The Colonel held up a hand. “As interesting as this is, we need to start building a resistance,” he said, firmly. “Bob’s pointed out that the aliens will have access to government databases. We need to build a network without compromising ourselves — thoughts?”
“Nothing gets put online, ever,” Packman said. “And we don’t make telephone calls — at least not ones where we discuss anything sensitive. We meet our potential allies face-to-face…”
“Which would blow us wide open if the aliens have tagged one of them,” the Colonel said. He was still reeling from the news about the alien surveillance devices. If they’d bugged the President they could bug anyone — and it would be almost impossible to locate the devices without specialised equipment. Perhaps Toby could get his hands on some of it… maybe. “I think we’re going to have to assume the worst.”
“The worst is pretty bad,” Packman said. “I keep up with a few friends of mine from the Agency. We have ways of tracking people, even in godforsaken Afghanistan and Pakistan, without them ever even knowing that they’ve been tagged. And then we call in a Predator and drop a Hellfire on their heads. We must be very careful; someone who works with us may unwittingly lead the aliens to our location. I think we need to start creating smaller cells, right fucking now. The loss of one won’t destroy them all.”
The Colonel nodded. “We’ll reach out to anyone we know with real military experience,” he said. “We won’t touch anyone on active duty, not when their records are already in alien hands…”
“Our records will be in alien hands,” Packman pointed out. “We’re all former military or former intelligence…”
“We’ll have to pray that we’re not noticed,” the Colonel admitted. There were ways to pass unnoticed, even in modern society. He’d have to start tapping some of his more dubious friends for false ID and other counterfeit documents. The government had been more careful about identity fraud since 9/11. “If we allow fear to paralyse us, we won’t get anywhere at all.”
The discussion lasted long into the night. After a few more ideas had been dropped into the mix, the Colonel started writing them down on a notepad. They’d have to shred the paperwork once they’d finished the discussion, if only because the farm might be raided by government agents. The Colonel still remembered the arrogant agent who’d turned up because of a vague report that the farm was selling unprocessed milk to locals — never mind the fact that everyone who’d bought the milk was an adult and knew the risks. Government treated people like children or criminals…
“And we will have to devise a secure link to Toby,” he added, almost as an afterthought. Toby was in the best possible position to know what was about to happen. “How the hell do we do that?”
Chapter Thirteen
Washington DC
USA, Day 24
“Federation, Federation, Federation…”
Jason could hear the chanting protesters through the taxi’s closed windows. The elderly Pakistani who was driving the cab looked nervous as the protesters came into view, a disorganised mob of young people — mainly students — with a hard core of professional protesters. There were a number of police officers wearing riot gear watching the protest nervously, wondering if it would turn violent. The radio claimed that it was the largest single protest in America; hundreds of thousands were thronging the streets, demanding that the Government immediately accept the alien terms for starting down the long road towards Federation membership.
He rubbed his tired eyes as the noise grew louder. The alien terms had leaked two days ago and since then, SETI had found itself at the heart of both pro-alien and anti-alien protests. SETI had always believed that ET would be friendly and there was a strong feeling running throughout the organisation that they should accept the Federation’s terms, but not everyone agreed with them. There was a core of protesters who believed that the alien terms were demeaning and should be rejected without further comment. The radio updates had started that there had been several violent clashes between the two sides and hundreds of protesters had been arrested. Rumour online had it that protesters from all over the United States were being bussed into Washington, where they were making their feelings known to the Government. Jason wouldn’t have wanted to be a senator who stood against the aliens, not with tempers running so high.
“Foolish children,” the taxi driver snarled. A group of kids — they couldn’t be more than fifteen years old — had run past the taxi, heading down to join the protest. They wore grey alien facemasks, the ones that had become the logo used by the Witnesses. It struck Jason as ironic — the legendary Gray aliens had never been friendly — but it did have worldwide recognition. “Don’t they know that people have to work to eat?”
“Probably not,” Jason agreed. He kept his other thoughts to himself. If he’d known that all that awaited him after he graduated was a hard scrabble to earn enough money to stay alive and in reasonable comfort, would he have worked so hard at college? It was easy to see why so many youngsters loved the ideal of the Galactic Federation; they knew nothing about it, apart from the fact it offered them hope. And hope was something that could warp and twist a person’s thoughts out of all recognition. “I don’t think we’ll get through in a hurry.”
He reached into his pocket and produced a handful of dollar bills. SETI had paid for his trip to Washington and they could afford the bill, particularly now that donations were going through the roof. Everyone wanted to claim that they’d had a hand in the Discovery, and First Contact, and if that meant pouring enough money on SETI to build an observatory on the moon, they’d do it. The taxi driver offered the change, but Jason told him to keep it and opened the door. The racket struck him full force the moment he stepped onto the street.
It was terrifying, almost like being caught up in a riot. As a student, Jason had gone to parties and matches where everyone had just been caught up in the music or game, but this was worse. Thousands upon thousands of people seemed to have formed a hive mind, the undertow of their emotions threatening to pull him into the mix. Their deafening shouts for Federation membership and an end to war seemed loud enough to shatter buildings. If any of them recognised Jason, they couldn’t make themselves heard over the racket. Silently grateful, Jason hurried through the blocked streets to his destination. A handful of policemen guarding the streets looked as if they were going to block his way and then changed their minds. The entire street felt as if it was on a knife edge.
The chant changed, almost spontaneously. “No more nukes, no more nukes, no more nukes…”
Jason shook his head as the sound grew louder. His ears were starting to hurt, shivers of pain that threatened to generate a real headache. He started to move faster and then he burst into a run, although he wasn’t sure what he was running from, or even where he was running to. His head started to spin, seconds before the sound finally — mercifully — started to fade. The numbers of policemen blocking streets was rising rapidly, almost as if they were trying to contain the protests. It felt as if they were on the verge of a riot.
High overhead, a line of helicopters roared over the city. Jason found himself wondering where they were going — and why. The White House wasn’t too far from the protesters; the radio had said that the protesters intended to march down to the White House and present their demands to the President in person. Somehow, Jason doubted that it would go well. He kept his legs moving, heading towards the meeting place. Time was running out.