“What about a space probe?” the President suggested. “We could send a probe out there to see if this object is natural or artificial.”
The science adviser hiked her eyebrows. Defense made a sour face.
“It would take several years to design, build and launch a suitable probe,” the science adviser said. “We simply don’t have spacecraft sitting on shelves, waiting to be picked up and used. And it would take almost a year before a probe could reach Jupiter’s vicinity, even on a high-thrust boost.”
“Besides,” Defense said, “we’ve fired Pioneers and Voyagers past Jupiter for years now and they’ve never picked up a trace of anything like this.”
“Let’s get back to the main point,” said the press secretary. “No matter what you do, with Arecibo or anything else, this thing has got to be orchestrated carefully. Very carefully. The public’s got to be prepared for this before we actually release any news.”
“Can we keep it from being leaked?” the President asked.
“You’re assuming,” Defense murmured, “that we can’t prevent leaks?”
“Prevent them?” The press secretary laughed. “We can’t even slow them down!”
“The Department of Defense…”
“Leaks like a sieve.”
Defense glowered but did not reply. The science adviser suppressed a giggle.
“We’ve got to play this game right,” the press secretary insisted. “We’ve got to set up the public…”
A knock on the door brought him up short. The President’s appointments secretary took a single step into the room.
“Excuse me, sir. The delegation from the National Farm Bureau,” she said softly.
“Oh…yes.” The President got up from his chair, smoothed his jacket. “Is the Secretary of Agriculture in there with them?”
“Yes sir.”
Sighing, the President turned back to the three at the table. “Work out a plan of action and let me see it. Tonight, if you can.”
They stood as the President left the room. Then they dropped back into their chairs.
“Well, what do you think?” Defense asked.
The press secretary grimaced. “The Cabinet won’t support him and the Congress spits in his eye every chance it gets. The Senate’s got four presidential candidates in it, the Cabinet’s got at least two more, the economy’s sliding into oblivion, we still have oil troubles, and now he’s got Martians coming at him.”
“Jovians,” corrected the science adviser.
“Whatever. We’ve got to prepare for the worst. I mean…can you imagine what the saucer nuts will do when word of this gets out?”
The science adviser corrected, “You mean the UFO researchers.”
“I mean the saucer nuts! And the religious crazies. My god, they committed suicide by the hundreds in Jonestown a few years back over nothing! What’ll they do when we tell ’em we’re going to be invaded by alien monsters?”
“Where’s Orson Welles when we really need him?”
“This isn’t a joke, Sally.”
“What about other nations?” the press secretary asked no one in particular. “Don’t we owe it to our allies to give them some advance word on this?”
“NATO’s already been clued in,” Defense responded. “The Dutch have apparently picked up the radio signals at one of their own facilities.”
“Dwingeloo,” the science adviser said.
Loosening his tie, the press secretary wondered, “What if we start a big flap about this and it turns out to be a false alarm? Those very same UFO people and religious cults won’t believe us. They’ll think we’re covering up.”
“They already think we’re covering up UFO visitations,” said the science adviser.
“Suppose they’re right?” Defense asked.
“What?”
“Suppose…well, what if this thing really is an alien spacecraft and—and they’re hostile? Dangerous?”
The science adviser shook her head crossly at him. “That’s exactly what we need around here: paranoia.”
Chapter 13
URBAN EVANGELIST PREDICTS “WORLD-SHAKING CHANGE”
Atlanta (UPI)—Rey. Willie Wilson, the self-styled “Urban Evangelist,” declared yesterday that a “great and powerful change, an Earth-shaking change” is going to alter the lives of every person on Earth within the next few months.
“Watch the skies,” Rev. Wilson told a rapt audience of nearly 1,000 at the Hyatt Regency Hotel. “No one on Earth will be the same after this great and powerful change sweeps over the world.”
Rev. Wilson refused to give specifics on the nature of the change, stating only that “Christians and non-Christians alike should prepare their souls for a new world, through prayer and good works.”
The evening revival meeting, held in the futuristic atrium of the Hyatt Regency, was part of a nation-spanning “crusade” that Rev. Wilson is making, which will take him to seventeen major American cities over the next six months.
Appearing with Rev. Wilson last night were…
Ramsey McDermott swiveled his creaking old leather chair back and forth as he puffed steadily on his pipe, thinking, worrying, trying to plan out the best course of action.
Suppose he’s right? the old man asked himself. If it really is extraterrestrial intelligence, there could be a Nobel in it for me. After all, I’m the head of the project. I’m the one who brought Stoner into the observatory. He was just a washed-out astronaut before I asked NASA for him.
The office was dark in the late afternoon. Outside, the sun was already down behind the red brick buildings that lined the Yard.
They’ll put a plaque on the building after I’m gone, McDermott told himself. Professor Ramsey McDermott, the discoverer of extraterrestrial life. He pictured the Nobel Prize ceremony, the speech he would give in Stockholm, the interviews with the press. Frowning, he realized that he would have to share the prize with Stoner and Thompson, perhaps one or two others.
Stoner will make trouble, he knew. The man’s a born troublemaker.
Maybe it isn’t ETI, he thought. It’s most likely just some natural object, maybe a new comet or a captured meteor that’s been pulled into an orbit around Jupiter.
But what about the radio pulses? How do you account for them? Coincidence? Some influence between this object Stoner’s found and Jupiter’s radio emissions, like the moon Io affects the radio bursts?
His pipe had gone out. McDermott took it from between his teeth, never noticing the thick clouds of blue-gray smoke that hung in layers through the office, permeating the books, the stacks of papers, the drapes on the window.
It was dark. He switched on the goosenecked desk lamp. And saw the report from Washington again.
Damn that man! He rapped the pipe bowl sharply against the big, dottle-filled ashtray on his desk. The aged, brittle stem snapped.
Double damn him! McDermott snapped to himself. And where the hell is that girl? She should be here by now.
As if in answer, there was a knock on the door. Without waiting for him to answer, Jo opened the door and stepped into Professor McDermott’s office.
“You’re late,” he growled.
“I just got out of class,” she replied.
“Oh, you’re attending classes these days,” he shot back sarcastically.
“When I can.”
She seemed completely unflustered. She kept her coat on and her books in her lap as she sat in the chair before his desk. With a disapproving frown, she waved her free hand to push some of the smoke away.
“Having a good time in New Hampshire? I understand you spend every weekend up there with Stoner.”