Time, Like a River

"The decision has been made. A NATO Predator will fire a modified Dart. A biologic agent, a neural-disruptor will be released, death will result in less than two seconds. To soon for anyone to react."

"The area we can expect to see fatalities?"

"The approximate kill radius could be up to a quarter mile, depending on winds, perhaps a half mile on one lobe."

"Laser designator?"

"Yes, he is on the way."

"I see."

"Clean up your site and leave the area, and do so immediately."

"Yes, director."

◊◊◊◊◊

Jennie's head snapped away from their conversation, a sudden, jarring discontinuity. He was getting used to these interludes – when she was receiving information from...somewhere.

"A nuclear device will detonate. In five minutes, thirty eight seconds."

"Where?"

"Paris. Just north of Paris."

"Can you stop it?"

"Of course."

"Would you do so now, please?"

Jennie jerked away for a moment, then looked back at him. "There was an incoming projectile. This was stopped as well." She smiled for a moment, then looked away.

◊◊◊◊◊

When the Dart failed to detonate, Duruflé and two assault teams ran up to the fifth floor apartment – and crashed through the door. Tools scattered everywhere, take-out food containers piled on a small table just off the kitchen, the professor's duct-taped and shackled body hustled quickly from the building, but no terrorists – and no terrorist's bomb – anywhere in the vicinity. The 20 kiloton warhead – recently acquired from Russian separatists – had simply disappeared. She had no way of knowing the warhead had arrived seconds later inside the Kremlin – in the old Armoury Museum, resting gently inside a large, trough-shaped urinal inside the men's room near the museum exit. Four of the five terrorists appeared at the First Southern Baptist Church of Topeka Kansas, in the middle of a Gay Conversion Therapy workshop, while the fifth terrorist, and the leader of the group, appeared – naked – on stage at a Klan rally in Tupelo, Mississippi – his mutilated body found later that afternoon in a dumpster behind a nearby Kentucky Fried Chicken take-out restaurant.

◊◊◊◊◊

'What about the future?' Hope Sherman wondered. 'Does the past cast a shadow so deep it reaches into the future?' She looked at Moe and Larry and grasped for context. 'And what about the future? Has it cast a shadow back on the present? To the past?'

Moe's 'body' shifted slightly – and she had the impression he was looking at her and tried to come to terms with him once again. Ten meters tall, his body roughly pyramidal in shape and perhaps five meters circumference at his 'base' – his scaly 'body' did not move, at all. This ship had, in effect, been built around him, and he was physically connected to the ship in almost every conceivable way. And the scales on his body? Those had been hardest for her to get used to.

Translucent blue near the top, then reds and browns beneath, the scales detached frequently and zoomed away on some errand or task. The blues were of course communicators, the reds negotiators, while the browns were somewhat analogous to a security team. All genetic hybrids, all hyper-specialized entities with essentially no free-will of their own, the 'scales' resided on Moe's 'flesh', drawing energy, taking sustenance from him. A part of him, in other words, yet somehow not quite.

She still found them disturbing, just as she had the first time she saw one, when she first encountered one of the Masters.

A blue scale detached from Moe and drifted down to her lap – and she recoiled at the sight of this new one. Two feet tall, he was a miniature of her brother Ted, only hairless and translucent blue. His voice even sounded somewhat Ted-like, though diminished by stature, and now he sat cross-legged on her thighs.

"Hey kiddo," ur-Ted said, his familiar mannerisms completely unnerving her. "We need to talk."

"Do we?"

"About the Phage. Wanna go grab something to eat?"

She turned her chair, rolled from the chamber – trying to hide her face from him. She knew they were getting better at reading emotions and understood the implications of that mastery, but her emissary was a tenuous one, her grip on Moe's loyalty conditional. She had to keep this alliance together at all cost, yet the communicator's presence was jarring – and Moe would know that, instantly.

'Deliberately so?' she wondered. Keeping your adversary off-balance was a key tactic in any negotiation. 'Well, that answers that question...'

She rolled to the living module off the docking platform and cycled the airlock, went inside her private cubicle.

"What would you like?" ur-Ted asked. "Burger and fries again, a chocolate malt?"

