Christopher Nuttall - The Trojan Horse

“They’re offering us ten fusion power units,” McGreevy said. Her hawkish face — Toby distrusted her and had ever since she’d tried to bribe him away from the President — was flushed with excitement. “According to the figures they’re offering, they would be able to power the entire nation alone, without the need for any fission power plants, wind farms or any other means of producing power. They’re clean and environmentally friendly…”

The President twitched. Bare hours after the alien speech, the environmental lobby was already pressing their political representatives to start reducing pollution sharply — never mind the fact that most global production came from China and the Third World. The price of rapid growth and the development of heavy industries was pollution, a price that dictatorial governments willingly paid to ensure that they became more independent of the free world. No one knew for sure just how badly the USSR’s government had polluted Russia, but what had leaked into the public domain was horrifying. The former USSR might be the most polluted country on Earth.

“They’ve also offered to start licensing certain items to our industrial firms,” McGreevy continued, seemingly unaware of the President’s concern. Her ambitions were an open secret in Washington, but few were prepared to challenge her openly. “From what they’ve offered us, we can produce advanced batteries that will allow us to become energy-independent of the Middle East, medicines that will allow us to cure most diseases and hundreds of other devices that will improve the quality of life all over the world. And all they ask in exchange is some land.”

Toby frowned. The aliens had asked for only one thing; a small area of territory within the Continental United States that they could make their own. It wasn’t an unreasonable request, but there were sticking points. Galactic Federation law, which no one on Earth knew anything about, would govern the territory, effectively granting the aliens extraterritorial rights and freedom from American law. It struck him that the Chinese must have felt just as stunned and offended after the Opium Wars, when the Westerners had demanded the right to create enclaves in China that were not responsible to Chinese authorities.

The aliens hadn’t threatened anyone. They hadn’t pointed a gun to the government’s head and given them a choice between surrender or dying bravely. What they’d done was far more subtle — and dangerous. If the President refused to accept the alien technology — refusing to allow the aliens to establish an enclave on Earth — the United States would be cut out of the technological advances that would blossom all over Earth. Toby knew that fusion power could change the world — and refusing to accept such a boon would be political suicide. The President’s impeachment would be a foregone conclusion.

“Tell me something,” the Vice President said. “Did they have anywhere in mind?”

“They said we could choose,” McGreevy said. Toby knew that there would be an immediate political catfight over the location of the alien base. Some Congressmen would want it for their states; others would fear the consequences of having the aliens so close to their constituents. “They have a list of requirements, but none of them are particularly onerous.”

Toby glanced at the list. The aliens wanted fresh water, a certain degree of isolation and an airport capable of taking human aircraft. An old military base would serve as an ideal location, one that could be controlled. After all, as soon as the aliens were established, the Witnesses would be on their way to picket the alien base and welcome the star gods to Earth.

“True,” the President agreed. “Have they made the same offer to the other nations?”

“It’s impossible to tell,” the CIA Director admitted. It was an open secret that the CIA — and every other intelligence agency in the world — spied on the UN. “We had the room bugged, but something happened to the bugs — we have no independent record of what took place during any of the meetings. I think we have to assume the worst.”

We don’t know what the iron bitch and the alien really said to one another , part of Toby’s mind added, silently. McGreevy had refused to carry a recorder into the chamber, pointing out that the aliens might consider it an unfriendly act. It was logical enough, even believable, but Toby suspected that it hadn’t been her only motive for refusing. The woman was simply too ambitious to be trusted.

“I think that we can find a suitable patch of land,” the President said. He looked around the small compartment. Despite all of its mystique, Air Force One was still only a jumbo jet, with the limited carrying capacity of its fellows. “And then we will have to see if their promises really come true.”

Toby scowled, thinking hard. The Native Americans hadn’t just lost because of smallpox; they’d lost because they could never duplicate the technology owned and used by the Europeans. Gunpowder had been a mystery to them until it had reached America and they’d never been able to develop their own industrial base. And then the Europeans had simply waged war from a playbook far more advanced than any known to the local civilisations.

“Yes, Mr President,” he agreed. He already knew who would be placed in charge of finding a suitable patch of ground. At least they’d have the opportunity to monitor the aliens as they set up their base. They needed data and what little data they had was patchy, almost impossible to fit into a greater picture. “I’m sure that we can find something suitable.”

Nevada

USA, Day 12

The heat slapped Jason in the face as he scrambled out of the air-conditioned aircraft and down towards the tarmac far below. He winced as his hands touched the railing; it felt hot enough to cook eggs, or burn exposed human flesh. The sun beat down on them from high above, mocking the puny humans making their way off the plane and heading towards a handful of buses waiting at one end of the runway. In the distance, the silvery towers of the alien base rose up against the skyline.

“Papers, please,” a policeman said. There were a number of armed policemen waiting at the buses, carefully checking the papers carried by the visitors. The alien base had already become a favoured destination for travellers — the curious, the worshipful and even the hostile — and the local police force had found itself overwhelmed as it struggled to try and keep the unwelcome guests from scrambling over the fence and slipping towards the alien base. “I need to check your papers.”

Jason produced his ID — his SETI card, the letter that had invited him to the base and the security card he’d been issued by a government minder — and waited for the policeman to check it, cursing the sun under his breath. The heat seemed to grow every stronger — sweat was trickling down his back — as he waited; it seemed like hours before the policeman finally returned his ID and motioned for him to enter the bus. It was cool inside, thankfully; he stumbled to a seat and collapsed in front of one of the windows. He’d never faced such heat in his life.

The bus lurched into life and started driving down a road towards the alien base. It had been constructed near a former USAF base for heavy-lift aircraft, allowing the Federal Government a high degree of control over the surrounding area. The airfield was separated from the alien base by a network of fences and armed guards, but hardly anyone came to visit the former base unless one of the alien shuttles came to land on the field. They reserved their attention for the aliens. Nearly a week since the aliens had made their speech at the UN, they were still a source of endless fascination to the inhabitants of Earth. Every alien base on the planet existed under the same state of friendly siege.