Cunningham didn’t even like to think about it. This was not a good time. He was surrounded by problems. The deteriorating state of public education. The blowback from shutting down large chunks of military spending. Global epidemics. Widespread hunger. Problems with fresh water. Continuing climate deterioration. Still, for one day, this day, he could celebrate.
He looked across the office at the ancient VHS unit that had been brought in to play the videotape. The tape itself was now locked in the bottom drawer of his desk, along with the second plate. “He’ll spread the story because he believed it. Because it’ll make him look good. Proves he was right, and we were wrong. That’s all he cares about. He doesn’t give a damn about collapsing civilizations, or whether that knowledge might have had a deleterious effect on the nation. Whether it might have discouraged people already struggling with an apparently endless war, or whether right now it will have a negative effect on a nation still trying to get clear of this god-awful economy.”
“Well, you were right, George. I just didn’t think they’d buy it. The average guy in the street hears that worlds are falling apart everywhere, and he says it’s a shame, but by the way, how’d the Giants make out last night? That’s the way we are. And that’s what I don’t understand. If Nixon was going to make up a story, why didn’t he do something that would shake everybody up? Like maybe a warning against an impending alien invasion?”
“Simple enough, Ray. He wanted to scare the Russians into keeping quiet. Alien invaders wouldn’t have accomplished that.”
“I still can’t believe he thought it would work. But I guess it did.”
“I doubt it would have worked with ordinary Russians, who would probably have responded the same way we would. But the leaders bought into it. Hell, Ray, Brezhnev and Kosygin were Communists. Materialists. Not politicians, like Tricky Dick. They’d come to power in a different way, and they apparently didn’t know their own people very well. Anyhow, they wouldn’t have liked the idea that we were on the Moon already, so sure, they had every reason to join in the cover-up. And nothing to lose.”
The president stared at the ancient VHS unit.
Nixon had been seated at a desk in front of an open window. Palm trees were visible, and birds sang. Despite the placid environment, he was clearly troubled.
“Mr. President,” he’d said, looking out of the screen, “I hope I haven’t caused any undue difficulty for you, but I was forced to take action.” He picked up a pen and put it back down. “As you may be aware, we learned from probes toward the end of the Johnson administration that there was a structure, a dome, on the far side of the Moon.
“I was informed by President Johnson during a conference in December 1968, during his final weeks in office. At that time, he indicated that he had been uncertain how to respond, that they knew there’d been no Soviet missions to the Moon, and that consequently there was only one explanation for the dome. We’d been visited.
“President Johnson had classified the information on the highest level and set in motion a secret lunar mission to determine the nature of the object. He did not know whether it could be made to work. And he was leaving office. Ultimately it would be my responsibility. Whatever my decision, whether I proceeded with it, or canceled it, he told me, I should feel free to consult with him. He said he would render any assistance he could. And he would support whatever decision I made.”
The former president sat quietly for a moment, looking back over that conversation. “I thought he was kidding. I really thought it was some kind of joke. And he got annoyed. We were alone in the Oval Office and he’d begun by congratulating me on my victory, and telling me how he hoped I’d have better luck than he did with the war. His voice shook when he mentioned that. ‘End it,’ he told me. ‘Doesn’t matter how you do it, but get out of that hellhole.’
“He told me he understood that our views of how the country should work were at odds, but that he hoped I would not oppose the Great Society measures he had taken. Then he told me about the dome.
“I gave the go-ahead order. On January 15, 1969, two of our astronauts landed near the Cassegrain Crater and approached the dome. It wasn’t especially big. About the size of a single-story house. The astronauts, Sidney Myshko and Brian Peters, walked right up to it. We have the videos from the landing stored at the museum, filed under riverboat KYB.
“The thing had a door. It looked as if one of them touched a doorbell. I couldn’t tell them apart in their space suits. But they touched something, and the door slid up. Into the dome.” He looked almost dazed.
“It was dark inside. They flashed lights around, and we saw a small table. Otherwise, the place was empty. Not a goddam thing. So they walked over to the table. There was a plaque on it. Silver-colored metal on a dark base. The lighting wasn’t good, and they were right on top of it before I realized there was a message on the plaque. In a strange language.
“And that was all there was. They brought the table and the plaque home. The table is located in a secure storage area at the Presidential Library in Yorba Linda. They don’t know they have it, but its numerical designator is AY775. You already have the plaque in your possession.
“Actually, there will be two plaques in the package. One is in Greek, the other in Aramaic. The Greek plaque was put together by us for the sole purpose of getting the Russians on board. In the end, we didn’t use it. I didn’t think it would work, and it seemed better to tell them the truth. So that’s what we did. When they learned what it was, they got seriously scared. They thought if the word got out, it might destabilize us. The last thing they needed was a destabilized United States. And in all these years, they’ve never said a word.
“The Aramaic plaque, of course, is the one we found. And the message is different.”
Cunningham had a copy of the translation on his desk:
Intelligent life is rare. When we discovered your cities, your boats, your dwellings, we wanted to join with you in mutual celebration. Our first action was to send an ambassador. But you killed him. Without provocation. Our judgment was perhaps hasty. And in error. We should not have trusted you. Nevertheless, we wish you good fortune. By the time you reach this place, if indeed you ever do, we hope you will have changed.
“My translator,” continued Nixon, “informed me that the language dated from about the first century A.D. And Aramaic, as you may know, was the language in Israel from about 500 B.C. to A.D. 70.” He stopped and waited, as if Cunningham needed a moment to get the point. “If we had released that information, you know the conclusion people would have jumped to. We were already in the midst of a war, and the country was coming apart. The last thing I needed, on top of everything else, was to have a major religious battle break out. So I kept it quiet. NASA sent a second mission to destroy the dome, to blow it apart and bury it.
“If the truth hasn’t already come out, Mr. President, I urge you to restrain it as best you can. For the good of the nation.”
Cunningham had stopped it there.
“It was the right move,” said Ray.
“I agree.”
Ray was trying to appear reassuring, but Cunningham knew him too well. He was getting ready to attempt a sale. “Times have changed,” he said.
“I suppose. We don’t have a war on our hands.”
“We have an obligation to be honest with the nation.”
“No.”
“You won’t even consider it?”
“No. I won’t.”
“George, this is the scientific discovery of the age. You can’t continue to hide this.”
“Let it go, Ray.”
“But why not do it? You wouldn’t have to take a stand. Just release the data. People will draw their own conclusions about it. If organized religion takes a hit, so be it. It causes half the problems in the world, anyhow.”
“And maybe eases the other half. Look, Ray, life can be a tough ride. For a lot of people, their religion is all they have to hang on to. We’re not going to undermine that.”