One of the others was a military man. He wore stars on his shoulders.
Another was a little fellow with patent leather hair and a tight, cold face.
The fourth man was somewhat undersized and chubby and had eyes of the
brightest china blue I had ever seen.
I walked until I was three feet or so away from them and it was not
until then that I felt the first slight pressure of the barrier. I backed up
a step and looked at the senator.
‘You must be Senator Gibbs,’ I said. ‘I’m Bradshaw Carter. I’m the one
Sherwood talked with you about.’
‘Glad to meet you, Mr Carter,’ said the senator. ‘I had expected that
Gerald would be with you.’
‘I wanted him to come,’ I said, ‘but he felt he shouldn’t. There was a
conflict of opinion in the village. The mayor wanted to appoint a committee
and Sherwood opposed it rather violently.’
The senator nodded. ‘I see,’ be said. ‘So you’re the only one we’ll
see.’
‘If you want others…’
‘Oh, not at all,’ he said. ‘You are the man with the information.’
‘Yes, I am,’ I said.
‘Excuse me,’ said the senator. ‘Mr Carter, General Walter Billings.’
‘Hello, General,’ I said.
It was funny, saying hello and not shaking hands.
‘Arthur Newcombe,’ said the senator.
The man with the tight, cold face smiled frostily at me. One could see
at a glance he meant to stand no nonsense. He was, I guessed, more than a
little outraged that such a thing as the barrier could have been allowed to
happen.
‘Mr Newcombe,’ said the senator, ‘is from the State Department. And Dr
Roger Davenport, a biologist – I might add, an outstanding one.’
‘Good morning, young man,’ said Davenport. ‘Would it be out of line to
ask what happened to you?’
I grinned at him, liking the man at once. ‘I had a slight
misunderstanding with a fellow townsman.’
‘The town, I would imagine,’ Billings said, ‘is considerably upset. In
a little while law and order may become something of a problem.’
‘I am afraid so, sir,’ I said.
‘This may take some time?’ asked the senator.
‘A little time,’ I said.
‘There were chairs,’ the general said. ‘Sergeant, where are…?’
Even as he spoke a sergeant and two privates, who had been standing by
the roadside, came forward with some folding chairs.
‘Catch,’ the sergeant said to me.
He tossed a chair through the barrier and I caught it. By the time I
had it unfolded and set up, the four on the other side of the barrier had
their chairs as well.
It was downright crazy – the five of us sitting there in the middle of
the road on flimsy folding chairs.
‘Now,’ said the senator, ‘I suppose we should get started. General, how
would you propose that we might proceed?
The general crossed his knees and settled down. He considered for a
moment.
‘This man,’ he finally said, ‘has something we should hear. Why don’t
we simply sit here and let him tell it to us?
‘Yes, by all means,’ said Newcombe. ‘Let’s hear what he has to say. I
must say, Senator…’
‘Yes,’ the senator said, rather hastily. ‘I’ll stipulate that it is
somewhat unusual. This is the first time I have ever attended a hearing out
in the open, but…’
‘It was the only way,’ said the general, ‘that seemed feasible.’
‘It’s a longish story,’ I warned them. ‘And some of it may appear
unbelievable.’
‘So is this,’ said the senator. ‘This, what do you call it, barrier.’
‘And,’ said Davenport, ‘you seem to be the only man who has any
information.’
‘Therefore,’ said the senator, ‘let us proceed forthwith.’ So, for the
second time, I told my story. I took my time and told it carefully, trying
to cover everything I’d seen. They did not interrupt me. A couple of times I
stopped to let them ask some questions, but the first time Davenport simply
signalled that I should go on and the second time all four of them just
waited until I did continue.
It was an unnerving business worse than being interrupted. I talked
into a silence and I tried to read their faces, tried to get some clues as
to how much of it they might be accepting.
But there was no sign from them, no faintest flicker of expression on
their faces. I began to feel a little silly over what I was telling them.
