"Yes, sir. My mother was English-Irish, but we lived in a community
with quite a few Russian born emigrants. I learned the language."
"Good, Mr. Kuran, how would you like to die for your country?"
Hank Kuran looked at him for a long moment. He said slowly, "I'm
thirty-two years old, healthy and reasonably adjusted and happy. I'd
hate it."
The sick man snorted. "That's exactly the right answer. I don't trust
heroes. Now, how much have you heard about the extraterrestrials?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"You haven't heard the news broadcasts the past couple of days? How
the devil could you have missed them?" Hennessey was scowling sourly
at him.
Hank Kuran didn't know what the other was talking about. "Two days ago
I was in the town of Machu Picchu in the Andes trying to peddle some
mining equipment to the Peruvians. Peddle it, hell. I was practically
trying to give it away, but it was still even-steven that the
Hungarians would undersell me. Then I got a hurry-up wire from Morton
Twombly to return to Washington soonest. I flew here in an Air Force
jet. I haven't heard any news for two days or more."
"I'll have the major get you all the material we have to date and you
can read it on the plane to England."
"Plane to England?" Hank said blankly. "Look, I'm in the Department of
Economic Development of Neutral Nations, specializing in South
America. What would I be doing in England?" He had an uneasy feeling
of being crowded, and a suspicion that this was far from the first
time Sheridan Hennessey had ridden roughshod over subordinates.
"First step on the way to Moscow," Hennessey snapped. "The major will
give you details later. Let me brief you. The extraterrestrials landed
a couple of days ago on Red Square in some sort of spaceship. Our
Russkie friends clamped down a censorship on news. No photos at all as
yet and all news releases have come from Tass."
Hank Kuran was bug-eying him.
Hennessey said, "I know. Most of the time I don't believe it myself.
The extraterrestrials represent what the Russkies are calling a
Galactic Confederation. So far as we can figure out, there is some
sort of league, United Planets, or whatever you want to call it, of
other star systems which have achieved a certain level of scientific
development."
"Well ... well, why haven't they shown up before?"
"Possibly they have, through the ages. If so, they kept their presence
secret, checked on our development and left." Hennessey snorted his
indignation. "See here, Kuran, I have no details. All of our
information comes from Tass, and you can imagine how inadequate that
is. Now shut up while I tell you what little I do know."
Henry Kuran settled back into his chair, feeling limp. He'd had too
many curves thrown at him in the past few minutes to assimilate.
"They evidently keep hands off until a planet develops interplanetary
exploration and atomic power. And, of course, during the past few
years our Russkie pals have not only set up a base on the Moon but
have sent off their various expeditions to Venus and Mars."
"None of them made it," Hank said.
"Evidently they didn't have to. At any rate, the plenipotentiaries
from the Galactic Confederation have arrived."
"Wanting what, sir?" Hank said.
"Wanting nothing but to help." Hennessey said. "Stop interrupting. Our
time is limited. You're going to have to be on a jet for London in
half an hour."
He noticed Hank Kuran's expression, and shook his head. "No, it's not
farfetched. These other intelligent life forms must be familiar with
what it takes to progress to the point of interplanetary travel. It
takes species aggressiveness--besides intelligence. And they must have
sense enough not to want the wrong kind of aggressiveness exploding
into the stars. They don't want an equivalent of Attila bursting over
the borders of the Roman Empire. They want to channel us, and they're
willing to help, to direct our comparatively new science into paths
that won't conflict with them. They want to bring us peacefully into
their society of advanced life forms."
Sheridan Hennessey allowed himself a rueful grimace. "That makes quite
a speech, doesn't it? At any rate, that's the situation."
"Well, where do I come into this? I'm afraid I'm on the bewildered
side."
"Yes. Well, damn it, they've landed in Moscow. They've evidently
assumed the Soviet complex--the Soviet Union, China and the
satellites--are the world's dominant power. Our conflicts, our
controversies, are probably of little, if any, interest to them.
Inadvertently, they've put a weapon in the hands of the Soviets that
could well end this cold war we've been waging for more than
twenty-five years now."
The president's right-hand man looked off into a corner of the room,
unseeingly. "For more than a decade it's been a bloodless combat that
we've been waging against the Russkies. The military machines, equally
capable of complete destruction of the other, have been stymied
Finally it's boiled down to an attempt to influence the neutrals,
India, Africa, South America, to attempt to bring them into one camp
or the other. Thus far, we've been able to contain them in spite of
their recent successes. But given the prestige of being selected the
dominant world power by the extraterrestrials and in possession of the
science and industrial know-how from the stars, they'll have won the
cold war over night."
His old eyes flared. "You want to know where you come in, eh? Fine.
Your job is to get to these Galactic Confederation emissaries and put
a bug in their bonnet. Get over to them that there's more than one
major viewpoint on this planet. Get them to investigate our side of
the matter."
"Get to them how? If the Russkies--"
Hennessey was tired. The flash of spirit was fading. He lifted a thin
hand. "One of my assistants is crossing the Atlantic with you. He'll
give you the details."
"But why _me_? I'm strictly a--"
"You're an unknown in Europe. Never connected with espionage. You
speak Russian like a native. Morton Twombly says you're his best man.
Your records show that you can think on your feet, and that's what we
need above all."