"How about eggs Benedict with smoked salmon, from the Place Pigalle at the Pike Place Market?"

"You're homesick today, aren't you?"

The plate appeared on her table a second later.

"I need a fork and knife, please."

And there they were. She picked them up, started on her breakfast.

"The Phage are now at light-speed times times ten to the fourth. At that velocity that will reach this system in twenty years, but they are still under heavy acceleration. We will revise their arrival time when we have more accurate data."

"Okay. So what's bothering Moe?"

"There is no work underway on colony ships for your people. What you called political gridlock has stalemated your governments. Threats. Posturing. Attempts have been made on Smithfield, Collins, and your brother. There appears to be no awareness among vast numbers of your population of our existence. Various factions are uniting against our alliance. We think this is pointless, we think a renegotiation of terms is warranted."

"I do too."

"Excuse me? Did I hear you correctly? You do too?"

"Yes. And I have an idea..."

◊◊◊◊◊

Part II: 'Which scarce the shade of coming eve can banish from the sky'

Byron, I See Thee Weep – The Hebrew Melodies

Perhaps controllers under Cheyenne Mountain were the first to spot the object, or maybe those at Baikonur II were first, but within moments NORAD increased it's defense posture from DEFCON 4 to 2 – and Secretary of Defense Donald Burke notified a still-shaken president that the Hyperion Contact was emerging from behind the moon. Twenty minutes later, NORAD radar sites along the Labrador Sea picked up seven new targets in formation – and all had simply appeared 'out of nowhere' – and all were now closing on earth.

"How big are they?" the president asked Paul Kirkland, his National Security Advisor.

"The Dark Side object appears to have a diameter of roughly twenty miles; the seven new targets appear identical in size, but their field displacement is different – heavier mass I'm told." Kirkland's encrypted line to NORAD chimed again, and he answered, listened to the general in command as he updated information, then Kirkland cut the connection. "Mr President, a ninth object has appeared. About 5800 miles above Antarctica. Uh, sir, the apparent diameter of this ship exceeds 1500 miles."

The president turned and looked over the White House lawn. "Did you say 1500 miles?"

"Yessir."

"Antarctica?"

"Yessir."

"Stationary?"

"No, sir. Descending, moving north northwest, projected to skirt the Chilean and Peruvian coasts, then continue offshore until it moves up our Pacific coast."

"Interesting."

"Mr President?"

"No way we'll be able to keep a lid on this any longer. My guess is they'll pull an Independence Day. Position over our major cities, try to scare the shit out of the general population."

"That's a possibility, sir."

"Okay. Shut down the stock exchanges, close the banks. ATM withdrawals only, initiate full DEFCON ONE guidelines."

"Air traffic, Mr President?"

"I said full DEFCON guidelines, Paul. Air and rail traffic, shut down the interstates, activate the emergency broadcast network. Full emergency food distribution using the National Guard, the whole nine yards."

"Martial Law, Mr President?"

He leaned back in his chair, looked at the ceiling. "Let's get the media to contain the story. If a panic starts, give 'em a half hour then pre-empt them, cut 'em all off. Just replay the policies," the president said, "give people a few days to habituate, get used to the threat..."

"If we have that long, sir."

"Oh, we have time. Remember what Smithfield said? What he said we should do? 'Tell 'em about building ships. Let the people know,' he said. Pretty good opening move. Cut off our policy options, incite hysteria, breakdown public confidence in national institutions. Yes...an interesting first move."

"And? How do you want to counter it?"

"Counter it? Are you kidding me? That's the goddamn Death Star up there, Paul. I'm not sure there's anything we can do – that wouldn't simply piss them off."

"So? How do we defend against them?"

"We listen. Listen and learn, because that's about all we can do. If we make a stupid move they'll shut us down. They'll begin a disinformation campaign. We'll lose that one, too."

"How do you know that, Mr President?"

"Because that's what I'd do," he said, pointing at the sky, "if that was me up there with five Aces tucked up my sleeve."

