Footfall

“With what?”

“This alien ship-look, being around the President, I hear a lot of things. I never talk about them. Not even with you, except it’s your job too-the President’s scared, Je

“Scared? Jack-Oh, hell, darling. Let’s walk.” She led him along the path toward the great granite shape of the National Museum.

He wouldn’t talk about this in his apartment. Out here we ought to be safe if we keep our voices down and talk directly to each other. That’s silly. No one’s listening to us. Still, I shouldn’t talk to him about this, but he knows already — “Jack, what do you mean, scared? I’ve briefed him a dozen times, and he doesn’t act scared with me.”

“Not with you, not with the Admiral,” Jack said. “But with Mrs. Coffey. He’s worried because they don’t answer.”

“Well, we all wonder—”

“It’s no wonder; he’s scared! And I think he thinks the Russians are too.”

“Yeah,” Je

“It’s true, though, isn’t it? Every nut with a transmitter has tried to send them messages, and they don’t answer…”

“Not just every nut,” Je

“And nothing.” Jack shivered slightly, despite the warm June night. “Heck, maybe I’m scared too!”

She hesitated, then laughed.

“What?”

“Just thinking. If there’s anybody with a higher clearance than a man who’ll put his butt between the President and a bullet, I don’t know what it is.” There was no one around, but she lowered her voice anyway. “The Admiral’s getting worried too.”

“I guess the Soviets decided to mobilize.”

Je

“Wha-at?”

“Or like the Watergate trials. The lawyers asked one of them, ‘Who ordered the cover’up?’ And he said, ‘Actually, nobody ever suggested there would not be a cover-up.’ Unless somebody actually says stop, the Soviets will mobilize.”

“Get enough of those weapons, and somebody’s likely to use them—”

“Yes. But things look reasonably stable over there. Their theoreticians are saying that any race advanced enough to have star travel would have to be economically evolved, meaning the aliens will all be good communists.”

“I wouldn’t think that follows.”

“Neither do I. We know for a fact it hasn’t helped the Russians communicate with the aliens. That ship isn’t talking to anyone.”

“Maybe it’s a robot ship.”

She shrugged. “We don’t even have any good theories, and the Admiral wants some.”

“Who has he asked?”

“Who haven’t we asked?” Je

Jack didn’t laugh. “Actually that might not be such a bad idea.”

“That’s what I thought. Anyway, he’s done it. Most of them are at the Air Academy, but he’s taking a smaller group into Cheye

“Oh. Okay. But I’ll miss you.”

She squeezed his hand, then glanced around. It was dark, and nobody was going to see her behaving in an undignified ma

’We still haven’t got di

“Something we can cook fast.”

He laughed, “Yeah. There are better things to do than eat.”

“The Church has always considered the possibility of intelligence other than human,” Cardinal Manelli said. “Angels are one obvious example.”

“Ah. And of course C. S. Lewis played with aliens,” the Episcopalian bishop added. “Certainly the Christian churches are interested in this alien ship, but I can’t agree that the existence of the aliens refutes Christian revelation.”

Jeri Wilson looked thoughtful. She’d turned on the TV, something she almost never did on Sunday afternoons, and this program had been on. The Roman Catholic cardinal, the Episcopal bishop of California, two Protestant ministers whose faces she recognized, and a history professor from the University of California. Professor Boyd seemed to be acting as moderator, and also as a gadfly intent on irritating the others.

“Lewis points out that the existence of intelligent aliens impacts Christianity only if we assume they are in need of redemption, that redemption must come in the same ma

“What if they’ve never heard of Christianity?” Professor Boyd asked. “If they have no legends of gods, no notion of sin, no thought of redemption?”

“It wouldn’t change the facts of our revelation,” Cardinal Manelli said. “The Resurrection took place in our history, and no alien ship will change that. We’ll know soon enough. Why speculate? If you want to ask ‘what if?’ then what if they have both the Old and New Testaments, or documents recognizably related to them?”

That would be interesting, Jeri thought.

“I predict that what we’ll find will be ambiguous,” one of the ministers said. “God doesn’t seem to speak unequivocally.”

“Not to you,” Cardinal Manelli said. The others laughed, but Jeri thought some of the laughter was strained.

The doorbell rang. She went to answer it, a little unhappy at missing the program, which was interesting. Melissa raced down the hall and got to the door first.

The man at the door had red hair and beard fading to white. His gut spilled out over the top of his blue jeans. He’d never be able to button his denim jacket. Melissa stepped back involuntarily for a moment. Then she smiled. “Hi, Harry!”

Jeri didn’t encourage Melissa to call adults by their first names, but Harry was an exception. How could you call him Mr. Reddington? “Hello,” Jeri said. “What brings you here?” She stepped back to let him in and led him toward the kitchen. “Beer?”

“Thanks, yes,” Harry said. He took the can eagerly. “Actually. I was just over to see Ken Dutton, and thought I’d stop by.”

Melissa had gone back to her room. “Horse crap, Harry,” Jeri said.

He shrugged. “Okay, I have ulterior motives. Look, they’re throwing me out of my apartment—”

“Great God, Harry, you don’t expect me to put you up!”

He looked slightly hurt. “You don’t have to be so vigorous about the way you say that.” Then he gri

“Harry, they don’t want you.” That hurt him. She could see it. Even so, it had to be said. Harry had done odd jobs for the Tate-Evanses, as well as for the Wilsons, and although he’d never been invited to join the Enclave, he knew about it because David had talked about it with him.

Harry shrugged. “They don’t want Dutton, either. But they do want you.”

“Possibly. I’m not so sure I want them.”

Harry looked puzzled.

“I’ve been thinking of going east. To join David.” Not yet, he said. But it wasn’t no!

Melissa came in to get a Coke from the refrigerator. “Is that your motorcycle out there?” she asked.

“Sure,” Harry said.

“Will you take me for a ride?’

“Melissa, you shouldn’t bother—”

“Sure,” Harry said.