"There, there, Jim." The President smiled weakly. "We can't expect the
aliens to act like we do, can we?" He began to adopt the preacher tone
he used so effectively in his campaign speeches. "We must be thankful
for the chance breeze that wafted Commander Aku to these shores, and for
his help. Maybe the war fleet won't arrive after all and everything will
turn out all right. You're doing a fine job, Jim." The screen went
blank.
* * * * *
Rothwell felt sick. He felt sorry for the President, but sorrier for the
Western Democratic Union, to be captained by such a feeble thing.
Leaning back in his chair, he glared at the empty screen. "You can't
solve problems by wishing them away. You knew that once."
His mind wandered, and for a minute he thought he could actually feel
the growing pressure of three billion people waiting for the computers
of Moscow Central to make their impartial choice from the world's
children. Trained mathematicians, the best that could be mustered from
every major country, monitored each phase of the project to insure its
absolute honesty. One hundred thousand children were to be picked
completely at random; brown, yellow, black, white, red; sick or well;
genius or moron; every child had an equal chance. This fact, this fact
alone gave every parent hope, and possibly prevented world-wide rioting.
But with the destruction of the planet an almost certainty, the
collective nervous system was just one micron away from explosion.
There was nothing else to think about or talk about, and no one tried to
pretend any different.
Rothwell's eyes moved involuntarily to the little spherical tri-photo on
his desk, just an informal shot he'd snapped a few months back of Martha
and her proudest possessions, their rambunctious, priceless off-spring:
Jim, Jr., in his space scouts uniform, and Mary Ellen with that crazy
hair-do she was so proud of then, but had already forgotten.
"Damn!" he said aloud. "Dammit to hell!" In one quick movement, he spun
his chair around and jabbed at the intercom. "Get the heli!" His voice
crackled.
Grabbing his hat, he yanked open the door and strode into the sudden
quiet of the small office. He turned right and went out through a side
entrance to a small landing ramp, arriving just as his personal heli
touched down. He climbed in. "To the ship."
As he settled back in the hard seat, Rothwell offered a silent thanks
that, instead of asking which ship, Sergeant Johnson promptly lifted and
headed for the gray space vessel that dominated the field.
A few hundred yards from the craft he said, "You'd better set her down
here, Sarge, and let me walk in. Our friends might get nervous about
something flying in at them."
He jumped out, squinting against the hot glare off the concrete, and
then, with a slight uneasiness, stepped into the dark shadow that
pointed a thousand feet along the runway, away from the setting sun. He
walked towards the ship.
A few seconds later, his eye caught a small, unexplained flash and he
threw himself flat just as a section of pavement exploded, a dozen feet
ahead.
Cursing, Rothwell picked himself off the ground, brushed the dust off
his uniform, and stood quietly. He didn't have long to wait.
A small cubicle jutted out from the ship and lowered itself along a
monorail running down to the ground. The side nearest him opened
revealing, as Rothwell expected, Commander Aku and his lieutenant who
both hurried over to where he was standing, as if to keep him from
coming forward to meet them--and in so doing coming nearer the ship. As
the commander trotted rapidly towards him, Rothwell noted that he was
still buttoning his jacket and that the shirt underneath looked
suspiciously as if it hadn't been buttoned at all. Funny, he thought,
that my presence should cause such a panic.
"General, what a pleasure." The commander's disconcerted look belied his
words, but even as he spoke he began to regain his composure and assume
the poker face that Rothwell had come to expect.
"I do hope," said Rothwell, "that my visit hasn't inconvenienced you."
Aku and his lieutenant traded swift glances, neither said anything.
"Well," Rothwell began again, "I am here to convey to you the good
wishes of the President of our country and to submit a request from him
and from the other governments of the Earth."
Aku straightened. "Though merely the commander of a poor trading fleet,
I feel sure I speak for my empire when I wish your President good
health. The request?"
* * * * *
Rothwell spoke evenly, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice.
"Commander, when the attack comes we expect that Earth with all its life
will be annihilated. But your offer to transport a hundred thousand
children to your own home worlds has prevented despair, and has at least
given us hope that if we will not see the future our children will."