Shepherd Moon, Chapter 1: A Happy Accident
He stepped out of the taxi on the roof of a public landing pad - a seemingly average man.

He leaned over the window of the driver, mentally converting Solars to dollars.

"You got change for a fifty?" the brown-haired man said, knowing his credit ID won't work here.

The cabby smiled. "That old trick won't work with me, buster," he said in a decidedly Russian accent (Leningrad, perhaps, he thought). He keyed the lock on his cashbox. "I got your change."

Now how did a Russian such as this get to be in New York and become, of all things, a cabby, Bill thought, and smiled.

He handed over a fifty-dollar bill, reminding himself that he was in the States now. The cabby handed him his change, a big wad of bills and coins, and smiled at him mischievously.

"Have a good day," said the driver.

"Thank you, and a good day to you, too." He stepped back as the turbines of the taxi whined and pushed it upward into the blue sky. It's strange, he thought how time can change men and cure old wounds. We almost wiped out the race and now we're able to exchange pleasantries with each other - two people from opposite sides of the fence. A few generations ago, we wouldn't be caught dead in the same car. Now, look at us. Times sure are changing.

He looked at the wafer-thin chronometer-pad on his wrist and discovered that he was late. "Damn," he muttered, as he hurried down an escalator to ground level.

There, he checked out a personal electric cart and hummed off to the old U.N. buildings, still the same after more than 300 years. Of course, such structures wouldn't have survived that long even if they escaped the bombings of the war. They had been almost totally rebuilt, but pains were taken to maintain the buildings' old facade. He liked it. He was always a sucker for tradition.

He parked the cart in one of the ground-level stalls, where it was whisked away by machinery to some other person needing it. He looked up at the U.N. Secretariat building, dwarfed by the other more modern hundred-level buildings surrounding it, and watched the sun reflect on the glass. It wasn't really glass anymore but Crystalline metal, a metal alloy that, when properly treated, had the refractive index of glass except that it's metal and attracts magnets.

He stepped through the Crystalline doors of the building adjacent to it, the U.N. General Assembly building - a structure that looked like a flattened soap-box, also another three-hundred-year old relic, but clearly echoing the graceful lines of its companion.

He was immediately grabbed by the collar and pulled through the throng of reporters and media people anxious to interview him.

"Dammit, Bill, where've you been? You're already late," said the pretty, smartly-dressed woman.

Bill smiled in amusement at the obviously harried Sahsha, who was, as a rule, always calm and level-headed.

"Nowhere, really," he replied. "Our ship developed problems out on Luna and the captain had to wait until the ground crews could fix them." He gently pulled her hand off his shirt. "I would appreciate it if you would let go of my collar," he said as he hurried to keep up with her to the old-style elevator.

The tall man had to lean down, as Sahsha was quite short. Petite, he corrected himself. The lady doesn't like to be called short.

"Now," she sighed as they got in the elevator and pushed the CLOSE button, "I cleared you with Security when I saw you park and I also got your ID and badge." She handed him a clear Visitor's ID which he pinned on his jacket pocket. "Efficient," he said, making a show of being impressed.

"No sarcasm," she said. "I've got you scheduled after the Venusians’ representative and he should be finishing right about now." She looked at her wrist. "Have you got everything?"

"Yes. You'll never know how much we're paying for that transmitter."

"And Marc?"

"Yeah, he's ready."

The doors opened out to the General Assembly Hall, the largest room in the UN.

"Well," he said, looking at his watch. “Just in time for Earthship Two’s transmission. I guess this is it." He turned and smiled at Sahsha.

Impulsively, Sahsha stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the nose.

"Good luck, Bill," she said and hurried down to the observation room.

He smiled bemusedly and watched her hurry down the aisle. Shaking his head, he went up to the conference room. A short but dignified figure walked toward him in the aisle, plodding in that heavy gait of those few who were born and raised on the Outer Planets, with the far weaker gravity of their centrifuge-cities.

"Marc!" he said in greeting though the Neptunian frowned at him.

"You're late, Bill, or don't you know?" he said in that gruff, familiar voice.

"I know," he said. "Sahsha told me. But she also said that I've been rescheduled after the Venusians’ representative..."

"And he's just about to finish. We'd better hurry."

"Well, at least he's finishing. “

"That's in bad taste and you know it," Marc said.

Bill laughed. "Yeah, I know. I'll try to behave."

Venusians have had a reputation, for a long time, now, unfounded for the most part, of talking so slowly that they put most people to sleep. Something to do with an effect of some of the gases left over from their terraforming days on the brain's speech center, or so the comedians say. But one thing's for certain, Senator Valker of Venus was one hell of a bore.

They sat near the podium. "Hope we make it before Earthship Two’s transmission," Bill said. "Sit with me awhile, Marc. I'm a little jittery.”

"I have to get back to my seat."

"Just a little while."

"All right." He gestured at a page to bring him a folding chair.

"You know," Marc said as he sat down, "I really went out on a limb for you. Did those computers of yours get anything more out of it?"

"Wait 'til I get on the stage."

The Venusian was finally winding down. It was a speech about completely demilitarizing the Outer Planets, a very, very old thorny issue for the U.N.

The Treaty notwithstanding, garrisons on the Outer Planets were still there, marines and battleships at the ready. With the Phobos rebellion and the Asteroid Wars half a generation ago still fresh in the minds of the people, the question of full demilitarization was a premature one. It was only by a stroke of luck that the garrisons of the old Alliance were still intact when a band of fanatics from Phobos ransacked and looted the old military bases on Mars for weapons and military technology, and hid out in the sparsely cluttered area between Mars and Jupiter, their ships masquerading as asteroids.

Though the asteroids were scattered far and wide, there was enough uncatalogued debris there to fool spaceship tracking, and give them the chance to pounce on unsuspecting travelers or lay siege on the Outer Planets.

Only the reactivation of the Allied bases helped stave off this new threat to the Peace. It was a time when the Treaties themselves were put to the test. As it happened, Bill was there. He had, in fact, played a major though largely unknown role in the ending of the Asteroid Wars.

The Venusian finished his speech and was greeted with mild applause as he walked back to his place.

"Thank you Senator Valker," the floor leader said, as he took over from the Venusian. "I now call the question: Please signify your assent by in the usual manner." The House Speaker waited the prerequisite time and then banged his gavel. "Very well," he said, "By mutual consent, the proposal is postponed for consideration at a later time on the calendar.” Not a surprising turn of events.

He consulted his pad as well as some papers and continued with the day's agenda. "'In a special privileged speech,'" he read off the sheet, "'the eminent Doctor William Steele is to speak of a very important scientific announcement.'" He turned to Marc and Bill. "Doctor?" he said.

"This is it," Bill said to Marc, gave him a thumbs-up sign and climbed onto the stage.

"Thank you Mr. Speaker," he said, and waited for the polite applause to die down.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the United Nations," he began, "as many of you know, the world media has been spreading rumors of a momentous discovery I and my associates have supposedly made in our laboratories on Triton. I have, however, held my silence.

"Yes, it is indeed a momentous discovery. This discovery will probably go down in our history as one of Humanity's milestones. But I had to wait until I was sure. I would be remiss in my duties as a scientist if I didn't.

"You see, like many of today's scientists, I have been preoccupied by the fact that, even as we develop spacecraft with speeds approaching that of light, and technology that can counteract the effects of relativity, our navigation and communication technology have been unable to remain in step. Hence, our problems in communicating with our multi-generational starships and in keeping track of them, even navigating them.

"Recently, I have developed a system by which I can extract real-time data from sources light-years away with only minimal time lag and almost no problems with the Doppler Effect or signal attenuation because of distance."

The representatives from the Outer Planets listened with interest while the others simply looked bored. They were "Groundhogs" - the new slang term for those who haven't left the planet and visited space. Unlike “Spacers,” they weren't familiar with, or very much interested in such matters. To the Spacer, the importance of such things was very apparent. Indeed, unfamiliarity with these things usually meant life or death.

Bill nervously looked at his watch and continued with his speech.

"During experiments, I accidentally detected an intermediate wave form similar to radio waves except that it propagates itself in what we may term as 'Hyper-Space' or 'Hyper-Dimensions' - measurable yet, for all intents and purposes, non-existent regions of space. We do not yet know where or what these regions of non-space are, exactly, but we have postulated that perhaps they are regions of space of a universe parallel but separate from our own.

"If we were able to enter and leave this theoretical universe at will, we can reappear at any point in our own universe without elapsed time or wasted energy, for effectively we did not travel in our universe at all.

"As of now, I have not been successful in moving physical matter in and out of this alternate universe but only this unique energy wave-form.

"During these past few months, I have been perfecting my generator and receiver for this wave-form which I call Phase-Wave, for it involves an electromagnetic process whereby, at a certain phase in the process's cycle, a radio signal is spontaneously transmitted as well as a duplicate signal that 'leaves' our universe and, at another phase of the cycle, re-enters our universe.

"Controlling the departure and arrival points depends on the strength of the signal as well as the particular frequency of the oscillations of the various forces of the process.

"In summary then," he continued, "I have been successful in transmitting and receiving these radio wave-like emissions that can pass from one point in our space to another point without traveling in it. That means that we can send and receive messages, and gather information from light-years away, seemingly without interference or loss in time."

He paused and took a deep breath to collect his thoughts, and continued.

"I believe that this discovery, ladies and gentlemen, is important enough to have warranted its inclusion in today's calendar but, yet, this is not the only reason for my being here today."

He looked up at the observation gallery and nodded to Sahsha. She turned away from the window in search of the sergeant-at-arms.

Bill dug out a small recording chip from his pocket and went off-stage and whispered to a page. He handed her the chip and walked back to the podium.

"In the course of my experiments," he said into the podium's microphone, "I found that my phase-wave receiver was able to pick up regular electromagnetic signals, including radio. Over the past month, we picked up many signals. Most of them were normal everyday radio traffic from almost every point in the system, except for one very weak but distinct message from very far away."

He waited a few nervous moments as the house technicians readied the room's public address system for his short recording.

Soon, a loud crashing static assailed everyone's ears. The delegates flinched but stayed in their places. By now, those previously uninterested were intrigued by Bill's theatrics and waited in barely suppressed anticipation. Bill's flamboyant style was well known across the entire system, and it usually preceded something good. The other Spacer delegates were also listening anxiously. They seemed to have caught on to what Bill was doing.

The static faded to eerie silence but for short stuttering bursts, and these too faded away.

Suddenly, a clear, high and melodious female voice broke the silence with a word. It sounded something like "T'chahn!"

It was answered by a different voice, an odd one that seemed somehow alien. It sounded like the person was suffering from a severe bout of cold, yet the single word it spoke, for it was a word, was clear and undistorted.

"T'chahn!" it answered.

The two voices continued. It was a conversation. But, in what language no one could say. Those listening to the U.N. VOX Translation System computer feed were also mystified. At first, it seemed to fail to start. After it did kick on, it was seconds behind the recording. It was like listening to two conversations at the same time.

What those heard via earphone was weird:

"Greetings!" the female voice said.

