain black cap covered his neatly trimmed hair. He turned from his contemplation of the parrots as the door opened and gave Vee a look that managed to be both amused and critical.

  Mr. Waicek was on his feet and crossing the room toward Vee before Vee had a chance to step over the threshold.