Christopher Nuttall: The Trojan Horse

“Good,” the President said. It was very rare to interrupt the non-news channels on television, let alone try to stream a single message onto all of the entertainment channels on the internet. That, if nothing else, would ensure that the President’s speech was watched, if not always believed. Toby’s father, he thought, wouldn’t be reassured at all. He and his friends had been preparing for the collapse of government and society for years. “How are we standing on the economic front?”

Toby made a show of consulting his secure palmtop, although he’d already memorised the last update from the Treasury Department. “The New York Stock Exchange is looking shaky, but the experts believe that it will remain fairly stable for the next few days, barring a sudden change in the global situation,” he said. “There’s been increased demand for stock in corporations that manufacture weapons, bomb shelters and camping gear — public demand has gone off the scale. I think that we will see increased absenteeism at work for the next week, but as long as there is no sudden change it’s quite likely that everything will return to normal fairly soon. And the holiday trade has seen a massive spike in activity. Everyone who can rent a place to live outside the cities is doing precisely that, Mr. President.”

“A great many people are nervous,” the President said. “Do you think that I reassured them today?”

“I believe so,” Toby said. There was no way to know for sure. The world was still reeling from the concept of aliens visiting the Earth. Everyone had seen movies, TV serials and even novels detailing a thousand different alien plans to conquer the Earth. Independence Day had seen massive flying saucers floating over cities and burning them to the ground; others, like Invasion of the Body-Snatchers , had shown a more subtle form of invasion. There were far fewer movies centred around peaceful alien contact — and many of them, like The Day the Earth Stood Still , had implied that evil forces within the government or military would seek to harm the alien visitors. “I think the sense of distance is lending some enchantment. It would be a different story if the aliens were hovering over our cities.”

The President nodded, thoughtfully. “And the meeting in New York?”

Toby smiled. Once the alien message had been picked up, the government-operated transmitters that normally served the nation’s network of spy satellites and military communications systems had been used to contact and establish a link with the alien ships. Reluctantly, the NSA had allowed representatives from a handful of other governments to monitor the transmissions, but little had been forthcoming from the aliens. They’d simply stated that they came in peace, that they were emissaries from the Galactic Federation and requested a meeting with world leaders. Surprisingly, they hadn’t attempted to suggest a location or even a time and place. They appeared content to allow the human race to handle matters without further pressure. Toby wasn’t sure if it showed a willingness to show respect for the human race, or if it was a very slight insult. Or maybe it was simple ignorance. The aliens presumably knew little of how the human governments operated.

Or maybe not. We come in peace . Take us to your leaders. How long had they studied humanity to know those terms? They could have been watching and monitoring the Earth for hundreds of years…

“The military will be establishing a no-fly zone over the city,” he said. The USAF had actually wanted to keep substantial forces in the region — backed up by carriers from the Navy — but the politicians had insisted on keeping a low profile. “We’ll use unarmed aircraft to escort the alien landing craft to the city, while the NYPD and National Guard will ensure that there is a secure perimeter around the landing site. There’s still some confusion over security within the UN itself, but we think we’ll have it sorted out by the time the aliens actually land.”

The President snorted. Nearly every world leader of consequence — or considered himself to be of consequence — would be coming to the landing. The Secret Service — responsible for the protection of the President and his family — would be coordinating their efforts with British, French, German, Russian, Chinese and even Iranian security personnel. Only strict orders from their political masters had ensured some degree of cooperation, although as the deadline drew closer, Toby fully expected the various security teams to start picking fights with one another. The whole situation would have been unthinkable only a day ago.

“And everyone wants to know our position in the talks,” Toby concluded. “The Cabinet would like to schedule a formal meeting to discuss the issue tomorrow.”

“That won’t be an easy task,” the President said. “They’ve told us almost nothing.”

He didn’t mean the Cabinet, Toby knew. The Galactics — the term had started on the internet and spread around the world within hours — had told their human hosts almost nothing about the Galactic Federation, or what membership in it actually meant. How could anyone bargain with the aliens when no one even knew the rules of the game?

“Yes, Mr President,” Toby agreed. “The analysts have already prepared a list of possibilities…”

The President smiled. “Possibilities,” he repeated. “And what are the odds of even one of them being right?”

Near Mannington, Virginia

USA, Day 3

The alien ships hung against the inky darkness of space. They were illuminated only by reflected earthlight, hinting at rather than revealing their alien contours. The Colonel studied the latest images from orbital satellites with interest, noting that technology had clearly improved since he’d left the military, but also that the aliens had positioned themselves just far enough from Earth to limit the amount of detail that could be picked up by human cameras. Every telescope on Earth was tracking the alien ships, yet little detail could be put together. The alien ships were massive — the smallest was easily two kilometres long — but there was something oddly unimpressive about them. They were blocky misshapen forms, rather than the more elegant ships humans had designed long before they had the ability and will to build them.

And there was something about them that worried the Colonel. It wasn’t something he could have put into words, yet it nagged at the back of his mind. On one hand, the mere presence of any alien starships in orbit around Earth was worrying; they portended vast change in the near future, even if the aliens didn’t come with bad intentions. On the other hand, he wasn’t sure he wanted to encounter any culture that considered the blocky starships to be the highest expression of their artistic skills. But then, he reminded himself, Imperial Japan or the Ottoman Empire had produced quite remarkable buildings… and he wouldn’t have freely chosen to live in either country. The aliens might have a reason for the strict utility of their ships…

It clicked, suddenly. A car might be designed to look elegant — the Colonel still fondly recalled the Dodge Viper he’d bought years ago — but a military tank was designed for function over form. Anything built for the military had to do the job first and look spectacular second — a very poor second. The A-10 Warthog might be an ugly airplane when compared to the F-22, another military aircraft, but the Colonel knew which one he would have preferred to be flying over him when he was on the ground, with enemy troops closing in from all directions. The aliens had built their ships along military lines. It was possible — he reminded himself firmly — that they might just have nothing reassembling a human sense of aesthetics, but yet he couldn’t escape the thought that he was staring at alien warships.