"Greetings!" the other voice answered. This oddly echoing voice seemed to be two voices overlapping each other - a male and a female voice.

A very disjointed conversation followed - a sure sign of a crashing translation program.

"Request ... direction ... permission to enter ..."

"Permission ... to welcome ..."

"Our thanks ... friend ... of this place …"

"Your ... flying ... not wet ..."

"The same ... to fly ... of yours."

Then static faded in, completely obscuring the voices.

The whole recording perhaps lasted less than thirty seconds, yet the reaction of the people was almost like shock: The whole delegation fell into silence with the static of the remainder of the recording - the only sound to be heard in the room.

A technician switched it off and that seemed to break the people out of their spell. Slowly, like a tide, snatches of conversation spread through the room. Many of the delegates were gesticulating wildly and even the usually sedate Spacers were excited.

It was a long time before the Speaker of the House thought to use his gavel. Bill fidgeted and looked at his watch again.

The speaker had to pound the gavel a long time and to call for silence twice before the various dignitaries behaved.

"Order, please, ladies and gentlemen," he said again.

A hand near the back waved for attention.

"The representative from Mars is recognized. Yes, Madam."

A deeply tanned woman stood and faced Bill.

"Doctor, this, uh, recording - did you get more?"

"No, ma'am, I'm sorry. I was experimenting with the receiver at the time, and I passed the, umm, frequency, before I realized it."

"Have you confirmed the language?"

"Well, I tried to, ma'am but I failed. One of the reasons I flew all the way from Triton to New York was to get a chance to use the U.S. Library of Congress database. As you know, New York has one of the most complete databases regarding national customs and culture, including languages and dialects.

"Anyway, the only thing I have been able to ascertain was the fact that this is not a Terran language. And I am sure that this will be verified as soon as I consult the library."

Another hubbub was growing and the Speaker pounded his gavel again to forestall it.

"There are very intriguing similarities to some obscure European dialects, to be sure," Bill said, "but I assure you, ladies and gentlemen, that this message is not of the Earth."

The U.N. delegates exploded. Each tried to yell above the other, firing questions at Bill one after the other.

The Speaker of the House banged his gavel until the top flew off and still the confusion continued.

He pounded on his podium with his palm and yelled over the noise.

"Order," he shouted. "I will have order or this session will be postponed!"

Bill waited calmly for the noise to die down.

It took a few minutes but the cacophony did die down. The Speaker sighed and addressed the delegates. "Ladies and Gentlemen of the U.N., we must have order for us to be able to accomplish anything. Press your indicators or raise your hands if you want to be recognized."

He spotted someone waving. "The representative from the United African Nations is recognized."

The representative stood. "I would like to ask the doctor about the authenticity of the recording. Is it possible, Doctor, that this recording that you have played for us is just another routine Earth signal that you have inadvertently intercepted? If garbled enough, could it have been mistaken for a foreign, even alien language?"

Bill seemed to ponder the question. "Yes, sir, it's possible. I don't see why not. But, if so, then all my work regarding Phase-Wave is all wrong.” He smiled. “You also have to consider the fact that the few words that you heard translated were unrecognizable and verifiably not of any known Human language. Very unlikely, sir."

The ambassador frowned. "Well then, couldn't it be that someone is doing this to you deliberately? I mean, couldn't someone fake this supposedly non-human language?"

Bill smiled. "I thought of that right off," he said. "I checked with my computers and the way the words are put together indicates a language structure. Analysis of the voices shows that there are inflections in certain parts of the dialogue, indicating certain specific meanings to these particular 'words.' Let me explain.

"Assuming that the cultural values and views, as pertaining societal customs approximate ours - the dominant Chinese-American-European western community of Earth, I mean, our computer systems are able to detect the meanings of sentences and phrases by referring to its records of existing languages and language structures, and by the way they are spoken. There are many racial constants in the way all humans speak. These can be identified and catalogued and, hence, analyzed. I have used this technology to decipher this 'conversation.'

"The way a person says a word can indicate the meaning. The way he stresses particular vowels, the minute hesitations, in fact the entire 'feel' of his voice can indicate meaning as well as feeling. And in a whole sentence, the many minute hesitations, intonations and stresses of each particular word in the sentence sets up a particular pattern easily recognizable and is as distinct as a signature. This is irrefutable proof of it being a genuine language.

"It has been proven that people always pause before each phrase they speak. These very minute pauses are the person pausing to pick out the particular word or phrase out of his stock of vocabulary that he has been accumulating all throughout his life. The frequency of usage is inversely proportional to the length of pauses he makes, so long as it is consistent with his grammatical rules. Thus, if a person uses a word frequently, the pauses are shorter.

"All these are indicative of a true language, and many of these indicators and clues are present in the recording."

The murmuring among the delegates was increasing. The speaker banged on his podium. "Please go on, doctor."

"Thank you, sir," he said to the speaker. He looked at his watch again and changed to a different tack.

"Each clue to a language has its counterpart mark indicating the falsity of a language. Most governments, I am sure, employ secret codes for sending communiqués and messages. I assure you that each code can be proven beyond a doubt that it is only a code and not a genuine language in the way that I described."

The delegates stirred nervously. Bill raised his hand. "Let me assure you that such codes are not easily decipherable." He smiled, as these words seemed to calm them down. "It is that these are only codes and intended only as such, and are therefore easily recognized as such.

"In order for this fraud message, if it is a fraud, to be as good as it was, the counterfeiter must have created his own complete language from scratch, with its own rules of grammar and set of words, intonation and pronunciation, practicing constantly for quite a while and, well, the whole lot of it. And that, I believe, is highly unlikely."

Another signal light flashed. "The representative from Neptune. Yes?"

"Doctor, have you tried to interpret this, uh, 'conversation?'"

Bill smiled at the planted question. "Yes, Doctor, I have attempted to. Those of you who listened to the computer perhaps heard a fragmented conversation. May we have the house technician play back the whole translation for all to hear?"

They waited for a few moments as the computer operator reset the recording and soon they heard the weird, fragmented English translation of the conversation.

Bill waited a moment for the people to digest this. "Let me explain what happened, ladies and gentlemen. The whole translation started many seconds late. This indicates that the computer did not have a base to compare it with. As you know, most Terran languages have many similarities. The computer found too few similarities and had to extrapolate as the conversation progressed. This accounts for the fragmented conversation.

"The first word, the 'Greetings,' was only an assumption on the part of the computer. It extrapolated this probably from the tone, the exclamation, and other peripheral indicators, such as the fact that it was the first word in the conversation.

"If you will notice, the first voice is female. However, the second voice seemed to be two people talking together. This indicates that the computer could not identify the gender, and the computer was unable to decide which of its library of voices to use in place of the alien’s.

"About the rest of the conversation, most are extrapolation again, using the kinds of clues which I mentioned.” He took a moment to get his valise from beside the podium. He pulled out a sheet of computer paper. "The final analysis is all generalization, I'm sorry to say."

He took a moment to scan the sheet. "The conversation is between the female communications officer of a spacecraft and the docking officer of a space station. No names were mentioned in the conversation, or if there were, we were not able to recognize them. The first two words were greetings between the two. The conversation is all about the female asking clearance to rendezvous, most probably to dock, with the space station and how the docking officer gave permission."

He smiled as he read the rest of the sheet. "The latter part of the conversation seems to be the comm officer admonishing the docking officer to 'never let your wings get dry.' It seems to be a joke between the two as the tone of voice indicates. The docking officer is clearly amused and returns the joke. The rest of the message is only parting words, not very important."

He put the paper back in his valise and continued. "What we can gather from this is that it is a conversation between two dissimilar species, as indicated by the computer's inability to determine the gender of one of them while easily identifying the other's. One of them seems to be a winged species, or maybe both are. The fact that they are able to converse with one another easily gives credence to some kind of close relationship between the two. Beyond that the computers cannot add more."

Most of the delegates were stunned. It was one of mankind's most frustrating questions answered in a lump. Some were openly sceptical.

A signal light and a waving hand. "The representative from the Russian Republics."

"Doctor, are you sure that this, hmm, message, is genuine and not some sort of fabrication on your part?" the delegate said, sarcasm very apparent in his voice.

Bill's face turned crimson. He took a couple of deep breaths. "I am an ethical scientist, sir," he said calmly, "and a highly reputable one, if I may say so. My achievements attest to this." The only way he could have laid it on thicker was by enumerating his one-hundred-and-one awards that made him the most well-known scientific authority in the eight worlds. "I find it beneath my dignity to even consider your insinuation, sir. If you feel that way, then I will be happy not to share my knowledge of Phase-Wave with your government." That'll shut him up, he thought.

The Russian delegate sat down, grumbling.

Another delegate signaled. "The representative of the European Community of Nations. Yes, madam?"

The plump woman stood up. "Doctor, although I see some importance in all these, I haven't heard what you want from us. What is it exactly that you need from this body?"

"Thank you ma'am, I'm about to get to that part."

He paused for a moment, looking for a way to put his thoughts into words.

"Have you ever heard of SETI, ma'am? No? Well, SETI stands for The Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence, a late-twentieth century scientific movement searching for proof of life on other worlds. They used to send radio messages out into space to sort of announce our existence to our immediate neighbors. Of course, by the time these reached any intelligent life capable of understanding them, they were probably too fragmented and faded for them to make anything of the signals other than as random radio interference.

"With the United Nations' help, I intend to develop the Phase-Wave technology to achieve this goal. I intend to establish Phase-Wave stations throughout the system, and make permanent two-way communication possible with our interstellar neighbors."

"A very idealistic goal, doctor, and one with no immediate practical value."

"On the contrary, ma'am. This technology can be applied to domestic use, and improve our communication facilities, weather tracking, navigation systems, and reduce their cost by a very great deal, and I'm ready to show you a small demonstration to very graphically prove this point."

He walked to the foot of the stage and called a page. "Have you seen Sahsha, I mean Miss Delyer?" He glanced at the glass observation booth, saw a frantically waving figure. "Never mind."

He waved back. Sahsha gestured at the stage. Bill glanced back and saw a technician pushing a table on casters onto the middle of the stage, with a package on top.

He walked backed to the podium, reached for the portable audio pickup and walked to the table.

"I have set up this little demo with the help of Doctor Bidwell's children that I am sure you will find very amusing. However, I will need the good doctor with me. Marc?"

Old Marc stood up, if a little quizzically, and made his slow way to the stage.

Marc held his hand over the microphone and whispered in Bill's ear. "Listen, what's all this funny stuff?"

"Trust me. Just play along, okay?" He lifted Marc's hand from the pickup and faced the delegates.

"Some of you may know that the doctor here has two sons, twins by the way. I have set up a video transmitter to accomplish what has not been accomplished before: a deep-space conversation in real-time."

Bill reached down and switched on the receiver. A square of light hit the wall behind them just below the UN logo. Slowly, it became more distinct, showing a picture of a children's room, complete with cribs, toys piled high and assorted baby clothes scattered helter-skelter. In the foreground was a playpen, empty at the moment. Old Marc turned crimson. His wife, Miriam, never was a good housekeeper and now, here it is, for all the worlds to see. Damn it, why couldn't Bill have warned me, he thought.

