An armed guard escorted them from the aircraft to the conference room deep down under the building. Rob’s eyebrows lifted when he saw the high brass around the table there. A number of top Soviet generals, chests gleaming with square yards of decorations, faced their American opposite numbers across the mahogany table. The US Secretary of State sat beside the Russian Foreign Minister.

  “I never thought that I would ever see this mob in the same room together,’

  ’ Rob whispered as he and Nadia took their seats at the foot of the table; Hes’bu went to the place of honor at the top. She nodded agreement.

  “Should mankind survive this attack perhaps we can have a future of peace.”

  “Touch wood to that,” he said, rapping his knuckles on the table.

  “Excuse me, colonel,” an Army captain said, standing behind Rob and leaning close. “The science staff has been given priority over planning for the moment. Would you and Miss Andrianova come with me?”

  “Happily,” Rob said. “Too much brass here—and not much that we can contribute that they don’t know already.”

  There were no military uniforms—and no order at all—in the scientific meeting. When the armed guards opened the door to the room a babble of sound rolled out. No one seemed to notice when Rob and Nadia entered. Men in three piece suits, vest pockets brimming with pens, argued loudly in a number of languages. A slide projector was being set up and there was heated discussion as to which pictures had priority. A tall man, his bald head gleaming with droplets of sweat, pushed through the crowd towards Rob.

  “Colonel Hayward,” he said, extending his hand.

  “My congratulations. You have done an admirable job of work and we all appreciate it. I’m Tilleman, and I’m supposed to be chairing this riot.”

  “It’s my pleasure to meet you, Professor Tilleman. This is my associate, Nadia Andrianova.” It really was a pleasure for Rob. Tilleman was undoubtedly the most famous physicist since Einstein, the originator of the Steady Bang theory of creation. If he was heading this committee, it must contain the best scientific brains that could be assembled at short notice. All individualists if the noise level was any indication.

  “I’ve been letting them ventilate until you arrived,” Tilleman said. “Now we can get down to work. If you and Nadia will sit beside me, please.”

  Tilleman had undoubtedly chaired committees before. He took control in no uncertain terms. There was a block of wood on the table before him—supporting an immense gavel as big as a croquet mallet. He hammered it with gusto and the resultant explosions of sound silenced the room in an instant.

  “If the delegates will be seated,” he said, “this meeting will begin. First on the agenda is a summation of our total knowledge to date. You have all seen the recordings of Colonel Hayward’s extraordinary penetration of the alien ship. He will answer any questions later. Gentlemen, our task is not to make policy in respect to the incursion of life forms from outer space—the military and the national governments are taking care of that. What we must do is supply them with a complete scientific assessment of the new data to aid them in their considerations. Biology first, then physics. Dr. van Nienes heads our physiology team. Dr. van Nienes.”

  The tall biologist ticked off his points with slow Dutch thoroughness.

  “We are putting together information on two alien races, Oinn and Blettr. We know far more about the Blettr at present, due to the opportunity to dissect specimens, so I turn to them first. Slides.”

  The room darkened and the first picture appeared on the large screen that had dropped down from the ceiling. A startlingly clear, full color and repulsive full length photograph of a dead alien. It was the one they had killed, Rob realized, seeing that the eyes had been shot out. The biologist used a pointer as he indicated the relevant details.

  “Two meters tall, roughly human in shape, the body covered with what appears to be hair but certainly is not. Slide. Notice this microscopic cross section of one of these ‘hairs’. You will see a plentiful blood supply here, green, copper-based blood rather than the iron of hemoglobin. Capillaries surround the numerous stomata or openings in the body of the hair. In essence what we have here is a sort of inside-out lung with stoma like this one open to the atmosphere, acting as an alveolus would in a terrestrial lung. The total capacity is, roughly, twenty to thirty times that of the human lung which leads us to assume for the moment that either the air pressure or oxygen percentage on this creature’s home world is far lower than that of Earth. Notice this white band at the root of the hair structure. Muscle tissue. The creature ‘breathes’ by moving the structure back and forth in the air to change the air inside the stomata. When alive the Blettr would present an interesting sight, being surrounded by a pelt of projecting pseudo-hairs all in constant motion. Slide.”

  Picture followed picture now in gruesome sequence as the post mortem opened the alien and reduced it to its component parts. There was complete silence in the room as the assembled scientists watched in horrified fascination; physicists and engineers are not normally acquainted with the details of the dissecting table. Doctor van Nienes pointed out the relevant features as they appeared.

  “The breathing arrangement as well as other biological clues lead us to believe that the Blettr have rather primitive biological arrangements. I do not reflect upon their intellectual capacities—they are obviously technologically quite advanced—but rather their physiology. The eyes, rather than being connected to cerebral tissue, are outgrowths of the brain itself, which is no more than a small nodule at the top of a nerve bundle, here and here, that runs the length of the body, bifurcating, here, for the arms, and here for the legs. Whereas in our bodies nerve impulses are carried to and from the brain by the afferent and efferent neurons, in these creatures the brain itself appears to extend right through the body. The foot, here, would be moved by the portion of the brain in the foot itself. Lights.”

