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"No, sir. But they’re as likely to be big and black as they are to be little and green. If we had any idea of where they came from, we might be able to figure something out—"

  "Saturn," Jenny said. "Dr. Mouton had a computer program." Alice Mouton had wanted to lecture, and Jenny had listened carefully. "We don’t know how fast they came, and Saturn must have moved since they left, but if you give them almost any decent velocity, they started in a patch of sky that had Saturn in it."

  "Saturn," Aylesworth said. "Saturnians?"

  "I doubt it," Ed Gillespie said. "Saturn just doesn’t get enough sunlight energy for a complex organism to evolve there. Much less a civilization."

  "Sure about that?" the President asked.

  "No, sir,"

  "Neither is the National Academy of Sciences," the President said. "At least those I could get hold of. But the consensus is that the ship must have gone to Saturn from somewhere else. Now all we have to do is find the somewhere else."

  "Maybe we can ask them," Jenny said.

  "Oddly enough, we thought of that," Aylesworth said.

  "With what result?" Gillespie asked.

  "None." Aylesworth shrugged. "So far they haven’t answered. Anyway. Mr. President, I’m satisfied. It’s real."

  "Good," the President said. "In that case, if you’d ask Mr. Dawson and Admiral Carrell to come in—"

  Gillespie and Jenny stood. Wes Dawson came in first. "Hello, Ed, Jenny," he said.

  "Ah. You both know Congressman Dawson, then," the President said.

  "Yes, sir," Ed Gillespie said.

  "Of course you would," David Coffey said. "You told Mr. Dawson about the alien ship. Have you met Admiral Carrell?"

  "Yes, sir," Ed said. "But I think Jenny hasn’t."

  Admiral Carrell was approaching retirement age, and he looked it, with silver hair and wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. He shook hands with her, masculine fashion. His hand was firm, and so was his voice. His manner made it clear that he knew precisely who Jenny was. He waited until the President invited them to sit, then again until Jenny was seated, before he took his own seat. "Nice work, Captain." he said. "Not every officer would have realized the significance of what you saw."

  Interesting, she thought. Does he take this much trouble with everyone he meets? "Thank you, Admiral."

  Congressman Dawson had taken the chair closest to the President. "How will Congress treat this, Wes?" the President asked.

  "I don’t know them all, Mr. President," Dawson said.

  "Will I get support for a declaration of emergency?"

  "I don’t know, sir," Dawson said. "There will certainly be opposition."

  "Damn fools," Admiral Carrell said.

  "What makes you think the aliens won’t be friendly?" Wes Dawson demanded.

  "The aliens may be friendly, but a Russian mobilization without reaction from us would be a disaster. It might even tempt them to something they normally wouldn’t think of," Carrell spoke evenly.

  "Really?" Dawson said. His tone made it less a question than a statement.

  "Will they mobilize?" the President asked.

  "We’ll let Captain Crichton answer," the Admiral said. "Perhaps Mr. Dawson will be more likely to believe someone he knows. Captain?"

  I’ve just been set up, Jenny thought. So that’s how it’s done. But I’ve no choice. "Yes, sir, they will." She hesitated. "And if we don’t react, there could be trouble."

  "Why is that?" the President prompted.

  "Sir, it’s part of their doctrine. If they could liberate the world from capitalism without risk to the homeland, and didn’t do it, they’d be traitors to their own doctrine."

  Admiral Carrell said, "They’re jamming all our broadcasts, and they haven’t told their people anything about an alien coming."

  "It’s too big to keep secret," Dawson said. "Isn’t it?"

  Once again. Admiral Carrell turned to Jenny. This time he merely nodded to her.

  Is this a test? she wondered. Whatever it is . . . "Sir, the East Germans and Poles are bound to find out. Unless the Soviets want to completely disrupt their economy, they can’t cut off all communication from the Eastern European satellites, so the news is bound to get to Russia. To the cities, anyway."

  The Admiral nodded behind half-closed eyes.

  "Meanwhile, whatever the Russians are doing, there’s an alien ship coming," the President said. "It may be that in a few weeks all our little squabbles will look very silly."

