Terry Bisson: The Fifth Element

Without turning back toward the priest, he said politely, “Your theory is interesting, Father, but I don’t think we have time to go into it right now.”

“Time is of no importance,” said Father Cornelius. “Only life is important.“

“That’s exactly what we are going to do,” said the President. “Protect the lives of some 200 billion of our fellow citizens!”

He spun in his chair as if to put a period on his conversation with the priest.

“General―you may fire when ready!”

A silence fell over the room. The young novice and the old priest stood exactly where the President had left them, between his chair and the rank of sycophantic generals.

All eyes were on the screen at the far end of the office, which showed the bridge of the starship.

Staedert was giving the orders. He was all busi-

“Up front loading of a 120ZR missile. Marker lights on the objective.”

As he spoke, something was changing outside the starship’s windows. The amoeba-like, roiling, boiling mass was taking on solid form. It was becoming a planet, covered with a null black crust.

A technician looking at a control terminal readout confirmed what people were witnessing with their own eyes:

“Its structure has just solidified on the surface.” From the second tier of watchers in the President’s office, a scientist spoke out, sending his words over the heads of the military men.

“I think it’s anticipating the attack,” he said excitedly. “Anticipation denotes intelligence!” Another, quieter voice was heard―the priest’s, who added: “The most terrible intelligence imaginable, Mr. President.”

On hearing this, the President hesitated. But he didn’t turn away from the screen. “Staedert!?” “Yes, sir!” The general turned to face the President. He was all action, seeming to tingle from the toes of his boots to the tips of his blunt fingers.

The President looked around the room: from the generals, to the scientists, to his own aides, to the priest and the novice who stood apart, patiently watching.

“I have a doubt,” said the President.

“I don’t, Mr. President,” muttered Staedert in reply.

And before his orders could be countermanded, be nodded toward a tech at the starship’s control board, who touched a switch―

The screen was filled with a brilliant light as the missile was fired.

The light faded to a pinprick as the 120ZR sped away, covering a thousand kilometers with a single leap, thanks to its cold-fusion faux-warp drive. It blinked briefly in and out of realspace as it zeroed in on its massive target.

Then just before impact, it shifted down from hyper to fusion drive, and with a chemical blast penetrated the evil black mass.

Following the lead of Staedert and the starship crew, the President and his entourage covered their eyes so that they wouldn’t be blinded by the explosion.

Except there was no explosion.

The missile penetrated the blade mass and was swallowed. There was a slight disturbance on the surface, and then―

Nothing.

But not quite nothing.

For immediately the dark planet began to grow again, at an even faster rate than before.

“Prepare to fire three,” General Staedert barked. “Load a series of 240ZR missiles. Maximum shield protection.”

“Yes sir,” said the captain behind him.

“Staedert,” said the President. “What’s going on? Can you destroy it?”

“I’m about to, Mr. President.”

The General gave a nod, and the tech at the control board flipped three switches.

There was a flash of light, three times as bright as before.

This time three pinpricks of light headed toward their hideous target. The missiles flickered in and out of existence as they covered the distance at a high fraction of the speed of light.

And they were absorbed as easily, as quietly, as effectively, as the first missile had been.

Except that this time, the dark planet immediately doubled in size!

A panicked voice came from the row of scientists in the President’s office. “The planet’s diameter has increased by two hundred percent!”

It was echoed by a shout from the rank of generals: “And it’s moving toward the ship!”

This was enough for the President, who rolled forward in his chair and shouted at the screen. “Staedert, get out of there immediately! I don’t want an incident. Do you hear me, Staedert?” Staedert was pretending not to hear. He turned to the starship captain. “What do we have that’s bigger than the 240?”

“Nothing, General.”

The President, furious at being ignored, shouted: “Staedert, get out of there! That’s an order!”

The volume of the President’s shout triggered the voice-activated viewscreen zoom, so that the attire screen was filled with Staedert’s face.

His forehead was damp with sweat.

And something else. A thick black liquid was beading up on his brow, starting to drip down slowly, like syrup… .

Staedert was just about to reach up and wipe his brow, when a tremendous flash filled the screen.

The photosensitive zoom pulled back, and the screen showed the bridge of the starship again. Everyone was frozen with terror, watching a tongue of flame emerge from the black planet.

It reached toward the starship. Closer and closer

“Good God!” Staedert cried.

And the starship was obliterated in a storm of light and noise.

“Good God!” cried the President―and behind him, in a smaller voice, the old priest whispered it more as a prayer than an exclamation―

“Good God!”

“GOOD GOD!”

Korben Dallas sat up in his bed.

There had been a blinding light, a tremendous explosion, and…

Korben shuddered and shook his head.

Another war nightmare.

He looked over at the clock on the bedside table. “BRRRUNNNGGG!” it said.

“Hush!” said Korben, flicking it with one finger as he reached for a cigarette.

“March 18,2413,” said the clock. “8:00 A.M.”

“I know, I know,” said Korben.

“Meaow” said the cat from the hall. There was a scratching sound at the door.

“I’m coming,” said Korben. Then he heard the phone.

BBBBRRRRIIIIINNNNGGG!

Everything at once!

He picked up the phone as he crossed his tiny

modular apartment room toward the door, patting himself for a light.

Behind him, the bed made itself.

Korben was a well-built man in his mid-thirties, all but bald with very short hair, and good-looking in spite of the scars on his face and arms that revealed a somewhat more adventurous than judicious nature.

“Yeah?” he said into the phone. Still patting himself for a light.

“Hey, bud!” said a familiar voice. “Finger here!” His oldest friend and now his cab dispatcher.

Korben wedged open the stuck cat door and a small yellow cat ran in. “Hi, sweetie,” he said.

“I love you too, Major, but you haven’t called me that since basic training.”

“Not you, Finger. I was talking to the cat.”

Still looking for a match, Korben opened a drawer in the bedside table. It was filled with medals.

He unrolled a paper. A Medal of Honor certificate, made out to Major Korben Dallas. For valor above and beyond the…

“Oh, yeah, I forgot,” said Finger. “You prefer your pet cat to the real thing.”

Korben unrolled another paper. A faded photograph of himself with his ex-wife. Beautiful, if slightly predatory…

“At least the cat comes back,” Korben said. He dropped the picture into the drawer and it rolled

itself back up. Under a tangle of campaign ribbons, he found an old fashioned book of paper matches.

“You still pining for that two-timing slut?” Finger asked. “Forget her. There are a million women out there.”