Scott Mackay: Phytosphere

The room grew still, and he could tell everyone was thinking of the Western Secessionists.

The president continued. “Why do you think the Tarsalans have decided to use the shroud against us in the first place? If they’re so technically superior to us, why don’t they just mount a full-scale invasion?

Why don’t they just come in and take what they want instead of applying this slow pressure thing on us?”

“For one thing, they don’t have the resources aboard the TMS to mount a full-scale invasion.

Remember, there’s only fifty thousand of them up there, and many of them are just immigrants who want to live on Earth. For another thing, it’s not in their nature to be violent.”

“You know this… this Kafis on a fairly personal level, don’t you?” asked the president.

“He’s one of their senior scientists. I’ve had him as a guest to Marblehill, my home in northern Georgia, numerous times. He’s also one of their junior negotiators, and is responsible for establishing diplomatic relations with the inhabited moons and the inner planets.”

“Is there anything you’ve learned from him that might help us in this particular situation?”

“Only that the shroud fits right in with the teacher-student emphasis of their whole culture. They don’t want to punish us into accepting what they want. They want to teach us that, ultimately, Tarsalan immigration to Earth is the only logical and acceptable proposition. It’s a known fact that Tarsalans have two brains. Many tests have been performed on them, in particular the Cameron Chess Study, and in terms of intelligence quotient it’s been shown that they far outstrip even the most brilliant human being.

They’ve come to the Earth with the notion that they can teach us quite a lot because they’re more advanced than we are.”

“I find that presumptuous as hell,” said Sidower.

“Nonetheless, the teacher-student aspect of their culture, developed over a million years, is hardwired into the way they think about everything. Kafis has a phrase he uses sometimes: Instruction through discipline. They have an instrument on their home planet. It’s called a cinerthax. On Earth we’d consider it an instrument of torture. Tarsalan students purposely tie themselves to the cinerthax while they study, and the cinerthax twists and turns their bodies in the most painful ways. It doesn’t injure them. But it certainly motivates them to learn. That’s their way. And that is, I think, one of the guiding principles behind their decision to mount this shroud around the Earth.”

The president stared at his desk blotter, thinking. “What about the shroud itself, Neil? If we get rid of it, then the pressure’s off, and we can turn the whole thing around.”

Neil didn’t hesitate. He never hesitated, always showing everybody, especially the president, that he belonged in the Oval Office. “If we take an aggressive scientific approach to the shroud, I think we can destroy it in as little as two weeks.” Neil looked around, gauging reaction to this can-do proclamation—and saw hope. Now it was time to cash in. “But Mr. President, I’m going to need resources.”

“Neil, you can have whatever you want. Make a list.”

“For starters, I need a sizable sample of the shroud. We have to get a piece of it into the lab. We have to see what it is, and analyze it on a molecular level. Bob and I have talked about it, and we’ve decided that this is the way to go. You don’t know what something is until you’ve looked at it under a microscope. I’m sure that once we examine it microscopically and analyze it in a number of different ways, we’ll see that it’s an extremely simple compound. I believe the Tarsalans are going to have to do things on the cheap because they don’t have the resources to do things otherwise. And that means simple. Which means there should be an equally simple solution as well, perhaps a chemical one, something that will break the bonds that hold the shroud together. But as I say, in order to arrive at any solution, I need samples. And substantial samples.”

“Any ideas on how we’re going to get these samples?” asked the president.

“We get our friends at the National Center for Atmospheric Research involved. We ask them to loan us three of their HIAPER aircraft.”

Everyone paused.

“And what exactly is a HIAPER aircraft?” asked Julia Petrov.

“HIAPER is an acronym.” Yes, he had it all at his fingertips. Six hours between Trunk Bay and the White House, and he was formidably prepared. “It stands for High-Performance Instrumented Airborne Platform for Environmental Research. They’re great little jets with suborbital capability, the best of their kind in the world. We usually use them for tracking pollution plumes, or collecting data from the tops of storms, or monitoring the lower edges of the stratosphere. They can attain altitudes most research aircraft can’t—even spend brief periods in space—which makes them ideal for reaching the shroud. They’re easily equipped with the kinds of scoops and intakes necessary for gathering our sample. They fly out of Colorado, and I think it would be a good idea to have them fly with military cover. Joe, what’s the Air Force base in Colorado?”

Sidower squinted as he thought about it. “That would be Peterson,” said the secretary of defense. “And come to think of it, Peterson’s also home to the First Space Wing, so if the HIAPERs need any space support, they’ve got it.”

“Good. Mr. President, I suggest we get our samples first, before you mount any definitive military action.

Let’s get that stuff into the lab and analyze it. Once we have samples safely returned to Earth, you can launch whatever strikes are necessary.”

The president nodded. “Sounds like a plan.” He turned to Sidower. “And Joe, I’m glad we can get Colorado in on this. These Western Secessionist states—this is just the kind of thing they’ll capitalize on.

And it worries me because if things get really bad… they’ve got a real breakaway mentality these past few years, and considering they house some of our largest food-supply depots—anyway, I’m sure you get my drift.”

“We’ll try to make the bastards feel as if they’re helping.”

Julia Petrov spoke up. “I should point out that we’ve received a communications drop from the Moon. It parachuted through the shroud without detection, and the Navy recovered it a thousand miles north of Easter Island yesterday. The mayor’s office in Nectaris says the Moon is mounting its own scientific effort to neutralize the shroud.”

Neil felt some alarm. “The Moon?” he said. “Why’s the Moon getting involved? All they’ve got up there are gambling casinos, strip joints, and cannabis bars.”

The vice president interjected, “They have some top interplanetary-spacecraft design engineers.”

“Yes, but… we don’t want them screwing up our own operations. I’m sure their interference is going to be misguided, to say the least. They don’t have nearly the same expertise we do. Nor do they have the resources we have.” Neil turned to Julia Petrov. “Any idea who’s heading the project?”

“Your brother, as a matter of fact.”

Neil felt his face warming, and was momentarily disconcerted by this odd juxtaposition; poor old Gerry, as a matter of fact, being spoken about in the Oval Office.

“My brother?” He shook his head in disbelief. “With all due respect to my brother…” His usual tact seemed to desert him. “They can’t let Gerry take charge up there. I love him dearly, and he’s brilliant in his own way, but he has an uncanny knack for making wrong decisions, and for taking the wildest kind of risks. Mr. President, you have to get the State Department to talk to this mayor in Nectaris and tell him… tell him…” He raised his palms in consternation. “I urge you to have a midlevel diplomat, or even a senior diplomat, send a drop to this mayor in Nectaris and tell him to… to stand down.”