Alien Assessment, Page 2

then began to shrink around the ball, squeezing with some implacable strength. Now the sphere glowed as its substance was invaded by the constrictive force, at first reluctantly absorbing it, then more rapidly as if touched by a consuming hunger for more. The sphere was suddenly transparent as if its atoms were being forced apart.

  A technician did something in the shielded control room and the metal ball disappeared. The technician reported to Bar Fash.

  “Our research station reports that the ball has arrived there intact,” he told Elliot.

  “And how far away would that be?”

  “Twelve light measures,” the Baderian replied. “Near a star off towards the galactic core.” He smiled. “I’m glad that we’ve piqued your interest.” The translator unit revealed the satisfaction in his words.

  Elliot shook his head in wonderment. “We’re such a parochial bunch. How mighty and magnificent we think we are, especially since stumbling across the currents and unity transition. And yet how little we’ve accomplished. I’m. . .I’m simply staggered by what you’ve shown me today. Our science insists that quark confinement is absolutely inviolable.”

  An affable silence descended for a time, and then Bar Fash said, “You sound a little cynical.”

  “A friend of mine calls me a pessimist,” Elliot responded. “Others just call me a fool when I supported the proposition of our two races sharing a common ancestry.”

  They strolled out of the academy. The interacting energy fields of Tilith shimmered in shades of red, blue and depthless green.

  “I don’t mean to sound accusing,” Bar Fash apologized, “but why has it been so hard for Earth to accept the fact that our species both began on Earth?”

  Why indeed? All the data sent by the Baderians after first contact had clearly shown the relationship. He’d been so involved with defending himself---feeling sorry for himself?---that all other aspects of the conflict had lain submerged until now.

  “I suppose,” he began tentatively, “that most of us just can’t face the truth.” And the shame, he mused.

  Into his thoughts came visions of primitive land mammals scurrying across the world, scratching, clawing. With some innate viciousness the struggled for supremacy, snapping at their own kind, killing each other out of some perverted instinct.

  How simple it must have been for the mysterious Toysarians to select that other genus. . .docile, cooperative, already in that dim past unified by another kind of instinct devoted to survival.

  “Who can blame us, though?” he went on slowly. “I was foolish enough to expect acceptance of something beyond their ability to accept.”

  “Perhaps you also think too highly of us,” Bar Fash suggested mildly.

  “Well, the Toysarians did choose you over us,” Elliot pointed out. “There assessment was sound.”

  Bar Fash turned to face him. “But don’t you also see that on Earth your intelligence rose to dominate the world. Our ancestors did not.” The Baderian’s large, dark eyes gently focused on Elliot. “Can it not be said that we both won out, in the end?” Something dark and fearful moved through shadows in the Baderian’s eyes. “We are afraid, too,” he said. “Afraid of how you are going to react to us. Already there are currents of resentment and the first signs of racism moving through our contact. How far will your people go to forget what they see now as a shameful rejection? To obliterate that by what means?”

  Elliot tuned back in to Simpson’s meeting.

  “There is a distinct air of superiority about the Baderians,” a psychologist was proclaiming. “Should our two cultures come into prolonged and direct contact the results could be disastrous.”

  “Their intentions,” an anthropologist added, “are quite clear. To come to Earth whether we want them there or not.”

  Solemn nods around the table, rationale and reason neatly sidestepped.

  “It’s absolutely clear,” the representative of a major religious order intoned, “that the soul of humanity would have to endure a violent attack against its very foundations.”

  To Elliot it was as though a great boulder teetered on the brink of some dark chasm. Ever so slowly it began to move.

  “It’s imperative that we resist. . .”

  “Our resistance must be adamant. . .”

  “They must be turned aside. . .”

  He tried to shut them out but couldn’t.

  “I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” he finally managed to say. “All I’ve heard have been words.” He stared at the others. “Not one fact has been presented here to substantiate a single thing any of you has said. This is all pure speculation.”

  Simpson regarded him coldly. “All you have to do, Dr. Elliot, is look around you. You’ve seen them, listened to them, seen what powers they possess.”

  “Stop looking in a mirror, Simpson,” he shot back. “Don’t invest the Baderians with the deficiencies that the Toysarians saw in us.”

  Eyes turned away from him, mouths twisted scornfully. A few embarrassed glances slid his way. Simpson sighed heavily and leaned back, resigned to suffer him for a few moments more.

  Elliot persisted. “Rather than bring harm to us, the Baderians could very well represent our first chance at vindication. Instead of deciding that we must resist them, we should let them share with us whatever wisdom has carried them around the sociological dangers that surely have threatened them in their past. We must admit to ourselves, here and back on Earth, that the reaction I’ve witnessed in this room is a direct result of the humiliation we’ve borne ever since learning that the Toysarians rejected us for the Baderians. And if we can learn to face that truth we can bear it. Ultimately, with time, we can prove that we’ve surmounted that alien assessment.

  Simpson interrupted him. “And just who are the Toysarians, Elliot? Where are they? Even the Baderians don’t know. Face it. . .they don’t exist. Never have.”

  Elliot faced the contact commissioner. “You will at least include my views in the final report to Earth?” he asked. Despair diluted his words.

  “There’s no need,” Simpson pronounced. “Earth is only interested in the consensus.”

  “Then you refuse to convey my thoughts and objections?” Elliot straightened in his seat. “What are you so afraid of? If everything I’ve said is nothing more than wild speculation, why won’t you at least include it in the report?” He struggled with his temper. “You know that Earth may not be totally receptive to your consensus. You know that there are significant factions that would resist your madness.” He drew himself up and swept Simpson with contempt. “These. . .sycophants of yours are only a majority here, aboard this ship.”

  Simpson folded his hands carefully as a smile crept across his face.

  “Ah yes, Elliot. . .but if what you say is true, that a few blind fools could be found on Earth. . .” He laughed. “. . .what’s to be done about it? After all, here you are eighteen light years from your friends, and we can’t return home for another two weeks, when the next intersecting current becomes available. Until then the only thing that can propagate between Eta Cassiopeia and Earth is electromagnetic transmissions.”

  Suddenly Elliot had a thought: it wasn’t just current-borne electromagnetic transmissions that could pass instantaneously between Tilith and Earth. He had a question for Bar Fash, and he left to find him.

  Could a commuter craft fit into that laboratory beneath Tilith Academy?