Red Dot: Contact. Will the gravest threat come from closer to home than we expect? (28 page)

The last person in the group of officials, Attorney General Taggart, was to arrive around 9:00. If they agreed, Fitzgerald and his lawyer would accompany her to meet David.

The group was subdued at first, still drowsy from their early morning travel. Far from the elegance and cachet of the White House, Duggard and the rest of the group quietly sat on cheap, uncomfortable office chairs at metal desks. Soon, Ahmet overcame his shyness around the government and military bigwigs and regaled them with stories about his communications with David.

But that stopped abruptly when Ahmet learned for the first time that Duggard would ask David to end his mission and leave the solar system. As Claire had done the day before, he protested passionately, but to no avail.

With a half hour to go before the ET’s arrival, a feeling of urgency gripped the room, and they started an intense review of their plans. Discussion faded when there was less than ten minutes before the ET’s landing, replaced by an overwhelming sense of unreality. It was as if each one of them thought,
Am I really sitting in this shabby corner of a huge air base on a dreary autumn morning—about to be one of the first people to meet a creature from another world?

When Admiral Young noted that it was 7:53 a.m., everyone got up and began walking woodenly to the landing site, each absorbed in private thoughts.

Warehouses, trucks, and makeshift barriers surrounded the site to block the view from the outside, and canopies were ready to cover the initial meeting from wandering aircraft, satellites, or drones. Everyone stood about thirty meters from the landing site, as instructed by the ET, watching with almost unbearable anticipation—and uncertainty. Not only did they have no idea what the shuttle or David looked like, they didn’t know when or how they would appear. The shuttle, with its advanced stealth technology, might suddenly become visible at the landing site. Or it might remain invisible, and David might emerge as out of nowhere. Ahmet wondered if David himself would be using stealth technology. He might start speaking to them all at once, from a few feet away. Maybe, according to Ahmet’s fertile imagination, David could morph into human form, like the Terminator—but a good one, of course. The possibilities were limitless.

Then, about forty feet above the landing site, the shuttle came into view. A wall of heat rolled through the chilly morning air, radiating from the surface of the craft after its sizzling descent through the Earth’s atmosphere. The shuttle resembled space vehicles that NASA sent to the Moon and to Mars—a dark, gray body the size of a minivan, set on end, with four spindly legs sticking out for the landing. The one noticeable remarkable feature was the propulsion system. The engine emitted only a soft buzz and little or no exhaust.

Now everyone waited breathlessly for the star performer. The shuttle settled on the white, grainy runway, and the buzzing stopped. After a few
minutes, a door on the craft slid open swiftly from bottom to top, and out stepped David. The body of his Earth suit was a silvery-white cylinder about a foot and a half in diameter, and two and a half feet tall. David stepped and walked steadily on two mechanical legs, which looked like slender ropes about two feet long. There were no joints on the legs, which could bend at any point and in any direction. The “feet” were made of highly flexible and responsive material some four inches in diameter. The two arms looked just like the legs.

I’ll bet he can walk on all fours on rough terrain and use his feet and hands for grasping
, thought Ahmet.

At the top of the silvery-white cylinder was, apparently, the helmet. Like an upside-down bowl almost as wide as the cylinder, it was an opaque, dark golden-brown color.

David’s hosts found it unnerving because they couldn’t tell what or who David was looking at, or if he was looking at anything. When speaking with the ET, they could not help searching, in vain, for a face to connect with. Gradually, Ahmet and Claire noticed that a network of tiny green, red, and yellow lights flickered to life on part of the helmet when David looked at something or spoke. The location of the lights on the helmet seemed to correspond to the direction in which David was looking. And after a while, the NASA scientists thought the size of the network and its brightness possibly increased with the level of visual or mental activity.

“Hello, I am David, the representative of the spacecraft you call ‘D9,’” the ET said after walking to within about twenty feet of Duggard and the other officials.

