Alien Tongues (29 page)

She drained her coffee.  "Anyway, I need to shower and change.  See you for breakfast?"

"Of course.  By the way, Chrissy, did you finish this book?"

"Yes.  I enjoyed it.  I'm sort of like the early Meg Moon, don't you think?  I wonder if love could make me do what she did?"

"You think the book is about the power of love?"

Chrissy pulled a face.  "More like the ultimate futility of love.  Well, maybe that's a bit harsh.  The limitations of love.  Personally, I think Meg should have stayed with her truck."  She kissed Séamus's cheek, wrapped a sarong round her waist and walked up to the road.

Séamus watched her leave, then turned back to see the sun disappear.  The only meaning to his life came from actual people who put their trust in him.  Without that simple trust he knew he was nothing, or at least nothing special which for him was virtually the same.  He was the girls' protector, first and last.  It was a complex protection because it was not just of their bodies but had now become their souls and their personal fulfilment.  The G-13, the Syndicate and the Consortium were being viewed through the lens of the girls' interests, and any decision made would be governed by that one criterion.  Pure love, or a pure substitute for love?  Maybe he was just too simple, but the question didn't seem to worry him.

Two months later, the same thoughts went through Séamus's mind as he lay in bed after waking with the sunrise, finding the effort to rise and take a shower.  That day he was to receive a very important document and, if all went according to plan, would attend a very remarkable lunch.  In order to respond appropriately to the conversation at that lunch, he wanted to review a number of pieces of correspondence with a fresh mind.  After showering and putting on a pair of shorts, he carried his breakfast to his balcony table and sat there with his reading material, looking out over the coastline and the vacationers already arriving on the beaches.  He never tired of that view.  Chrissy was down there somewhere, sharing time with some vacationing executive who had had the bad luck to become entranced with her.

After breakfast he began to review the recent messages he had received from the other girls.    As he read through the texts, each of them seemed reasonably satisfied with her current life.  Each had managed to finesse their escort roles so that they were essentially on excellent retainers with a handful of wealthy clients.  They had made ample money, both for the Syndicate and themselves.  They claimed to be well treated, feel secure enough, and not lack for any physical comfort that was of value to them.

Yet, reading the correspondence again, he did detect a growing element of restlessness.  Tina had fallen in love once, only to be disappointed again. She felt she needed something else to occupy her mind to prevent herself becoming obsessed once more with the pursuit of romance.  Jenny felt she was not spending enough time with her sisters, and was afraid of them forgetting about her.  Phyllis often asked if her experience that evening had made her a member of an elite group of deputized agents, and was there any way she could parlay that membership into a new career.

Séamus checked his watch and realized it was about time to leave.  He dressed and left his apartment, taking a taxi across town to a large, three-star hotel.  There he went to the 21
st
floor, stood in the doorway of the entrance to the service elevator and waited.  Five minutes later a boy emerged from the elevator, placed a large envelope in the corridor, and took the next elevator down.  Séamus continued waiting where he was but kept a remote cam watching the envelope.  A maid walked past with her trolley, saw the envelope, picked it up and put it on her trolley.  When she entered the next room to clean it, Séamus called that room and the maid answered the phone.  He asked about an envelope and, when the maid said she had found it, instructed her to bring it downstairs immediately, but also bring her trolley for some special supplies to another floor.  The maid found Séamus waiting for the service elevator.  During the journey down, he knocked over some of her supplies and took the envelope while she wasn't looking.

In a cafe a few blocks away, Séamus ordered cappuccino and read the documents in the envelope.  They included an official report into the incident at the facility.  The report concluded that Séamus FitzGerald had acted in justifiable self-defense, and in the necessary defense of individuals he had been charged to protect.  Those individuals had also all acted in justifiable self-defense.  A serious error in communication within the Agency had led to the deaths of two agents and the disability retirement of two others.  An unnamed Agency principal had been terminated.  All charges against Séamus FitzGerald had been dropped and none made against the individuals who had been under his charge.  Another document in the envelope was a signed order from a judge.  Séamus was a free man.  But there was even more.  A commendation from the Chief for bravery in the line of duty.

Though he had been expecting the documents and had wondered if his precautions in collecting them were overkill, holding them in his hands was a moment to savor.  His months on the run had taken a mental toll and just then he felt light-headed.  He could now talk to Alice and the girls whenever he wished.  He could even call Sheryl.

But he had to get his mind disciplined for his lunch which, given the documents' safe receipt, was now certainly going to take place.  He decided to run through all the relevant information one more time, now from the perspective that the Agency was no longer his mortal enemy.  Sometimes, facts looked different depending upon which side of the battle-lines you found yourself.  It was a bit early to imagine himself back in the Agency's camp, but it surprised him how even his resentment at his treatment seemed to have left him.  His gravitational pull seemed to be towards the Establishment, rather than as a soldier in the Grant army and its allied forces.

As he entered the restaurant, the two faces he noticed gave him a slight sense of
déjà vu
from the Friday evening in January.  One was Terry Lawrence, the man from the Ministry, looking immaculate in his pale summer sports coat. The other was Barbara Coates, who noticed him across the room and waved.  Séamus kept his eyes on her smile as he approached the table, trying to read something new into it, but it struck him as impossible.  She was just too good at knowing how to present herself.  Lawrence looked up to see him, and on this occasion his response was markedly different.  From barely acknowledging Séamus last time, this time his eyebrows were sufficiently arched to imply some element of interest and respect.  It was purely a formal expression, not pretending to act out a real emotion inside.  Séamus wondered if he would ever be in such a position in his life where the mastery of such an expression would be of value.

