General points:  8   Hasty Preparations   George Dent mopped his face and neck once again with his sweat-soaked handkerchief. "This complex must have an air of uniqueness," he said, "it must be set apart from all other buildings and establishments so that when people see it they know at once that here is something different, something to bridge the gap from what used to be to what will be." And with that he stood still, breathless, his body refusing to carry him a step further. A small group had been following him around, trying to keep up as he tirelessly stalked from one area to another. They were grateful for a moment's rest. "So far Mr Dent you have spoken only of how the complex should impress, not about precisely what its function will be or what sort of expenditure you envisage." Roger Rycroft of Rycroft and Gardner, an established firm of Townsville architects attempted, somewhat hopefully, to elicit some more concrete information. "That was deliberate Mr... ah?" "Rycroft." "Mr Rycroft. All that sort of information or such as is available will be supplied before you leave. What I want to get over to you is the significance of your task. This complex will be the centre of all human contact with the alien race. This will be the birthplace of dozens of disciplines as yet unimaginable. It will be a research centre, education centre, communication centre and much more. People will investigate the aliens, carefully noting anything and everything there is to learn of them and from them. Whole new branches of political and psychological science will be necessary to deal with the new order of knowledge, and this region will be the nucleus of it all. I can't yet guess at the ultimate content of the complex or the cost of such a project. But this I promise you, both will be large, very large. Here is your chance of a lifetime, to exercise your imagination and initiative to the full, to come up with a style, to design not in detail but rather to capture the spirit of the new age in architecture." It was hot. And out here on the unsheltered plain the heat of the sun was merciless. A small group of architects had been driven out to see the site for George Dent's dream, 'Procyon City'. Dent was as usual leaps ahead of anyone else. He had not been allocated any money for such a venture or even for the design exercise he was now asking for. His philosophy was to act first and ask later. It had always stood him in good stead in the past and he saw no need to change now. The sheer magic of the man had worked again. The architects were fired with enthusiasm and would each work personally on the project without the promise of any recompense for the effort or expenditure involved. As Dent had said, it was the chance of a lifetime; a chance to make a unique mark. Whoever contributed to the design of the final complex would be guaranteed fame and a degree of immortality. Ranjit Khan accompanied the group and now followed as they strolled back to the waiting vehicles chatting eagerly about their task, already impatient to get started. He smiled to himself. No-one but George Dent had even thought of such a central complex. It was no more than a dream, just an idea with no substance at all. But so much momentum would be generated that in a few months the dream would become unstoppable. It would come into existence just as Dent intended. As he watched he noticed one of the drivers running towards them. 'Odd, must be something important,' he thought and quickened his step. A moment later the man was within earshot and was obviously anxious to get his message over to Dent. He caught the words 'aliens', and 'urgent', and something about Mendeleev. Dent wasted no time in herding the architects towards the remaining vehicles while he followed the driver back to the leading car shouting "Come on Ranj something's cropped up. Seems there's something unexpected about this contact that's turned up at Mendeleev. Lincoln has all the details so we're going to see him now." Back at base Dent rushed up the entrance steps two at a time then past the reception desk and security guard. The security staff knew their job and did it admirably. To the extent that Dent had to go back and use the palm print analyser before the woman would allow him into the building. A selection system picked out members of the WSA staff at random for positive identification. The machines were a constant source of annoyance to Dent. He had struggled to make the results of space research completely open and available to the whole world, but the security people guarded the place as if military secrets were held there. No-one was specifically barred, but before admission was allowed full identification had to be provided and the reason for access declared, checked and approved. The WSA had been the target for more than one terrorist organisation so the precautions were sensible if strict. Dent slapped his right hand down on the glass surface and gave the guard a withering look. He waited. It only took about half a second before the small screen flashed the words 'Dent, George, President WSA, Unlimited Clearance.' No matter that Dent was recognised instantly, if the selector picked him out then the rules required positive identification and positive identification had to be made. Half a minute later the door to Lincoln's room burst open and Dent made his familiar brash entrance. Lincoln sat quietly with Kumar Elango, their faces grave. "What's happened," demanded Dent. Khan followed him in, closed the door quietly and then seated himself at the small table, waiting for the story to unfold. Lincoln described the call he had received from Geoff North at Mendeleev. He explained about the hypnotic music and why its true nature had been concealed, even from them. He explained about the source measurements taken at Mendeleev and Yakutsk, and concluded with a fairly precise picture of just where the source was and its present speed towards earth. "Could there be a mistake?" asked Khan hopefully. "Very unlikely," replied Lincoln, "we shall confirm independently of course but it's a forlorn hope." Dent didn't speak; he went over to the large window and looked up at the sky as if trying to see the approaching craft. He was shaken, but