Joe Haldeman - The Coming

He returned his attention to the book, up to the 1990s now.

In August 1990, Gainesville had a week of horrid fame, all over the world. Over the space of forty-eight hours, a madman captured, tortured, mutilated, and killed five students.

The bodies were rent with sixty-one slashes and stab wounds.

He carefully cleaned them up afterward—even the girl whose head he sawed off and placed at eye level on a bookshelf, for the police. Then he arranged the bodies into obscene positions.

The perversion eventually proved his undoing: he left semen at the scene, and its DNA identified him with no doubt.

He’d been free for months, before being arrested on another charge. A quarter of the student body had left in fear, or in response to parents’ fears. The town was haunted by terror: gun sales skyrocketed while real estate plummeted. It was a good time to buy property in the student ghetto; a bad time to live there.

Alarming hair growth had continued in young white males since August, when a musical mime group, the Epileptics, had been briefly popular. What caught on was not their semirandom twitching, now admired and imitated only by the very young, but their odd facial hair: each of them had a braided rope of beard growing from one cheek, and were otherwise clean-shaven. Of course it would take years to achieve a really long rope, but many adherents had managed four to six inches. They dyed it odd colors and some waxed it with a heavy pomade, so it lolled from the cheek like a spare penis, much to the delight of their parents.

Two movies inspired by the Coming appeared. Second Coming was aimed at the Christian audience, and succeeded; To Serve Man, blatantly stolen from a century-old “first contact” story, did not do quite as well, once the joke of the title became common knowledge.

Europe treaded further down the path to open war. Every member present in the German parliament died on 17 November, victims of a swift bioagent that turned their bones to jelly. No one claimed responsibility for the massacre. The next day the Eiffel Tower came down, four people freighted with high explosives sacrificing themselves simultaneously, at the monument’s four corners.

No one took credit for that, either. Official denials were discounted by most German and French citizens, as was the sober assertion that a third party was likely responsible for both atrocities; someone who would benefit from the two countries destroying one another.

Both armies massed along the border, doing maneuvers.

Insect restaurants opened all over California, Oregon, and Washington State. One chain, Eat More Bugs, was openly xenophobic, relating bugs with the Coming—cows and pigs and chickens are your relatives; eat something alien.

Most of the survival stores were failing. People who stocked up on water and bullets and nitrogen-preserved beans only went to the store once. So it was one month of huge profits followed by bankruptcy. Some of them hung on grimly, hoping for bad news. But there was no news from space; just the unchanging signal.

Norman told Aurora a version of the truth that did not include Pepe or weapons of incredible ferocity. The police investigation of the murder/arson did not publicly acknowledge that the bodies had been burned beyond even molecular recognition. The station scuttlebutt was that Willy Joe had arranged the arson to make it look as if he had died, a cover for disappearing out of sight. That was consistent with Rabin’s fantastic testimony and the absolute lack of organic residue: the “men” who were holding him hostage were just convincing dummy robots, loaded with something like thermite. It would have been an expensive masquerade, but well within Willy Joe’s budget, or at least the budget of his bosses.

Rabin had one more clandestine meeting with Norm, where they discussed the unlikelihood of that explanation. Of course, Rabin had gone along with it during the investigation, because it turned the spotlight away from him: Willy Joe had only picked up a cop so he would have an unimpeachable witness to his dramatic “demise.”

Norm and Rabin stropped Occam’s razor and concluded it must have been some clandestine military device that had fallen into the hands of an enemy of Willy Joe’s. Norm was still thinking privately about gamma-ray bursters, but he left well enough alone there.

(An aspect of it that no one else was privy to was that the chief of police had a cousin in Washington who was high up in U.S. Army weapons research. He said there was nothing in the arsenal, or even on the drawing boards, that would do what Rabin had described. So it must have been fake.)

“This should be entertaining.” Rory snapped off the screen.

Norman was in the supplicant’s chair. “Well, I’m impressed. The leader of the Western world up at nine.” He sipped coffee.

“Oh, since eight at least, putting on makeup.” Rory leafed through a thin stack of papers and slid them into a plastic portfolio. She reached for his cup. “May I?”

He pushed it an inch toward her. “No sugar.”

“I stand in awe of your willpower.” She took a sip. “Ugh. Delicious.”

“Take it along.”

“They’ll have some there.” She gave him a good-bye peck and took her jacket off the peg. “Wasn’t it raining out?”

“Stopped before I left.” She’d come to the office about four and saw lightning over the horizon. Crazy weather.

The elevator had a sharp scrubbed smell; first of the month. She put the scruffy jacket on over her businesslike meet-the-president dress, feeling bohemian. But who in Florida bothers with fancy cold-weather clothes?

The sky was gray with fast-moving clouds, the air damp and cool. It might rain again. She hurried along with the students hustling to their nine-o’clocks, some of them resolutely wearing shorts. Maybe they didn’t have anything else.

She got to the conference room early and was startled to see the president already there. “It’s just a test holo,” Deedee said from the other side of the room. “Coffee?”

“Half a cup, sure.” The holo looked absolutely real. Its eyes seemed to follow you. “I wonder how much science the holo knows. We could just go ahead and get started.”

“Ye of little faith.” Deedee handed her a plastic cup as she sat down, and took her own place across the table. “Let’s hope it’s just a pro forma pep talk.”

“Not a funding cut,” Rory said. “That’s the first thing that occurred to me.”

“It’s been a real windfall for you guys.”

She blew on the coffee. “You know it. Half our salary load this semester’s covered by the federal grant. Of course it’s generated a lot of paperwork. People trying to justify their ongoing research in terms of the Coming.”

“I didn’t hear that.” Chancellor Barrett walked into the room.

“I didn’t say it, Mal.” She smiled at him. “I was temporarily in the thrall of millennial demons.”

“That was last month.” He poured some coffee and squeezed past Deedee to get to his assigned chair. “I hope we won’t have to address the spiritual side of it this time.”