Ben Bova - Voyagers

“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.”

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.”

“That’s my business,” she said.

“I’m making it mine,” McDermott snapped. “It’s Project JOVE business, you know.”

Her back stiffened. “You told me to do what I could to make certain he stays at the house up there without making any more trouble. So I’m doing what I can.”

McDermott drummed his fingers on the report resting on his desktop. “Does that include mailing letters overseas for him?”

She hesitated for just a fraction of a second. “What do you mean?”

“Somehow, Stoner got a letter out. To Russia, no less. To some Russian linguist, according to Washington.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” Jo said.

“You’re the only one who could have smuggled a letter out for him.”

She shook her head stubbornly. “I didn’t mail any letters to Russia for him or anyone else. I wouldn’t do that.”

“You’re certain?”

“How does Washington know he sent a letter to this Russian?”

McDermott chuckled. “They don’t tell me where their information comes from. I imagine we have spies in the Kremlin, just as they have spies in Washington.”

“What’s in the letter?”

“Enough to put Stoner into a federal prison for a long, long time.” McDermott realized that it was true, as he spoke the words. His heart lightened. With Stoner out of the way…

“You wouldn’t do that!” she said.

He shrugged. “It’s not up to me. It’s a Navy problem.”

“But…you said you need him for the project.”

Smiling, McDermott said, “I imagine we can get along without him now. He’s been more trouble than he’s worth, actually.”

“No. You can’t.”

Her voice was almost pleading. McDermott realized that she was suddenly tense, leaning forward in the chair, her face tight with concern.

“Stoner did it to himself,” he said, as he felt his blood stirring, the heat starting to build inside him.

“He wouldn’t do anything wrong,” she was saying. “This must be some kind of misunderstanding…”

But McDermott was barely listening. He heard the tone of her voice, saw the anxiety in her eyes, and realized with an inward shock of discovery that he wanted her for himself. Very much. For himself and no one else.

“There must be something you can do!” Jo begged.

He still had the broken stem of his pipe in his hand. Dropping it into the ashtray, he took another pipe and wordlessly began to fill it, working methodically, silently, watching her watching him, waiting for her to break the stretching silence.

“Couldn’t you… do something? Help him?”

“He’s broken the security laws,” McDermott said slowly. “He signed a security agreement and then dashed off a letter to Soviet Russia.”

“Maybe it’s an old letter. Maybe he wrote it before he signed the agreement.”

McDermott tamped the tobacco down and put the pipe in his mouth. “It’s still a federal crime.”

Jo glanced around the room, as if looking for help. “There must be something you can do.”