his incisive mind was rapidly analysing the new situation and weighing possibilities. At length he turned to face his colleagues, a logical course of action already clear in his mind. There were no objections to his proposal, and no-one had anything better to offer so they acted immediately. They prepared a statement and had it coded in accordance with international non-public information regulations. The statement, a brief account of all the known facts was then transmitted to the government heads of the major world powers. Reaction was swift. Within half an hour Tony Naganda had been in touch with every one of his opposite numbers and was summoning Dent to a meeting of all government chiefs and their advisers to be held the following day at seven hundred local time in Mombasa. Tony Naganda or Doc Tony as he was known to his supporters was a man of action. Dent was not surprised that he had taken the initiative and felt sure that with him in the driving seat there would be no prevarication. He only hoped that all could be persuaded to explore every possible peaceful avenue before initiating hostilities. "Very well then," said Dent, "it's you and I against the world Arthur. Lord knows which way this meeting will go, or what retaliation will be proposed. You have some knowledge of the possible consequences of any course of action and can back your views with sound argument. I confess I am out of my depth. In this case I have to be guided by your opinions, for my own part I wouldn't know what to advise." Lincoln felt disturbed. Dent seemed to be wavering; this was the first time he had known him admit to indecision. "George, we have to speak with a common voice, surely you agree that we have to interpret any action as friendly unless it is a direct attack?" "That's all very well in theory Arthur, but just how far do we go? Things are seldom black and white. Just how dark does the grey have to become before we decide we are under attack?" "That sort of argument can be used to justify hostility long before it is necessary. It appeals to superficial logic but does not hold water." Lincoln began to feel annoyed. "The one thing to remember is that the aliens are not human and do not think or act like humans. They can't predict how we will interpret what they do and so are likely to act suspiciously without realising it. We can only be sure of ill intent if we suffer actual harm and are certain that they know it. You of all people have to be convinced of this or we shall lose control of the situation completely." Dent smiled and patted Lincoln's shoulder affectionately. 'The old fox,' thought Lincoln once more, 'he's just testing the strength of my convictions. Well he needn't worry on that score, the only thing to worry about is whether or not I can voice those convictions strongly enough.' The meeting was tough, very tough. Dent had anticipated the mood quite accurately. The acute fear and desire for an all-out attack was very strong indeed. And the situation was not helped by someone leaking information to the press. It was predictable in as sensitive an issue as this of course but Lincoln had been deeply dismayed to hear the telecast version of the story while still on the plane to Mombasa. "An unconfirmed report has just been received," announced the grim-faced newscaster, "to the effect that the alien race is not in fact signalling from the star Procyon, but is transmitting from a vessel approaching the earth at great speed. An attempt to throw humanity off guard was made in the form of subliminal and hypnotic sound pulses disguised by the music received recently and intended to intoxicate the entire population. Fortunately this ploy was discovered and retransmission was discontinued. No official statement has yet been issued but we are informed that an emergency summit meeting has been called to agree defence measures." Dent had looked at Lincoln and his thoughts were easy to read. The scare that would be generated would be all but impossible to counter. There were no preliminaries. Naganda took charge and ran an orderly if heated discussion. Many of the world's military decision makers were present, either in person or via video link, and it seemed that most of them had come not to discuss whether retaliation should be made but rather exactly what form it should take. Dent and Lincoln felt as though they were trying to swim against a tidal wave, but gradually their arguments were heard and they struggled to encourage a more cautious strategy. The line of reasoning most effective was fear. The more Lincoln played on the terrible consequences that were likely to be wreaked on earth for any hostile action the more the others were prepared to listen. By the end of the morning he felt that most were convinced of the stupidity of any rash moves. A break was held at noon for half an hour to allow everyone to cool down. Dent and Lincoln walked out for a breath of air to clear their heads a little. Each felt like he had been fighting physically for hours. The mental strain involved in trying to counter emotional arguments and instinctive fears from all sides was taking its toll. Dent looked weary. Lincoln realised that he was getting old and felt a stab of pity for his friend. A very close relationship had developed between them. After all they were allies fighting against the most deeply rooted human fear. They were no longer professional colleagues, they were comrades in arms. "I don't think it can last much longer," Lincoln tried to sound reassuring. "I'm getting too old and tired for this sort of thing Arthur. You're doing a fine job but I fear I'm not giving you the support you need." "Nonsense," replied Lincoln a little too quickly, "it is I who should give more support to you." He was aware that the response was unconvincing. Dent looked at Lincoln and gave him a tired and fatherly smile. "Come on; let's get the rest of it over with." Things eased off a bit after the break. All were slowing down and the assembly seemed more willing to think better of the uninvited visitors. Immediate physical retaliation was ruled out. Instead a message would be transmitted to the approaching craft explaining humanity's fears and asking for a full explanation of their intentions. It