Impact

82

In the silence, there was a faint squeaking of wheels and a duty officer came in pushing a cart, serving coffee all around.

"You said you were to make a recommendation to the president at seven," Ford said. "What are the options?"

Lockwood spread his hands. "Dr. Chaudry?"

Chaudry rubbed a hand over his finely sculpted cheek. "We've got half a dozen satellites orbiting Mars. We had planned to reassign all to a new mission--to locate the source of these attacks. But now you seem to have those coordinates."

"Yes," said Mickelson, "and with those coordinates we could use one or more of those satellites as a weapon, send it crashing into the alien weapon at high speed."

Chaudry shook his head. "That would be about as effective as throwing an egg at a tank."

"Option two," said Mickelson, ploughing ahead, "is to launch a nuke at it."

"The launch window wouldn't be for another six months minimum," said Chaudry, "and the travel time to Mars would be well over a year."

"The nuclear option is our only effective means of attack," said the chairman of the Joint Chiefs from a screen.

Chaudry turned to him. "Admiral, I doubt the alien weapon is going to sit there and allow itself to be nuked."

"May I remind you again that the operative word here is 'machine.' We don't know for a fact that it is a weapon," said Lockwood.

"It's a Goddamned weapon," said Mickelson. "Just look at it!"

Chaudry spoke quietly. "That artifact comes from a civilization of tremendous technological sophistication. I'm truly aghast that you people think we can kill it with a nuke. We're like a cockroach committee debating how to kill the exterminator. Any military option is futile--and exceedingly dangerous--and the sooner we recognize it the better."

A tense silence built. The conference room had grown hot. Ford took the opportunity to remove his jacket and casually draped it over the back of his chair. The bait, he thought. Now to hook the fish. Or the mole, as it were.