Both Sides Now

Prolog

The two sides met in neutral space, over two hundred thousand lightyears from the nearest galaxy. One spoke. "You wished this meeting outside our usual communicating. Are you prepared to cease attempts to gain control of yonder galaxy?"

"Your arrogance is always amusing. We shall leverage control of the entire galaxy."

"Leverage? You jest. You waste your energy and time with an unimportant planet in an outer arm."

"We'll decide for ourselves what is unimportant. One can leverage from near the rim."

"Even were it an important galaxy, you waste your energy and time. It is merely the second ranking in size of a particularly small cluster. By using such a minor planet you cannot do other than fail ultimately even if the galaxy were of greater significance."

"Would you care to allow this galaxy be decided by our success on this planet?"

"It matters little. If that amuses you, so be it. We shall observe, as always."

"Agreed. We shall meet here to note how the issue was decided in our usual time span."

The two sides departed to their respective domains.

Part One

Professor John Henry Fyste swept his arm over his very cluttered desk. Books, papers, computers, sentimental items went flying. His assistant jumped at the crashes. "Bah, I've had enough of this crap. Degrees and major publications in everything from philosophy through medicine and law to astrophysics, and what sort of students do I get? Idiots who believe in ancient alien visitors, fools who can't understand the meaning of metaphysics, nincompoops who aren't aware blood circulates. I tell you, Carter, the entire human race is composed of jackasses with less brains than that poodle standing by the door. And why the hell is there a dog in here?"

Poor overworked Carter twitched at the sight of the dog. The door and windows had been shut. Where did it come from?

Fyste reached out to the dog. "Here boy." The poodle just sat. Fyste turned to Carter. "Go get something we can use as a leash, and then get him out of here before he decides to poop."

Carter left the room to seek something to use as a leash.

A cloud enveloped the poodle. The cloud became totally opaque, and a somewhat human-like figure stepped out of the cloud.

"What the blazes...."

"Ah, Prof. Fyste, allow me to introduce myself. I am eVistovel, a representative of an advanced species wishing to aid you in your work."

Fyste sat down heavily and stared. The "representative" was about 2.2 meters tall, weighed perhaps 75 kilos. His skin tone was close to that of purple grapes, with a hint of what might be large scaling. There was no hair showing. Ears were larger and more pointed than a human's. There seemed to be six fingers on each hand with claws rather than nails at their ends. Bilateral symmetry was fairly close to that of a human. It was clothed in something resembling a long and heavy tunic. Eyes had a definite red color.

"This is ridiculous. If this isn't a grotesque hoax, you should be appearing before our government."

"Not at all. No one outside this room will learn of my existence. You are not even to tell Carter. The ... ah, let us say association of galactic interests does not feel your planet is anywhere near ready for contact. However, certain interests feel that some degree of co-operation with you would be mutually beneficial."

"What was that name again?"

eVistovel repeated, and then spelled it.

"In our language the first letter of a name is capitalized, not the second."

"The e is a cultural or sociological marker whose intention you would not understand. The name is spelled correctly."

"Mmpf! So, what do you want with me?"

"We intend to aid you in some of your research, as well as help you in your human relationships."

"That's a load of...." Fyste broke off as the door opened and Carter re-entered the room. eVistovel vanished, replaced by the appearance of a fairly ordinary looking human male of middle years.

"I brought the leash, and there's a student outside waiting to see you for advisement." Carter stared at the stranger.

"The dog left of its own accord. Send the kid in. No doubt another one with no brains."

Carter left the room. A moment later a male student came in and looked around. "Prof. Fyste?", glancing at the two people in the room. On a sudden whim, Fyste pointed to eVistovel.

"So, young man, what is your name, and what major do you intend?" The alien seemed to know how to play this role well. Fyste was unimpressed, as the alien's knowledge of human language, the disguises of first a dog and now a human all spoke to long and careful study of Earth.

"Philip Langford, Professor. I'm not really certain about a major."

"Well, Philip, you need to fulfill certain required courses, and we can steer you to a mix of classes to help you find a major. Astronomy involves lots of math and physics, and is changing so fast thanks to various countries' space programs that everything you learn in your first year will be obsolete by the time you are a senior. Is that for you?"

The kid shuddered. "No way."

"Art? You will have to pick some art in which to create pieces of your own, painting, drawing, mobiles, sculpture, whatever, and also identify various artists from their work."

"I've no talent for art."

