Chapter 26

"I come to this magnificent house of worship tonight because my conscience leaves me no other choice. A true revolution of values will lay hand on the world order and say of war, this way of settling differences is not just. This business of burning human beings with napalm, filling our nation's homes with orphans and widows, of injecting poisonous drugs of hate into the veins of peoples normally humane, sending men home from dark and bloody battlefields physically handicapped and psychologically deranged, cannot be reconciled with wisdom, justice, and love."

-Martin Luther King, Jr. "Beyond Vietnam" April 4, 1967

"Marco," Esma hissed. "Where have you been? I've been calling you for a week."

"I've been busy," said Marco indolently.

"With what?"

"Important things."

"Ugh," said Esma in frustration. "I've already been here a week, and you know I can only do so much without your help."

"Wait just a minute – are you implying that you actually needed my skills?" Marco smirked.

"You know perfectly well, that as an astrophysicist I don't know how to operate your blasted machinery. The Pentagon was begging for our help and I've been here in Moscow for two weeks trying to figure out how to rescue that team from Mars without using our ship."

"Hold on a second. I never said I'd help with this. And Laufa called us all here for the Peace Treaty. I'm here for that, first."

"As your superior officer –"

"You're not my superior officer any more. We're off that blasted ship, if you haven't noticed. And I'm in the highest caste the same as you, if castes even matter anymore now."

"Laufa said we all must do everything that we can to convince the degenerates of our willingness to help. That includes –"

"Oh, do shut up, Esma. If course I'm going to help you with it, as soon as this peace treaty business is over," said Marco sulkily. "Oh, great. Here he comes now."

Laufa was striding toward them across the hotel lounge. "Ah, here you are at last, Marco," he said sternly. "We've been waiting for you. Come, we're meeting in my suite."

They went up to the highest floor, set aside for them and surrounded by guards. Laufa let them into his rooms, but all the guards remained outside. Within, Svaltu, Dresle, Arjen, Darius, and Christoph were already waiting – but there was someone else there – a middle-aged man with a pen and clipboard.

"Who is that?" asked Esma.

"My secretary," answered Laufa.

"We can't have him here while we're discussing plans."

"I agree with Esma," said Christoph.

"We're speaking Ashtauz – he won't understand us."

"You told us never to speak it unless we were alone together, and we all agreed," put in Svaltu.

"This guy's an idiot. He won't have any idea what we're saying. He won't figure anything out. Also, need I remind you that there are cameras everywhere and record everything we say and do. We haven't taught anyone our language – how will they figure it out?"

Dresle flushed, but nobody noticed. She was sitting toward the back and was often ignored by her compatriots.

Everyone looked at the secretary and he appeared distinctly uncomfortable.

"It's all right, Stevenson. I was just introducing you," Laufa told him in English.

"Very good. I'm here whenever you need me, sir."

"Thank you." Laufa turned back to his companions and continued in his own language. "The first thing we have to do, of course, is ensure the peace treaty goes well and that we all appear at our best. That means you – Marco: no philandering. It's disgusting and a disgrace. And Dresle: no sulking. It's time you grew up. Did you prepare the songs?"

"Yes. I got help with the pronunciation, so it should be perfect now," she replied.

"Okay. And Marco and Esma will be helping to rescue the astronauts on Mars. On no account can we let them use our ship."

"I've been trying to find a way to move the energy converter from our ship onto theirs. I thought Marco might have some ideas," said Esma.

"It's simple," said Marco. "You simply transplant the rotor from the mainframe, rewire the spark tubes, and maneuver the atomic –"

"Don't tell me," said Laufa irritably. "Tell the Russian space program. Or rather, do it for them."

Marco smirked at Laufa's annoyance but did not answer.

"The CEO of The Atlas Corporation has agreed to financially support the testing for nuclear fusion energy – so I'll be working closely with Atlas Corp to oversee the construction."

"What is The Atlas Corporation?" asked Svaltu.

"Surely you've heard of it by now," said Laufa.

"I have heard of it, but I do not know its purpose."

"It's a trillion-dollar, multi-national corporation which deals with oil, fuel, and any type of energy which the Earth needs. It's virtually a monopoly – which means it can supply the new energy to nearly everyone."

"That will certainly increase their confidence in us," said Svaltu. "I have studied well these degenerates' minds."

Dresle frowned at this, but said nothing.

