The Sixteen Galaxies Page 2

  *****

  Mandy Somers rubbed her eyes. Her boss, Darryl Masters, had harangued the team for over half an hour now. Jack Short sat with his legs stretched out, contemplating his boots.

  “It’s inexcusable, Mandy,” Darryl said, “Absolutely and positively inexcusable. Journalism is all about the ability to think on your feet, and be ready for that big break. You had a damned alien there in front of you; an alien who popped out of thin air and spoke to you. And you blew it, absolutely and positively blew it.” Darryl glared around the office at the cameraman, Mike, then Jack, and finally fixed his gaze on Mandy. “Umm…how can I help you?” he said in a falsetto that in no way approximated Mandy’s sultry tones. “You’re a reporter for God’s sake, not a freaking shop assistant!”

  Jack snorted. “Come on Darryl, be reasonable. The guy appeared right behind her from out of nowhere. Of course she was thrown, who the hell wouldn’t be?”

  Darryl stared at Jack, but it was clear to Mandy that her boss hadn’t heard a word.

  “Okay,” Darryl said, “Okay. Here’s the thing. I’ll give you one last chance with this, absolutely and positively one last chance, okay?”

  He pointed a finger at Jack. “First, I want a shot of that damned alien’s spaceship. With all the telescopes, satellites and what-not that we pay our tax dollars for, SOMEONE must be able to get me a shot, and I WANT one. Get it organised, Jack, ASAP.”

  He rounded on Mandy. “This alien said he’d need your help soon enough. So, give him the help he wants. But, you get an exclusive with him. I want an interview that gets me the whole story. I want the lot, absolutely and positively the whole thing. You get me that, and we’re golden. You fail again, and you’re done. You understand me?”

  Mandy gave a short laugh. “They went up to a spaceship Darryl. That’s what the UN footage showed. Nuthros asked Sertan to go with him and zap! They disappeared. What are we supposed to do, hitch a ride on the next satellite launch and go knock on their front door?”

  “Hatch,” Jack interjected, “Spaceships don’t have a front door. They have a hatch.”

  “Whatever,” Darryl said. “Of course I know they went to this alien’s spaceship. But, they’ll have their talks and then what?” He spread his arms wide. Mandy and Jack exchanged a look. Mandy shrugged.

  Darryl smiled at her. “Then they’ll come back. To tell us how Hiram Sertan is going to save the world with his new best buddy’s whizz-bang space-tech stuff. Right? And he will ask Mandy Somers to help him. Be a spokesperson, perhaps? Who knows? But you will have an invite to the Hiram and Alien Friends Club, and that’s all you need to get an exclusive.”

  Mandy sighed. Darryl was such a jerk. The industry had more than its fair share of self-important, psychopathic bullies. She thought she’d left this kind of thing behind in Illinois.

  “So,” Darryl continued, “When they return, you agree to be their spokesperson, like he wants. You’d be like an intermediary; between us and them.”

  Jack frowned. “I thought that’s what Sertan was for.”

  Darryl waved his hands in the air. “I don’t have the finer details worked out, just improvise when you meet him. But, you check with ME before you go and commit to anything. I alone have the final say in whatever is arranged. Clear?” When no one replied he smacked a hand down on his desk. “IS. THAT. CLEAR?!”

  “Clear,” they all mumbled.

  “And the fact that I’m on vacation in three days’ time?” Mandy asked.

  “Are you serious?! Cancelled! Forget it! This is your chance, Mandy. Your career hinges on this. Don’t throw that away for the sake of a freaking sunburn. You have to meet this alien, and get me that exclusive. I have a chance to put us at the top of the hill for a very long time, and you are NOT going to blow it for me.” Darryl leaned forward over the desk at them. “You guys absolutely and positively have to do this. Because getting that contact is the ONLY way you get to keep your jobs. Am I clear?”

  Mandy glared at the floor. “Absolutely.”

  “Positively.” Jack muttered.

  The trio filed dejectedly out of what was colloquially known as ‘The Torture Room’. As they did so, Darryl’s voice followed them; “And don’t forget the footage of that spaceship; I want it 10 minutes ago!”