"Next we have the biological sciences. All of them will give you the fun of cutting up dead bodies of one sort or another at some point, and you'll develop squinty eyes looking through microscopes. How are you with the smell of formaldehyde?"

"Forget it...uh, sir."

"Chemistry? Work with toxics, maybe mix something wrong and have an explosion or a release of vile gases?"

"Maybe we could skip the sciences, Professor?"

"Economics will teach you all about business, the stock market, bonds, how to make money while dominating the lumpenproletariat and possibly evading the law and not go to prison?"

"I don't think so."

"History, the study of how little is known of humanity's sad past. The atrocities, murders, wars, genocides, the proud day an emperor was beheaded and his body left to rot by the side of a road."

"Yuck! Uh, sir."

"Literature, where you can read dull books by long dead authors."

"Does the university offer any fun majors?"

Fyste was beginning to enjoy this.

"Would you like physical education? To successfully fulfill this major, you have to be able to swim twenty laps in our Olympic size swimming pool, run a mile in under 4 minutes 20 seconds, pole vault not less than 7 feet six inches, do a fifty kilo bench press..."

The student said, "This sounds a bit too ambitious for me."

"Music? You must be able to play at least two instruments from sheet music previously unfamiliar to you, and identify not less than four different composers from hearing not more than three bars of music each. The composers could be from any nation and any time period from the Fifteen Hundreds on."

"No!" The student was starting to look shell-shocked. "I, uh, I'm sorry I took so much of your time, Professor. I'm rethinking whether I want to go to college or instead follow through on some contacts an army recruiter made with me."

"Splendid. I'm sure you will make excellent cannon fodder."

The would be student nearly ran from Fyste's office. After the door slammed Fyste started laughing, and then said, "I hope word of that interview doesn't get back to some Dean, or they'll take me off the list of advisors and ask the university senate to censure me. You do know that you, shall we say, exaggerated the requirements for most of those majors?"

"What a shame. Now shall we start on re-making you?"

******

That evening a newly made over Fyste had fresh and much more stylish clothing. His hair also was rearranged. With these changes Fyste found himself being coerced into accompanying eVistovel to Ohrbach's Bar. "The place is a hangout for students and faculty with nothing better to do with their lives. I do have better uses for my evenings than sitting around swilling beer and shooting the bull."

"Ah, John Henry--I hope you don't mind my calling you 'John Henry' if we are to be colleagues?" Fyste made a wry face and shrugged. "Splendid. You need to mix with the masses in preparation for your future. And what better place does your planet offer for such mixing than a bar? Not to denigrate the lumpenproletariat."

Fyste muttered, "I could name quite a few better places," but decided having allowed the make-over he might as well also allow himself to be dragged into Ohrbach's.

Inside eVistovel guided him past tables to the bar, where each ordered a beer. Fyste looked at his companion quizzically. "Your metabolism accepts beer?"

"We can handle almost anything with our superior metabolism. But let us guard our tongues on such matters when in public."

Fyste nodded as he picked up his mug. In doing this his elbow jostled the younger man next to him. "Hey, bozo, watch who you're pushing around!"

"Excuse me, we just got here, and I guess I wasn't being adequately careful for this crowd. Please accept my apology."

The offended one stared at Fyste as though questioning his sincerity. eVistovel leaned around Fyste and said, "If you weren't such a drunken lout, you would have stepped out of the way." The not so totally drunk lout swung at eVistovel, who stepped back. Fyste was hit, spilling his beer, which splashed over a neighboring table. Its occupants stood up, and started swinging at Fyste, eVistovel and the alleged lout. The uproar spread through the entire bar. Fyste ducked as a chair flew past him, and found he was pressed against a female body. She grabbed hold of him, and whispered, "Are you one of the fighters?" Her other hand seemed to be holding a thin can. Not beer, but tear gas or possibly Mace.

"Miss, I'm here under protest, and certainly not looking for a fight."

"Then let's form a wedge of two and absquatulate."

Absquatulate? Who the hell is she? But she's got the right idea. Fyste abandoned looking for the alien in the spreading disturbance, and led the young woman through what was quickly becoming an expanding riot to the door. Outside they kept moving until they were far enough not to be suspected of involvement when police arrived. Fyste looked at his new companion. A real improvement on that damned alien. She was just a bit shorter than Fyste, looked about 22 years old, long blonde hair tied in a knot, green eyes, and 50 kilos. Restrained but tasteful clothing. Very pretty. "I'm John Henry Fyste. My first visit to Ohrbach's in years, and likely the last forever."