A tall, pretty girl in a housecoat came into the camera's range: Miriam, Marc's wife.

"Hi Marc, hi Bill." The image waved. Reference-and-picture was in synch as the image seemed to wave to them.

"Where are you two?" she asked. "When did you come in? No flights are scheduled for today. I hope you don't stay out too long. The kids miss you. And you, Bill? When are you coming to eat with us? The kids've been asking for you. 'Where's Uncle Willy, where's Uncle Willy,' they keep asking ...' the woman kept chattering on. Obviously, she didn't know that she had the whole UN for an audience, and she thought they'd just arrived back on Triton. Marc's face went to an even darker shade of crimson, clearly embarrassed. Bill whispered something into his ear.

"Miriam, dear,” he said to the image, “let this all wait 'til later. Bill wants you to bring the kids to their room, so the Vid scanner can pick them up."

The image on the screen took several seconds before reacting. Typical transmission delay for Seren deep-space calls. "Why?" she said, "Is something wrong?"

"No, dear, I'll explain later. Can you bring them out, please? But make sure to put them in their own cribs, okay?"

"All right," she said after a lengthy delay. She moved out of range. While waiting, Marc switched on another receiver, and another image of the room popped up, this time from a different angle.

The picture was curiously flat with virtually no depth resolution at all; very different from the 3-D images that is standard to all video transmissions. This flat image showed another playpen similar to the first one, also empty at the moment.

Soon, Miriam came back. The whole room was buzzing with excitement. She entered the first picture, the 3-D one, bringing two bundles, and laid down one of the small infants in the playpen. She left that picture and she appeared in the second 2-D one, laying the second baby in the second crib as well. After putting each baby down, they immediately stood up, grasping the bar of their individual playpens in their small chubby hands. Obviously, they were twins. They smiled disarmingly and the delegates laughed in delight.

Miriam looked up into the scanner. "Is that all, Marc?" She looked confused.

"That's fine, Miriam. Would you mind moving out of range of the camera?" She looked even more puzzled but she moved to the back of the room.

With a small smile on his lips, Bill faced Marc. "Now, Marc," he said, speaking directly into the mike, "I want you to wave at them."

Marc paused and smiled. He turned to the images of his children smiling expectantly. He raised his hand, waved and said, "Hi, kids!"

The children smiled even more. David, the one in the 2-D screen, immediately let go of the bar and waved his hands in the air. "Dada!" he said at the top of his voice. The people watching burst into laughter. The infant started to totter and lose his balance. He fell on his back and immediately started to cry. The mother came in like a shot and cradled Davie in her arms.

His brother Peter, on the other hand, the one in the 3-D screen, was still looking expectantly. Only after a several long seconds did he react. He was a little smarter than his brother, though, as he kept one hand on the bar. "Dada!" he said.

In the other 2-D screen, Miriam was talking to the crying baby. "Hush, dear." She looked up to the scanner. "Better call later, Marc. Poor Davie's crying."

"Of course, Miriam. Later. Out." Bill switched off the projectors and the two pictures went out. Bill and Marc turned to the delegates. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "what you saw were two deep-space transmissions from Neptune, coming from Doctor Bidwell's home on Triton." Marc stepped off the stage, his part of the presentation over.

"Marc's home, the United Satellites of Neptune, is, as some of you know, some several million miles away from the Earth at this particular time. At this time in Neptune's cycle, it takes about twelve seconds for a message to reach Earth and a return answer to reach Neptune via tight-beam high-power Seren transmissions. Obviously, that is not what happened on the two-dimensional transmission you saw. There was no delay at all. No, let me correct that. My calculations show that estimated time lag is about zero point zero-zero-zero-zero-one of one nanosecond, due to the electronics of the transmitters, and not because of delay in the transmission. That, ladies and gentlemen, is an example of a Phase-Wave broadcast."

There was absolute silence in the hall. A signal light flashed. The delegate from the Russian Republics.

Before the floor leader could recognize the man, Bill quickly said, "I am sure some of you wonder whether this entire presentation is a hoax or not. That is why I have cooked up another demonstration for you."

He walked back to the podium and retrieved something from his valise, another printout. "As you know, the U.N. computers are connected to the Terran Exploration Center on Phobos. We here can therefore listen in to the communications band monitoring transmissions from Earthship II. We can hear whatever message Phobos Center receives from Earthship II even as they receive it, with only a five-minute delay via Seren transmission.

He paused, looked at his watch and directed a question to the UN computer. "Computer!" he said, triggering the system's on-line interactive audio interface program. "What is the status of Earthship Two as of last report?"

A flat, mechanical voice answered. "Earthship II was last contacted forty-five days ago. Ship was then two light-months out of the solar system, three degrees above the plane of the ecliptic..."

"Thank you, endit. Therefore, ladies and gentlemen, with the para-light comm system of Phobos, the verbal report Earthship Two is required to send every two weeks will be one and a half months old. If the captain follows the mission plans, she would have sent one six weeks ago. Phobos should have received it and it will be relayed here via Seren transmission in about ..." he looked at his wrist, "... fifteen minutes. Computer!"

"Acknowledged," the computer answered.

"Patch in the Seren monitoring band of Phobos Center into the conference hall, please." A dull hissing came from the overhead speakers, deep space static.

Bill held up the printout in his hand. "Ladies and gentlemen, I have intercepted that message six weeks ago. Here is the text of the audio portion of the message.

"'Phobos Center,'" Bill quoted, "'this is Captain Esteban of Earthship II, commencing message eighty-eight stroke six stroke four. All is well aboard. All systems functioning and conforming to project programming. We had a small problem a few days ago. Particle shield on quad eighteen failed momentarily and the drive irradiated a small part of our hydroponics lab. No one affected except a few strains of radishes and carrots. Results should be interesting after a few weeks. We've also had to reduce power by ten percent to prevent damage. All's well now and still within error margin.'

"Captain Esteban continues with the report proper, with the rest of her logs and, hmmm, she closes the report after about thirty minutes. I'm sure you don't want to hear the rest of it."

He folded the paper and pushed it into his valise. "Now, the final proof. In a few minutes, we will hear the same message, as relayed by the Phobos Center."

The entire delegation's attention was dragged to the overhead speakers. All they heard was the hissing static of space. And though they had more than ten minutes to wait, they all sat patiently. Eventually, the static slowly gave way to silence. Suddenly, the deep voice of Captain Esteban could be heard: "Phobos Center, this Captain Esteban of Earthship II, commencing message eighty-eight stroke six stroke four. All is well... "

The rest of the message continued, word for word exactly the same as what Bill had said. Clapping started spontaneously. Afterwards, no one will remember who started it.

Bill said, just above the din, "I also have the captain's other two transmissions that she sent afterwards, if you'd like to hear them..." The clapping became deafening, the cheers drowning Captain Esteban's voice.

Bill's face brightened, and he smiled.

 
Shepherd Moon, Chapter 2: Bubble Memory

Jawharal Bhavnani-Singh, a big-muscled Bengali almost two meters tall, was quietly cursing at the lab terminal. The computer program was on the blink again after some ignorant technician forgot to re-seal the lock on a magnetic memory-suspension circuit on the main motherboard of the station's mainframe. As a result, a large chunk of the cipher program had slowly randomized into complete uselessness.

"Goddammit," he shouted at the duty officer, "get me the maintenance personnel roster!"

Responding to his boss's angry command, Alexi rushed to the large bulletin board of the control station and ripped off a printed list of the day's duty personnel. Other pieces of paper flew off as their magnetic clasps were pulled out.

He ran back and handed it to Singh. "Here it is, Boss," he said, trepidation in his voice. Singh's extremely short temper was well known all over Triton base.

He ripped the sheet out of Alexi's hand and quickly scanned it. His eyes stopped on a particular name. "Aha, here it is. Hua Sung!"

He swung around in his swivel chair. "Find Hua Sung," he said to the trembling officer, "get him and bring him to me. Now!" Alexi ran off to start his manhunt.

He turned to his assistant. "I'm gonna find the smartass down in Base Ten who assigned us that SOB and I swear his head's gonna roll." He drew a finger across his neck.

His assistant laughed. "You better cool it, Jerry, or you'll bust a vein the way your blood pressure's up. Take it easy on Hua Sung. He's just a cadet fresh out of Academy."

The Indian paused, took a breath and tried to calm down. He sighed and laughed a little ruefully. "Yeah, I guess you're right, Phil." He gestured at the computer terminal. "It's just that the cipher program is shot and we're gonna have to translate manually. Again. That pisses me off."

"Speaking of translating," Phil said, and brought out five six-inch thick loose-leaf binders which constituted what was a year’s worth of work. It was the hard-copy version of all that they knew of the Elyran language, the language of the first recording of an extra-terrestrial conversation first heard in the halls of the UN over a year ago.

With a grimace of distaste, Singh dropped the top binder onto his desk with a thud, and started punching up the latest intercepts on his terminal. "This is gonna be another long shift," he said.

It was one year after Bill made his momentous announcement to the U.N. that made Triton Center possible, presently under the fuming Jawharal Bhavnani-Singh's (Jerry to his Western friends) expert command. Jerry's title of 'Commander' was a civilian rather than a real military position. Everyone at Triton Center, in fact all CETI personnel, were kept strictly civilian.

Triton Center was one of the seventeen Terran Phase-Wave bases scattered in the system. These seventeen bases, officially under U.N. management, were the working arm of the new CETI Council.

The name CETI was borrowed from an old twentieth century organization (at least the acronym, that is). Now it means the 'Council on Extra-terrestrial Intelligence'. The organization of this new U.N. department was pushed on by the controversy of Dr. Steele's announcement, which almost immediately grew to mammoth proportions after its release to the press.

Originally, the main thrust of the CETI Movement was the development of the new science of Phase-Wave. The CETI team, working under the leadership of Dr. Steele, made it practicable enough to convert most communication and tracking systems to the new technology. The main problem was that the old technology couldn't be interfaced with the new one. Phase-Wave systems could intercept radio signals, but could not send signals that could be received by a radio-based system.

The first prototype of a Radio/Phase-Wave transmitter was being developed but it was everyone's opinion, even Bill's, that the device would not work. But such a device was necessary for the second major step in the CETI program.

Presently, the spearhead of the CETI program was down in one of the base's conference rooms discussing the latest, and by far, one of the most important projects of the program, with the base's research team.

"Good job," Bill was saying to the team while reading the folder in his hand, "but a little too long, don't you think? And too much detail. How long will the broadcast last?"

"A little over an hour," answered one of the systems specialists across the enormous round table cluttered with portable computers, printouts and disks. "That includes the visuals, too."

"One hour? Whew! Talk about long. It shouldn't go over ten minutes and even that's too long."

A small mousy man across the table answered. "You must understand, doctor, we can't possibly fit a million years of Earth history and evolution into a ten-minute program. It's just not possible."

"This is not an anthropology class, doctor, just a friendly ‘Hello,’ if you know what I mean. An hour is too much. Furthermore..." he got up and walked over to a large display screen. He punched up some instructions on the keyboard.