  "Yes, sir," Wes Dawson said. "Very silly."

  "There are other possibilities." Admiral Carrell spoke in low tones, but everyone listened. Even the President.

  "Such as?" Dawson demanded.

  "I want to assemble a staff of experts at Colorado Springs. One task will be to look at as many possibilities as we can."

  "Very reasonable," the President said. "Why Colorado Springs?"

  "The hole," Admiral Carrell said.

  NORAD, Jenny thought. The North American Air Defense Command base, buried deep under the granite of Cheyenne Mountain. It was supposed to be the safest place in the United States, although there were some arguments about just how hardened it really was. . .

  "Will you be going out there?" the President asked.

  "Not permanently."

  "But you’ll be busy. Meanwhile, I need someone to keep me informed." The President looked thoughtful. "We have two problems. Aliens, and the Soviets. Captain, you’re a Soviet expert, and you discovered the alien ship."

  "I didn’t discover it, sir—"

  "Near enough," the President said. "You recognized its importance. And you already have all the clearances you need, or you wouldn’t be in military intelligence." He touched a button on the desk. The Chief of Staff came in immediately.

  "Jim," the President said, "I’m commander in chief. Does that mean I can promote people?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Good. Promote this young lady to major, and have her assigned to the staff. She’ll work with you and the Admiral to keep me briefed on what the aliens and the Soviets are doing." He chuckled. "Major Crichton and General Gillespie are military. I can give them orders without going through civil service hearings. At least I assume I can?"

  "Sure," Frantz said.

  Major Crichton. Just like that!

  "Good," the President was saying. "General Gillespie, Congressman Dawson wants to go meet the aliens in space."

  Ed Gillespie nodded. "Yes, sir."

  "You approve?"

  "Yes, sir."

  Jenny smiled thinly. Ed would approve more if it was going to be him meeting the aliens. For that matter, I’d like to go.

  "Help him do it," the President said. "I want you to work with him. Go to Houston and personally see to his training. It’s possible you’ll go along, too, although that’s up to the Russians." He grimaced slightly, then glanced at his watch. "They’re expecting both of you over at NASA headquarters. I wanted to see you before I made up my mind. If you hurry you won’t be too late"

  "Yes, sir." Ed glanced at Jenny but didn’t say anything.

  The President stood, and everyone else stood with him. "The Soviet Ambassador has demanded an official explanation of why news of this importance was transmitted via private telephone call, rather than through official channels," he said. "One of your first tasks, Major, will be to think of ways to convince them that this isn’t a trick."

  "That may not be easy to do," Admiral Carrell said.

  "I realize that," the President said. "Others will be working on the problem." He indicated dismissal: "Major, they’ll find you a place to work, Lord knows where, and don’t be shy about asking for equipment. Mr. Frantz will see that you get what you want. I’ll expect daily reports, sent through Admiral Carrell. If he’s not here you’ll brief me yourself."

  Aliens are coming, and I’ve been assigned to the National Security Council! Personal presidential briefings in the Oval Office! All because I went for a swim and let an astronomer pick me up in Hawaii. My f
riend Barb believes nothing is ever a coincidence. Synchronicity. Maybe there’s something to it . . .

  "Now all I have to do is figure out where to put you," the Chief of Staff was saying. "The President will want you in this building. I guess I’ll have to exile someone else to Old EOP."

  He was striding briskly down the hail. Jenny followed. They reached a desk at the end of the hall. The man who’d led her to the Oval Office was seated there.

  "Jack," the Chief of Staff said, "meet another member of our family, Major Jeanette Crichton. The President has assigned her to his staff. NSC. She’ll have regular personal access."

  "Right." He studied her again.

  "This is Jack Clybourne," Jim Frantz said. "Secret Service."

  "I worry about keeping the chief healthy," Clyboume said.

  "Get word to all the security people, Jack." Frantz turned to Jenny. "Major I’d like you to check in this evening about four . . . I should have some room for you by then. Meanwhile—oh. You came with General Gillespie. You’ve lost your ride."

  "No problem sir."