◊◊◊◊◊

Amanda and her friends were in a funky-festive mood – but finally, it was time to celebrate! After being grounded the first month of summer vacation, this was her first night out, and her mom had just dropped her off for a sleepover at Kiley's mom's house. Amanda and Kiley had been best friends all through elementary and middle school – but next year? The really big adventure started: High School! Still, she was pissed – her mom had nearly ruined everything, caught Kiley and all her friends in the pool out back the afternoon school let out – with a bunch of beer – and Justin Landry, with his hands where they weren't supposed to be. Now, after spending a month at the Westside Pentecostal 'Vacation Bible School' – she was...free at last–Gawd-almighty–free at last!

"So, what'd they make you do there?" Kiley asked.

"If I ever see another Charlton Heston movie again, I'll die..."

"Who?"

"Doesn't matter...I hear the new Independence Day sequel is pretty good...think we can get your mom to take us? I think it's playing at the Westside Galleria?"

"Uh-huh...and Justin's going to be there too, I suppose?"

Kiley's mom was so-o-o kewl, too. Dropped them off with plenty of money to see the movie – with some leftover for snacks, but Look At That Line! Sheesh! The four thirty showing was sold out, so now they'd have to wait a whole fifteen minutes to get into the four forty-five! And...where was Justin?

Then people were gasping, looking at the sky and pointing, so of course Amanda and Kiley turned and looked too. No boiling, flaming clouds this time, just a really big – spaceship– looking thing. She yawned, looked around – hoping Justin was going to make it in time for the show, then turned back to look at the advertising thingy up there floating by.

"Man," she heard someone say, "I wonder how much the studio had to pay for that thing?"

"Gets your attention though..." someone else said.

"Wow!" Justin said, and Amanda wheeled around to see him and did her best to appear bored. "That thing's really big."

"Just one of those blimp things. No big deal..."

But the mass of the ship was huge, and no measurement protocol was available to quickly calculate a mass this large, let alone distortions to the earth's 'gravity well' it's passing caused. As the ship closed on the southern California coast, people, cars, cats and dogs – even garbage – anything and everything not firmly affixed to the earth – began to float free – weightless as the ship passed.

And as the ship faded from view, still heading north along the coastline, the temporary distortions in the earth's 'gravity well' dissipated, and everything and everyone simply settled back to the surface...

"Wow, that was SO kewl..." Amanda said. "I hear they're going to – like – have a ride like that at Magic Mountain this summer! Oh! This is going to be such a – kewl – summer!"

And so she and Kiley – and Justin – walked into the theater, all jazzed about seeing a bunch of aliens coming back to earth on the silver screen – "I bet they're really going to kick ass this time!" she said – all while Justin wondered if he'd be able to slip a finger inside...

◊◊◊◊◊

News outlets were curiously silent about these brief sightings, and what imagery and commentary that did "come out" did so through less conventional 'online' channels. Most of this smartphone based imagery was grainy enough to allow experts to debunk the entire affair, and reports of distorted gravity were put down to h-h-hysteria – and nothing more.

The President had called in a lot of favors to get this done, and he was happy with the results.

◊◊◊◊◊

Hope Sherman conferred with her translator, her urTed, or as Sumner liked to call her brother – Spud. The eight remaining transports – Moe's colony ships – had been given coordinates and times, and Sherman smiled at the allegorical significance of his choices. Moe apparently had a sense of humor...or he was a real gambler.

◊◊◊◊◊

Heavy thunderstorms appeared over the Eurasian landmass, torrential rains began that afternoon, and the largest displays of undulatus asperatus clouds ever recorded followed during the evening. The eerie formations unsettled people from the Russian steppes to the desert regions south of Tehran. The fearful faithful gathered and pointed at the sky, sure that God was about to visit a mighty wrath on them all.

The first ships, completely invisible to radar, appeared over Tehran and Moscow in the deep of night, and not a half hour later over Mecca and Jerusalem. St Peter's in Rome and All Saints' Church in Wittenberg followed. One more appeared before sunrise over a forest glade in the foothills of the Himalayas, and later that morning, at noon local time, the last ship drifted into place over a small Shinto shrine not far from Osaka.

The significance of these locations was not lost to our world's religious leaders, and within hours almost the entire populace of the earth was on their knees, praying to objects in the sky, asking for forgiveness – all wondering what they had done to anger their God – and what might happen next.

And yet the objects remained motionless – and silent – for days, then weeks.

