Illegal Alien

*5*

The Tosok landing craft skimmed above the surface of New York’s East River until it came to Turtle Bay, site of the United Nations. It zoomed over the low, concave-sided, dome-roofed General Assembly building, then did three loops around the thirty-nine-story slab of the Secretariat, before settling in the wide driveway in front of the General Assembly. No doubt about it—the Tosoks had a flare for the dramatic. Almost two billion people were watching the event live, and it seemed as though half of New York had been out on the streets, looking up.

The UN had been cordoned off. New York’s finest on one side of the barrier and gray-uniformed United Nations guards on the other were carefully controlling who got access. Frank Nobilio hoped the precautions were sufficient. He’d spent hours poring over the photographs of the alien mothership taken by the Hubble Space Telescope (which had passed within line of sight of it repeatedly now). The guys at NASA/Ames said the ship appeared to be fusion-powered—and a fusion exhaust aimed at Earth could do enormous damage. Frank was terrified of the consequences if one of the Tosoks were assassinated.

Still, there was always something about being here at the UN that moved him deeply. Oh, sure, over its history, the United Nations had probably had more failures than successes, but it still represented the loftiest of human ideals, and that meant something to Frank, who in his early twenties had spent a year in the Peace Corps, and who, as a grad student at Berkeley, had been involved in protests against the Vietnam War.

“We, the People of the United States” were indeed great words, and even decades in Washington hadn’t dulled Frank’s faith in them. But “We the Peoples of the United Nations” were even greater words, he thought as he looked up at the giant plaque outside the General Assembly:

Those were words the whole planet could be proud of. As everyone in the crowd waited for the air lock on the Tosok lander to open, Frank smiled to himself. Its critics notwithstanding, he was glad there was a place like this for the aliens to land.

The air lock did open—and out came Cletus Calhoun. The crowd, which normally would have been delighted to catch a glimpse of a celebrity, reacted with disappointment. A UN guard hurried over with a microphone stand, and Clete stepped up to it.

“Take me to your leader,” he said, in harsh, mechanical tones.

The crowd laughed. Clete’s face split in a toothy grin. “I suppose y’all are wondering why I called y’all here today.”

More laughter.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, sobering. “It is my profound honor to present to y’all the first extraterrestrial visitors to Earth.” He indicated the air lock, and the Tosok captain, Kelkad, strode out.

The entire audience gasped. Most of them had seen the pictures of Hask taken aboard the Kitty Hawk, but, still, to actually see an alien with one’s own eyes…

It started at one side of the vast crescent of spectators: a single woman clapping. Within moments it swept like a wave over the entire crowd: a thunderous storm of applause.

Kelkad’s long strides quickly brought him over to stand next to Clete. Frank could see Clete talking to the alien, probably explaining the significance of the clapping. Kelkad made a beckoning gesture with his back hand and the remaining six Tosoks filed out of the lander. They formed two rows of three behind Kelkad, who moved to stand in front of the microphone.

The applause died down at once, everyone anxious to hear what the alien leader had to say.

“Hello,” said Kelkad—or rather, said his pocket translator. Frank assumed the vocabulary database from Hask’s translator must have by now been copied over to those of the other Tosoks. “Nice planet you’ve got here.”

The applause again, with hundreds of cheers mixed in. Frank recognized Clete’s sense of humor in the comment; he’d obviously coached Kelkad on what to say.

Frank found himself clapping so hard his palms were stinging. And so were his eyes, at the beautiful sight of aliens standing in front of the rainbow row of one hundred and eighty-five flags outside of the United Nations of Earth.

“People of planet Earth,” said Kelkad later that afternoon, standing at one of the two podiums inside the General Assembly hall, “we come to you as neighbors: our home world is a planet in the Alpha Centauri system.”

Frank was sitting in the public gallery above the General Assembly, looking down on the concentric semicircular rows of delegate seating. His eyebrows went up. Although Alpha Centauri A was much like the sun, it was bound gravitationally to two other stars. Offhand, Frank wouldn’t have thought that system capable of having an Earth-like world.

