Footfall

Roger Brooks walked from NASA headquarters back toward the White House. There’d been nothing for him at the NASA press conference. It was great for Congressman Wes Dawson that he was going to go up to the Soviet Kosmograd space station to watch the aliens arrive. It might even make a story, but Mavis would take care of the news part, and there was plenty of time to collect background.

For a minute he’d thought he had something. Jeanette Crichton discovers the satellite and Wes Dawson goes to the President… Not too many would know about the connection between Linda Crichton Gillespie and Carlotta Dawson. He was still thinking about that when the NASA press people explained it all in loving detail.

Captain Crichton calls her brother-in-law, who calls Congressman Dawson, who goes to see the President. All out in the open for everyone to see. Nothing hidden at all. Damn.

It was a good twenty-minute walk to the Mayflower. Even so, Roger got there before his lunch appointment. The grill at the Mayflower was convenient, even if the food wasn’t distinguished. Roger would have preferred one of the French cuisine places off K Street, but today he was meeting John Fox. Fox wasn’t someone you ate an expensive lunch with, no matter who was paying. Brooks ordered a glass of white wine and leaned back to relax until Fox showed up.

You can’t get anywhere in Washington, D.C., without a coat and tie. Sure enough, Fox was in disguise, in a gray business suit and a tie that didn’t glare. It wouldn’t have fooled anybody. His shirt cuffs gave him away: they were much larger than his wrists. Lean as a ferret, with bony shoulders and fat-free muscle showing even in the hands and face, John Fox looked like he’d just walked out of a desert.

Roger worked his way out of the booth to shake his hand. “How are you, John? Have you heard the news?”

“Yeah.” They slid into the booth. “I’m surprised you’re here.”

For a fact, this wasn’t the day a militant defender of deserts could get the public’s attention! Roger had toyed with the idea of chasing after news of the “alien spacecraft.” But those who knew anything would be telling anyone who would listen, and he’d be fighting for scraps.

For a while Roger had wondered. Aliens, coming from Saturn. It didn’t make sense, and Roger was sure it was some kind of trick, probably CIA. When he tried to check that out, though, he ran into a barrage of genuine bewilderment. If there were any secrets hidden inside the President’s announcement, it was going to take a lot more than a few hours to find them. And John Fox had given Roger stories in the past.

So he said, “The day I skip an appointment with a known news source, you call the police, because I’ve been kidnapped. Now tell me what you’re doing in Washington. I know you don’t like cities.”

Fox nodded. “Have you heard what they’re doing to China Lake?” When Brooks looked blank, he amplified. “The HighBeam.”

For a moment nothing clicked. Then: of course, he meant the microwave receiving station. An orbiting solar power plant had to have a receiver. “It’s just a test facility. It’s only going to cover about an acre.”

“Oh. sure. And the orbiting power plant only covers about a square mile of sky, and won’t send down more than a thousand megawatts even if everything works. Roger, don’t you understand about test cases? if it works, they’ll do it bigger. They’ll cover the whole damn sky with silver rectangles. I like the sky! I like desert, too. This thing has to be stopped now.”

“I wonder if the Soviets won’t stop us before you do.”

“They haven’t yet.” Fox looked thoughtful. “All the science types say this thing isn’t a weapon. I wonder if the Russians believe

that?’

Roger shrugged.

“Anyway, I thought I’d better be here. Flew in on the red-eye last night. But nobody’s keeping appointments. Nobody but you.” He glanced up to see the waitress hovering. “Bacon burger. Tomato slices, no fries. Hot tea.”

“Chef’s salad. Heineken.” Brooks made notes, but mostly out of habit. Of course no one was keeping appointments! Aliens were coming to Earth. “They tell me it’ll be Clean power,” Roger said. “Help eliminate acid rain.”

Fox shook his head. “Never works. They get more power, they use more power. Look. They tell you an electric razor doesn’t use much power, right? And it doesn’t. But what about the power it took to make the damn thing? You use it a few years, maybe not that long, and Out it goes.

“The more electric power we get, the more they’re tempted to keep up the throw away society. No real conservation. Nothing lasts. Doesn’t have to last. Roger, no matter how clean they make it, it pollutes some. They’ll never learn to do without until they have to do without.”

“Okay.” Brooks jotted more notes. “So they’ll clutter up the deserts and block the stars and give us bad habits. What else is wrong with them?”