  *****

  Hiram Sertan gazed at the Earth, the same view since he arrived. Nuthros had explained they were in geo-stationary orbit above the Galapagos Islands, thus from their perspective, the planet was motionless. Nuthros had offered Hiram some food and drink, and excused himself for a while. Hiram noted that the snacks Nuthros had left him were all his favourites. Nuthros returned afterwards with a bottle of what looked like whisky and two glasses. “I thought some human tradition might help ease your disorientation. I hope you don’t mind?”

  Hiram laughed. “Mind? I have never been known to refuse a good drink, Nuthros, and if your whisky is as fine as your food, I’d be a damn fool to refuse.”

  Nuthros sat down at the small table, and poured two drinks. Hiram took an exploratory sip from his glass. He smiled in satisfaction. It was the best whisky he’d ever tasted.

  The pair sat in companionable silence for the better part of ten minutes. Hiram found himself lost in contemplation of the watery dregs of ice in the bottom of his glass. He set the glass down on the table with a sigh. “So, how do we proceed, Nuthros?”

  Nuthros turned to Hiram. “I’m afraid the schedule is tight. We must waste no time on unimportant matters. I am sure you would like to know many things, but I must ask you to stick to the matter at hand. Your people’s survival depends on it. There may be an opportunity to tell you more about us and the known universe after we have reoriented mankind’s present course, but I personally doubt we will get that far.”

  “Sounds ominous.”

  Nuthros nodded. “As I said before, Hiram, the chances of your people making the needed changes are very small. We are trying to help because we feel we must.”

  Hiram scratched his chin. “Why leave it so late to intervene?”

  “Because,” Nuthros replied, “Any earlier and we would not have been believed. You only discovered the truth for yourselves three months ago.”

  “Indeed, that’s when the latest and most complete data set was first analysed by our team. Before the NSA took it all from us, that is.”

  “Don’t be concerned about that, Hiram. Those figures, along with your findings, are set to be released to the media tomorrow. People must believe you.”

  Hiram smiled at the thought of Nuthros pulling a fast one on the NSA. The men in the black suits would be livid. “What do we face in the way of changes?”

  Nuthros held up one hand, palm upwards, and a three-dimensional image appeared to settle upon it. “This is one example.” He passed it to Hiram. It was a projection of some kind, and had no substance, but it looked and behaved so real that Hiram had trouble accepting he couldn’t feel it.

  “That,” Nuthros said, “Is a static power source. It harvests power from the Earth’s atmospheric electrical circuit, and can be attached to the wiring of a dwelling. It can supply all the power required for any number of occupants.”

  Hiram peered at the little device. It looked like a squat and ovoid modem, with two stubby aerials and three sockets for wires. “How big is it in reality?” he asked.

  “That is a full-scale model, Hiram.”

  Hiram blanched, but the alien man was clearly serious. Nuthros explained, “That unit can also power a vehicle fitted with an electric motor, providing plenty of propulsion with no noise. We can supply the Earth with enough of those to run the planet within eighteen months. That is essential, as you must cease to use your traditional energy supply technologies completely within five years.”

  *****

  The forum on climate change was cancelled. The camera and control booth crew that filmed the session were bound by Nuthros, along with the rest of the hall’s occupants. Therefore, no one had been able to stop Nuthros’ assertion
of the Earth’s demise as it played live to the world. Some channels managed to block it, but the footage was on the internet within minutes. In just a few hours, it had gone viral.

  David Markham stared in disbelief at his computer screen. “I’m afraid, Mr Sertan, your ways must change completely within two years. After that time, the damage to this planet will be irreversible.”

  Behind him, Christine Joyce whispered, “What did he just say?”

  David replayed the clip. Christine stared at her boyfriend. “You were right, David. Hiram Sertan was right. Oh my God.”

  David shook his head. “I wish I felt good about that, but I don’t.” His computer displayed an incoming video call. A little GIF of his friend Garth Taylor’s face danced across his screen. David answered the call. “Hey man, what’s up?”

  Garth’s eyes were wide. “David, you seen it? Holy cow!”

  David nodded. “Yeah, we just watched it. I don’t know what to think.”