"Stevenson, could you bring me the document from Atlas Corp?" he said in English.

"Of course, sir," said the secretary, rising and walking across the room with his clipboard and handing Laufa the papers.

"We are here, compatriots, at the right place and the right time to push this agenda of energy and peace. We must use it." He always spoke in this lofty style when wishing to impress. He turned to his secretary and spoke in English. "What else is on our agenda today, Stevenson?"

The secretary looked at his clipboard. "The Queen of Denmark called again, for the twelfth time. She still wishes to meet all of you, and especially to hear Miss Dresle sing."

"I would love to sing for her," said Dresle.

"We'd better go ahead and see her," said Esma. "We've visited all the other royalties."

Darius sighed. "Not another one."

"Be quiet, Darius," Svaltu snapped. "If your attitude were a little better, you might be able to actually make a good impression on these degenerates."

"They're not degenerates," Dresle put in rather timidly, but looked straight at Svaltu as the psychologist glared at her.

"No use arguing about it," put in Marco. "She'll have to go on the list."

"What else, Stevenson?" said Laufa in English.

"Hollywood wants to know about rights for a movie."

"What does that mean?"

"They want you in a movie. They want you to act. Or to make a movie about you."

"Oh, how ridiculous," cried Esma in Ashtauz.

"Now, now," Christoph replied in the same language. "We should think about this. It would be embarrassing for us, no doubt – but humans communicate the best through language and visual stimuli. It could be a great way to communicate with these people, and show that we're friendly."

"I think it could be fun. I'd try it," said Marco.

"Me too," said Arjen.

"Absolutely not," said Laufa.

"Oh, stuff it, Laufa," said Arjen. "We're not your servants. We take your advice, but now that we're here we don't have to obey you anymore. We're free to do as we like."

"You think you can do what you like?" said Laufa in a low, deadly voice. "You think you'll be able to do what you like when these degenerates turn on you and decide that you're too dangerous – or too strange – or too powerful to be free, and they start experimenting on you – or they lock you up as an exhibit in a zoo – or just kill you outright to spare the trouble? And that could happen to every single one of us, if we don't prove ourselves useful, knowledgeable, peaceful, and attractive to these people. I'm the one who's helping you to look like that, so don't give me that 'I can do whatever I like' nonsense."

Everyone was silent for several long moments, letting this sink in. Stevenson stood there blank-faced, not having understood a word that was said. Laufa turned to him. "We'll say 'no' to Hollywood for now, Mr. Stevenson," he said in English. "What else?"

"Oh – UCLA wants to know if you would be willing to set up a sperm bank and an oocyte bank. Their Assisted Reproductive Technology would gladly pay you handsomely for your contributions."

All the Vellorians, even Marco looked horrified. This time when Laufa said, "Absolutely not," no one argued.

Dresle went to sing before the statesmen in a cathedral while Esma and Marco worked through the day and all the next night with the scientists at the Astro Space Centre. Marco was able to instruct them how to utilize the Vellorian energy, which had been moved carefully from the spaceship at the U.N. Another argument had broken out between them, however. They had gone into a back room and were arguing fiercely in their own language.

"I tell you, I am never getting into that damned ship again. No one can force me."

"Laufa could –"

Marco laughed. "I'd like to see him try. I tell you, you can kill me before I ever get onto that cursed ship again."

"Well, one of us has to go," said Esma unhappily.

"Feel free," said Marco.

"I don't want to get back on a spaceship either," she said.

"We can just teach them how to run the ship with the new equipment."

"And if they fail? If the ship blows up or they get lost, or any other number of problems – how do you think the humans will see us? They'll think we planned it. They'll turn against us."

"That's true. Well, I guess that means you'd better go, Esma. You've been to Mars before, after all. It should be an easy trip."

He left the room, leaving Esma looking angry and depressed. She started after him. "We'll have to get artificial gravity on their ships."

Marco turned his head. "Yeah, fine. I'll do it. As long as you go." Then he turned and left the lab.

The next day they met before statesmen from all over the A.C. Christoph had taught himself Russian and already knew Mandarin from their trip around the world, so he opened the ceremonies.

"We are here," he said, "as we have been around the world, to encourage peace among all nations. We come from a world in which all nations are at peace under a world government, but it took many years and many difficult steps to reach this point. With the new controllable nuclear fusion energy, we can provide you with the means of unlimited energy, and therefore enough food and clean water for everyone on Earth."