Barbara and Lawrence both rose to shake his hand, causing three waiters to appear and move their chairs back into place as they sat down. The senior waiter described the dishes that day, about which Lawrence asked a number of searching questions.  Barbara then made her choice and Lawrence held out a hand to Séamus.

"It all sounds good to me," Séamus said to him, "so why not just double your own order?"  He was interested to note not even a flicker of a frown from either of them.

"Congratulations on the commendation," Barbara said, which Lawrence echoed.  "Of course it's terrible that such an event had to happen, but if there is one positive note out of the tragedy it's the example you have set the Agency. There can be no better example of the principles our Agency stands for than the actions you took that night."

You know my actions could not have been further removed from your precious principles, Séamus thought, but it was pointless having that conversation.  To begin with, it would appear to accept that she was not the one who had arranged the incident, carefully ensuring that someone else would take the blame.

"Barbara, if I may address you that way," Séamus replied, "You will hopefully forgive me if I no longer think in terms of being a role model to other agents.  Almost half a year feeling like a public enemy does curious things to the mind.  You start to become cynical about all and every cause.  You become focused on survival, a bit like the way a stray cat knows it has to attack mice and birds to survive.  So what you have sitting before you is what might be called a predator mentality.  I cannot claim to be operating under any set of principles."

Barbara gave him a closed-mouth smile which he felt was intended to be both understanding and comforting.  She glanced over at Lawrence to suggest that it was his cue to speak.

"It would be unfair of me to let Barbara shoulder the reply to your point," he said, not yet looking directly at Séamus.  "Let me say that Project Star, as we unoriginally refer to it, has almost unimaginable layers of global, political complexity.  Keeping thirteen major nations in line when executing it is virtually impossible."  He paused, then seemed to have another thought.  "FitzGerald, I have little doubt that you, since hearing about the details from Wilkie, have suspected this whole thing to be a hoax.  Am I right?"

Séamus shrugged.  "I'm not sure what I think.  To me it's a bit like the Roman Catholic faith.  I go along with it because better minds than mine have thought about it for two thousand years.  But do I believe that a wafer than a priest puts on my tongue is the actual flesh of Christ?  I mean, that's what they tell us.  It's not just a symbol of God's flesh, it's the real thing in disguise.  They call it transubstantiation when the priest changes it from wafer into disguised flesh.  Over a billion Catholics are supposed to believe that, or they might just as well be Anglicans or Protestants.  So what do we do?  We just say, yeah, OK, ours is not to reason why."  Séamus paused.  "Is the New Testament a hoax?  Not for me to even think about."

Lawrence's silence during this speech seemed respectful.  "Well, I believe it is my job to call Project Star a hoax if I have reason to think it is.  Some scientists approach you with a story that some intelligent life somewhere billions of miles from here has contacted them, what is it normal to think?  I remained skeptical for as long as I possibly could.  Despite all the verification of the Consortium done by our scientists, I suspected they had all been fooled. 

"Then another signal was received by our own people from the same direction.  It contained a copy of the first and last portions of The Call.  The period between the time that the Consortium said they received the first signal and this one was exactly one year.  And I mean exactly one Earth Year, a complete orbit around the Sun, to the nearest nanosecond.  I'm no scientist, but the most skeptical scientists we have turned white when they checked the evidence.  There is no practical possibility of a coincidence.  The signals were unquestionably sent by someone that was addressing intelligent life specifically on Planet Earth, and was capable of calculating our solar orbit as least as precisely as we can.  The degree of change in direction strongly suggests that the source is outside of our galaxy, and thus millions of years old."

Their first course had arrived and they were already eating.  Wilkie's universe of mad science had finally invaded the upper echelons of British society.  This was how it must feel like, Séamus thought, when world war breaks out.  The unthinkable becomes a practical reality and we all start to set about it as if we had just moved to a new job or house.

"Project Star cannot be buried anymore," Barbara was saying.  "I suppose it's like the Catholic faith.  No matter how extraordinary the idea, there are now just too many believers ready to fight for it."

"Anyway. FitzGerald, a profound apology is in order," Lawrence told him with steady gaze.  "No one at this table was to blame but, if it wasn't for your devotion to duty, we would have lost a priceless asset for those believers – the Asian girls.  Attempts to reproduce them have failed, partly because some countries have become less cooperative and partly because the necessary capabilities have proven rarer than expected.  Stott said there was something about the personality balance of those girls – he called it a kind of dynamic tension – which was also vital.  We need them to defend against what's inevitably going to come out of the Consortium."

"I suspect you know already about Wilkie," Barbara continued, sipping her wine. Séamus nodded.  "We're sure he managed to get enough material out to complete some kind of translation.  Did you ever hear of a novel called
Moon Uprising
?"

"Read it.  Four times." 

He could see them both pause in their eating for a short fraction of a second, glancing at him directly to note his expression.  "Are you in contact with Wilkie?"  Barbara asked, then gave a small smile.  "Sorry, silly question."

"But a useful one," Séamus replied.  "Because it makes it easier for me to explain my priorities. Whatever I decide to do now will depend solely upon its effect upon the girls' welfare.  Principal," he addressed his one-time lover, "You'll understand that, when you gave me the assignment to make sure they were most productive, the only way I could execute that was to reassure them of their permanent safety, as far as I could deliver it, with respect to this project."

"That's well understood, Séamus," Barbara said.

"And we are to take it that you won't stand down from that assignment?" Lawrence asked.

"Sir Terrance," Séamus said, "It's not a question of standing down from an assignment.  I gave the girls my word about their permanent safety.  As Principal explained to me, this endeavor is greater than all of us.  It was necessary to make such a commitment, and because it is a commitment I am obliged to fulfil it."