“We came here,” continued Kelkad, “to bring you greetings from our people. But, unexpectedly, it seems we also need your help. Our starship has been damaged, and is in need of repair. We cannot build the required parts ourselves—the damage is beyond the limited resources of our mothership. But although many of the principles used in building the replacement parts we need will be unfamiliar to you, Dr. Calhoun assures me that you have the technology to manufacture complex items according to our plans. We therefore ask that some of you agree to build the parts we need. In exchange, those who do build the parts will be welcome to keep whatever knowledge and technology they can glean from the process.”

Frank could see the rows of ambassadors salivating down below. Of course it would likely only be the technologically sophisticated countries, doubtless led by the U.S. and Japan, that would get contracts with the Tosoks.

Kelkad continued on for another half hour or so, with everyone listening intently. And then:

“And so,” said Kelkad, “it is with great pleasure that we extend the front hand of friendship, and the back hand of trust, across the light-years to our closest neighbors, to a race of beings that we hope will also become our closest friends. Men and women of planet Earth, you are no longer alone!”

After the speech, every nation on Earth extended invitations to the Tosoks to visit. There was considerable pressure for them to head east from New York, across the Atlantic—it was felt that the United States had monopolized the alien visitors too much already, and a westward trip across the U.S. would be inappropriate.

And so it came to pass that the aliens toured London, Paris, Rome, Amsterdam, Moscow, Jerusalem, Giza, Calcutta, Beijing, Tokyo, Honolulu, and Vancouver. An entourage traveled with them, including Frank and Clete, and several other prominent scientists from various nations, along with a security detachment. The Canadian representative turned out to be Packwood Smathers, the same blowhard Clete had argued with on CNN.

One of the highlights of the trip—for Tosoks and humans alike—was observing one of the true wonders of nature. Clete tried to set the stage for it appropriately.

“Even now that I’ve actually been in space,” he said to the Tosoks, “the most incredible astronomical sight I’ve ever seen I saw from the ground.”

He paused. “A total solar eclipse. There’s nothing like it. And we’re goin’ to get to see one. I wish I could say we planned this for you guys, but we’re jes’ plain lucky. It’s almost two years afore the next one. But this one—well, this one will be visible in lots of highly populated areas. I had to go to the Galapagos for the one in ’98 and to Siberia for the one in ’97—but it don’t matter; wherever they are, I go. This one, though, will be visible from here in northern France all the way to Turkey—prolly be seen by more people than any eclipse in human history.” A pause. “Does your world have a moon, Kelkad?”

The alien captain’s head tuft moved backward in what was now recognized as the Tosok sign of negation. “No. We were surprised to see how big yours is.”

“Sure ’nuff,” said Clete. “’Fact, Earth and its moon come purty near to bein’ a double planet.”

“It is remarkable,” agreed Kelkad. “But even though we have no moon, I do know what an eclipse is—the partial or complete obscuring of one celestial body by another.”

“That’s true—but our eclipses are somethin’ special,” said Clete. “See, our sun is four hundred times wider than our moon—but it’s also four hundred times farther away. That means when things line up jes’ right, the moon precisely covers the sun, completely blockin’ out the photosphere. When that happens you can see the corona—the sun’s atmosphere—and sometimes even see prominences shootin’ out into space.”

“Incredible,” said Kelkad.

Clete smiled. “That it is.”

The eclipse occurred on a Wednesday at noon. The Tosoks and their entourage had just left Strasbourg, where they had toured the famous Gothic cathedral. To get an unobstructed view of the bowl of the sky, their specially modified tour bus had driven out into a vineyard in the French countryside.

The sun was fifty-five degrees above the horizon as the silhouette of the moon slowly bit into its blazing disk. The humans were wearing eclipse-viewing glasses with fluorescent green-and-pink cardboard frames and Mylar lenses; the Tosoks always wore pop-in sunglasses while out-doors during the day, but now were using extra-strength versions so that they, too, could stare up at the spectacle.

