Red Dot: Contact. Will the gravest threat come from closer to home than we expect? (7 page)

“I think that’s pretty much it,” said Blake, turning to Ahmet.

“Yeah. Yeah,” said Ahmet. “That sums it up pretty accurately. But I guess I’m more worried about this than you guys.”

“I admit,” said Blake, “from the start, I thought it was more than likely D9 was coming on a friendly mission. There was no convincing evidence one way or the other, but I guess that’s just the kind of personality I have. This radio wave thing tilts toward the harmful side of the equation, but the evidence isn’t strong enough to change my views. I think pretty much everyone has the same outlook as before, but people who expected harm are a bit more sure of their position.”

Claire looked at her watch and said, “I’ll call the President and relate our conclusions, including a difference in opinion about how concerned we should be.”

Claire’s conversation with the President was, again, to the point, this time without the confrontation of her previous call to him. Toward the end of it, Douthart informed her he had just been told by Secretary of Defense Fitzgerald that the Secretary wanted her to go to the Pentagon as soon as she could, to brief him on latest developments.

Claire picked up some notes at her office and headed for the Pentagon. She’d briefed government officials before, but this was her first face-to-face meeting with a Cabinet member, and she wondered briefly why he hadn’t just asked for a phone interview.

When she entered Fitzgerald’s office, she and the Defense Secretary exchanged pleasantries as he offered her a seat. Then she delivered a concise briefing on D9 and red dots with her usual confidence, up through the quick radio transmission from one of the red dots in Japan.

“Thank you,” Fitzgerald said, smiling beneath his pinched eyebrows. “That was a very professional and informative briefing.”

“Thank you, Mr. Secretary.”

“Oh, please call me Donner,” the Secretary said.

“Claire,” replied Claire with a smile, though she thought she’d rather keep it on a more formal level.

“As the head of the Defense Department, Claire, I have a particular responsibility to keep our families and country safe from outside threats,” Fitzgerald said.

Claire nodded her understanding. “I know you’ve put your own life on the line for our defense,” she said. She’d noticed the medals and pictures on a shelf behind the Defense Secretary. Along with group photos of units Fitzgerald served in, one showed him between patrols in Iraq with three of his buddies, all of them with happy smiles on their faces. Claire thought it contrasted with a later family picture of Fitzgerald, who now looked serious, while his wife and two boys and a daughter smiled happily.

“My experience makes me feel my responsibility for preparing for D9 even more deeply,” Fitzgerald said. “You’ve observed the aliens’ technology from day one. Is there any doubt it far surpasses our own?”

“No, sir. To be able to travel through untold light years of space and transmit red dots that defy our scientific understanding all over Earth… They’re incredibly more advanced than us.”

“Yes,” said Fitzgerald, shifting his weight in his chair. “And is there any doubt that they could use this super technology to attack us and destroy us, destroying everything and killing everyone we love?”

“Well,” said Claire, surprised by the rising emotion shown by Fitzgerald in his last question, “we haven’t seen any evidence of a weapon, but it’s safe to say they’re capable of developing weapons more lethal that anything we have.”

“It’s often said, Claire, that there is no solid evidence the ETs intend to harm us, and some use that as reason to keep our defenses weak. Is there any solid evidence they
won’t
use these lethal weapons on us?”

“Nothing solid, just inferences.”

“Is it even possible that—no matter what they say or do beforehand—we’ll ever have proof they won’t attack?”

“No … I’d say no, sir. Not proof. If we could examine their previous behavior, we would learn much more, but that isn’t possible.”

“What about solid evidence they
will
attack?”

“Yes, yes sir. They could say they will attack or take some action that shows they will.” Claire squirmed in her chair with the uncomfortable feeling that Fitzgerald had called her into his office not to be briefed by her, but to drive home his own conclusions.

He paused and leaned back in his chair before continuing. “Have you come across any evidence that means or might mean the aliens have evil intentions?”

“No. No, sir. To this point, we have no evidence of that nature.”