Awkward silence ensued for a minute or two as people tried to analyze David’s voice. It was not a robotic voice like the one used by Hal in
2000 Space Odyssey
, and it wasn’t an artificial, pasted-together human voice like those in automated telephone help lines. Ahmet knew that the ETs used transmissions from Earth as models for their written messages—at first with comical or disastrous results.
David’s voice must be based on audio transmissions from Earth
, he reasoned. It didn’t seem to be a synthesis of different voices or a generic tone used by some newscasters. Although it was easy
to understand, it was like an average real person’s voice, a slightly hoarse tenor with a trace of a US East Coast accent. The tone was slow, carefully pronounced, and serious.

I should say something
, Duggard thought for the third time, finally coming up with: “Hello. Welcome. I am Acting President Vanlisa Duggard… Welcome to the United States. And to Earth.”

“Thank you, Acting President Duggard. May I say, I am happy to hear that President Douthart’s condition has improved.”

“Oh yes, thank you,” Duggard said. “We’re all very happy about that.”

When Duggard paused, David said, “Hello Ahmet. How are you?”

“You recognize me?” said a surprised Ahmet. “By sight?”

“Yes. I watched your interview on the
Today Show
last month.”

“I was kind of nervous,” Ahmet said, somewhat defensively.

After brief introductions, the group went back into the non-descript office at the supply facility for negotiations. Everyone sat behind or beside a desk with prepared notes at hand, except for David, who remained standing and carried no material with him.

“My species does not have appendages like your arms and legs,” he explained. “My limbs are bionic. I won’t tire.”

Duggard sat behind a desk just inside the door of the office, facing David. Binski was at the side of the desk on her right. Ahmet and Claire stared at David with wide eyes from a desk perpendicular to, to the right, and slightly in front of Duggard’s desk.

Eagerly seeking to understand this visitor from another planet, they soon noticed that when David apparently agreed with or approved of what he was hearing, he put the hands at the ends of his cord-like arms together in front of his body; when he seemed to get impatient or didn’t understand something, he took a couple of small steps forwards or backwards.

Admiral Young occupied a desk across from the NASA scientists. As usual, he had a friendly and inquisitive expression and seemed to be eager to open a casual conversation with David, to get to know him better. Two Secret Service agents, a man and a woman, stood by the door. Two other agents, dressed as mechanics, appeared to be working on a project outside.

“First, David, on behalf of the American government and people, I deeply and sincerely apologize for the launch of the missile that attacked your spacecraft,” the Acting President said. She had memorized her opening statement by rehearsing it dozens of times, and was a bit disconcerted because she couldn’t judge David’s reaction by his facial expression or his body language. But she unexpectedly sensed a personal connection with the odd-looking space alien in front of her, and spoke with genuine feeling.

“I assure you that the hostile action completely violated our policy toward you, and was carried out solely by rebels who did great harm to our government in order to make the attack,” Duggard said. “The coup attempt was crushed. Two of the plotters died in the attempt. All the rest of them are in custody, and most are cooperating with our investigation. And we are taking every possible measure to ensure that another attack does not happen.”

The ET touched the tips of his hands together in front of him, but otherwise was motionless and mute.

“I would now like to have our leading military officer, Admiral Horace Young, the Acting Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, inform you about the steps we are taking in the military.”

“Thank you, Acting President Duggard, that would be fine,” David said.

With a serious look in place of his usual friendly smile, Young first detailed new procedures to improve command and control of nuclear weapons. Then he outlined the military’s investigation: thorough examinations of computer records, public media accounts, and exhaustive investigations of associates and friends. The Admiral said that already a training video had been produced on the absolute need for legal, civilian control of the military, and was being shown to every member of the military. More materials were being prepared; each unit and class would study and discuss the history, development, and benefits of civilian control. Candidates for promotion must have a record of support of civilian control of the military under the Constitution.

Young laid out his presentation in a clear, thoughtful manner. Attention to detail was one of the main characteristics that had helped him in his long slog to the top.

David said nothing during the report, but touched his hands together twice.

After Young finished, David said, “Thank you, Admiral Young. Your report was very detailed. The other major concerns I have involve your justice system. And as I mentioned, I want to interview the leader of the coup. I believe that is former Secretary of Defense Fitzgerald.”