The screen lit up with a picture of the galaxy. Bill punched up more commands and the picture zoomed in on a small part of the picture, towards the edge of the milky-white saucer. A small arrow appeared, pointing to a small star.

"We are here. We control this small area of space, our Solar System." The arrow moved around a little. "That comprises the total territory of Homo Sapiens." He punched in more instructions and the picture zoomed out enough to show a small arm-like band of stars with the Sun at the edge of the picture.

"Now, the people we want to reach are about here and they control this area of space." The little arrow circled almost the entire arm. "They go from system to system as easily as we go from, say, Earth to Jupiter. They have true space travel, gentlemen, we do not."

"That much is obvious, doctor," one of them said, "but what is the connection?"

"Don't you see? Such a capability would give rise to a different kind of cultural structure. I mean, getting to the home world of your nearest neighbor would be as easy as a hop on the next space liner. They're a community, gentlemen.

“As unacknowledged neighbors, our coming in out of the cold would make us the outsiders to this community, the newest people to move into the neighborhood. As such, we have to be careful with the social and political norms.

"And," he continued, "we have to be careful not to give too much information about ourselves away. We can't afford to. What if we were walking into an interplanetary war or something? We simply don't know enough, and we can't afford to gamble with the System just because we thought that they'd be friendly."

The group leader smiled indulgently. "I thought that all of us have grown out of the old fears about alien life. I'm surprised at you, doctor. No one said that xenophobia was part of your psychological profile."

Bill smiled a little at that. "Military doctrine, doctor, refers to a threat not in the context of intent but in capabilities. We cannot gamble with the race. We must be sure. We cannot spoon-feed these people with information that can be used against us."

The leader waved his arms in exasperation and continued. "All right. Granted that you are correct, that we don't know that much about our interstellar neighbors, but such a gross condition of, shall we say, antisocial tendencies or political unrest would show up in your Phase-Wave intercepts. Have they?"

Bill hesitated, "Well, there have been some, hmm, indications of such things."

The three scientists sat up in alarm. "What?" the group leader said, "Are you saying that..."

Bill interrupted. "Forget what I said. The point is that we can't show up with open arms and expect them to do the same. We just can't afford to gamble. If, and I'm saying IF, it comes down to that, do you think we can defend ourselves against them? Hell, they'd just be taking pot shots at us. We can't even chase them away if we needed to, not to mention us being outnumbered by a whole hell of a lot."

One of the other scientists crossed his arms. "All right, then, what would you suggest we do? Hide from these imagined hordes of interstellar psychopaths? I thought the whole point of the broadcast was to make them notice us."

Bill took a deep breath. "Everyone here realizes the necessity of contacting these other races, doctor. It is a necessary part of the growth of a species. But I must stress caution. We are dealing with an unknown factor. We must move in the most circumspect manner when dealing with these people.

"When we get that radio/Phase-Wave transmitter working, and I hope that will be soon, the broadcast should be limited to the most basic information. A picture of our people, glimpses of our culture, our civilization, the location of our system - for apparently they do not know that we are here, snapshots of Human life and society. Something like that, gentlemen, would be enough. And even that may be too much."

"But the objective here is..."

"The objective here is simply to make contact. That and that alone, doctor." Bill looked at the man straight in the eye. "Make the program the way I want it, doctor, and I guarantee you that we will be speaking to them face-to-face inside of a year."

The doctor looked at him. "All right," he said. "We'll do it your way." He chuckled. "It's not as if we had a choice, doctor. You're the boss, after all."

"You always have a choice, doctor. That's what it's all about. I'd rather have your grudging cooperation than blind obedience. We're not in the Navy, you know. Thank God we're not in the Navy," he said with a laugh, a personal joke.

"Now," he said, "can I see a copy of the material you've put together again?" They gave him back the thick folder.

Bill sat down and produced a large marker pen and proceeded to cross off lines and, as each line was crossed, the scientists either winced or frowned.

"Doctor," one of them said, "to the things you were alluding to, can you..."

The hissing of the room's pressure door interrupted him. Four people rushed in, visibly hurried. Two of them Professor Jennifer Priestly and Ambassador Marcus Bidwell - both members, along with Bill, of the fifteen-member CETI council. The other two were Walter Thorpe, Bill's personal assistant, and the other Sahsha Delyer, U.N. liaison officer for the CETI Program.

Bill looked up and smiled in greeting. "Sorry we're late," Walter was saying, "but the tubes were jam-packed. Shift-change, you know."

Out of all the available seats, Jennifer and Sahsha rushed to the ones on either side of Bill. Walter frowned while the rest smiled amusedly. The doctor's effect on women was no secret in the base. Bill was, at best, uneasy and uncomfortable with this “curse,” as he thought of it, while his assistant was just exasperated with it. It was Walter's opinion that Bill, being as busy and important as he was, didn't need the distraction. Jealousy didn't enter into this attitude of his. Perhaps before, when he just started working for him. But as he came to know the man, his respect for him grew. He was, in fact, in awe of him and his accomplishments. Knowing him personally and being his friend, Walter had come to content himself with the thought that some had it and some just didn't.

Walter let Sahsha have the seat to Bill's left that was customarily his, and sat down to her left instead.

"Good morning, Bill," Jennifer said breathlessly, almost on his face, and held his right hand.

"It's the afternoon," said Sahsha menacingly.

"Uh, good afternoon, Jen," Bill stuttered.

"I just can't get used to space time," Jennifer said, "It's just so different."

"Yes, it does take a little intelligence to figure it out," Sahsha said venomously. Jennifer glared back.

To forestall any more bickering, he hastily thrusted the folder he was changing to Jennifer and Marc, and asked them to do a little editing.

"I just found out that the material was a bit over-long. I was just making a few deletions."

"Yes, I can see your 'few' deletions," Marc said, looking over Bill's corrections.

"See if you can trim it down some more, Marc." Marc took the folder, reached for a pen of his own and started crossing off more lines.

"Jen?" Bill held out a copy to her.

Jennifer pouted, looking stubborn, but gave in and conferred with Marc about the changes. Bill took the opportunity to extricate himself from this sticky situation and went to the water cooler for a drink. Sahsha followed and got another cup.

Walter went over and handed Bill some printed sheets. "Here's a partial transcript of today's intercepts, Bill."

Bill looked puzzled. "Why partial? Something wrong?"

"Uh, Phil said to tell you that Jerry said that someone fouled up the cipher program again."

Bill groaned. "Don't tell me. Hua Sung!"

Walter grinned. "How did you know?"

Ever since Sanchez over at Base Ten foisted him off on us things have been going wrong all over. I think he's a jinx. I never was one for putting raw recruits on the staff."

"Want me to trade him off?"

"No, never mind. Helium-bubble memory is fairly new technology. Anyone could have messed it up. He'll probably get better after he gets the hang of things around here."

Bill started reading through the papers at a fast clip. Walter always wondered how he was able to do that. His profile never said anything about a photographic memory. "Here," Bill said after a few moments, "these are okay. Better phase-wave these to Earth Base quick."

"Right away," Walter said, and went off.

Bill turned to Sahsha, who was, at the moment, extremely delighted that she had Bill all to herself. "Well, Sahsha," he said, "how's everything?"

"Pretty good," she said as she leaned a little bit closer. "I'm liaison officer to you guys now."

"Well, I'll be... Congratulations!"

"Actually, I'm filling in for Mr. Li while he's on vacation, but if I do well, they say I might fill in permanently."

"You'll do fine." Bill cocked his head towards Jennifer who was conferring with Marc and the research team. "I see you've met Jen."

"You mean 'the Barracuda.' Yes I've met her. We sat together in the shuttle."

Bill laughed. "I know what you mean."

After chatting for a while the research team came over.

"Excuse me, doctor," the team leader began, "but we've been going over the material with Ms. Priestly and the ambassador and, well, can we talk it over?"

"By all means." Bill led everyone back to the table.

"Now, what is the problem?"

"The problem? Well, take a look at it yourself." He flopped the corrected folder down and Bill picked it up.

"Hmm, I see what you mean."

"They've pretty much deleted the whole lot of it! If we go by this, about ninety-nine percent of the material will be taken out. I mean, we've worked on this thing for over six months. We've had to work with the US National Geographic Society as well as a lot of other organizations and people to put this together, not to mention the money that we spent. Now you're asking us to throw all that away!"

Bill thought it over. "I had the impression that you agreed with me, doctor."

"Agreed with you? Seriously, Doctor. Alien goblins and bug-eyed monsters?"

"No, Doctor, I was very serious."

"I was joking about that xenophobia thing, but on second thought, maybe you should get yourself analyzed. My god, Doctor! Paranoia is the only word I can think of."

Marc raised his hand. "Gentlemen, please. Before everyone gets hot under the collar, let us explain." He tapped the folder. "There's a good reason for this, you know. Not just an arbitrary decision of the higher-ups." Marc looked at Bill, who nodded.

"Now, from what I gather, Bill has given you hints about the reasons for this."

"Paranoid nonsense! Come on, Mr. Ambassador, where's the proof?"

Jennifer cut in. "There is proof, gentlemen. Only we are not at liberty to tell you."

One of the other scientists exploded. "Not at liberty! This is too much. Professor, either this is one big colossal bluff or the biggest cover-up job in the history of the system. Either way, I ask, no, I demand that we be told what is going on!"

They were interrupted by the hissing of the pressure door. "I'm sorry, gentlemen, but you are not in a position to demand anything."

They all turned to face the commander of Triton Center.

Bill stood up to forestall any argument. "Gentlemen, I think this meeting is over."

"See here," said one of the frustrated scientists, "you can't do this!"

"But I can, Doctor. By the way, everything that we have discussed here is to be treated as completely confidential. I am invoking the Official Secrets Act under the U.N. treaty."

"You can't do this. You don't have the authority!"

"I assure you I do."

"No, you can't shut us up by quoting some antiquated law no one's even used in a fifty years. We won't stay quiet! The press is going to hear about this."

"If they do, Doctor, then you are going to be locked up. This meeting is over, gentlemen. Thank you."

The three scientists walked out, still defiant, even if a bit subdued.

As the door hissed close, Bill let out a sigh. "That was close. Tactical error, Jerry. You shouldn't have opened your mouth."

"I know. Sorry."

"That's okay. The danger's passed. But you can be sure that there'll be some hot rumors floating around tonight."

"Yeah, well... It's just a matter of time before the cat's out of the bag anyway."

"Well, that's okay. We only need a few more days. Listen, you haven't met everyone, have you?" Bill made the introductions.

"How is everything, Commander?"

"Everything's fine, ma'am. A little trouble but nothing we can't handle."

"I heard about Hua Sung," Bill said.

"That reminds me," Jerry said, "here's the rest of the intercepts. I gave Walter a copy."

"That was fast."

Jerry grinned. "When Kim Hua Sung heard about what happened to the cipher program, he got most of it recovered in nothing flat. A bright kid, actually, aside from his moments of clumsiness."

"No doubt with some emphatic encouragement from you." Bill laughed.