“Are you sure? Nothing that may have been overlooked or misinterpreted?”

“No. I’m sure.”

“Claire, you just said the aliens are coming with weapons capable of destroying, killing whatever and whoever they want. And we will never be sure they won’t attack until it’s too late.”

Fitzgerald leaned forward and fixed Claire with an almost frighteningly intense look, and said slowly and deliberately, “Are you sure?”

Claire recoiled in confusion, wondering what he was getting at. “Sir, I told you I was sure,” she said, also stressing each word.

Then, lamely—she feared—she tried to make her next comment sound like a jest. “You don’t want me to lie about our findings, do you?”

“I want you to do what is best for your family and country,” Fitzgerald said, maintaining his aggressive posture and expression.

“Mr. Secretary,” said Claire leaning forward and returning Fitzgerald’s focused look. “I’m working as hard as I can, using everything I’ve learned and experienced, to cooperate with other scientists and find out everything we can about D9 and the ETs, and report our findings clearly and accurately to government leaders. That
is
the best I can do for my country.”

Fitzgerald leaned back and let a smile play on his lips. “That’s all anyone could ask,” he said. “And I want to commend you for your hard work and dedication.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Claire, relaxing a little.

“Please keep me informed on any new development,” the Secretary said as he stood up.

Claire walked out of Fitzgerald’s office confused and upset.
Should I tell anyone?
she thought.
I’m sure he wanted me to twist or invent some findings to make it look like the ETs would attack
. A Cabinet member! But what did he really say, explicitly? At the end, he said she should report accurately, and praised her for her hard work.

On the ride back to Denver One, she stewed about what to do regarding Fitzgerald’s implied suggestion that she lie about her work. Finally she decided she didn’t have enough substantial evidence to say anything.

She also noted that the Defense Secretary’s forceful arguments had made her think twice about her conclusion that the ETs were peaceful,
although she still didn’t think they would attack. Fitzgerald’s obvious conclusion that the ETs were threatening, and his willingness to convince others, even if it meant lying, shocked and disturbed her. What was going on the inside the government?

H
OME
F
RONT
S
TRUGGLES

I
f the world
was a boxer, staggered by news of D9, he was knocked flat by the appearance of the red dots and discovery of radiation coming from one dot. But a few days after the knockdown, he was on one knee, struggling to stand up again. Wild rumors of death and destruction from the red dots persisted, along with claims of fantastic conspiracies, but repeated official reports from government agencies and respected scientific institutions around the world began to convince many that the dots weren’t actually harming people … at least so far.

And as more people had personal experience with one or more red dot, social media helped spread the word that no one was being killed or injured. Reports, pictures, and video proliferated of people standing near or actually on a red dot. Some people who lived or worked near a dot started referring to “my red dot” or saying things like, “We drove by our red dot this morning.”

As belief that the dots were harmless began to spread, it became easier for people to think that maybe the aliens didn’t mean to hurt them. But there was no way to completely remove the frightening uncertainties. Fitzgerald was right to assert that nothing the ETs said or did completely proved they wouldn’t attack, and that no one would know until they actually launched their plan for Earth. If they were aggressive, it would then be “too late.” What was the purpose of the dots, and why were the aliens coming? That the aliens had begun to communicate with Earth did not ease anyone’s concerns, because early messages were indecipherable by experts.

Scientists and administrators at Denver One shared the anxiety caused by these unknowns, but generally did not feel real panic or subscribe to extreme conspiracy theories. Maybe that was because they focused on the evidence at hand, or maybe the twelve-hour days trying to understand the space aliens left them too tired for panic. Claire, however, got on eyeful and earful of extreme fears and behaviors on her drive to Denver One on her fourth day.

“What the hell are we going to eat?” demanded Claire’s driver, turning his head toward the backseat momentarily. Scott was a large young man with long, dark hair, and the “we” he referred to included his two children—a girl of about six and a boy around ten—displayed with irresistible toothy smiles in a photo on the dashboard. Of course he knew Claire had no answer, but his anxiety was so great he had to give it voice. All Claire could do was lean forward and, again, assure him there was no reason to think the aliens would hurt anyone, and things would get back to normal after a while.