Slowly, ponderously, the black circular shadow of the moon covered more and more of the sun. As it did so the sky grew dim. A hush fell over the landscape; even the birds stopped singing to stare up in wonder. When the moon’s disk had almost completely blocked the sun, a row of Bailey’s beads was briefly visible at the disk’s edge—bright spots caused by sunlight passing through irregularities on the moon’s rim.

And then…

Totality.

The temperature dropped noticeably. The sky went dark. Those who were willing to take their eyes off the main attraction for a moment could clearly see bright Venus below and to the left of the sun, and dimmer Mercury above it and to the right, along with a smattering of stars; the sun was halfway between Leo and Cancer.

Around the black disk of the moon, a beautiful pink corona was visible, like wisps of hair, or a wild angel’s halo.

It was absolutely incredible, absolutely breathtaking. Frank was deeply moved, and he saw Clete wipe tears from the corners of his eyes. The head tufts on the Tosoks were waving wildly in excitement.

All too soon it was over, the moon continuing on its way, and the sky brightening.

Kelkad strode over to Clete. “Thank you,” he said, his tuft still moving with emotion. “Thank you for letting us see that.”

Clete smiled. “Like you said, nice planet we’ve got here.”

Finally, the aliens returned to the United States, touring California. They visited Rogers Dry Lake to watch the Shuttle Discovery land (it had been up taking photographs and radar scans of the alien mothership to aid in the repair effort). Next, they came to Los Angeles—which happened to be Clete’s home now; he balanced his time between production of his TV series and teaching astronomy at UCLA. The aliens didn’t know what to make of Disneyland. They understood that Mickey, Goofy, and Donald were supposed to be a mouse, a dog, and a duck, respectively—they’d seen all three types of animals during their tour of Earth. But they were absolutely flummoxed by the idea of portraying them as erect, sentient, articulate beings. They were also amazed by most of the rides—the idea that one could enjoy being frightened struck them as a contradiction in terms. They did rather seem to like the Teacups, though.

In the evening, a reception was held at Mann’s Chinese Theatre, with a select guest list. Steven Spielberg was there, taking a possibly justifiable pride in having to some degree prepared the human race for the arrival of peaceful, friendly aliens. Captain Kelkad was invited to leave his footprints in cement. This was something that the aliens did understand: the idea of making one’s mark, of being remembered after one was gone.

Three of the prime contracts for building the replacement parts for the alien mothership went to TRW, Rockwell International, and Hughes. The president of the University of Southern California sensed a golden opportunity, since all three were located within fifteen miles of its main University Park campus. He immediately offered long-term accommodation to the Tosoks in Paul Valcour Hall, a brand new six-story-tall residence facility. The residence had been completed behind schedule—too late for the current academic year, so it wouldn’t be needed until next September.

It was an ideal location—a hundred meters from any other campus building, meaning access to it was easy to control. The Tosoks accepted the offer, and they, and their scientific and security entourage, moved into the facility. Even Clete, whose home was in L.A., moved in, unable to give up a moment of time with the aliens.

“Thank you for helping arrange all the repairs,” said Captain Kelkad one evening to Frank Nobilio, who had also taken up residence in Valcour Hall. “It is much appreciated.”

“My pleasure,” said Frank. Hask and Torbat—one of the other Tosoks—were sitting with him and the alien captain in the sixth-floor lounge. “Of course, you realize it will take a long time for the replacement parts to be built. They’re saying perhaps as long as two years—”

“Two years!” said Kelkad, his tuft waving in shock. “Surely it can be done—”

Hask spoke a few words to Kelkad in the Tosok language.

“Oh—two of your years,” said Kelkad. His tendrils came to rest. “That is not so bad.”

Frank thought about telling the aliens that no human engineer’s time estimate was ever to be trusted, but decided they’d do better to cross that bridge later. For now, he thought, sitting here, chatting amiably with pale-blue Hask, dark-blue Kelkad, and gray Torbat, first contact between the human race and aliens seemed to be going spectacularly well.

Until the murder.