Christopher Nuttall - The Trojan Horse

“Well,” he said, finally. “That’s us told.”

The sitting room was packed, loaded with his friends, family and workers. They’d all watched the show, not daring to speak for fear that they might miss something. On the screen, a talking head was discussing the dangers of global warming, something the Colonel knew to have been disproved scientifically — a fact that escaped the governments meddlers who thought that a degree and a lofty title allowed them to dictate to America’s farmers. In fact, the Earth was actually getting slightly cooler , a point that portended other global changes. The aliens had been right to point out, in effect, that the human race had all of its eggs in one basket. A single worldwide disaster could exterminate the human race.

He stood up. There would be time to return to the television — or the computer — later. For the moment, he needed time to digest what he’d seen and try to think of what it meant for him personally. At least the aliens hadn’t launched an immediate attack on Earth; he’d once watched Mars Attacks with Mary and the seemingly-psychotic aliens had declared war by slaughtering the Senate. The cynic in him told the Colonel that they’d probably aided the human war effort. It seemed that there would be no immediate disaster from space.

“Time to get back to work,” he said. The small collection of food could be cleared up later, once they’d dealt with the endless series of chores that had to be done on the farm. “We can talk about it at teatime.”

With that, he walked out of the door and onto the farm. There was much work to be done.

Jeannette McGreevy, ever since she had grown old enough to understand what politics actually was, had been consumed with a single thought. She would be President one day. It had been an ambition actually encouraged by her father and her grandfather, who had served in politics for so long that the clan could no longer consider a life outside Washington. They might not be as famous as the Kennedy Family, or the Bush Family, or even the Clinton Family, but that worked in her favour. The family had far fewer skeletons in its closet than any of the more famous clans, something that had helped ensure that only the Bush Family could boast two Presidents in their line. Jeannette intended to be the first of her clan to sit in the Oval Office and be addressed as Madam President.

She smiled to herself as she walked towards the alien chambers. Her appearance had been — like everything else — carefully calculated for maximum effect. She wore a stiff suit, one that made her look businesslike, and had her hair tied up in a tight bun. Margaret Thatcher, one of the few women to wield supreme power, had served as her idol. A President had to appear impassive and approachable, capable and yet vulnerable. It wouldn’t be long until the next election cycle, when she would attempt to knock President Hollinger off the ticket and run for President herself. Her aides had already started the long process of securing contributions and support prior to the nominations. The family’s long service in Washington gave them a network of allies and clients and she had no intention of wasting them. She would be President, the first female President in America’s history. No one would ever forget her name.

Her aides buzzed around her, each one competing to provide her with the latest update from her corps of political monitoring personnel. The winner in any political campaign would be the one who understood the national trends in public opinion and Jeannette had no intention of being behind the curve. Reaction seemed to be mixed, but there was a general trend towards an admiration for the Galactic Federation — and a drop in support for the government. Even those who might be counted upon to be patriotic seemed inclined to condemn the government — a condemnation that would fall on the head of the sitting President, even if the trends they condemned had started long before his administration. Jeannette listened with a practiced ear as the results of the latest polls were shoved in front of her, before dismissing her staff. She would make the walk to the alien chambers alone. As always, it was a carefully planned political gesture; the aliens had walked into the heart of human society without fear and she intended to visit them just as openly.

The aliens had requested a set of chambers within the UN complex for their personnel use and the UN had scurried to comply. Jeannette knew that every other ambassador, special representative and even some of the world leaders still in New York would be scurrying to secure a private interview with the aliens. The promise of alien technology and a change in the global balance of power was irresistibly attractive. Jeannette knew that the nations with the least to lose — debtor nations that felt as if they were exploited by the West, fairly or unfairly — would be the ones most inclined to buy into the promise of a brave new world order. At worst, they would be no worse off than they already were… and they would have the satisfaction of seeing their tormentors brought down to the same level.

A UN security guard waved her through into an antechamber, where she encountered what had to be an alien version of a security guard. The alien waved a device over her body, checked the results and — apparently satisfied — allowed her to proceed into the next chamber, where the alien Ambassador rose to greet her. Up close, the alien was utterly inhuman; his eerie body moved in a manner that sent chills down her spine. She reminded herself firmly that this was another intelligent being and — more importantly — had the backing of seventeen starships in orbit. The aliens could not be taken lightly.

“Thank you for receiving me,” she said, as she took the chair the alien indicated. He seemed to show no inclination to sit down at first, and then perched himself on a stool. Jeannette wondered if it was a deliberate sign — either a gesture of respect or a deliberate slur — before realising that the alien wouldn’t find a human chair very comfortable. “It is my hope that we can proceed together towards a mutually-satisfying dialogue that will respect the needs and inclinations of both our peoples.”

The aliens had to know that she could only speak for the United States — no one could really claim to speak for the world — but they’d allowed her to be the first to visit their chambers for a series of private discussions. That had to mean something, she told herself; the aliens talked a good game, but if they wanted to work with the human race they’d have to work with the most powerful nations on the planet. Jeannette was more than familiar with the high ideals and lofty blether of politics — and how rarely the words of political leaders translated into any form of great and lasting change.

“We welcome you,” the alien said, in a whispery tone. “There is much we must discuss.”

Jeannette leaned forward, careful to keep her face impassive. There was no way of reading the alien’s body language, but the aliens might be capable of reading human body language. They’d been intercepting transmissions for years and many of those transmissions would have been educational, intended to teach a human audience about everything from the economy to basic biology. They might have even determined how to read human expressions, or monitor internal physical reactions that could indicate if a person was trying to lie… there was just no way to know the limits of their capabilities.

“Of course,” she said. “I would be very interested in hearing what you have to say.”

“They’re offering us what ?”

Toby sat in one corner of Air Force One’s Presidential Lounge, listening carefully as the President, Jeannette McGreevy and Albert Demeter, the Director of the CIA, discussed the alien’s offer. The Vice President’s face could be seen on one of the screens; he’d been told to remain in a secret underground bunker until they knew for sure that the Galactics came in peace. General Elliot Thomas should have been included, but he’d had an urgent appointment elsewhere.