Walter popped in again. "Your quarters are ready, ladies, Ambassador. Would you care to see them now?"

They walked out into the passageway, detouring to the right to avoid the tube terminals that were still overcrowded. It was still shift change. They got on the escalators and stepped out onto the main concourse. The visitors often asked things, acting like a group of tourists, even though Marc had visited the station once before.

As they reached the guest quarters, a soft chime echoed through the hallway and most of the people cleared the corridors.

"What's happening," Sahsha asked.

"Standard operating procedure," Jerry said. "When a shuttle's coming in, all off-duty personnel should clear the aisles in case of an emergency, like the shuttle crashing into the base."

"There's no danger of that, is there?" asked Jennifer.

"Virtually none. Spacer pilots are careful," he said with a smile. “Most of the time.”

Bill looked at his chronometer. "That's probably the secretary-general. She's scheduled to arrive today. If you'll excuse me, my friends, I'll just go and meet her. Come on, Walter."

"Right."

"I better come along, too," said Sahsha. "That's my job."

They made their goodbyes and the three moved off to the shuttle bay. They heard the muted roar of the shuttle as the anti-gravs were cut off and the conventional landing rockets took over. Their tube car stopped with a pneumatic hiss and the docking arm's reception door opened. Secretary-General Alexandra Romarkin, the no-nonsense Russian-born politico, came out looking elegant and trim in her pastel-colored traveling clothes.

"Allie!"

"William! How good it is to see you."

They embraced. Sahsha stepped forward. "Madam Secretary," she said.

"Sahsha, how well you look. It has been a long time. How are you?" She turned and looked at Sahsha. She noticed Walter just behind Bill. "And who is this?"

"Allie, I'd like you to meet Walter Thorpe, my good friend and personal assistant. Walter, Madam Alexandra Romarkin, a very close family friend who just happens," he laughed, "to be the secretary-general of the New United Nations."

Walter bowed and took her hand. "I am very pleased to meet you, Madam Secretary."

Allie made a shushing motion. "Enough of that, Walter. We don't have to be that formal when we're among friends."

"Of course, Madam."

Allie laughed. "William, you have a most charming assistant but very stuffy." Walter reddened. Allie introduced them to her personal secretary and assistant and tried to ignore the half-dozen security people that tried to look inconspicuous in the narrow corridor.

Bill ushered everyone into the tube, the security people tagging along trying to be part of the wall.

"Listen," Bill said as they were getting under way, "I've set up the meeting for later tonight so that your people can have a chance to go through the rooms."

"Pardon me, sir," one of the uniformed guards spoke up, "How do we get there?"

"No problem," Walter answered for Bill. "We'll just detour the tube so that we can drop you off."

He punched up new instructions into the controls. They felt the slight shift in direction as the car changed tubes. The security captain faced his second-in-command, a stiff-faced female lieutenant, and issued some hushed orders. When the car stopped, four of the guards stepped out. The car continued on to the guest quarters.

"Allie, how can you stand to have a platoon of soldiers around you all the time?"

"One can get used to anything, William. Actually, my chief of security is quite mad at me for this last-minute change in my itinerary since he didn't have time to prepare adequately. Now then, why did you drag me all the way here to Neptune? You said that it was very important. You could have gone to CETI Central instead of having me come here."

"Can't wait, huh?"

The secretary-general was almost tapping her heel in impatience. "Well?"

"All right. Partly security. Central is much too open to the public. And I couldn't afford having my transmission intercepted."

"And besides," said Walter, "all the hard data is here. We don't send everything back to Earth."

"You've been holding some of your findings back?" she asked, surprised.

"The council decided that we had to. You'll see why, later."

"Why wasn't I informed of this?"

"I know you take a dim view of holding secrets from the public..."

"You're damn right I do."

"So I persuaded Mr. Li, our old liaison officer, and Sahsha here to convince you to make this trip out to Neptune."

"There have been developments, Madam Secretary," said Walter.

"What kind of developments?"

"Lots of developments,” Bill replied, “most of them to do with our alien friends."

"So? What does that have to do with us? How does that affect us?"

"It will affect us, ma'am,” Walter said. “The whole Human Race."

Bill raised his hand. "I think we'd better postpone this discussion for tonight, all right? So that everyone can be rested up." Allie looked at Bill with a raised eyebrow.

The tube's doors opened and they all stepped out near the guest quarters. They were met by Jerry, Marc and Jennifer, obviously waiting for them.

They chatted for a while but Allie excused herself because she wanted to rest up. The others decided the same thing as well and went to their own guest rooms. Before going into hers, Allie stopped Bill.

"Is it serious, William?"

"Yes, it is."

"All right." She let the doors slide closed.

Bill, Jerry and Walter turned and walked towards Master Control.

"Does she know?" Jerry asked.

"No, but I think she's getting the drift of it."

"What was it she asked you?"

"If it was really serious."

"Is it?"

"Yes, my friend. Very serious."

 
Shepherd Moon, Chapter 3: Encyclopedic

The meeting started normally enough. A large rectangular table filled the middle of the room. A large screen occupied one end and a bank of computer control panels the other. Allie, two assistants to her right and Sahsha to her left, took one side of the table. Walter, Jerry and his assistant Phil McIntyre took the opposite side. Marc and Jen sat at the foot of the table. Allie's security was noticeably absent, but they knew that they were just outside. Bill was at the head of the table fiddling with the controls of the video screen.

"All right," Bill said when everyone had settled in, "I think we can start with the meeting. For the record, this meeting, since it is dealing with matters of grave importance to the System, will be kept confidential, per the new Official Secrets Act. The Secretary-General has so agreed. We will start with a summary of what we've found out about our nearest neighbors that we have been able to gather mainly through the intercepts we've been getting of their communications via Phase-Wave. I've brought Commander Bhavnani-Singh and Commander McIntyre to discuss this with you, as they are the ones who have been the most involved with our Phase-Wave intercepts. I've also brought two members of the CETI Council to observe and help clarify matters of relevance to this meeting. So, let's begin. Jerry, I think you had better start the discussion."

"Thank you, Bill," Jerry said, standing up. He walked over to the screen and punched in some instructions. A map of the galaxy sprang up with the area around the Earth magnified.

"Earth and her system are about here occupying about this much space, about eighteen thousand, three hundred-plus million kilometers from edge to edge. A fairly average-sized system as we now know from the information we have at our disposal." He pressed a button and the area turned into a bright yellow.

"Our nearest neighbors are about ten light years from us, as measured from their nearest inhabited world." He pointed at an area near a trailing edge of the galaxy. He pressed some buttons and the group of stars turned bright red.

"We have found out that these neighbors of ours are not of a single race but a conglomeration of different races. They control a vast area of space and are technologically more advanced than us. Phil?"

"That's what we think," Phil continued. "We get very little intercepts from them. It was as if they were constantly monitoring their communications, almost like in a state of siege. It's hard to get a clear picture, but I think we've pieced together the basic stuff."

Jerry continued. "They call their territory the Tirosian Empire, apparently after the home world of the dominant species, the Tirosians, and are comprised of about fifty different races, where Tirosian is naturally the most common language. They have a semi-feudal sort of society, the upper castes being land or property owners and the masses the 'tillers of soil,' the peasants." He looked pained. "At least we think so."

"What's the problem?" the Secretary-General asked.

Phil took up the question. "If looked at superficially, it seems that way," he said, "but Ms Priestley’s cultural analysts and sociologists believe that they are a dictatorial society, with the dominant race holding the rest of the empire in thrall. We are not sure, but we have had strange intercepts that came from that region of space. Professor Priestly can explain it better."

Jennifer took up the discussion. She laced her fingers under her chin. "We sociologists," she began in her best professorial tone, "are always on the lookout for cultural indicators, cultural landmarks, if you will, that give us hints as to their cultural norms and values. And what better cultural indicator than language. Do you know that we have so far not found any Tirosian equivalent for the word 'friend' or 'please?' That is, however a minor thing. But such things cannot be denied as hard evidence of very basic cultural differences between us and them.

"Furthermore, from the transmissions we've gotten, we've often heard 'slave' associated with some species name or other. Also, the commander has been getting numerous transmissions that deal with the movement of 'cargo' that often mean weapons: huge fleets of spacecraft ferrying huge loads of weapons from one planetary system to another, from one trouble spot to another; it seems that they often have rebellions, at least one major revolt every few years or so. We've also been intercepting numerous transmissions about punitive raids and attacks on outlying worlds by the Tirosians. Planetary studies of their industries also seem to indicate that as much as seventy percent of their resources are poured into the military. They have a staggering military potential, out of proportion even to their vast size."

They pondered this in silence.

"Yes," the Secretary-General said, "that is troubling. But, you say that they are more than ten light-years away from us. I don't think any problems these Tirosians have would affect Earth. Besides, what possible interest could they have with us? We're only one planetary system, after all. Surely they have other things to occupy their time."

"They have true space travel, ma'am. Their Empire extends more than five thousand light-years from end to end, which they travel as easily as we travel from Earth to Pluto Base. So distance doesn't really count.

"Also," continued Jennifer, "they're expansionary. But their idea of colonizing is by conquering. You know, war and glory, that kind of thing. Their sociological profile seems to indicate that they are from a ruthless race that prides themselves with their power over others. By our lights, of course. I doubt if they'd leave us alone if they ever find out about us. And I doubt if we will survive such an encounter."

"Yes, I see," Allie said, subdued. She turned and faced Jennifer. "How sure are you of your facts, Jennifer?"

"As sure as we can be, Madam Secretary. Like the commander said, the intercepts that we have been getting are not enough to be able to put together a complete picture."

"But the council has known about this?"

Marc answered, "Yes, madam, ever since Dr. Steele alerted us to them."

"And you have kept it from the public."

"You must see why," Bill said. "We can't afford panic in the masses, especially now. This is a bad time for us. It's only now that the people are getting over the paranoia and violence of the war. But there's more. Would you continue, Jerry?"

Jerry thumbed some controls. "Aside from the Tirosian problem, there's another one."

The picture on the screen shifted to show a belt of stars adjacent to the Tirosian Empire but further into the galaxy. Jerry pressed some buttons and they turned a bright blue. It bordered the Tirosian planets on its outer edge. Earth was towards its tail end but it was sandwiched between the two groups of stars. Earth's tiny yellow was bracketed by the red-tinted and blue-tinted stars.

"As you can see, we are surrounded on all sides by these two star groups in our spiral arm. This new group of stars is the territory of what the inhabitants call the Galactic Federation of Free Races, a rather blown-up name considering that they occupy only a comparatively small part of the galaxy. Their nearest inhabited planet is fifteen light-years from us, and the Federation is made up of about seventy to eighty different races.

"We know a hell of a lot more about them than we do the Tirosians because we get more intercepts. Anyway, to summarize what we know of them, these planets owe allegiance to a major governing body, the Federation Senate, if we can call it that. Planetary governments work under this governing body but maintain jurisdiction in their own systems. We can see some parallels to our own U.N. here. These races engage in free trade with each other but specific trade relations vary from planet to planet, depending on the local customs and situations.