  As the lights came up, van Nienes’ assistants were passing out thick photocopied bundles. “We will forego discussion for the moment,” he said. “You will find all details of the dissections and our conclusions in papers you are now being given. Please study them. We will now proceed to an analysis of the other alien race, the Oinn. Here our information is not as complete since we have not had a specimen for dissection. However we have a few tissue samples, obtained from the chair in which the creature was seated, as well as x-ray and sound scan pictures made from concealed apparatus.”

  Tricky, Rob thought, taking pictures of Hes’bu while the interview was going on. He barely listened to the biologist’s descriptions now, this wasn’t really his field. And something was nagging at him; some detail bothering him, some question that needed to be asked. Was it Hes’bu’s legs? Sergeant Groot had been interested in them. Perhaps. He listened as van Nienes pointed the legs out on the screen.

  “The legs are obviously a metal prosthesis. We don’t know if they replace the creature’s normal legs, or if they function as limbs for a creature that does not possess any. I have sent through a request that Hes’bu be questioned on this matter soonest. However you will notice, here, partially concealed by the prosthesis, an organ that leads us to the conclusion that the subject is male. If terrestrial analogues can be applied.”

  No, it wasn’t the legs, something else. Rob couldn’t remember it now so he put it from him. But the memory kept nagging.

  Apparently the same thoughts had been nagging Sergeant Groot, for just as the biologist was ending his talk one of the guards came in and found Rob, then bent to whisper in his ear.

  “Excuse me, colonel, but we have a communication for you from outside.”

  Rob nodded and followed the man out. An MP lieutenant was waiting in the hall. He saluted and extended his clipboard to Rob.

  “Would you sign here for receipt of same, sir. Message by special courier from New York.”

  Rob scratched his name, then took the sealed manila envelope. He tore it open and found a single folded sheet inside with his name scrawled across it.

  He recognized the handwriting: Sergeant Groot. He unfolded it and read the brief message inside.

  “None of my shots went near the gun when the thing jumped us. I checked the corpse to be sure. So why did the gun explode?”

  Yes! That was it, that was what had been irritating his subconscious. The fact that just did not have any explanation. A lot of things had happened, and happened very fast. But there seemed to have been a reason for everything.

  Except the gun. Why had it blown up?

  6. Message of Doom

  Rob slept for a solid six hours without stirring. By the time he had finally escaped from the meeting he had been awake for over two days. And very busy most of the time. The science meeting had been inconclusive—and the military one was still in progress when he had retired. No one had appeared to miss him when he had slipped away.

  He yawned heavily as he steamed himself awake in a hot shower, then forced some life back into his body by turning on the cold waterfall blast. When he had emerged and toweled himself dry he felt very fit and cheerful for someone who should be very concerned about the invasion and destruction of his planet. Possibly because the entire situation still had a surrealistic feel to it. Yes, the ship was there—and the aliens—but the reality of galactic war still had not penetrated. The idea was just too much to entertain on such short notice. Perhaps something had been decided while he slept. Nadia had promised to keep track of events and report back to him. He sat on the edge of the bed and dialed information to locate her.

  Like all of the others on the two committees, she had not been permitted to leave the Pentagon. Rob had been put up in the guard BOQ and Nadia was staying in nurses’ annex of the emergency clinic. She answered her phone on the second ring.

  “Good morning,” he said. “Would you like to join me for breakfast?”

  “A capital idea, Colonel Hayward …”

  “Rob, if you please.”

  “Of course, Rob. Where shall we meet?” “Cafeteria number six. I could tell you how to get there—but you would only get lost. This is the Pentagon after all. Ask for a guide. I’ll see you there in fifteen minutes. OK?”

  “Agreed.”

  Rob was gratefully sipping a cup of black coffee when Nadia arrived. He pushed a fresh cup over to her and she nodded her thanks as she slipped into the seat across from him. Her skin was pale and she had dark smudges under her eyes.

  “Have you been to bed at all?” he asked.

  “No. There has been too much to do. I have been working on the Oinn language and have made a good deal of progress. The transcript of their radio broadcast and Hes’bu’s simultaneous translation helped a good deal. This coffee is life-restoring.”

  “Want something to eat?”

  “In a few minutes.”

  “I’m amazed you can understand anything at all of those gargling sounds. And didn’t Hes’bu say that it was a difficult language?”

  “He did. But he was wrong. It is as simplified and organized as Esperanto. Once the principles have been grasped it is just a matter of learning vocabulary.”

  Rob frowned in thought. “Then Hes’bu was lying to you?”

  “Perhaps. Or it might be a cultural thing about not talking to women or aliens—we can’t tell. We know so little about these creatures. But we should know more shortly. There are more of them on the way. After much wrangling the decision was finally made to permit Hes’bu to contact his people by radio. They responded and are sending a ship with senior officers. Apparently he’s just a pilot of some kind. Washington National Airport has been cleared and they should be setting down soon.”

  “I’d like to see that.”

  “You will. They’ve set up a closed circuit TV coverage here. And I’ll take that breakfast now.”

