“It doesn’t matter,” someone else said thoughtfully. “We can’t do anything about it anyway.”
“That’s not necessarily the case.” Bukowicz was remembering the elderly voice he’d spoken with so recently. “Get me Barcelona.”
“Regional traffic control?” the comspec asked expectantly.
“No.” Bukowicz stared intently at the winking red light that now hovered offshore over the Atlantic. “Planetary Council offices. As high as you can reach.”
“They won’t be able to do anything either,” said the individual who’d spoken earlier.
“That’s true. But at least we can go home tonight knowing that we’ve passed the responsibility for this on to those who’ve been chosen to deal with such matters.” He eyed the specialist significantly. “Wouldn’t you like to be done with it?”
The man hurried to make the requisite overseas connections.
XI
The administrator was as fond of his job as he was of his wife, his three grown children, his six grandchildren, and his home on the sloping cliff that overlooked the Mediterranean. Not that overseeing Earth was easy, even though it was far less populated than in hysterical times and regional bureaus, not to mention Parks Administration, had a good deal of operational autonomy.
But with the help of computers and a professional civil service the old Homeworld managed to continue spinning around its sun in a state of relative contentment. As chief administrator he was heir to interesting visitors and soluble problems, and the job did not require that he lift heavy objects. So despite the occasional, tolerable stress, he enjoyed going in to work each morning. Only rarely was his direct involvement in decision-making required. Most of his time was spent beaming paternally as he greeted this or that famous off-world visitor, or opening a new section of restored parkland. His position was as much ceremonial as official.
For that he was eminently well qualified. Tall, regal of bearing, with an aquiline face crowned by swept-back white hair, he was the perfect image of the senior human. He’d spent a lifetime working his way up through the Service and had advanced as far as it was possible for a civil servant to rise. His children were successful in their own right, and only one grandchild was a gameswanker. He was content.
It was such a nice day that he did not even take umbrage at the underadministrator who barged unannounced into his office, thereby disturbing his contemplation of a blissfully uncrowded desk. He smiled reassuringly.
“What is it, Jiang?”
Jiang seemed to be having some trouble finding his voice. This was unusual, as the underadministrator rarely misplaced it.
“Is something the matter?” The administrator’s concern was not merely politic: he was genuinely fond of the undermin.
Jiang looked down at the printout he was holding, up at the chief administrator, and back down again, as though unable to make up his mind which to address directly.
“We have just had a communication from North America, sir. From Baltimore. It is near …”
“I know where Baltimore is, Jiang.” Privately the chief administrator made a mental note to recommend some additional vacation time for his friend.
“Yes, of course you do, sir. I apologize.” He finally decided it would be better to look directly at his superior. But he gestured with the printout. “According to this official report, a giant alien spaceship with perhaps five retired citizens from upstate Newyork Province aboard is presently drifting over the North Atlantic approximately eighty kilometers south-southwest of Bermuda.”
As the chief administrator of the Planetary Council of the Independent and Most Revered Homeworld of Earth silently digested this news, his friend and assistant extraordinaire gazed back at him with the desperate eyes of a short-legged dog locked alone for the night in a butcher shop with high counters.
“I see.” The chief spoke softly, calmly. “This is an official report, you say?”
Jiang nodded vigorously. “There have also been dozens of unofficial sightings. Whatever it is, it’s there.” He approached the intricately carved seventeenth-century French desk. “The media are all over it, and they’ve been vidcasting steadily ever since it crossed the Atlantic coast.”
“I haven’t had time today to watch the popular media. I’ve been working.” This was half a lie, which was not only acceptable, but traditional politics.
“Everything’s happened just since this morning, sir.” Jiang blinked. Being just vain enough to enjoy periodically altering his eye color, he preferred organic contacts to implants and sometimes they itched.
“Very well. Let us grant for the moment what our official observers tell us.” He steepled his fingers in front of him. How big is this ‘giant’ alien spaceship?”
Jiang checked the printout. “Approximately one hundred kilometers in length by ten wide and highly irregular in shape. It is said to have a highly polished metallic appearance.”
The administrator smiled pleasantly. “You mean a hundred meters in length.”
“No, sir. Kilometers.”
“Um-hmm. That certainly would be a very large ship indeed.”
“Verily, sir.” Jiang waited as long as seemed tactful while the chief contemplated his fingers. “Sir? The people in Baltimore would like to know what to do.”
After another moment the chief said, “They’re not the only ones. Wouldn’t seem to be a great deal we can do with something that size.” He turned his chair to regain the view of the Mediterranean, indecently pleased that there wasn’t a hundred-kilometer-long alien spaceship hovering above Barcelona.
“What has been the official response thus far?”
“Park rangers and local police are monitoring the craft’s progress and reporting regularly on its activities. Apparently it has stopped moving for now.”
“Has it acted at all in a hostile fashion?”
“Not according to the reports, sir.”
“How fortunate. There isn’t much we can do if it does undergo an abrupt change of disposition. Now tell me, Jiang: How does Baltimore know there are five retired citizens aboard this apparition, and just as important, what in the seven levels of Purgatory are they doing there?”
“As to the first, that’s what the speaker the people in Baltimore conversed with claimed. Apparently they have neither reason nor the means to doubt him. As to the second, nobody seems to know.”
“And where has this Brobdingnagian visitor come from?” This time of year the sea was calm all the way to North Africa, he reflected as he gazed out the window. Have to make time to take the family out on the sloop.
“Final opinions have not yet been tendered, but it apparently was buried deep underground beneath the Adirondack mountain range in up-province Newyork. According to the speaker on board, for a million years.”
“Now, how would they know that?”