"Militarily speaking, their potential is about equal to the Tiros Empire. They are, however, at a disadvantage in that the military forces of the local governments are not under the direct control of the Senate. Now, as regards specific information: we have put together a more-or-less complete backgrounder on some of the major races, the Elyrans, for one. We can even speak some of their languages now. Bill is becoming very fluent in Elyran, I believe."

Allie turned to Bill. "Is that true, William? Can we hear something in Elyran?"

Bill smiled. "Well, maybe later. When we finish all this. Jerry?"

"Okay. To continue then, with the sponsorship of a present-member race, membership to the Federation is granted upon application and evaluation of the applying species. Rarely is membership of a species actively solicited, but there are no restrictions on who can apply."

"I gather then, Commander," Allie said, "that you want us to apply for membership. Is that it?"

"Well, yes, ma'am," Jerry said, "but I doubt if we'll be able to pass the test."

"What?"

"From our information, their screening is pretty tough," Bill said. "Random samplings of the people have to undergo sophisticated tests, as well as a review of their science and a scrutiny of their customs and history. Even so, that is not the difficult part. If it were only that, then I suppose the Human Race will pass, even if not with flying colors.

“There are powerful races among the Federation who seem to have this conviction, almost a matter of religious faith, that true civilization only comes with time. A species needs to be old enough to join them and, by their standards, we are barely old enough to be considered even just intelligent animals. Our oldest fragments of artifacts suggesting the beginnings of human civilization can only be traced back to maybe a hundred thousand years, whereas the recorded histories of the youngest members of the Federation can be traced back up to a hundred times that. In fact, in the past, wars have been fought for the right to an audience. The right to membership is a very important matter.

"There is another thing. How shall I say it... the mercenary aspect of it. More often than not, the races that are admitted have technology that approaches, or is at parallel to, the aggregate technological level of the Federation. It is simpler to say that such advancement translates to the ability for true space travel. After all no Federation member race would be willing to support an outsider race with technological and resource assistance just to help them become beneficial members of the Federation instead of being dependent liabilities."

"Are there rules to this effect?" asked the secretary-general.

"Well, no, but few have really tried and came ahead. There are only two species that we know of that won membership in spite of this prejudice. One is the Arachnians - that's just what we call them; the real name is hard to pronounce as most of their language is composed of clicks and whistles. These Arachnians didn't have space travel but they were beyond a doubt civilized. They more than held their own in the Senate. After a while, the Arachnians developed faster-than-light travel on their own. Membership was granted retroactively.

"The other race is the Elyrans. These people were just a few hundred millenniums old, mere babes, but they were granted membership. Many of their colony worlds were in the path of commercial travel routes. That gave them the edge. And now, there is no denying that the Elyrans have become one of the most important races in the Federation. As an indication of this, their language is the single most widely spoken language among all the planets."

Allie thought for a while. "Yes, I can see the trouble there. But, is it really a problem? For us, I mean. Why don't we just ignore them? It's not as if we need them: We can survive on our own."

Marc sighed. "If it were only that, it would be fine. But there's more." He stood up and approached the video screen. He contemplated the image on the screen silently.

"Relations between the Empire and the Federation are, shall we say, less than amicable. In fact, the only reason war hasn't broken out is because the Tirosians have so far meticulously avoided open hostilities. That, of course, doesn't rule out sneak attacks and raids on the Federation's outlying planets. Skirmishes between planetary defense fleets and Tiros raider ships are almost commonplace. It is only a matter of time before war breaks out.

"What is more troubling is that sooner or later, we believe sooner, either the Tirosians or the Federation will discover us. Right now, Tiros survey and colony ships have been extending their area of exploration closer and closer to our system. Perhaps next year or the year after, they'll stumble over us, and we're going to be dragged into a war that we didn't ask for."

"If we were involved in such a war," Allie asked, "how would we fare?"

"Phil, you have the hard facts for that. How would we cope?"

Phil rustled some papers in front of him. "From what we've gathered, we are about on the same level as them so far as basic technology goes. Of course, we don't have star-travel and they do. But we do have Phase-Wave, and it appears that they don't. Resource-wise, we are all right, but since we are trapped in our one system, it would be like a siege."

Allie frowned. "No one in the Federation has ever discovered Phase-Wave?"

"So far as we can tell. The Tirosians, too. They seem to rely on message carriers and shuttles to handle their communications across the interplanetary void. That’s not too surprising - it took a few propitious accidents and a lot of guesswork on the part of Bill and his staff that we have Phase-Wave at all.

"To summarize then: One, we are at a disadvantage with space travel and star-mapping. Two, they have the slight edge over us with anti-gravity and related technology. But, three, we do have it over them with Phase-Wave, and, four, we are more advanced in terraforming technology, food production and synthesis and life support, as well as computer and superconductor technology, nuclear technology, aerodynamics and hydrodynamics. Finally, five, we are about equal in weapons technology. But, of course, we only have this one planetary system to our name, and therefore have only a limited source of raw materials and energy.

"If it ever came down to it, I believe that we can probably hold our own for about a year. Beyond that, I don't know."

Allie was silent. "Your people paint a grim picture, William."

"Yes, it looks bad, doesn’t it? But I think we've found a solution."

"I thought you might have something up your sleeve," Allie smiled. "Go ahead, spill it."

Bill smiled as well. "Well, it's something like this: I propose to set up a new group, one that will find the solution to the hyper-light issue, a group whose sole task is to find a workable faster-than-light propulsion system so that, if it ever came to it, we can at least defend ourselves better. And, I hope, have an ace up our sleeve if we have to choose sides and need to sue for membership in the Federation.

"Parallel to this, I also propose to set up a research group - one that will go over all intercepted broadcasts and try to piece together everything we can concerning our alien neighbors, from their latest technological advances to anything and everything about their culture. I want us to know enough that we won't be overmatched if we come face to face with them, or at least know enough that we don't throw bricks around when we get invited to a party. The third item I..."

Allie raised a hand. "Hold on, William, hold on. These are all well and good. But what leads you to believe that these things will be easy to do? For one thing, we've been trying to develop such a contraption for a long, long time. What makes you think we can do it now? Another thing is this research group. It will take a lot of resources and many people to do this. I don't believe the U.N. will stand for such an expense. Even now, I've had to fight for your budget from some people who believe that the money could be better spent elsewhere. You've got to give me a plan, William. This just won't stand up."

"A good point, Allie. I was just getting to that. One way to get the budget and resources for something like this would be if we had a central military arm under the jurisdiction of the U.N. I mean, the resources are there, manpower, money, material. The only hitch is that they're under the control of different national and territorial governments. If we were somehow able to pool them together into one big resource under direct U.N. control, then maybe it would just be possible to make this work. An added bonus there is that we'd have a ready-made fighting force that we can mobilize in case we need it.

"Anything is possible, really. The only key here is cooperation. Look at what we've been able to accomplish with CETI. With all the nations contributing, we've been able to do in a year what it would have taken decades to accomplish otherwise. It's a miracle, really. If we can pull that off again, we'd have another miracle on our hands. One that we hope can save us from another war."

"I can see the practical values of that. But what makes you think that the U.N. would be willing to do it? National interests, priorities and pride are things that cannot be easily overlooked."

"I know, Allie, I know. But we are sure of two things - this interstellar war is inevitable, and that we will be involved. We need to be prepared for the coming storm. There is no choice."

After a moment, Allie nodded to for Bill to continue.

"The trick here," Bill continued, "is to motivate the people into wanting this thing. To do that, I have something else up my sleeve. What I want to do is to send a tight-beam transmission to the Federation central worlds, sort of announcing our existence. The transmitter is almost finished, and the message that we'll be using to send the transmission was finished just an hour ago. If and when we do this, there won't be any choice. Either we choose up sides or we face the galaxy alone. And if the people realize that we are committed, then at least we are following a course that we determined on our own, a future that we have a measure of control over instead of just leaving it to the fates and to the sensibilities of alien minds."

Allie laughed. "Blackmail, huh?"

Bill waved that down. "We have to be sure that the Federation will receive it. But, when they do, we can also be sure that the Tirosians will hear of it, too. We're fairly certain that there is an underground network of Tirosian spies within the Federation, and these spies will surely get word to the Empire about us.

"To stack the cards in our favor, the transmission should not dwell on specifics, and, as much as possible it should confuse the issue. The way we want to appear to these people is that we're better than we really are. With help from our small research group here, we've been able to put together something like that. If it meets with your approval, then this is what we will broadcast."

Bill pressed some keys and the screen blanked out.

A title page appeared. Printed in bold white letters over the blue U.N. logo, it said, "Proposed Extra-Solar Broadcast of the Species Homo Sapiens." Just below and to the left was the smaller CETI logo. This faded out and was replaced by a map of the galaxy, as seen from above the galactic plane.

"The original was voiced over in Elyran," Bill was saying, "We dubbed it with English just for this meeting."

As Bill said, a voice accompanied the film. In the background could be heard the muted Elyran version. The video started with a static shot of the galaxy. Then it started to zoom in and re-focus on the area of the Solar System. The voice introduced the species Man and started to explain the location of the system in relation to various reference points, such as the positions and periods of pulsars as they are perceived from Earth and Elyra.

The picture continued to zoom in, with the voice explaining what was happening. Soon, the Solar System was in focus, as seen from above the ecliptic plane. The orbits of the planets was greatly apparent because of the speeded up picture: the planets described stately round circles around the Sun while the outermost pseudo-planet Pluto, almost just a rock, continued on its maverick course, departing widely from the Solar plane and then swinging back.

The picture rotated so, instead of being seen from the top, the view of the system was edge-on.

Classical music accompanied the film, changing the very dry computer-generated video into something majestic. The picture zoomed in further with the viewer's point of view passing close to the planets and satellites. The music started off with the mournful tones of a Mahler symphony. It faded away to be replaced by the rich and colorful music of Brahms and then by the more popular creations of Beethoven as the picture seemed to closely skim the outer planets' moons, with many glimpses of colonies and pressure domes on the surface.

The "camera," for it seemed that they were looking through the lens of an old 20th-century movie camera instead of computer graphics, skimmed the surface of giant Jupiter, passing directly over the famous "Great Red Spot," that centuries-old cyclonic storm that had persisted ever since man discovered it. They "oohed" and "ahhed" as their “camera” skimmed the moons of Saturn and then flew through the fine snowflake mist of the planet's rings and the sparse scattered rocks of the Asteroid Belt.

As they neared Earth, more and more spaceships were in evidence. None in the room were that familiar with ship designs and spacecraft so no one noticed the completely bogus ships that appeared to be flying by their camera. Bill smiled to himself and hoped that the aliens' reactions would be the same as those in the room.

New music faded into the picture as they neared the Earth, with the relatively newer compositions of twentieth century artists like Charles Ives and the neo-classic jazz influences of Louis Gruenberg.