  "Right. Thanks." He started down the hall, stopped, and turned his head but not his body. "Welcome aboard," he said over his shoulder. He scurried off.

  Jenny giggled, and Clybourne gave her an answering smile. "He’s a worrier, that one."

  "I gathered. What’s next?"

  "Fingerprints. Have to be suit you’re you."

  "Oh. Who does that?"

  "I can if you like." Clybourne lifted a phone and spoke for a few moments. Presently another clean-cut young man entered and sat at the desk.

  "Tom Bucks," Clyboume said. "Captain Jeanette Crichton . . . Next time you see her she’ll be wearing oak leaves. The President just promoted her. She’s the newest addition to NSC. Personal access."

  "Hi," Bucks said. He studied her, and Jenny felt he was memorizing every pore on her face.

  They both act that way. Of course. Not Joe Gland, just a Secret Service agent doing his job.

  Clybourne led the way downstairs and through a small staff lounge. "I keep gear back here," he said. He took out a large black case and put fingerprinting apparatus on the counter of the coffee machine.

  "You really have to do this? My prints are on file."

  "Sure. What I have to be sure of is that the pretty girl I’m talking to now is the same Jeanette Crichton the Army commissioned."

  "I suppose," she said.

  He took her hand. "Just relax, and let me do the work."

  She’d been through the routine before. Clybourne was good at it. Eventually he handed her a jar of waterless cleanser and some paper towels.

  "How did you know the President had promoted me?" she asked.

  "The appointment list said ‘Captain,’ and the Chief of Staff called you ‘Major.’ Jim Frantz doesn’t make that kind of mistake."

  And you don’t miss much, either.

  She cleaned the black goo from her hands while Clybourne poured two cups of coffee from the pot on the table. He handed her one. "Somebody said you live in Washington?"

  "Grew up here," she said. "Which reminds me, can you call me a cab?"

  "Sure. Where are you going?"

  "Flintridge. It's out Connecticut, Rock Creek Park area—"

  "I know where it is." He glanced at his watch. "If you can wait ten minutes, I can run out."

  "I wouldn't want to put you to any trouble—"

  "No trouble. I go off duty, and I'm going that way."

  "All right, then. Thank you."

  "You can wait for me at the main entrance," Clybourne said. He took a memo pad bearing the White House seal from his pocket and scribbled on it, then took a small trangular pin from another pocket. "Put that in you lapel, and keep this pass," he said. "I'll see you in ten minutes."

  He smiled again, and she found herself answering.

  4

  BLIND MICE

  Only one ship is seeking us, a black Sailed unfamiliar, towing at her back A huge and birdless silence. In her wake No waters breed or break.

  —PHILIP LANJARD, "Next, Please"

  COUNTDOWN: H MINUS SIX WEEKS

  General Narovchatov paused at the door and waited to be invited inside even though Nadya had told him that Comrade Chairman Petrovskiy was expecting him. Petrovskiy did not like surprises.

  The Chairman was writing in a small notebook. Narovchatov waited patiently.

  The office was spartan in comparison to his own. Petrovskiy seemed not to notice things like rugs and tapestries and paintings. He enjoyed rare books with rich leather bindings and was fond of very old cognac; otherwise he did not often indulge himself.

  There had been a time when Nikolai Nikolayevich Narovchatov was concerned that it would be dangerous to enjoy the trappings of wealth and power while the Chairman so obviously did not. He still believed that in the early days that concern had not been misplaced; but as Narovchatov rose in status, the gifts sent him by Petrovskiy had become more numerous and more valuable, until it was obvious that Petrovskiy was encouraging his old associate to indulge himself, to enjoy what he did not himself care for.

  Narovchatov had never discussed this with Chairman Petrovskiy. It was enough that it was so.

  Chairman Petrovskiy looked up. His welcoming smile was broad. "Come in, come in." Then he grimaced. "I suppose it was not a joke. They continue to come, then?" He lifted his glass of tea and peered at Narovchatov over its rim.

  "Da, Anatoliy Vladimirovich." General Namvchatov shrugged. "According to the astronomers, at this point it would be difficult for them not to come. The rocket forces will be brought to full strength, and we are anticipating their arrival. They move toward us very fast."

