“But we couldn’t,” said Heather. “We were incapable of true, sustained empathy. But now that we’re in contact with another overmind, we understand what it means to acknowledge and accept the other. What man could rape a woman if he really put himself in her place? The fundamental of war has always been dehumanizing the enemy, seeing him as a soulless animal. But who could go to war knowing that the other guy is a parent, a spouse, a child? Knowing that he or she is simply trying to get through life, just like you are? Empathy!”
“Hmm,” said Kyle. “I guess Greg McGregor is going to be reporting news like that every night from now on. Oh, there’ll still be hurricanes and floods—but there will also be more people pitching in to help out whenever something like that happens.” He paused, considering. “Do you suppose this is first contact for the Centaurs, too? Alpha Centauri is the closest star to the sun, but the reverse is also true—there’s no bright star closer to Alpha C than Sol. Surely we’re their first contact, too.”
“Maybe,” said Heather. “Or maybe the Centaurs aren’t native to Alpha Centauri. Maybe they’re from somewhere else, and have made it only as far as Alpha Centauri in their expansion. Maybe there already was life on a planet of Alpha Centauri, and the two races have already made friends. There could be a galactic overmind forming, expanding outward from whatever world first acquired space flight.”
Kyle thought about this. “Darn clever, these Centaurs,” he said.
“How do you mean?”
“They get us to be empathetic as a race before they arrive in the flesh.” He paused. “Unless, of course, they’re coming to take us over and want to soften us up first.”
Heather shook her head. She had been there when the contact had been made; she knew. “No, it can’t be that. First, of course, anybody who has interstellar flight could surely wipe this planet clean of life from orbit without ever worrying about whether we’d been ‘softened up’ or not. And second, now that the two overminds are in contact, real communication will doubtless ensue—and we both know that there are no secrets in psychospace.”
Kyle nodded.
Heather looked at him, then: “We should get to bed. Tomorrow’s a big day, with the press conference and all.”
“Things are going to change,” said Kyle. “The world…”
Heather smiled as she reflected on the peace she’d made with her own past, on the peace Kyle had made with his, and on all the wonders that they’d seen. “The world,” she said, “will be a better place.” But then her smile grew mischievous. “Still,” she said, a twinkle in her eye, “let’s take full advantage of our last night of real privacy.” She took Kyle’s hand and led him upstairs.
Epilogue
The spaceship had been detected four months ago. Until then, its fusion exhaust had been lost in the glare of Alpha Centauri, now some 4.3 light-years behind it. The exhaust was pointed directly at Earth: the ship was braking, tail-first. It had apparently accelerated away from Alpha Centauri for six years and had now been decelerating for another six.
And today, at long last, it would reach its destination.
It was sad, in a way; it was now fifty years since Neil Armstrong first set foot upon the Moon, but Earth had no crewed spaceships that could go even that far anymore—even the knowledge that there was life elsewhere hadn’t revitalized the space program. Although the Ptolemy probe in the outer solar system had managed to send back a few grainy shots of the alien ship, humanity’s first clear look at it would be when it arrived at Earth.
No one was quite sure what would happen next. Would the aliens take up orbit around the planet? Or would they land somewhere—and if so, where? Were there indeed any aliens on board, or was the ship just an automated scout?
At last the ship did enter orbit around Earth. It was a fragile-looking affair, almost a kilometer long—clearly meant only for space travel. All six of the United States’s space shuttles had been launched before the arrival, one a day for the last six days. And two Japanese shuttles, plus three European ones and one from Iran had gone up as well; more human beings were now in orbit around Earth than ever before.
The alien ship was in low-Earth orbit—a good thing, too; most of the shuttles couldn’t manage much more. Everyone waited for the big ship to deploy some sort of landing craft, but it never did. Radio messages were exchanged—for the very first time, human beings sent a reply to the Centaurs. The sad truth was that Earth had about twice the surface gravity of the Centaur homeworld. Although the beings aboard the starship—there were 217 individuals on it—had come forty-one trillion kilometers, the last two hundred represented a gulf they could never cross.
Earth’s international space station had grown over the years, but there was no way for the starship to dock with it; the aliens were going to have to space-walk over. They moved their ship until the gap between it and the closest point on the station was about five hundred meters.
Every camera aboard the station and the flotilla of shuttles was trained on the alien ship, and every television set down on the planet was watching the drama unfold; for once, all of humanity was tuned into the same program.
The alien space suits gave no hint of what the creatures within might look like; they were perfectly spherical white bubbles, with robotic arms extending from them, and a mirrored-over viewing strip that ran horizontally just above the sphere’s equator. Five of the aliens left the mothership and were propelled by jets of compressed gas across the gulf toward an open cargo bay on the space station.
There was a possibility that the aliens might not remove their suits even after they reached the station—gravity might not be the only thing that differed between the two worlds. Indeed, it was possible that the aliens had a taboo against showing their physical form to others—that had been suggested more than once when their original radio messages failed to contain any apparent representation of their appearance.
The first of the spheres came into the cargo bay. Its occupant used its jets to dampen most of its forward movement, but it still had to reach out with one multijointed mechanical hand to stop itself against the far bulkhead. Soon the other four spheres were safely motionless inside, too. They floated quietly, evidently waiting. The cargo door began to close behind them, very, very slowly—no threat, no trap; if the aliens wanted to leave, they could easily jet out of the bay before the door finished shutting.
But the spheres did not move, although one of them rotated around to watch the door coming down.
Once the bay was sealed, air was pumped in. The aliens had to have done spectroscopic studies of Earth’s atmosphere as they approached it; they must know that the gases entering the chamber now were the same as those that made up the planet’s air, rather than some attempt to poison them with deadly fumes.
The scientists aboard the station had reasoned that if the alien world had a lower gravity, it probably also had a lower atmospheric pressure. They stopped adding air at about seventy kilopascals.
The aliens seemed to find all this suitable. The robotic arms on one of the spheres folded back on themselves so that they could touch the sphere’s surface. The sphere split in two at its equator, and the hands, which were anchored to the bottom half, lifted away the top part.