"Ah, yes. I recognize your insignia. Humans are so alike." The alien
strode importantly across the office, the resilient pads of his broad
feet making little plopping sounds on the rug, and seated himself
abruptly in the visitor's chair beside Rothwell's desk. He gave a sharp
cry, and another alien, shorter, but sporting similar, golden fur,
stepped into the office and closed the door. Both wore simple, brown
uniforms, without ornamentation.
"I am here," Aku said, "to tell you something." He stared impassively at
Rothwell for a minute, his fur-covered, almost human face completely
expressionless, then his gaze shifted to the window, to the hot runways
of New York International Airport and to the immense gray spaceship
that, even from the center of the field, loomed above the hangars and
passenger buildings. For an instant, a quick, unguessable emotion
clouded the wide black eyes and tightened the thin lips, then it was
gone.
Rothwell waited.
"General, Earth's children must all be aboard my ships within one week.
We will start to load on the sixth day, next Thursday." He stood.
[Illustration: The aliens supervised the loading as anguished parents
looked on.]
Rothwell locked eyes with the alien, and leaned forward, grinding his
knuckles into the desk top. "You know that's impossible. We can't select
100,000 children from every country and assemble them in only six days."
"You will do it." The alien turned to leave.
"Commander Aku! Let me remind you ..."
Aku spun around, eyes flashing. "General Rothwell! Let _me_ remind you
that two weeks ago I didn't even know Earth existed, and since
accidentally happening across your sun system and learning of your
trouble I have had my entire trading fleet of a hundred ships in orbit
about this planet while all your multitudinous political subdivisions
have filled the air with talk and wrangle.
"I am sorry for Earth, but my allegiance is to my fleet and I cannot
remain longer than seven more days and risk being caught up in your
destruction. Now, either you accept my offer to evacuate as many humans
as my ships will carry, or you don't." He paused. "You are the planet's
evacuation coordinator; you will give me an answer."
* * * * *
Rothwell's arms sagged, he sunk back down into his chair, all pretense
gone. Slowly he swung around to face the window and the gray ship,
standing like a Gargantuan sundial counting the last days of Earth. He
almost whispered. "We are choosing the children. They will be ready in
six days."
He heard the door open and close. He was alone.
Five years ago, he thought, we cracked the secret of faster-than-light
travel, and since then we've built about three dozen exploration ships
and sent them out among the stars to see what they could see.
He stared blankly at the palms of his hand. I wonder what it was we
expected to find?
We found that the galaxy was big, that there were a lot of stars, not so
many planets, and practically no other life--at least no intelligence to
compare with ours. Then ... He jabbed a button on his intercom.
"Ed Philips here. What is it Jim?"
"Doc, are you sure your boys have hypo'd, couched, and hypno'd the _Leo_
crew with everything you've got?"
The voice on the intercom sighed. "Jim, those guys haven't got a memory
of their own. We know everything about each one of them, from the hurts
he got falling off tricycles to the feel of the first girl he kissed.
Those men aren't lying, Jim."
"I never thought they were lying, Doc." Rothwell paused for a minute and
studied the long yellow hairs that grew sparsely across the back of his
hand, thickened to a dense grove at his wrist, and vanished under the
sleeve of his uniform. He looked back at the intercom. "Doc, all I know
is that three perfectly normal guys got on board that ship, and when it
came back we found a lot of jammed instruments and three men terrified
almost to the point of insanity."
"Jim, if you'd seen ..."
Rothwell interrupted. "I know. Five radioactive planets with the fresh
scars of cobalt bombs and the remains of civilizations. Then radar
screens erupting crazily with signals from a multi-thousand ship space
fleet; vector computers hurriedly plotting and re-plotting the
fast-moving trajectory, submitting each time an unvarying answer for the
fleet's destination--our own solar system." He slapped his hand flat
against the desk. "The point is, Doc, it's not much to go on, and we
don't dare send another ship to check for fear of attracting attention
to ourselves. If we could only be _sure_."
"Jim," over the intercom, Philips' voice seemed to waver slightly,
"those men honestly saw what they say. I'd stake my life on it."
"All of us are, Doc." He flipped the off button. Just thirty days now,
since the scout ship _Leo's_ discovery and the panicked dash for home
with the warning. Not that the warning was worth much, he reflected,
Earth had no space battle fleet. There had never been any reason to
build one.
Then, two weeks ago, Aku's trading fleet had descended from nowhere,
having blundered, he said, across Earth's orbit while on a new route
between two distant star clusters. When told of the impending attack,
Aku immediately offered to cancel his trip and evacuate as many humans
as his ships could hold, so that humanity would at least survive,
somewhere in the galaxy. Earth chose to accept his offer.
"Hobson's choice," Rothwell growled to himself. "No choice at all."
After years of handling hot and cold local wars and crises of every
description, his military mind had become conditioned to a complete
disbelief in fortuitous coincidence, and he gagged at the thought of Aku
"just happening by." Still frowning, he punched a yellow button on his
desk, and reviewed in his mind the things he wanted to say.
* * * * *
"Jim! Isn't everything all right?"
Chagrined, Rothwell scrambled to his feet, the President had never
answered so quickly before. He faced the screen on the wall to his right
and saluted, amazed once again at how old the man looked. Sparse white
hair criss-crossed haphazardly over the President's head, his face was
lined with deep trenches that not even the most charitable could call
wrinkles, and the faded eyes that stared from deep caverns no longer
radiated the flaming vitality that had inspired victorious armies in the
African war.
"Commander Aku was just here, sir. He demands that the children be
ready for evacuation next Thursday. I told him that it would be damned
difficult."
The face on the screen paled perceptibly. "I hope you didn't anger the
commander!"
Rothwell ground his teeth. "I told him we'd deliver the goods on
Thursday."
Presidential lips tightened. "I don't care for the way you said that,
General."
Rothwell straightened. "I apologize, sir. It's just that this whole
lousy setup has me worried silly. I don't like Aku making like a
guardian angel and us having no choice but to dance to his harp." His
fingers clenched. "God knows we need his help, and I guess its wrong to
ask too many questions, but how come he's only landed one of his ships,
and why is it that he and his lieutenant are the only aliens to leave
that ship--the only aliens we've ever even seen? It just doesn't figure
out!" There, he thought, I've said it.
The President looked at him quietly for a minute, then answered softly,
"I know, Jim, but what else can we do?" Rothwell winced at the shake in
the old man's voice.
"I don't know," he said. "But Aku's got us in a hell of a spot."
"Uh, Jim. You haven't said this in public, have you?"