On Wednesday morning between eight and nine o’clock, when the remnant of the P-Seventeen team arrived at Susan’s house, Priscilla was nowhere in sight. Since Brian was serving breakfast as usual, and Susan was greeting people nonchalantly, they all relaxed and assumed their leader would appear soon.
At nine o’clock, Susan cleared her throat. “You’ll have to forgive our . . .”
Just then, the spare bedroom door opened.
Priscilla had dressed nicely and brushed her hair, as always, but everyone could see that she wasn’t well. Several people were thinking death’s doorstep, but they kept their opinions to themselves. She was visibly shaking as she put a few things onto a plate.
“She didn’t sleep at all last night, so be nice to her!” Brian asserted from the kitchen.
Priscilla flashed him a dirty look, but as she sat down in her usual seat by the fireplace, her expression softened. “I guess I should’ve expected you guys to notice . . .”
Sarah, Lisa, and Tanya all nodded.
“I’m not actually sick. I just . . . can’t relax, can’t think, and my whole body is vibrating all the time. The only thing that brings me any relief is, you know, dancing. That’s what I was doing in the bedroom until just a minute ago, so I don’t know how long I’ll be able to sit with you.”
Retired Colonel Ma-soran made solid eye contact with the girl. “You just
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do what you need to do, and listen as much was you want. We’ve got reports from just about everyone today, on the book, new endorsements, climate-change research, the probe, everything, so we’ll just work our way through them, and you can jump in any time you want.”
Priscilla smiled weakly. “Thanks. I don’t know if I’ll do much jumping-in, but I’ll try to listen, even if I need to get up and move around . . .”
At the meeting, all the usual topics were discussed, with Priscilla most often in the dining room dancing slowly to music only she could hear. Doctor Po-selem speculated further on the implications of the timeline change.
Colonel Bo-torin reported that the space probe was still decelerating and on course for the planet. Po Publications had sold or given away four million copies of a certain inconspicuous paperback book, and was preparing to print another million.
All morning long, and especially at lunch, Brian made Priscilla eat and drink.
After prolonged conversation, the officers and professors departed reluctantly, worry for their beloved leader clearly showing on their faces.
Once they were gone, Priscilla searched the television channels, then left it on a news station, with the volume low, as she continued trying to comfort her shaking body, mind, and soul.
By mid-afternoon, she, and almost everyone else on the planet, knew that something very strange was about to happen. Whether it was wonderful or terrible was a matter of opinion.
“What do you MEAN it’s going to land in Capital Park?” the five-star general barked.
“It’s now close enough to calculate exactly when and where it will reach the planet, Sir, and several scientists around the world have already done so.
Their findings closely match. It’s trajectory and deceleration are perfect to bring it to a soft landing in the middle of Capital Park tomorrow morning at zero-nine hundred hours, fourteen minutes, twenty-five seconds, local time, plus or minus a few feet and a few seconds.”
The general looked ready to explode. “And I suppose these findings are all
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over the radio and television?”
“Um . . . yes, Sir. That’s how we found out.”
“Damn!”
In the living room of Susan’s house, Priscilla pondered the situation for another hour while nibbling on snacks, stretching, slowly dancing, or listening to news broadcasts.
As late afternoon was passing, she finally knew what she needed to do.
She turned, saw Susan at her little desk in the corner of the dining room, and spoke. “I don’t know how this probe business is connected to what our team is doing, but every nerve in my body is screaming at me that it somehow is.
We need to get to Capital Park.”
“I’m a step ahead of you, just made a list of the airlines that can get us there.” As the psychologist finished speaking, she reached for the telephone.
Priscilla smiled for possibly the first time that day.
Brian set a chocolate milkshake on Susan’s desk, then carried two more to the living room. “Sit and snuggle with me. Susan can handle that.”
Priscilla tried to lose herself in the closeness with her favorite boy and the delicious flavor of her favorite drink, but she couldn’t stop herself from noticing that Susan was making call after call, without announcing any success. After a while, they started hearing sighs, and then faint growls.
Eventually the telephone was hung up with a slight bang, and no more sounds came from the dining room.
A minute later, Susan lowered herself into a stuffed chair in the living room. “Sorry, kids. The rest of the world beat us to it.”
The five-star general didn’t go home for dinner. He got a tray from the building’s cafeteria, then sat in his office, fuming.
A quarter hour later, he finally turned to the shelf behind his desk and grabbed a telephone directory labeled, Department of Defense Emergency Use Only. Finding the number he wanted, he tapped it in and waited.