  "And they arrive, when?"

  "A few weeks. I am told it is difficult to be more precise because it is a powered ship. That makes it unpredictable."

  "And you continue to believe that this is an alien ship, and not more CIA tricks?"

  "I do, Anatoliy Vladimirovich."

  "So, I think, do I. But the Army does not."

  Narovchatov nodded. He had expected nothing else. And that could be a great problem for a man who had no need of more problems. The Chairman looked old and tired. Too old, Narovchatov thought. And what might happen when—

  Perhaps the Chairman had read his thoughts. "It is long past time that you were promoted, Nikolai Nikolayevich, my friend. I wish you to have the post of First Secretary. We will elevate Comrade Mayarovin to the Politburo, where he can rust in honor."

  "It is not necessary."

  "It is. Especially now. Nikolai Nikolayevich, I have long hoped to be the first leader of the Soviet Union to retire with honor. One day, perhaps, I will, but not until I can give the post to someone worthy. You are the most loyal man I know."

  "Thank you."

  "No thanks are needed. It is truth. But, my friend, I may not be with you so long. The doctors tell me this—"

  "Nonsense."

  "That it is not. But before I am gone, I hope to see us accomplish something never before done. To give this land stability, to allow its best to serve without fear of their lives."

  The czars had never done that. Not the czars, and not Lenin. This was Russia. "That requires law, Anatoliy Vladimirovich. Bourgeois lands have law. We have . . ." He shrugged expressively. "We have had terror. It is not enough. You will remember little of Stalin’s time, but I recall. Khrushchev destroyed himself in trying to destroy Stalin’s memory, and we shall never make that mistake; but Khrushchev was correct, that man was a monster, Even Lenin warned against him."

  "He did what was necessary," Narovchatov said.

  "As do we. As will we. Enough of this. What shall we do about this alien spacecraft?"

  Narovchatov shrugged, "The Army has begun mobilization, constructing new space weapons." He frowned. "I do not yet know what the Americans will do."

  "Nor I," the Chairman said. "I suppose they will do the same."

  I hope so, Narovchatov thought. If they do not—there were
always young officers who would begin the war if they thought they could win it. On both sides. "Also, we have warned the commander of Kosmograd. I scarcely know what else to do."

  "We must do more," the Chairman said. "What will these aliens want? What could bring them here, across billions of miles? If they are aliens at all, and not a CIA trick."

  This again? "Such a trick would make our space program look like children’s games. It is alien, and powered. I would believe a spacegoing beast with a rocket up its arse before I thought it a CIA trick. But I think it must be a ship, Anatoliy Vladintirovich."

  "I do agree," the Chairman said. "Only I cannot believe what I believe. It is too hard for me! What do they want? No one would travel that far merely to explore. They have reasons for coming."

  "They must. But I do not know why they have come."

  "No, nor will we, until they are ready to tell us. We know too little of this." Petrovskiy speared Narovchatov with a peasant’s crafty look. "Your daughter has married a space scientist. An intelligent man, your son-in-law. Intelligent enough to be loyal. Intelligent enough to understand what your promotion to First Secretary will mean to him.

  "Someone must command the space preparations. Who?"

  He means something, Narovchatov thought. Always he means things he does not say. He is clever, always clever, but sometimes he is too clever, for I do not understand him.

  Who should command? The news of the alien ship had brought something like panic to the Kremlin. Everyone was upset, and the delicate balance within the Politburo was endangered. Who could command? Narovchatov shrugged. "I had assumed Marshal Ugatov."

  "Certainly the Army will have suggestions. We will listen to them. As we do to KGB." The Chairman continued to look thoughtful.

  What is his plan? Narovchatov thought. The meeting of the Defense Council is in an hour. The heads of the Army and the KGB. The chief Party theoretician, Chairman Petrovskiy, and me because Petrovskiy has named me his associate. At that meeting everything will be settled, then comes the meeting of the entire Politburo, and after that the Central Committee to endorse what we have already decided. But what will we decide? He looked at Petrovskiy, but the Chairman was studying a paper on his desk.