"I'm Margaret Marlowe. I had a blind date there. Last I saw of him, he was swinging at the man you were standing next to."

"Really? That should be an interesting affair, 'cause the guy I was with has some unseen and unexpected talents." Privately he hoped the evening's disaster had shaken him loose from the alien permanently. "Would you care to stop in a slightly more civilized venue for coffee, and then, given the hour, I'll gladly provide you a safe ride home."

Margaret looked at him for a moment, and then said, "I've heard you were an intellectual snob, but I've never heard you were dangerous, Prof. Fyste. Okay, coffee, and a quiet ride home."

"You knew who I am?"

"Not until you mentioned your name, but you're certainly well known. The student rumor mill has all sorts of fascinating stories about you."

"I'm sure most are totally untrue or vastly exaggerated. But you have the advantage on me. Once we're seated somewhere quiet, let's make us more equal."

Seated and sipping coffee Fyste learned she was working on an advanced degree in political science. "Does that mean you intend to run for some political office?"

"Heaven forbid. I intend to lecture and write on such topics. Perhaps a blog or a cable show."

"You might find it interesting to analyse the political effects of my dream mission."

"What would that be?"

"I've worked out a practical way to terraform Mars for a reasonable price, opening it up for real colonization, not the fifty or so people working there now. It could be a new home for millions of people."

"You don't think small, do you? How can Mars be made really habitable?"

"Martian soil is a super oxide of iron, Fe2O7. The stuff doesn't even exist on Earth, 'cause it's unstable at warm temperatures or in the presence of water. Breaks down into Fe2O3, ordinary rust, plus two molecules of oxygen. I'd mount solar reflectors on the inner moon, Phobos. We'd start injecting breathable oxygen into the atmosphere, as well as warming the planet. At the same time we redirect comets and other chunks of ice to impact Mars, giving it some water. Done right, we could have a shirt-sleeve atmosphere within thirty years."

She shook her head and indicated the possibilities and science were not things she knew much about. Fyste switched to asking about her interests. The evening passed tolerably, and both were startled when the owner announced it was closing time and would they please leave. Margaret told Fyste her address, which turned out to be only a ten minute drive from his home. As she got out of his car, she slipped a card into his hand, and dashed inside. He watched until she was safely indoors, then looked at the card. A phone number. This, he decided, was a vast improvement on spending the evening with an alien in a bar. He drove home.

Damn, did I leave lights on when we left?It was possible, given the rush eVistovel used to get him out of the house. Fyste unlocked his door and walked in. eVistovel was sitting comfortably in the living room, watching television.

"How the hell did you get in? I've got what're supposed to be superior locks."

"Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic."

"Don't quote Clarke's Law to me, you son of a bitch. Just how advanced are you?"

"My race began space travel before your star had started forming a Bok globule."

"That's pretty early. Were you the first space-faring species?"

"The second. Our relations with the first are....strained. So, did you find the young woman I arranged for you to meet acceptable?"

"You arranged? You're claiming that riot was a set up for me to meet Margaret?"

"Precisely. And I see it worked well. Now let's discuss the flaws in your plan to terraform Mars so we can correct them."

Part Two

Fyste stood at the window of his operational headquarters on Phobos, gazing down at Mars. Every minute there was a flare in the atmosphere as a robot spacecraft newly arrived from Jupiter dumped its load of ammonia. The hydrogen combined with some of the oxygen being liberated from Martian soil to create water, while the nitrogen went directly into the atmosphere, increasing its density. After two years of this, Mars was already beginning to change, and not just because the human presence had increased to a permanent staff of 200. He turned to eVistovel. "I guess I had better stop ignoring all the demands that I return to Earth and answer questions in Congress and in all the damn fool lawsuits."

"Not because you hope to see Margaret?"

"Well, that too. She stopped answering my messages only a couple months after I left Earth. She knew how important this was to me, and she was welcome to come here with us."

"Clearly completing her degree was more important than floating around Phobos watching you."

"Put that way I can't disagree with her choice." The two of them boarded a spacecraft returning to Earth a few days later. The six-week journey concluded on Earth with a near riot as journalists of all types tried to get Fyste to answer questions about Mars. In self-defense Fyste called a press conference, where he suggested that claims he violated environmental laws were foolish because such laws applied only to Earth, there was no surviving native life on Mars to protect, and no terrestrial agency had jurisdiction. After an hour of yelling and screaming, he ended it and slipped out a back door from the spaceport's conference room. His email was flooded, but filters had dumped most of it into "junk". One that survived the cut had Margaret's return address. Opening it, he found a request that he visit her at a new home address. eVistovel read this over Fyste's shoulder, and suggested, "This could be a bad idea."