“This is General Ko-doran at the Department of Defense. If the mayor is not in his office, then I need you to connect me to him wherever he . . . he is?
Good. I need to speak to him now.”
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The general waited, sometimes hearing hushed conversations in the background.
“Mayor Do-salan! General Ko-doran at Defense. Looks like you are sitting on Ground Zero, so I’m sending a tactical strike force to completely surround Capital Park so that whoever or whatever lands there tomorrow morning . . .
what do you mean, NO? ”
“NO is exactly what I mean, General. This is a scientific and cultural event, and there is no evidence of any threat of any kind. So unless Congress has declared war on our space probe, or some evidence of a genuine threat comes to light, I’m instructing all departments to handle the situation carefully and without any presumption of hostility . . . No, sorry, that’s not happening either, but it may set your mind at ease that I’m establishing a circle two hundred yards wide in the middle of the park where no people will be allowed . . .”
General Ba-kerga had never felt so frustrated.
His two adult safe-house guests were more trouble than any children had ever been. They made demands, quarreled, or created security problems every five or ten minutes, it seemed. Lisa was tirelessly going back and forth from the kitchen, to the T.V. room, to the laundry room, leaving George to handle the offices and the guard rooms.
Then the telephone rang.
“What! . . . Sorry, Priscilla, we’re just a bit stressed out right now, but our guests are only here for a few more hours, so don’t even think about coming in
. . .”
He listened for a minute.
“Absolutely and completely not possible. The entire military is on alert because of the probe, nothing but high-priority flights going anywhere. Just as an example of how tight things are, I can’t even get a security guard.”
He listened to Priscilla say a few reassuring things, then ended the call.
The moment he looked up, he saw his next problem. “Hey! Can you not SEE
the red line on the floor across the stairway?”
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Five-star General Ko-doran discussed a number of possible tactics, none of which looked promising, with the few aides he could find in the building. The mayor of the city appeared to be on solid ground, legally speaking.
“He may have the upper hand legally,” one aide said, a two-star general with a reputation for getting things done, “but you will always have superior power physically. You just have to use it.”
General Ko-doran eventually dismissed the aides and took a deep breath.
As twenty-one hundred was approaching, he picked up the telephone and punched in another number.
“Colonel Bo-hefra, General Ko-doran. How many tanks do you have that could get to Capital Park by morning, using only minor roads and streets that won’t draw attention?”
He
listened.
“That’s less than I was hoping, but I guess it’ll have to do. I want them around the park by zero-eight hundred, with their gun barrels pointed at the middle . . .”
Priscilla cried like a baby in Susan’s arms. “I feel completely useless . . .
like I’m supposed to do something . . . the most important thing I’ve ever done . . . but I can’t do anything . . .” Her words faded away into deep sobs.
Susan continued to hold her friend, saying just enough to let Priscilla know she was still listening, but feeling equally powerless.
Brian sat near, ready to get anything they needed, but knowing this was a moment best handled by women.
As ten o’clock was passing, Susan needed to take a break, so Priscilla snuggled close to Brian.
“I bet you won’t be sleeping again tonight,” he said, just for something to say.
“Don’t think I could, even if I was dead.”
He laughed, then got serious again. “Me and Susan won’t sleep either.”
She looked up at him. “Thanks. Even though I feel very small and useless right now, I know I’m the luckiest girl in the world in lots of ways.”
He pulled her close. “You know, if we’re gonna be awake all night, waiting for . . . whatever’s gonna happen in Capital Park . . . we don’t have to sit here
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the whole time. There’s an all-night diner at the truck stop, and that old cinema plays movies and serves pizza all night. Some of the movies they play in the wee hours are pretty bad . . .”
Priscilla chuckled for the first time that evening. “Sounds like fun, even the bad-movie part. Let’s see what Susan thinks . . .”
As Susan drove, they quickly discovered that no one else, in the entire city of several million people, was planning to get any sleep that night, either.
Streets were jammed with cars, sidewalks crowded with people. Some business had boarded up their windows. Others were open and had two or three big guys at the door — sometimes real security guards, other times just hired thugs.
The most popular places were taverns and diners with a television, and every one was tuned to coverage of the drama two thousand miles away in Capital Park.
Not long after midnight, the trio managed to find a pizza parlor that had one table left, and only a small cover charge. They soon realized why — the place had no television or radio, just a little canned country music.
They looked at each other and all nodded.
As they got settled in the little booth by the kitchen door, Priscilla took a deep breath and found her second wind. “There may have been very few people awake last night, but tonight I’ve got lots of company!”