There was clapping at this.

"Our fearless leader, Laufa, is working with The Atlas Corporation's CEO David Michaels to share the secret of our energy with the world.

"We want to thank you all for your willingness to come here today and to hear us speak. On our journey around the world we have learned so much from you, about literature, art, and even science and technology. You have grown so much since our people last came in contact with you thousands of years ago. It is truly incredible what a great people you have become. Now we would like to give back to you.

"Your pollution and climate change is indeed a problem, which we can appreciate, coming from a planet which had similar issues before we solved it with our fusion energy, which causes no pollution. We have a cutting-edge proposal for you. The Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty did not work. If you don't believe me, simply look back at your own past. Before the fall of the United States of America, Israel was the only country in the Middle-East with nuclear weapons. Once the United States fell, all sorts of counties, including the Middle-Eastern countries, began to build whatever weapons they wanted, and the U.N. could not stop them. Take the example of North Korea, which became so dangerous in its proliferation of nuclear weapons that it had to be destroyed by those very weapons themselves. We endeavour to introduce a new plan – for time is ticking.

"We wish to share with you our controlled nuclear fusion energy, but we believe that first, some global issues must be treated. We propose that, in exchange for the new green energy, each country will disarm their nuclear weapons, and cease any uranium enrichment. With the new energy, not only will we avoid pollution and other environmental issues, but we can stop the warring in the Middle-east over oil, coal, and other fuels. We can provide food and clean water for all those poor countries, like in Africa, whose people are starving to death daily. Your Foreign Direct Investment will increase also if you disarm – that way, it is more likely that large nations, such as the A.C., will invest in the smaller countries, increasing the economy and leading to peace."

The longer Christoph spoke, the more the statesmen began to nod and agree, and even clap. Christoph was eloquent, and Svaltu had helped him to make it more appealing to the audience. By the end, everyone in the audience was standing and applauding.

That evening they were all invited to a party, where there would be food, drink, and dancing among Moscow's most elite. This was their chance, according to Laufa, to make a good impression, so the men were all dressed in tuxedos, and the women floor-length designer gowns (which made them somewhat uncomfortable). What was most uncomfortable to Dresle, however, was the dancing. Many men wanted to dance with her and, although a tutor had taught her how to dance, that did not relieve her embarrassment. Esma and Svaltu seemed to suffer this indignity well. Dresle tried to drink some of the alcohol to be polite, but it tasted so disgusting to her that she settled with carbonated water. Also people kept asking her (what she thought were) impertinent questions, such as, "Do you have a boyfriend/girlfriend?" "Would you like to go out with me for a drink some time?" "Do all women on your planet wear no makeup and don't shave?" and "I would love to write a book about you, would you be willing to sit down with me for a few interviews?"

Finally, the evening was over and they were put into two cars to be driven back to the hotel. Dresle was with Svaltu, Darius, and Arjen in the back of one of the big black vehicles while the other four got into the other car. It was about eleven at night, but the city still shone bright and they could not see the stars for the blazing lights of Moscow. Darius and Arjen were talking excitedly about the next year's Olympics, to which they had just been invited as athletes by the Asian Coalition.

"You did very well tonight, Dresle," said Svaltu in what was obviously meant to be an encouraging voice. Dresle just looked at her. "I can tell you've been working on understanding the psychology of these degenerate human minds and learning to deal with them."

Dresle just glared at her. The car stopped at a light and she stared out of the tinted window.

"I wonder if they'd let me play in the next World Cup," Darius was saying. "That would be fun."

"What country would you play for, though?" asked Arjen.

Darius shrugged. "I don't know. I'm sure the Brazilians would love to have me for the U.F.S."

"Just make sure you don't show them up too badly," said Svaltu. "No one likes that – especially not these degenerates."

"They're not degenerates," said Dresle through gritted teeth. "Why are we still stopped?"

It had been already several minutes since they had stopped at what had seemed to be a stoplight.

"Yes, why are we stopped?" asked Svaltu, pushing the button to open the window between them and the guards in the front.

"What are we doing here?" she asked. It appeared the driver and the security guard in the front seat were arguing. Suddenly, out of nowhere, the driver took out his gun and shot his fellow in the head.

"What are you doing?" screamed Darius.

"Shut up!" cried the driver, turning his gun with its silencer on them. And then suddenly they were surrounded – more than six guns were pointed at them from every direction.