"Rubbish. I hope she wants to renew our relationship." He sent her a reply asking if the current time was acceptable. Less than a minute later he got a one-word answer: "Yes".

Margaret's door swung open. Fyste entered, followed by eVistovel. Margaret was not in sight, but a young man was standing, apparently waiting for them. Fyste blinked, and said, "I was hoping to see Margaret Marlowe. She, or someone, sent me an email suggesting she was here."

"You're Fyste?"

"Yes, and you?"

"Charles Marlowe, the brother of the woman you betrayed and abandoned."

eVistovel said in a sly tone, "That seems a bit harsh. She was eagerly invited to accompany us to Mars."

Charles glanced at him. "Marge mentioned you also. Shut your mouth and stay out of this."

"I really wanted her to come along," Fyste said, "but she said working on her degree kept her here."

"Yeah, sure, and I suppose you were so dumb you didn't realize she couldn't spend so much time in low g!"

"Barred from low g? Why?"

"It's been public knowledge for decades that pregnant women are at risk of miscarriages in low g."

"Pregnant? Margaret? Where is she?"

"She and the baby are safe from you, creep!" Charles accompanied this with a roundhouse swing.

Fyste ducked, and said, "Damn you, eVistovel, you knew about this, didn't you?"

Charles cursed, and said, "Don't blame your buddies, you bastard, you're the one responsible!" He lept on Fyste, who struggled to throw him off. eVistovel grabbed Charles' shoulders and tossed him away from Fyste.

Fyste got up and prepared to defend himself from a renewed attack, but Charles lay on the floor, his head cocked at an odd angle.

"This is the ultimate violation of the agreement we have had for eons. We should have expected no less from the parent of lies."

Fyste looked around for the new speaker. It stood easily 2.5 meters high, glowed a bright silvery color to the point where it was painful to look at. "And just who or what are you?"

The being barely seemed to note Fyste's presence or question. "You, eVistovel, have already had too much to say. Would you wish to answer the being's question?"

eVistovel's tone dripped with venom. "This is the race I mentioned once, the only ones who were in space before us. They think it gives them special rights and powers."

"You persist in misrepresenting, as is appropriate for the parent of lies."

Fyste broke in. "I am neither interested in nor amused by the hostility you two carry for one another. We have several problems here that have to be addressed. I want to be re-united with Margaret, and her brother seems to be lying here dead, which could cause all sorts of complications with the authorities, not to mention how Margaret is likely to react, especially since it will look like I'm responsible for his death."

The silvery being gestured at Charles's body. The odd angle of the head straightened itself. "He will awaken when we are departed, remembering nothing of what happened after you entered."

"My thanks for a remarkable act. Now what do you want with me?"

"Little. You, your race, and your planet have minor significance, but this one", it gestured at eVistovel, apparently unwilling to use his name, "has intended to use you to further its goal of controlling your small group of galaxies. Charles Marlowe is just a meaningless obstruction to be removed. All this is a violation of an agreement regarding forms of interference, an agreement that goes back to before life evolved here."

"So why do youcare if he controls this galaxy?"

"This is a liar, a deceiver, and a rebel against the goals I set as progenitor intelligence for intelligent life forms throughout the universe. My goals are beneficial for all, unlike what this one wishes."

"The pair of you are totally self-absorbed, arrogant bastards. Speaking for Earth, we want nothing to do with either of you." eVistovel tried to speak, but Fyste cut him off. "You've helped me, but only to gain your own ends, and I've no doubt you would have ditched me at any time if it fit your plans. In fact, I suspect you intended I take the rap for killing Charles. But," turning on the silvery being, although shading his eyes from the glare, "I don't think too highly of what I've heard out of you, either. Especially that 'progenitor intelligence' crap and rebelling. Humans have fought long and hard enough to free us from ourselves, and we damn sure are not about to accept some sort of servitude under smug aliens, no matter how far ahead of us they are. Both of you, get the hell off of Earth, out of the Solar System, and away from our galaxy, and stay away. Any further interference will be regarded as an unfriendly act, and treated as such. We don't want to see you or hear from you again until our tech is your equal. Now go."

Fyste found himself alone except for a groggy Charles Marlowe.

THE END

Bio: Thomas Wm. Hamilton...

E-mail: Thomas Wm. Hamilton

Website: Thomas Wm. Hamilton's Website

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