Duggard shifted uncomfortably in her chair. She informed the ET that Attorney General Taggart was not present, but was on the way and would try to bring Fitzgerald with her. Duggard and Binski haltingly tried to fill the time before Taggart arrived with reassurances about the efficiency of the US justice system.

With an awkward gap in the government presentation, David began taking regular tiny steps back and forth.

After a few minutes, there was a stir of activity near the door. The Secret Service agents whispered to each other and talked to the agents outside on their radios. The female agent opened the door, and in from the gray, overcast outside walked Smythe Taggart with Donner Fitzgerald and his attorney, Lawrence Edson, behind her. The two FBI agents who had accompanied them stayed outside.

Recognizing Fitzgerald, David vigorously shuffled his feet and a network of flickering, tiny lights almost filled the front half of his helmet.

Admiral Young went to sit with Claire and Ahmet, leaving a desk open for the three newcomers. Like the people already in the room, they had approached the meeting with a space alien with all-consuming curiosity and anticipation, and when the ET stood on his rope-like legs before them, they could only stare in dazed silence. Duggard gave them some time to get their wits about them by taking several minutes to introduce David and recap the meeting so far.

When she finished, the ET said, “I am David. I thank you for coming.”

After a few seconds, Edson stammered, “All … all answers … all answers…” Edson’s reputation as a bulldog did not come from his looks—he was slightly built, with a thin oval face—but in a courtroom or law office, he ferociously seized every opportunity to help his client. He had never faced a prosecutor from another world, however.

Taggart was a little more composed, and stated, “We agreed that all of Mr. Fitzgerald’s answers will go through his defense counsel, Mr. Edson.”

“I understand,” said David. “Does Mr. Fitzgerald have a statement to begin with?”

Edson fumbled through his briefcase, pulled out a piece of paper, and read it. In turgid legalese, it admitted to and stated as little as possible.

“I have a few questions,” said David. “Mr. Fitzgerald, what were your motives in leading an attack upon me and my colleagues in D9?”

“David,” Fitzgerald began before Edson clutched his upper arm.

“Write down or whisper your answers to me and I will respond,” he said.

“No,” Fitzgerald said calmly. “I will answer directly.”

His bulldog instincts revived, Edson stood up and pulled his client to a corner of the room for a brief, but intense, conference.

After they sat back down, Edson said, “Mr. Fitzgerald will answer directly, but I will interrupt when I think it is necessary to protect my client’s rights.”

Fitzgerald sat slightly slumped, with his hands folded in front of him on the desk. Like everyone else, he had been overwhelmed by the prospect of meeting an ET.

But after the excitement wore off, Fitzgerald felt the heavy burdens he’d carried into the meeting. He’d helped lead a plot that attempted to kill the ET and the rest of his crewmates. The coup intended to remove Duggard and Whiteton from office, with violence if needed, and had almost resulted in the death of the President. Fitzgerald still felt he had tried to do the right thing, but he had no illusions about what he faced. Edson was committed body and soul to sparing his client from the death penalty. But Fitzgerald carried himself with somber resignation.

“My motives,” he said in a subdued tone, “were to protect my family, my friends, and my country. You, David, had the technology to destroy us at will, and we knew nothing about you that you did not choose to tell us. There was no way to know for sure that you wouldn’t use that power—except to destroy you first.”

The air in the room seemed so dense with tension that Duggard and the others found it hard to move. David stood in silence for a few seconds.

“In fact,” he said, “I partly understand your reasoning. There was some unavoidable risk. But there was no reason for you to think we meant to harm you. We made no hostile action or comment. We sent what you call the red dots to many places all over the world, and they caused no direct harm. Unfortunately, they led to some indirect damage, but that was unintended. We carefully contacted many nations and regions through thirty-six of the main language groups around the globe, and repeatedly stressed our peaceful intentions. We are living, thinking, feeling creatures, too, Mr. Fitzgerald. We have friends and loved ones and—in our fashion—families. Was it right for you to try to murder us without warning?”