detrimental to the existing inhabitants, but also to the immigrants themselves. So we offered controlled immigration to selected islands in the South Pacific, with strict quotas on reproduction. That’s when we learned their demands were unreasonable. They requested unlimited immigration anywhere in the world, with the right to decide their own birth policies. In the last nine years there have been a series of offers and counteroffers, and still the two sides remain significantly polarized. Now the Tarsalans have withdrawn from negotiations, and have mounted this shroud around the Earth. They’ve given us an ultimatum. Let me make this clear. The United States won’t tolerate ultimatums, and will never give in to blackmail.
“And so I’ve had to make the toughest decision of my presidency. At twelve-thirty p.m., Eastern Daylight Time, today, I put the U.S. military on highest alert. I’ve sent a final message to the Tarsalans.
This message is a counterultimatum. Dismantle the shroud within forty-eight hours or the United States and its allies will bring to bear against the Tarsalan mothership and its other deployed craft the full might of the world’s military forces. So far the Tarsalans haven’t responded. But I think this message has sent to them a firm comprehension of just where we stand. The United States and its allies will not be dictated to. And we will not have our sovereignty challenged. And if they don’t dismantle the shroud, war shall and will be declared.”
By this time Glenda was gripping the edge of the dining room table with white-knuckled hands. Her mouth had gone dry and her palms were moist. Wasn’t it bad enough that they should have the shroud around the Earth? Wouldn’t it make things far worse to go to war with the Tarsalans? Yet she could see the president’s point. They couldn’t let the Tarsalans push them around.
“Mom, are the Tarsalans going to bomb us?” asked Jake.
“I don’t know, sweetie.”
“They probably won’t bomb here,” said Hanna. “Old Hill is the most boring place in the world.”
“I don’t see why we don’t let them live anywhere they want,” said Jake. “It’s a free country. I wouldn’t mind having one for a neighbor. I’ve only ever met Kafis at Uncle Neil’s, and I’d like to meet a few more. I don’t know why the president doesn’t put out the welcome mat.”
“Because they overbreed, stupid. They have four babies at a time.”
“Hanna, don’t call your brother stupid. And we don’t know that they would overbreed. Yes, it’s true they have four babies at a time, but everything I’ve read says they’ve really embraced birth control.”
“But Mom,” said Hanna, “they can tell us anything they want about what they do back on their homeworld, and we have no way of checking it out. I talked to Uncle Neil about it last Christmas. He says we can’t verify anything about the way they do things on their homeworld, and that if we open the door to them, we could find ourselves in real trouble.”
Glenda looked out the window at the shroud. “I think we’re in real trouble already.”
7
Gerry met with Mayor Hulke, Ian Hamilton, Dr. Luke Langstrom, and a fourth man, Mitchell Bennett, the appointed representative of AviOrbit, a day later. Mitch was a man roughly his own age, but he wore a suit. Gerry had his baggy old corduroys on. Mitch’s hair was short, a tawny red shaved as closely as a layer of felt. Gerry became conscious of his own straying, long hair. Mitch maneuvered with feminine grace through the Moon’s weak gravity while Gerry lumbered about like an out-of-control giant.
Malcolm Hulke held the document of contention in his hands, downloaded from Earth’s latest drop. His jaw tightened and he scratched behind his ear, where Gerry saw an angry red patch of psoriasis. The mayor finished scanning the document a third time, then glanced at Gerry, puzzled.
“I don’t understand why they would send this to AviOrbit’s office, not mine.”
“Neil’s trying to undercut your authority,” said Gerry. “It’s his way of playing politics.”
“Why doesn’t he want our help? You’d think we could offer a unique perspective up here on the Moon.
And it’s not beyond the realm of possibility they just might fail. Wouldn’t they want us as backup?”
“Considering my brother has the full resources of the United States at his disposal,” said Gerry, “odds are he’s going to come up with something sooner rather than later.”
“And if he doesn’t?” said Hulke. “What if he tries one thing, then another, then another, and none of them work? Why doesn’t he want our help?” Hulke was obviously hurt by Neil’s signed recommendation. “This whole section here—about working at cross-purposes—do you think he has a point? And Gerry, this bit about your qualifications. Or lack of them, as he puts it. That’s not nice. Have you always had this…this
“I’m sure Dr. Thorndike is an excellent judge of qualifications,” said Langstrom. “And I’m sure he knows his brother better than any of us.”
Gerry glanced at the Martian sourly. “Neil’s always been nervous about the way I do things.”
“One thing you ought to know about Neil,” said Ian. “He likes to steal the show. I say we don’t even answer this. We’ve got our own sovereignty up here. It’s not as if they own the shroud. If we go along with this ridiculous request to… to stand down, we might blow our own chances of getting rid of the thing.
Why don’t we just say that the Moon is Plan B? In my experience, Plan B is the one that always works.”
He took off his hat, a rawhide outdoorsman’s hat, smoothed his shoulder-length hair, and bunched his lips, looking ready to spit. “I’ve known Neil and Gerry since…since a long time ago. We grew up in suburban Illinois together. At first I was best friends with Neil. I admired the hell out of the guy. He got good grades, and when it came time for college, he was accepted into the best of them on a full scholarship. But he’s overconfident, and that’s going to be his downfall. Then you take a guy like Gerry.
He hasn’t had the most stunning career. And he’s flat broke most of the time. But Gerry looks at something, and he sees things other people don’t. Gerry’s got more patience in his baby finger than Neil has in his whole body. Have you ever had some kind of problem, and no matter how hard you puzzle on it, you can’t come up with an answer? So you put it aside at the end of the day, then go to bed, and right when you’re falling asleep you find a solution? That’s the way Gerry’s mind works all the time. Gerry is Plan B, and I’m telling you, Plan B is the one that’s going to work.”
“I don’t think we should sell Dr. Thorndike short so quickly,” said Langstrom. “He’s won the Nobel Prize, after all. And, no offense, Gerry, you haven’t.”
“Prizes don’t mean a thing,” said Ian.
“They’re a way of recognizing excellent work,” said Dr. Langstrom.
“Not when it comes to Neil and Gerry.”
“I think your bias is showing, Mr. Hamilton,” said Langstrom.
“Let me give you an example,” said Ian, leaning across the table toward the elderly Martian. “When we were kids, the three of us got stranded in Chicago. Neil immediately came up with a plan to panhandle money so we could buy bus tickets home. He took charge of the operation and we had the money in no time. But then, at the last minute, he got us on the wrong bus. I remember what he was like that day. He was
“Considering Neil Thorndike has a position as a special advisor to the president,” said Langstrom, “I doubt he overlooks much either.”
“Yes, but this document we have,” said Ian, tapping the mayor’s waferscreen. “It’s nothing but Neil trying to take over like he always does. He’s not even willing to consider that the Moon might have something to offer. I say we decide against him.”
“Getting stranded in Chicago and having to raise bus money thirty years ago is one thing, but this is quite another. I should think Dr. Thorndike’s come a long way since then.”
The group fell silent. Gerry watched the mayor glance at the waferscreen a fourth time. Hulke’s face again took on an expression of puzzlement. He looked up from the document and inspected Gerry the way he might an unpredictable dog. What was Gerry going to do next? Was he going to roll over? Was he going to play dead? Was he going to shake a paw?