  “Well, you were right, and I was wrong; it really is two years. Sorry I doubted you, David.”

  David shrugged. “Don’t sweat it, Garth. It doesn’t really matter now, does it?”

  “I guess not,” Garth said. “But what we gonna do?”

  David turned to Christine and raised his eyebrows. She gave him a firm nod. “Time to act, David.”

  David turned back to the screen. “Get the call out, Garth. Full meet, one hundred percent dark. No tech, no phones, nothing. Site six.”

  Garth nodded. “Roger Dodger.”

  David shut the computer down. He felt Christine’s hand on his shoulder. “I’m scared, David.”

  He turned to her and smiled. “Me too. But, we have to do what we can, Chris. At least we know we’re not alone, now.”

  2

  Agent Ron Baxter took a sip of his lukewarm coffee. Beside him, Agent Nicky Randolph shook her head in disgust. “How you drink that garbage is beyond me.”

  Baxter shrugged. “Beats the liquefied cardboard you insist on drinking.”

  She arched an eyebrow at him. “I prefer my figure to yours.”

  He grinned at her. “So do I.”

  “I’ll shoot you in the foot if you keep that up, you know.”

  Baxter nodded to where a youth was leaving an apartment building. “Heads up; our home-grown terrorist is on the move.”

  Nicky called it in and they watched the lanky teenager stroll towards his van. Baxter frowned; the young man wore a casual smile, and avoided any glance in their direction. “He knows we’re here.”

  “Come off it,” Nicky said, “We haven’t seen so much as a curtain move since he went in there four hours ago.”

  The youngster jumped into the van and set off down the street. Nicky pulled the car out and followed at a good distance. Baxter called the movement in, and Parkhurst started to set out replacement cars for a tail. Two minutes later, and for no apparent reason, the van stopped outside an abandoned warehouse in a run-down industrial estate. Nicky pulled into the kerb at a decent distance.

  Baxter scratched his chin. “Meeting place, maybe?”

  Nicky just shrugged. The youth got out of the van and walked back towards them. “Oh crap,” she muttered. “You’re right, we’re blown.”

  The young man held up a little black box with a flourish. He gave them a small bow, and put his finger to the box.

  “Bomb!” Nicky screamed. Baxter’s hand flew to the door handle and he felt a brief blast of heat. His ears popped from the explosion. He found himself on the ground, unharmed and right next to the van they’d followed. He watched the youth do a little break dance in front of the burning wreck of their car. He could make out a blackened figure in the driver’s seat and was overcome with rage. The youth froze when he caught sight of Baxter hauling himself to his feet next to the van. Baxter pulled his sidearm out and aimed it at the boy’s head.

  The young man dropped the box and raised his hands. “Don’t shoot man, don’t shoot! I surrender!”

  Baxter walked slowly towards the terrified teenager, his sights steady on the point between the bomber’s eyes.

  “Come on, dude, I’m not armed, just cuff me will ya?”

  Baxter flicked his gaze to Nicky’s body in the blazing wreck and back to this pathetic would-be activist. He heard a chopper approaching fast. His mind swam in a sea of white-hot fury.

  Tears ran down the young man’s face, and he dropped to his knees. “How did you do that? How the hell-”

  Baxter felt a twinge of disgust and clubbed the youth over the head with his pistol.

  *****

  Hiram made to pass the hologram of the energy source back to Nuthros. The alien waved a hand and the image disappeared.

  “Well,” Hiram said, “The energy companies won’t like you very much, Nuthros.”

  “In truth, Hiram, very few people on your planet will like me very much. That is not the point, though, is it?”

  “No, I guess it isn’t.”

  Nuthros leaned forward and poured another measure of whisky into Hiram’s glass, before doing the same to his own. “I have been studying humanity for over 2,500 years now, and I must admit I have never come across a race as contradictory as yours.”

  Hiram nearly choked on his drink. “You’ve been watching us for 2,500 years?”

  “Yes,” the alien replied, “It was decided I should study humanity when it became obvious that human development would cause planetary ruin long before integration into the galactic community could be achieved.”

