Christopher Nuttall: The Trojan Horse

The Washington Press Corps was known for being rowdy — years of media manipulation and spin had turned most reporters into hardened cynics — but this time there was a sense that they were staring at historic, even world-changing events. Jayne had been a child when the planes had hit the Twin Towers, yet she still remembered the shock that had consumed her parents, teachers and other adult acquaintances. No one had known what was going to come next; no one had known that the terrorists couldn’t launch a second strike within days. This was the same; whatever else happened, the Earth would never be the same. The internet talked of hundreds of thousands of people suffering from shock — or disbelief — as they digested the news. And the experts kept bringing up examples from the past; the Native Americans, the Aztecs, Imperial China, Imperial Japan…

They own the stars , Jayne admitted to herself. We’re nothing to them .

In her youth, Jayne had been a Star Trek fan, but she’d never understood the Prime Directive’s logic. The UFP had surrounded countless worlds less advanced than the Federation, worlds with civilisations that would find themselves constrained by the Federation’s dominance of the surrounding star systems, civilisations that would never be able to build interstellar empires of their own. And now, however she looked at it, humanity was in the same position. The stars seemed to hem the human race in, confining her race to a single star system…

The room hushed rapidly as the President’s Media Aide appeared from the side of the room. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, his voice picked up by the tiny microphone at his neck and broadcast across the room, “the President of the United States of America.”

Jayne had never been quite certain what to make of President Patrick Hollinger. On one hand, he was a quiet, almost studious man, a candidate no one had seriously expected to reach the final stages of election, let alone win. On the other hand, she could see how such bland, almost characterless traits would recommend him to the general public, a public that had become increasingly sick of political scandals, extremism and the sheer poison boiling through the political. Hollinger was no great man, but then… the public had chosen to reject those who claimed to be great men. Time would tell if it had been a wise decision, or if it had been one of many mistakes that had placed an unsuitable candidate in the Oval Office.

“My Fellow Americans,” the President said. His voice was firm, at least, the voice of a friendly headmaster or family attorney. He could convince people that he was there to help, even if he couldn’t be inspirational; he could help them to lead without seeming to lead himself. But Jayne wasn’t too impressed. The measure of a President lay in how he responded to crisis… and Hollinger had found himself confronted by the single most shocking event in human history. “This is a momentous day for our world.”

He looked directly into the cameras, a skill practiced by every modern politician. The reporters might write favourable reviews of his speech or they might pour scorn on his words, but their opinions weren’t the important ones. Research had long shown that a President’s position in the opinion polls often depended more upon how he approached the average voter, rather than the reporters. Quite a number of promising political careers had been terminated by playing to the reporters, rather than the watching population. And the politician who accidentally allowed his contempt for the voters to show would find his career coming to a messy end.

“We have asked ourselves for years if we are the sole form of intelligent life in the universe,” he continued. “We have looked up at the stars, realised that they are suns just like the one that gives light and heat to our world, and wondered if they harbour their own worlds with their own intelligent races. The question we have wondered about for centuries has been answered. We are not alone in the universe.”

A low mummer ran through the reporters. Many of them, Jayne knew, had wondered if it was a hoax, or the first step in a cunning plan to reshape the world. The internet had a vast number of people who — already, in the first few hours after First Contact — had produced a vast range of conspiracy theories, ranging from the US having built and launched the starships in secret, to a mad plan from the scientific community to convince the world to declare a truce, destroy all of mankind’s weapons, unite the world and accept peace forever more. Hearing the President, a man globally respected if not always loved, telling the world that the aliens were real put an end to any real doubts among the audience. The world had changed forever.

“Seventeen alien starships have come to Earth,” the President said. “I have been assured by my military chiefs that they have posed no threat to our world. They have made no signs of hostile intent. Indeed, they have broadcast messages of greeting to the human race and invited us to join the Galactic Federation. A new world has been born today and we are the lucky ones who will bear witness to humanity’s entry into a wider galactic community.

“There are those who have greeted the arrival of our visitors with fear and terror. There are those who believe that the aliens do not come in peace, that they come to conquer the human race. And yet I must say to the world that there is no sign that the visitors have hostile intentions. A new day has dawned and I ask only that we greet the new world with the confidence and maturity that it deserves. There is no need to fear the changes the aliens will bring to our world. The human race will survive and prosper.

“The aliens have requested a meeting with the United Nations,” he concluded. “I will be present in New York, as will many of the world’s leaders, even those who would normally be considered pariahs in the global community. Together, the human race can meet any challenge; we can walk into the future with our heads held high.”

He bowed his head, slightly. “Thank you for your time,” he said. “Goodbye — and God bless America!”

Jayne watched as the reporters scrambled forwards, shouting questions. The President’s Press Secretary had warned them before they were invited to the speech that there would be no time for questions, but that hadn’t stopped any of the more obnoxious reporters. There were no answers from the President; instead, the next speakers waited for the hubbub to die down before they started to reassure the country — and indeed the world — that there was no danger. Shaking her head, Jayne settled back in her chair and produced her palmtop from her handbag. She’d have a preliminary blog message up within the next thirty minutes, with her comments and insights on the President’s speech for her followers. One thing stuck in her mind. The President had seemed pretty certain that the aliens came in peace.

She smiled, recalling the thrill of the chase. Was there a reason for his certainty?

Back in the offices that made up the heart of the federal government, the President looked a great deal less certain and reassured. Toby presented him with a cup of hot coffee and watched while he sipped it gratefully. The President worked far harder than anyone outside the Cabinet and his aides understood and anything Toby could do to lessen the stress, he would. He really needed sleep, but that wasn’t likely to come. It wasn’t a coincidence that almost every modern President saw their hair turn grey while in office.

“We had almost total media saturation,” Toby said, once the President had taken his seat and placed his elbows on the desk. The vast array of military and civilian advisors and subordinates had their orders. In a way, there was nothing for the President to do, but worry about the future. “Ninety percent of the public will have watched your speech.”