“Normal?” exclaimed Scott. “Claire, I’ll show you normal.”

At the next corner, he took a right instead of going straight to Denver One. After about three blocks, the indistinct shouts of a large group of people became audible. A block farther, over a small hill, a group of about forty people came into sight in front of a bank branch. After the red dots had showed up, the uneasy acceptance of government limits on financial transactions began to crumble. Some banks and brokerages around the world shut down in the face of angry demonstrations. It looked like these people had taken their argument right to the bank.

It was hard to hear what they were shouting, but they waved signs with messages like
It’s OUR money!
and
NO to tyranny!
A police car and two nervous policemen—apparently all the overstretched authorities could spare—blocked the bank door.

Looking at the crowd, Claire suddenly clutched the seat in front of her with both hands and said, “Holy crap they’ve got guns!”

At least two people in the crowd wore handguns on their waists. The thought there would be a shoot-out or the police might abandon the bank filled her with dread.

“Yeah, well let me show you something,” said Scott. He made another right and drove two blocks to a mostly deserted strip mall. He stopped the car in front of a store that had no one outside; the windows were broken and the store had been ransacked. The big red sign above the door said
Elite Firearms
.

“People think they might need to take care of themselves, you know, and their families,” Scott said. “I’m not talking about you personally, Claire, but can you trust the government? I mean, they’re calling out the National Guard and bringing troops back from overseas. Like they say on the radio, it’s kind of suspicious.”

“With the riots and—don’t forget, Scott—really advanced space aliens coming our way, don’t you think the government has to call back troops and all that?” Claire didn’t mention that she’d spoken with the President, but she said, “And President Douthart is a confirmed small-government guy. The first thing he did when he was elected was almost completely defund a couple of agencies.”

“Is he, really?” Scott asked doubtfully. “Well, it’s just suspicious.”

The rest of the drive to Denver One was uneventful. After he dropped Claire off, Scott went to handle other assignments. A different driver would take Claire home, because she would get off work late, while Scott finished his shift and made the short drive to his house.

Scott’s neighborhood was a pleasant, modest area outside of the incorporated part of town, but still called Laurel by most residents. Many of the homes belonged to mid- and low-level workers at Fort Meade and the National Security Agency. Most presented nicely trimmed lawns. A few stood out with a patio or other addition, or with professional landscaping, and several—those with scraggly weeds and car parts or trash in the front yard—hadn’t got the message.

When Scott got home, he literally almost ran into is son Carl, who was barreling out of the front door in a sweat suit. “Hi Dad, bye Dad,” the youngster said hurriedly.

“Hang on there, dude, where you goin’?” Scott loved being with his son, but sometimes had to almost physically detain the busy and popular
boy to get to talk with him. The father was thrilled his son had that special something that he’d lacked himself as a kid. He’d had a modest circle of friends when he was growing up, and spent much of his time after school watching TV at home alone or with his family. He was on some sports teams, because he was good-sized for his age, but didn’t have the athletic ability to be a star.

Carl, on the other hand, seemed to be always at or going to some practice, game, or meeting. When he was home, he was constantly talking on the phone or exchanging texts or tweets with his friends—and Scott noted proudly that a lot of those friends were girls. And Carl was one of the best in his class at every sport.

“Morris called and said there’s a basketball court open at the National Guard armory,” Carl said. “We’re gonna play for about an hour.”

“Make sure you got enough time to do your homework,” Scott said, trying to sound stern, although he glowed with pride when he thought about Carl’s solid “B” average, which was much better than his own grades had been. “And leave your cell phone on and check in with us at least once an hour.”

“Yeah, I know,” Carl said. “In case the Martians attack.”

“I’m not kidding,” Scott said, not faking his stern attitude now. “This is a really dangerous situation.” Before Carl could dash off, Scott asked, “Where’s your sister?”