  “So, pardon my asking, but how old are you? You look about thirty.”

  Nuthros laughed gently. “Our race was the third in the Sixteen Galaxies to achieve inter-galactic travel, Hiram. We cured the aging problem long ago. By your time scale, I am 27,562 years old.”

  Hiram stared at Nuthros, awestruck. “You’re immortal.”

  “No.” Nuthros replied. “Immortality means I cannot be killed. I am mortal, by those standards. Death is now a very rare thing in the Sixteen Galaxies, though. It is sad to watch undeveloped planets such as yours suffer so much sickness and death.”

  Hiram raised an eyebrow. “Undeveloped.”

  Nuthros leaned forward. “I cannot spend too much time on this, unfortunately. However, I shall briefly explain what I can.” He lifted a hand and Hiram flinched as a 3D universe appeared in the air in front of them. It zoomed in on a microscopic section, and Hiram saw a cluster of galaxies resolve, coloured a deep blue, in contrast to the grey of the rest. Nuthros moved a hand and the blue galaxies were brought into even closer focus. Hiram saw a number of scattered dots, highlighted in red.

  “The Sixteen Galaxies,” Nuthros explained. “2,318 developed planets united in a single tier society. This society is nothing you would understand at this time, Hiram. No form of government, as such, no military forces, no weapons, and very few laws. Just intelligent beings, guided by wisdom and principles established by common consensus. We have a few councils for oversight of various projects, but that’s all.”

  Hiram scratched his chin. “What about disagreements and disputes?”

  “There are none, Hiram.”

  Hiram smiled cynically. “Over 2,000 worlds, and no disagreements? As a retired diplomat, I can’t comprehend that concept.”

  “You have to understand, Hiram, that the Sixteen Galaxies is a society more developed than Earth’s people by hundreds of thousands of your years. Conflict, violence, dishonesty, pride, greed, prejudice, superstition, sickness and even death; these are all issues faced only by a very young society.”

  Hiram slowly shook his head. “Well I’ll be damned.”

  “This is the core of Earth’s problems, Hiram. Earth’s people have developed much faster technologically than they have culturally. In fact, you have devolved, socially. What you now consider ‘primitive’ societies were actually far superior in social structure. Your own Native American population, for example, had a symbiotic relationship with the land they occupied. So did many native populations
around the Earth. Yes, they were superstitious and naïve to the ways of the world outside. Yet, they had a strong emphasis on familial and tribal bonds, deep respect for their elders, and a focus on understanding of their physical surroundings. They used their resources wisely, and only took what they actually needed.”

  Hiram knew all this, as did most people these days. Education about the indigenous population was now part of many nations’ curriculums. Students learned about these people, and had a basic understanding of their customs and ways. Yet, hardly anyone gave any thought as to whether these ‘primitives’ had anything to teach the modern world.

  “In many cases,” Nuthros continued, “eco-systems that had remained in balance for thousands of years under the control of the natives were destroyed in just a few hundred years by modern society. Globalization has now seen this same destructive mentality embraced worldwide.”

  Hiram knew all this, too. But, to hear it from someone from another world made him sick with shame. “I wish I could justify our ignorance, Nuthros; really I do. I remember hearing an old saying, supposedly an old Cree Indian proverb. ‘Only when the last tree has died, and the last river been poisoned, and the last fish caught, will we realize that we can’t eat money.’ It’s an old saying, but we have ignored it.”

  “It is not to shame you that I brought you here, Hiram. I apologize if I have done that.”

  Hiram shrugged, not taking his eyes off the floor in front of him. “We are what we are, Nuthros. I just want to make things right. I don’t know if humanity is capable of such a turn-around, though. We are so self-destructive.”

  “Your people have their faults, Hiram. Your inventive capabilities, though, are the best we’ve ever recorded, and by a large margin. You have a remarkable inventive capacity that is truly staggering. However, your implementation of that knowledge is very unbalanced. For example, you have reached the stage of interconnected media. Yet, humanity’s racial and geographic boundaries have not been dissipated at all. They are very detrimental to the planet’s future. Much of your productivity is consumed by activities that would be completely unnecessary if you were all unified.”