"Edward M. Lerner - Moonstruck" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lerner Edward M)

 - Chapter 2




CHAPTER 2
The ramp struck the concrete runway with a solid thunk. The walkway faced about 20 degrees away
from the crowd, a shallow enough angle that no one moved. Necks twisted and craned slightly towards
the shadowed opening. An inner doorтАФan airlock port?тАФremained closed.
Kyle snuck a peek at the meter in his pocket. The counter showed an increase in radiation levels since
the ramp had descended, but not enough to worry about. Still, he chided himself for losing the argument
that the welcoming party wear dosimeters. That battle lost, he'd done the best he could: the meter in his
coat would beep if his cumulative exposure exceeded a preset threshold.
Inference one, he thought, eyeing once more the cracked runway. Radiation plus massive weight,
enough weight for a major amount of shielding, denote nuclear power. Then a sharp intake of breath
from the diplomat beside him returned Kyle's attention to the ramp. As he watched, the airlock door
cycled silently open.
Four aliens cantered down the incline, their scales iridescent in the sunlight. The ramp boomed under
thudding hooves, with a tone that reminded Kyle of ceramic. The creatures halted on the runway at the
base of the ramp. For clothing, each wore only a many-pocketed belt from which hung a larger sack like
a Scottish sporran. Only slight variations in skin tone, all shades of light green, differentiated them. Each
had about twelve inches on Kyle, himself a six-footer.
The aliens didn't turn toward the human dignitaries. If rude by human standards, the position nonetheless
made sense: a face-to-face stance would have given a good view to only one pair of eyes. They're not
human, Kyle reminded himself. For them to act like us would be strange.
One of the aliens walked slowly toward the waiting humans. Pads on the bottom of his hooves rasped
against concrete. Extending both arms, hands open, palms upward, the alien stopped directly in front of
Harold Shively Robeson.
"Thank you for meeting me, Mr. President," said the creature, the bass voice rumbling eerily from the
top of his head. "I am Ambassador H'ffl. I bring you greetings from the Galactic Commonwealth."
The President reached out and clasped one of the alien's hands. "On behalf of the people of America and
planet Earth, welcome."
***
So many mysteries; so little time.
Kyle stood in the White House basement command post of the science-analysis team. There was no
place on Earth he'd rather be, except possibly upstairs in the Oval Office where the President and sundry
diplomats met with the F'thk themselves. Should he be here, helping to make sense of what data they
already had, or there trying to gather more? The obvious answer was yes.
"How's it going?"
He'd been staring at a wall covered with Post-it notes. Each paper square bore, in scribbled form, one
comment about the aliens. As he turned to the doorway where Britt Arledge had appeared, one of the
drafted wizards from DOE did yet another reshuffle of the stickies. Two more squares, green ones,
denoting inferences, appeared between the rearranged yellow factoids. One of the relocated squares, its
adhesive dissipated by too many moves, fluttered to the floor. A secretary scurried over to rewrite its

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content on a new sheet.
Kyle gestured over toward his red-eyed boss, wondering who looked more exhausted. "We're learning."