They passed just inside the orbit of Phobos and came up on the Moon. The night side lunar base was clearly seen just as a conventional cargo rocket was taking off. The enormous base was momentarily spot-lighted in the flickering light of the rocket's exhaust and showed the extensiveness of the base before it shifted to its anti-gravity engines. The camera continued and flew over the landing site of the old Apollo mission. The aliens would probably miss the sight but no human would. Bill was subtly gratified by the recognition of Allie and the rest. John Williams' much commercialized music replaced the atonal melodies of Gruenberg, yet its symphonic tones lent the video an air of grandeur.

The angle shifted again to put the Earth at the center of the picture. It was bright blue against the inky background, with drifts of clouds lazily floating over its face. The camera shot into the atmosphere with the sound of air whistling passed.

They skimmed the surface, passing over continents and vast oceans. As the speed slackened, they were able to pick out several ships, cities and planes flying just below them in the now sparsely clouded sky.

They were slowing down even further and were approaching the coastline of a large continent, zooming passed a great green-and-gray statue of a woman holding aloft a burning torch. It was the rebuilt Statue of Liberty, they knew, yet the effect was still very powerful.

The picture continued to close in onto the shore. It focused on the tall U.N. Secretariat Building, its many Crystalline windows reflecting the Sun's rays like a multi-faceted jewel. In the foreground were the Library Building, the Dag Hammarskjöld Library, and the U.N. General Assembly Building, with national flags, the colors of the different races of man, waving gently in a curving line in front of them. A silvery fountain in the middle of the courtyard splashed merrily.

The camera's angle shifted and they found themselves looking down onto the open space between the buildings. People were going about their daily lives. Small electric vehicles whizzed by carrying passengers on their daily errands.

The focus shortened until they could see individual faces. The computer rendering was so realistic that they thought that they were really looking at a real afternoon downtown street scene. The picture centered on a little girl holding a balloon as she watched the gurgling fountain. She seemed to sense someone looking at her and she looked upward at the camera.

It was a pretty, dark-haired girl in pigtails. Surrounded by the fine sparkling mist of the fountain, she smiled widely and waved at the camera. With a final burst of music from John Williams' interpolated version of "When You Wish Upon a Star," the picture faded away.

 
Shepherd Moon, Chapter 4: Interception

Silence came over the room; most of them were a little overwhelmed.

"Well," Bill said, "what do you think?" He was smiling broadly.

"That was very beautiful, William," Allie said.

"Thank you, Allie. I just hope it'll work."

They paused for a while before continuing with more prosaic matters.

"Artistic values aside," Jerry said, breaking the mood, "we took pains in keeping everything on the most general level possible. If you will notice, besides our location, there's nothing specific about the Earth in the film. Glimpses and hints, really. That way, we can gloss over the hyper-light issue."

"Isn't this risky? What will happen when the Tirosians pick this up?"

"We know that the Tirosians will get wind of it sooner or later, but, if this works the way we intend it to work, the Federation won't look too kindly on the Tirosians interfering with a newly discovered race. They might even ask us to become members right there and then."

"That's what we’re hoping for," Bill said. "We're betting that the Tirosians won't risk all-out war just because of us. Even so, it's still a calculated risk. But, in any case, war is inevitable between the two, even if it's not because of us. Best projections show that, within the next two years, hostilities would be so bad that war will formally be announced. When it comes to that, at least we'll be on the side of the good guys, right? I mean, I don't have to ask which side we'd rather be on, do I?"

"Yes, William, you're right. I agree completely. Now, about your plan. How do you propose to start with this project?"

"Well, first, we have to send this transmission out as soon as possible. Our first big stumbling block there is the Radio/Phase-Wave transmitter. I think we've got that licked but we won't know until we use it.

"Next is for you to announce our findings in a joint, closed-door session of the U.N. no later than next week. Marc can help you there. And have them approve the formation of a unified military force under complete U.N. control, as well as appropriating sufficient manpower and resources for it."

Allie shook her head. "Few will agree to that. There's still a general aversion in them regarding full militarization. No one can really blame them. But Ambassador Valker's growing isolationist movement is gaining ground among many of the representatives. We have to move fast."

"We have some ideas about that: It really depends on how you treat it. We have to sell them the idea that this is a matter of necessity, which it is. We are faced with a very real power threat of immense proportions. We must be prepared. We have no choice, really. We have to get full support. We just have to.

"Also, doing that isn't so difficult. We've checked around. Ever since the Asteroid Wars, the old bases in the Outer Planets and on the moon have remained mostly dormant but, as far as we can tell, they're still functional. There are also a lot of military spacecraft out there, mainly in mothballs. Most of them are still functional. And if they aren't, we can melt them down and use them as sources of metal: We won't need to do expensive space-mining operations."

Bill took a deep breath. "It won't be easy. Sure, we know that. But it won't be that hard, too. If we do this right. We had a vote, the CETI council, I mean, on this matter. It was a landslide - the majority decided to push through with it. It's your decision, now, Allie."

"All right," Allie said, and struck the table. "We'll do it. If you can swing it, maybe I can, too."

Everyone nodded in agreement.

"I'll start negotiations as soon as I get back. But you realize, of course, that I have to be totally open with them. I can't push all this through without letting them know all about your research."

"I know," Bill said. "Here's everything that you'll need." He thumped down five or six thick binders and some cassettes, disks and recording chips. He grinned mischievously.

Allie groaned. "William, you sadist." She eyed the material balefully. She gestured to her assistant to pick up the reports and disks.

"You must realize the importance of keeping this matter secret, ma'am," Jerry said. "We can't afford to have the public go into panic over this."

"Your point on keeping this hushed up is well taken, Commander. Rest assured that I will take all steps necessary to maintain secrecy."

"Speaking of which," Bill said, "I think you have to put a clamp on our research team. They were the ones who made that tape you saw. They suspect that something is up and I'd rather not have rumors floating around."

"Do not fear, William," Allie said, and called in her guard captain. She mumbled some orders and the captain left with one of his people in tow.

"There, I've put those people under detention. A day or two of sweating and they won't be so eager to talk."

"I wouldn't ordinarily trouble you with something like this but they're outside consultants and I don't have any authority over them."

Allie smiled. "I'll have my committees stop sending you people and you can start picking your own." She stood up and closed her briefcase with a snap. The meeting was at an end.

"All right," she said, "I'll start the ball rolling on my end and you start everything on yours. I must admit, William, your people gave us an eye-opener. Don't worry; I'll give this top priority."

"Thank you."

"When do you plan to send up that transmission of yours?"

"Oh, if all goes well, probably in a few weeks. I plan to send it up just after your U.N. meeting. I want to make it a big event."

"All right." She made a move towards the door. "In that case, I'd better leave on the earliest flight out."

"There's a shuttle leaving this evening."

"Then I'd better say my goodbyes and start packing, just after I finished unpacking, too." She embraced Bill and shook hands with the rest. "Take care of yourself, William. Thank you all." She left the room, trailing her retinue. Sahsha escorted her out.

As the door hissed close, Bill sighed and sat down heavily. "We did it."

"Do you think she'll do what she promised, Bill?"

"You don't know the Secretary-General, Commander," Marc said. "When she says she’ll do something, she will."

"Is it really as bad as you say?" Phil asked.

"No, not that bad. It'll probably be a few years, ten at the latest, before we get affected by anything happening out there."

"What worries me," said Marc, "is that that estimate used to be decades. Now it’s down to years."

"Yup. That's why we're doing everything we can now."

"The question is," said Walter, "is everything that we're doing enough?"

It was several weeks after that meeting. Little Davie was tugging at Miriam's pants leg. "Mommy, mommy," he said excitedly. He was pointing at the video screen. It was a live satellite feed of the latest U.N. conference that was just finishing up. Evidently he recognized his father among the people in the crowd.

"Hush, Davie," Miriam said. She was putting Peter, David's twin brother, gently to bed. He was innocently asleep.

The latest U.N. meeting, one of the very few closed-door sessions in recent years, was turning out to be a controversy. Rumors coming from all over the system, most especially from Triton, coupled with the Secretary-General's secrecy and the tight-lipped comments of Bill and the CETI council members, had resulted in a very wide media coverage of the whole affair. The latest word from the grapevine was that something bad had been intercepted from space, via Phase-Wave. There were whispered fears of invading Bug-Eyed Monsters and other equally improbable yarns circulating in some of the remote communities on the Earth and in the Outer Planets, but most of the populace pooh-poohed these as ridiculous and paranoid. Still, they were curious to know what was afoot.

The reporter from News Ten, the most notorious gossip network on the North American wavelengths, was just recapping these things, trying to make the static picture of the U.N. conference building and the milling crowd of delegates just leaving the General Assembly building interesting.

Finally, the focus of the picture changed and zoomed in on some of the delegates near a temporary stage and podium erected in the courtyard. The reporter changed his spiel as Secretary-General Romarkin came out of the building and walked to the podium.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the reporter said, "you are now seeing some of the system's political luminaries leaving the building after their no-doubt gruelling session. In the lead is the secretary-general herself, Madam Alexandra Romarkin, and accompanying her is Doctor Marcus Bidwell, ambassador from Neptune and also a member of the CETI governing council, which, we believe, was instrumental in the conference. Sources say that the meeting has a bearing on the extra-terrestrial transmission the CETI council announced they will broadcast later today.

"The actual broadcast, details of which have yet to be disclosed, was approved by an international committee made up of various scientists and prominent laymen. This has actually caused an even larger issue than the mysterious joint session of the UN. Later on our correspondent up in Triton Center will bring you the actual transmission."

The picture became a close-up of the secretary-general as she stepped up to the podium. The press was barely held back by the blue-uniformed UN guards surrounding her. Marc was still at her elbow, uncomfortable in the unaccustomed higher Earth gravity. Allie started her speech.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she said, her amplified voice reverberating between New York's tall structures, "people of the Solar System. This is a momentous day in the annals of Human history." The crowd became silent. "I and my fellow representatives of the many nations of this great race of ours have reached an accord that has far-reaching effects on our future and the future of our interstellar neighbors.

"Later today, in the moons of distant Neptune, a message will be sent to our neighbors, announcing our presence and thereby making us a part of this greater galactic community."

This was met with thunderous applause. The secretary-general waited a moment and continued.

"It is our hope," she continued, "that this will herald the opening of new and better opportunities, as before undreamed of, for our race. It has been our dream to venture to new worlds and meet new people, perhaps to learn from them, perhaps just to come face to face with the other children of God. And now that dream will come true.

"We have already made the first few steps towards this goal. The CETI Council has given us proof of extra-terrestrial life, but as yet we have not been able to achieve two-way communication with them. But, even if that was possible, the other part of our dream will still remain unrealized.

"In our joint session, the U.N. has created a new council, to be composed of the brightest citizens of our race, whose sole objective is to study the possibilities of creating a way for us to bridge those uncounted number of light-years, to make it possible for us to travel those billions and billions of miles, to create a spacecraft that will be able to accomplish this feat, and perhaps bring us to those imagined worlds and come face to face with our interstellar neighbors."

Allie paused and surveyed the crowd.

"But recent data gathered by our CETI outposts have uncovered an ugly development." The people stirred nervously.