  They were so hungry that they wolfed down the greasy bacon and gritty scrambled eggs. Rob couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten anything. He poured a final cup of coffee to conceal the taste of breakfast, then leaned back and sighed.

  “Everything that Hes’bu told us could be a lie,” Nadia said.

  Rob sighed again, this time with little pleasure. “I know. I have been thinking the same thing. Of course it could all be true just as well. But we have no way of checking. Without a spirit medium it’s going to be hard to talk to the dead Blettr.”

  “Let me be the devil’s advocate then, since I am the one who raised this matter. Why should Hes’bu lie?”

  “Why should he tell the truth? We can’t be certain either way. Both of us have been trained to look for the concealed facts that will reveal hidden facts, no matter where they are to be found. To put together apparently unrelated bits of information to reveal the greater truth. Maybe that’s why we are both bothered now. Take a close look at how much we know—I mean really know. Without taking into consideration what we have been told.”

  “That has concerned me as well. As you suggest, let us examine the hard facts that we can be sure of. Fact one,” Nadia said, raising her index finger. “A ship from space plows into Central Park. There can be no doubt about that. Fact two, it contains representatives of two different groups of aliens. Some dead, some alive. One of them is armed, another appears to be a prisoner. Those are facts, physical facts. Not words spoken by Hes’bu that could be true or false. I would like some more of these facts. I would like to know why the ship landed where it did. I would like to know why it came to Earth in the first place. I would like to know who was flying the ship.”

  “That’s easily enough answered,” Rob said. “The Blettr were at the controls…” His words trailed off as his eyes widened. Then he smiled at Nadia. “You have a very devious and nasty, dirty and suspicious secret service, mentality.”

  “Don’t you?”

  “Yes. That’s why this whole thing bothers me so. Something just doesn’t smell right. The two Blettr could have been dead when the ship landed. Hes’bu could have flown the thing, landed it, put them at the controls—then opened the lock. By the time I had crept into the ship he could have strolled aft and locked himself into the chains.”

  “But you were attacked by a third Blettr…”

  “Yes, and something about that has bothered me ever since. You saw Groot’s note. Why did the creature’s gun blow up?”

  “You tell me.”

  “I will! You were there during the anatomy lecture. Portions of the Blettr’s brain—not just the thing’s nervous system—extend into the extremities. Into the feet. And the hands. Do you know anything about microelectronics?”

  “Almost nothing,” she admitted.

  “Well I do. And I know that with the present state of our technology, not even one as advanced as the aliens’, that circuitry could be built into the gun that would directly affect the brain of the creature holding the gun. The alien could have been unconscious. When I opened the door the circuits in the gun could have fired and sent the Blettr lurching forward at the same time. Not the other way around. We fired back as could have been easily predicted. Its mission done the gun exploded to destroy evidence of its control.”

  “That is a very far-fetched theory,” Nadia said sternly.

  “Isn’t it, though. And what isn’t far-fetched about this entire matter? And wouldn’t this theory explain how Hes’bu arranged everything?”

  “It would. And if we accept this theory it begs the question of why this charade at all?”

  “The answer to that one is too obvious. To get us to declare war against the Blettr whether we want to or not. We have shown that the physical evidence proves nothing one way or the other.”

  “Which means—” her voice was hushed as she spoke. “Which means that we may be taking sides in a galactic war on the strength of a single creature’s statements. And those statements could be lies.”

  “Right. And don’t say ‘may’. It looks like we are getting involved. And I don’t like it. I want to hear some evidence from the other side before we take a drastic step that may lead to the destruction of our world.”

  “So do I. But what can we do about it?”

  Rob smiled. “Go out there into space and talk to them?”

  “Hardly.”

  “Then the next step is to make our suspicions known to our people. Until there is some more positive evidence the authorities must be terribly cautious about any decisions that they may make…”

  “Look!” someone shouted. “There it is!”

  Neither Rob nor Nadia joined in the rush to the TV sets. They could see everything clearly enough from where they were. Rob had a sense of deja vue looking at the spaceship centered on the TV screen, the same sensation of having watched the scene before that he had experienced during the first Apollo Moon landings. The same scene had been enacted so many times in science fiction films that the reality almost appeared old hat. The dark speck dropping out of the sky, swelling and growing. Then stopping in midair and slowly sinking the last few feet to the ground.

  “This is not quite the time to consult the authorities about anything,” Nadia said.

  “Agreed. But at least let us get it on the record. I’m going to send an urgent memo through my department, recommending that it go right to the top.”

  “Give me a draft. I will translate it and put it through my people tagged for the Politburo. I doubt if anyone will notice it—but it will be there for the record. Then what should our next step be?”

  “Get some rest, that’s what you have to do right now. I’m going to try and bull my way into the meeting with the Oinn envoys. As soon as that begins, our friend Hes’bu will be redundant. Whether he likes it or not I’m going to see that you have him full time in order to learn the language. We need intelligence. Knowing their language is going to be a first step in finding out more about our new allies.”

  “I agree. Contact me when you are ready. The sleep will help clear my mind because I intend to continue my studies conversationally in the Oinn language.”