During this period all the earth's mammalian marine life swam to seven points in the seven seas, and they waited in quiet depths, perhaps not knowing what was coming but completely unconcerned about their future.

◊◊◊◊◊

"The Phage. They approach at velocities we have never seen. It is a matter of weeks now, before they arrive."

Hope Sherman looked at her Spud as he paced back and forth on the bed, looking for all the world just like Ted now. There was hair on his head now, his genetically derived illusion almost complete.

"So, there is no time?" Sherman said.

"Your leadership is paralyzed. Industries have collapsed, even agricultural productivity has ceased. Your people continue to pray – even as they starve to death. This is the most irrational display we have ever seen, and it may account for the increase in velocity we have noted. The Phage will not let this force spread among the stars."

"The colony ships?"

"Perhaps, but you know how the Master's feel about this."

"I do, but..."

"But you feel responsible. You think that if you'd never built Hyperion, none of this would have happened."

"Yes."

"Perhaps. Yet the Phage would have noticed such an intense and irrational discontinuity sooner or later. Perhaps we could have completed our mission without your assistance, yet time distortions from your seas completely altered our plans. Your arrival made our intervention possible. We are grateful."

"But not enough to...?"

"We will try. That is all we can say now. We will try."

Hope Sherman looked at 'her Spud,' her translator, and wondered what he felt about humanity, yet at times like this she asked herself if he even felt anything. As just one small part of a larger, rapidly evolving being, and with the constant input of hundreds of translators and negotiators passing through his being every waking moment, Sherman was amazed Spud could sort through the incoming data fast enough to form even one coherent sentence – let alone help formulate long term strategies. Yet she had to consider when she was talking to Spud she was also in direct contact with Moe – who was himself linked to Masters across the galaxy. The idea was an impossible point of view to wrap her head around, and even after months among them it still troubled her, yet she found the process oddly comforting. When she spoke with Spud she wasn't getting one point of view – she was getting hundreds – simultaneously. 'Spud' essentially collated data and presented a consensus point of view, with his Master, the one she called Moe, in effect commanding what was relayed, what she heard.

And what she'd heard still troubled her.

Humanity was irrelevant. A sideshow to the main event. There was one 'extra' colony ship available to transport humans, as well as space on the large command ship that had off-loaded cargo on Mars. Maybe two million people could be resettled.

But who? Who would go?

And who would choose?

◊◊◊◊◊

urJenn sat on Sumner's lap, in her way trying to console him. Liz and Carol looked at one another, then Ted stood and walked to the rail, hopped over to Hyperion and disappeared below.

"So? That's it? These hell raisers, the Phage? They get here in a few weeks, find the remains of the human race and lay waste to the planet? Is that what you're telling me is going to happen? The human race ends in a few weeks, maybe a month from now?"

"As I said, there may be room for more of you. Perhaps two million humans in total, more if we have less mass to move. A world is being prepared even now, but there is no guarantee the Phage won't respond to your movement. We must keep the others on a different world, an ocean world well away from your new world. We must protect them at all cost, but you will be on your own – once we've helped you re-establish industry and agriculture. What you do with this new world will be your species future, and perhaps it's legacy."

Carol stood and walked over to Hyperion, leaving Liz and Sumner to look up into the night sky. He felt her leave then too, his Jennifer, and he wondered where she went, and why – but it didn't matter now. Nothing really mattered now.

He, his people, even this world – had just been sentenced to death – and now they all sat in their collective twilight, watching the last of the sun fade against the purple mountains majesty of their home.

And their last trip to Cassis had been spooky, almost terrifying, with only a few farmers present selling produce and roving bands pillaging food. For the past several days they had all diving for fish – and finding nothing – and now he understood why...

"Perhaps? Is that what she said?" Liz asked.

"Yup – if things work out, maybe two million."

"Seems kind of small, when you think about it."

"Hmm? What's that," Sumner said, lost in a passing thought.

"Two million...people. That's not a lot, is it?"

"It's better than nothing, I suppose."

"Who will they choose?"

"I have no idea," but he knew the ideal candidate would be young enough to propagate the species, and intelligent enough to be valuable to a re-emergent technological society. 'That leaves me out, too,' he said to himself.