"We have found that this newly discovered community of races that we are, as yet, unacknowledged members of, is on the brink of war. It is only a matter of time before we become unwilling bystanders caught in the coming crossfire between the stars." Murmuring spread throughout the crowd.

"It is indeed painful to the heart to find the eve of battle so close to our doorstep when it is only now that we ourselves have achieved a measure of peace; to find our hard-won battle for order and prosperity, tempered by more than half a century of grief and bloodshed, threatened again.

"Those of us who represent your will in the assembly have also felt this pain. But we did not shirk our duty. We have resolved to meet this challenge with all the resources of the Human Race."

Some in the crowd applauded and murmured their agreement.

"To meet this challenge, we have resolved to unite our people's might to oppose this common menace, to create a unified Armed Force. Together with the newly created council, the people of the Solar System will soon become a force to be reckoned with in the galaxy." There were scattered cheering in the crowd though some frowned and shook their heads.

"Thus we have decided and done," Allie continued. “It is our fervent hope that the people unite their voices as one in support of this plan, that we, the members of the Human Race, may take our place in this new community of races with dignity and pride, unmolested and unscathed and unblemished in body and spirit."

Clapping and cheering greeted the end of the speech, though many were dubious of what the secretary-general said. The coming months would tell if the people would believe.

Anxious reporters pressed in to try and interview the secretary-general but she was able to escape back into the building.

Miriam turned the volume down and faced Bill.

"That was pretty good," she said.

"Yes, it was," Bill said. He was standing by the living room doorway holding a plate of spaghetti, lifting a forkful into his mouth.

"That's not what I meant, you idiot," she said throwing a pillow from the couch she was on at him.

"Daddy, Daddy," David cried, upset that his father wasn't on the screen anymore.

"Cheer up, kid, your father's going to be home soon," Bill said as he set his plate on top of the video set. He wiped his lips of spaghetti sauce. "That reminds me, I have to be at the center in ..." he looked at his wrist, "thirty minutes." He kissed Miriam on the cheek and mussed Davie's still-sparse hair. "Thanks for the chow."

Miriam stood up. "So soon?"

"I really have to go. We'll be transmitting the broadcast soon and I've got a lot to do before then. I'm not even sure if the dumb transmitter will work." He stooped down and gave David a bear hug.

"See you later, champ."

Miriam slipped her arm around his and walked him to the door.

"Marc will be coming home,” she said, and left it hanging.

"I know. So?"

She didn't answer.

They'd been friends a long time now, almost as long as Bill's been friends with Marc. As with close friends, they knew each other well, enough to be able to read each other's feelings.

Bill's question was more or less rhetorical. Their long friendship had been one long unrequited love affair. When they met, Miriam and Marc had long been married. Marc became one of Bill's closest friends and he was greatly worried by his growing infatuation with Miriam. What's more, Miriam reciprocated his feelings. But, knowing Marc's old-fashioned ideals, Bill did his best not to let this relationship grow. Miriam sensed this and had acceded to Bill's decision. She loved Marc, after all, and was willing to do anything for him, and he for her, and had long since tried to conform to her older husband's ideals.

But at times like this, she barely could.

"Will you be coming over to the Center later?" Bill asked, breaking the uneasy silence.

"Maybe," she said. "I just want to finish this program."

Bill was about to go out of the door but was stopped by Miriam's hand on his arm.

"Bill," she said.

"Yes?"

"I love you," she blurted out.

Bill paused. It was the first time she said it out in the open.

"I know," he said, softly. "And I love you. But what about Marc?"

"I love him, yes. But the problem is that I love you, too."

"We can't." He laid a finger across her lips. "Let it lie," he said. "Just let it lie." He hugged her and kissed her tenderly. Her eyes were bright with tears. "See you later, okay?"

She hung her head and nodded, closing the door ever so gently.

Bill stood outside in the hallway a moment, gazing reflectively, sadly, at the door until the fast tap-tap-tap of heels broke his reverie.

He glanced down the hall and saw Sahsha running toward him, looking winded.

"I knew I'd find you here," she said breathlessly. "We're about to start the broadcast and we need you there."

He smiled perfunctorily at her and allowed her to lead him to tube 017, one of many connecting the city to Triton Center. Sahsha frowned, picking up his preoccupied, worried and sad look. She glanced back at the apartment door, wondering what went on. She soon forgot this as Bill seemed to break out of his gloomy mood and started a conversation in his usual delightful and engaging manner. She sighed and slipped her arm through his and leaned on his shoulder.

The usual dull facade of Triton Center was changed. The flat, four-floor complex, with its many access tubes radiating out like the spokes on a great silver wheel was alight with large illuminating lamps that surrounded the base. The numerous Crystalline windows were alight, making the center look like some enormous, squat Christmas tree.

The large rectangular Phase-Wave antenna grid tilted towards the sky rose up from the middle of the complex. Unlike old cumbersome radio antennae, it was still not large nor tall enough to merit warning beacons; small winking navigation lights sufficed. But still it dominated the Triton skyline.

When Triton Center faced Neptune, the lights provided by the planet would illuminate the base and show the legend "CETI 05" painted on the antenna's grid. But today the center was turned away from Neptune's cool greens and blues and was facing deep space and stars.

Most knew that this present position of the base and the orientation of the moon were very important for this particular project. Bill and his people took advantage of this transmission "window". This particular configuration of the moons and the planets would last only a few hours, and the next time this happened would be hundreds of years into the future, so it has to be done right the first time.

Jerry was waiting on the fourth floor, in Triton Center's Main Mission control station. He looked out of the large panoramic Crystalline window. In the distance could be seen the three large complexes, outlined in their bright aurora of blinking lights. They were connected to the base and to each other by a latticework of bright and transparent Crystalline access tubes embedded in the rock and ice. If one looked down the window, one could see the center's own tube stations linking it to the others. Together, these comprised the Triton State, one of five in the United Satellites of Neptune, which was one of the most powerful nations of the Outer Worlds, second only to Luna.

Jerry looked down in time to see an incoming travel tube, its lights cutting a furrow in the jet-black night.

He turned around to face his people, busy with their jobs. He tapped the duty comm-officer's shoulder. "Have someone fetch Doctor Steele," he said. "He's coming through gate seventeen."

The officer nodded and turned back to her console and issued some orders.

A little later, Bill was able to get through the mob of reporters and newspeople with Sahsha in tow. The reporters stuck like glue and Bill was less than courteous when he started shoving people out of the way. The appearance of a security guard helped clear a path for them.

Ten minutes later, they were able to set foot on the control station deck. Bill sighed with relief and thanked the guard. The guard smiled, touched a casual hand to her cap and left.

A hand clapped him on the shoulder. "Bill," Walter said in relief, "Damned glad you got here in time. We're about to start and everything's set."

"Hello, Walt," Bill replied. "Is the tape finished?"

"Just about," he said, leading them to the Main Mission proper, the nerve center of the whole base.

Hearing them, Jerry turned around from his console and smiled in greeting. "Oh, Bill, Sahsha, glad you're on time."

Bill glanced up at the status boards to find out what was happening. He looked at the main viewscreen. On it was himself giving the opening speech that he had taped earlier so that he would not have to do it live in front of the entire Human Race. Immediately after would follow the actual Transmission.

"Is that the media hookup?" Bill asked, pointing to the screen.

"Yes, it is. What the system is getting: Bill Steele, almost live, straight into two billion homes."

"Ha ha, very funny," he said sarcastically. "Why is the antenna out of alignment?"

"Something Phil's cooked up. You'll see."

"But the..."

"Wait and see," Jerry said, cutting him off. "Don't worry. Trust me."

"If we go off schedule and miss the corridor..."

"No, we won't. Trust me."

Bill sighed. "All right, on your head be it." He punched up status on a terminal. "Where's Phil now?"

"Navigation. Riding herd on that nightmare you insist on calling a transmitter. He'll be up later, after the Transmission. Assuming there's ever going to be a transmission."

Bill gave him a sour look.

"Attention, attention," a loudspeaker boomed, "Transmission will commence in T minus one minute. All personnel to duty stations."

At the sound of the speaker, all the workers looked up from whatever they were doing and looked to the viewscreen. On it, Bill's pre-taped message was just winding down. The room became quiet, save for the clicks and whirs of the machines.

Everyone was waiting, waiting.

"This is it," Bill whispered.

"This is it," Phil said, an unconscious echo. "Okay, gang, it's our show, now. Everybody stay on your toes. Various "Yeahs" and "Right's" echoed among the people of Navigation Station.

"Lock the board at T minus thirty and get ready on the gyros," Phil said to the main operator, "and have someone crack another tank into the core; temperature's going up again." A trainee ran up the tunnel-like access tube and unscrewed the top of a nitrogen tank, letting the liquid gas pour directly into the transmitter core.

Someone punched up status on his board and a countdown lit up Phil's small screen.

"Cross your fingers," she said.

When the count hit thirty, the whole board lit up like a Christmas tree.

"Okay, people," Phil said, "we're live. Hit the mains. Put us on line."

A meter climbed up from zero to one hundred. "We're on a hundred percent, now," the main operator said to Phil.

"Good. Feed power into the gyros."

"Right."

"Activate."

The massive flywheels and gears that moved the great antenna went into action. At the push of a button, antenna oh-five started turning, ponderously aligning itself to a position painstakingly computed and pre-set weeks ago.

Up in main mission, the main viewscreen had cut to a shot of the antenna as it majestically swiveled on its axis. Bill now knew why Phil had mis-aligned the antenna: As the large metal plate swung around, it eclipsed some of the bright unblinking stars of Triton's sky, while revealing others. The ever-present mist of the moon draped away from the antenna, making glowing, iridescent trails in the starlit night, like wisps of clouds on distant Earth. It was beautiful.

The people watched awed, mesmerized by the image on the screen.

The antenna stopped swiveling and tilted its great mast heavenward, slowly, ever so slowly. And stopped.

A buzzer sounded, signifying that all were in readiness: the antenna was set, power was up, the video file was ready, and, more importantly, the transmission "window" was open.

Bill whispered, "Now," and brought down his finger that was poised over the transmission switch.

As the button clicked home, Earth's first interstellar message flew across the void.

 
Postscript to this installment: A Dedication to Holly

A fellow writer in BCTS named Holly Hart was helping me edit my story, “Shepherd Moon.” Prior to her passing away, she finished editing the prologue, and parts 1 to 3 of the story. Holly and I agreed that we would post the edited version of the story when it was completed and we would hold off on posting any edited versions until then.

As many in the site know, Holly passed away August of 2013. And now that the story’s finished, I am posting our edited version of the prologue, and parts 1, 2 and 3 of the story, and I am dedicating them to Ms Holly “Happy” Hart.

She was a talented and open-minded editor who always had an encouraging word for amateur writers like me, and was a kind soul - gentle in her encouraging correspondence, and always positive in her outlook in life despite the considerable challenges that were in her way.

It is through the example of people like her that I find the will to persevere, and the power to remain positive regardless. If Holly can continue on and remain positive up to the last moments of life, we all can.

For Holly Hart / Holly Logan, 1944 – 2013