was agreed that the full story would be given, honestly and simply, including the effect of the music and of the fear and suspicion that was aroused. At the same time preparations would be made for extensive civil defence measures including rapid evacuation of populated areas, stockpiling of food and other essentials, and establishment of multiple communications systems between governments and military bases, in case the worst came to pass. The anxious reporters were then called in to have explained the full story and the proposed measures. Dent and Lincoln were well satisfied with the outcome. "Well done Arthur," said Dent with feeling, "your arguments might well have saved the human race." Lincoln wondered if he was completely serious, but his face testified to his sincerity. "You too George," he countered. "Oh no; this was your day Arthur, you were the man they listened to." Lincoln felt a glow of pride that Dent should think of him that way. He couldn't help reflecting on how things had turned out. Only just over four weeks ago he had felt as nervous as a schoolboy at the thought of seeing George Dent again face to face. Now he had been arguing fiercely against the most powerful people in the world, and not feeling self-conscious about it at all. He realised that if a person was desperate enough he or she could do anything. At the hotel Lincoln lay on his bed intending to relax briefly then take a shower and change clothes. Afterwards he would rejoin Dent for a hearty meal, but instead he fell into a deep and much needed sleep.  *************** Lincoln vaulted over a half-demolished wall and into the road. Buildings were ablaze all around, everywhere there were people screaming. Although it was only mid-afternoon the sky was dark, obscured by thick black smoke, acrid, choking, suffocating. He ran wildly, he must get away, must head for open country. If only he knew in which direction to run. Overhead was the vast alien ship, immune to attack, terrifying in its single-minded desire for total destruction. It had been only three days since the first of the ships reached earth, but now they were everywhere, bent on the complete annihilation of every living thing on the planet. Another burst of energy and more buildings erupted into flame. Lincoln didn't stop to look round, he had seen it before. He ran until his legs felt as though they were on fire but he knew there could be no rest until he was well away from the city. Miraculously he had escaped injury. All around people lay, most dead, some half alive, limbs missing, clothes in rags, heads and bodies burned and bloody. The sky seemed clearer now, and crumbling buildings gave way to open stretches of ground. Perhaps he would escape this time. He grasped the slender hope like a drowning man grasps a straw, reassuring himself, telling himself that he was almost safe, just a few more steps to safety. Suddenly he became aware that he was running in an oval of light that moved forward as he did. He looked round. An enormous searchlight from the alien vessel had picked him out and was following his movements. He stopped, racked with pain and unable to breathe fast enough to satisfy his desperate need for air. There could be no chance of escape now. Fear and despair filled his mind. He waited for the inevitable, but strangely it did not come. Instead he heard a voice. "Do not be afraid, Arthur Lincoln." He looked around but saw no-one. Then something told him that the voice came from the ship. "You alone will be saved. You alone of all the living things on earth will not die. We owe you that Arthur Lincoln. We owe you that." The voice was mocking, scornful, and for a moment he stood, wondering. And then the fear that he had known earlier was replaced by a much more terrible emotion. He alone had convinced the world leaders not to retaliate. But for him humanity would have had a chance. But for him there might indeed have been time to avert the end of the world. He wept. He fell to his knees and cried out in anguish. He cried out in vain, there was no-one to hear him. He had acted in the best interests of humanity or so he had thought; how could he have known that this would happen. He rocked back and forth on his knees, pitying himself, hating himself. He tore at his clothes, his hair, his flesh. The knowledge of his treachery burned into his mind like a branding iron, and in torment he wailed like a mortally wounded animal. Gradually he became aware of a hand on his shoulder shaking him. And as this awareness increased the scene of horror before him began to dissolve. "Sir, sir," the owner of the hand repeated urgently, over and over. Lincoln awoke, bathed in sweat, still fully clothed and with a pair of anxious eyes looking down at him. "Thank God you're awake at last," said a kindly voice, "that was quite a nightmare." "I'll be all right now," Lincoln answered, "thank you for waking me." He rose and went over to the bathroom to cool his burning face. The porter and Lincoln's anxious neighbour who had raised the alarm left quietly. Lincoln undressed and showered, then dressed in some casual clothes and went down for a drink. The dream had severely shaken him. He had to think things out. The full impact of the responsibility that he had taken was only now dawning on him. Until now his only fear had been of failing to convince the world to take no hostile action. Now it seemed that his subconscious was showing him the other side of the coin. He sat for a while in the night bar and made small-talk with the bartender. The normality and sheer dullness of the situation was reassuring. This small bar was only used at night; it nestled in a corner of the hotel lounge, an oasis of light amidst the surrounding darkness. Lincoln stared into his whisky. Alcohol did not usually hold much appeal, but tonight a stiff Scotch was entirely appropriate. Half an hour later he was feeling more himself again. The dream had made him stop and think but it was no more than that, just a dream. His resolution was unchanged. He never discussed the dream with anyone. But he would long recall the vivid emotions, and the ultimate horror of having influenced the world's reaction at the most critical moment of its history. And of having been wrong.