I finished finally and leaned back in my chair.
Across the barrier, Newcombe stirred uneasily. ‘You’ll excuse me,
gentlemen,’ he said, ‘if I take exception to this man’s story. I see no
reason why we should have been dragged out here…’
The senator interrupted him. ‘Arthur,’ he said, ‘my good friend, Gerald
Sherwood, vouched for Mr Carter. I have known Gerald Sherwood for more than
thirty years and he is, I must tell you, a most perceptive man, a
hard-headed businessman with a tinge of imagination. Hard as this account,
or parts of it, may be to accept, I still believe we must accept it as a
basis for discussion. And, I must remind you, this is the first sound
evidence we have been offered.’
‘I,’ said the general, ‘find it hard to believe a word of it. But with
the evidence of this barrier, which is wholly beyond any present
understanding, we undoubtedly stand in a position where we must accept
further evidence beyond our understanding.’
‘Let us,’ suggested Davenport, ‘pretend just for the moment that we
believe it all. Let’s try to see if there may not be some basic…’
‘But you can’t!’ exploded Newcombe. ‘It flies in the face of everything
we know.’
‘Mr Newcombe,’ said the biologist, ‘man has flown in the face of
everything he knew time after time. He knew, not too many hundreds of years
ago, that the Earth was the centre of the universe. He knew, less than
thirty years ago, that man could never travel to the other planets. He knew,
a hundred years ago, that the atom was indivisible. And what have we here –
the knowledge that time never can be understood or manipulated, that it is
impossible for a plant to be intelligent. I tell you, sir…’
‘Do you mean,’ the general asked, ‘that you accept all this?’
‘No,’ said Davenport, ‘I’ll accept none of it. To do so would be very
unobjective. But I’ll hold judgement in abeyance. I would, quite frankly,
jump at the chance to work on it, to make observations and perform
experiments and…’
‘You may not have the time,’ I said.
The general swung toward me. ‘Was there a time limit set?’ he asked.
‘You didn’t mention it.’
‘No. But they have a way to prod us. They can exert some convincing
pressure any time they wish. They can start this barrier to moving.’
‘How far can they move it?
‘Your guess is as good as mine. Ten miles. A hundred miles. A thousand.
I have no idea.’
‘You sound as if you think they could push us off the Earth.’
‘I don’t know. I would rather think they could.’
‘Do you think they would?’
‘Maybe. If it became apparent that we were delaying. I don’t think
they’d do it willingly. They need us. They need someone who can use their
knowledge, who can make it meaningful. It doesn’t seem that, so far, they’ve
found anyone who can.’
‘But we can’t hurry,’ the senator protested. ‘We will not be rushed.
There is a lot to do. There must be discussions at a great many different
levels – at the governmental level, at the international level, at the
economic and scientific levels.’
‘Senator,’ I told him, ‘there is one thing no one seems to grasp. We
are not dealing with another nation, nor with other humans. We are dealing
with an alien people…’
‘That makes no difference,’ said the senator. ‘We must do it our way.’
‘That would be fine,’ I said, ‘if you can make the aliens understand.’
‘They’ll have to wait,’ said Newcombe, primly. And I knew that it was
hopeless, that here was a problem which could not be solved, that the human
race would bungle its first contact with an alien people. There would be
talk and argument, discussion, consultation – but all on the human level,
all from the human viewpoint, without a chance that anyone would even try to
take into account the alien point of view.
‘You must consider,’ said the senator, ‘that they are the petitioners,
they are the ones who made the first approach, they are asking access to our
world, not we to theirs.’
‘Five hundred years ago,’ I said, ‘white men came to America. They were
the petitioners then…’
‘But the Indians,’ said Newcombe, ‘were savages, barbarians…’
I nodded at him. ‘You make my point exactly.’
‘I do not,’ Newcombe told me frostily, ‘appreciate your sense of
humour.’
‘You mistake me,’ I told him. ‘It was not said in humour.’