Chapter 1: Transformation

"Amazing! Simply unbelievable ... and frustrating! After three months, two Congressional hearings, half a dozen announced purges and firings ... and that S.O.B. is still in office?"

Brian "Corky" Corchoran tipped his mug, drained it of the last inch of dark beer, and motioned with two up-raised fingers to the barman standing nearby. When the barman nodded, Corky turned his attention back to his friend.

"I hate to say it, Corky, but I did tell you so. American politics is a garbage scow carried along on a flood of anonymous cash. Actually, there are three governments in the U.S. There's the government that the American people desperately want to believe in. That's the one still taught in American public schools and promoted on network television news. There's the partisan government, divided against itself under two-party rule, which the elected officials pretend to support in their endless, self-serving speeches. And there is the real government, the government behind closed doors where threats and promises are made. That is where the true power is, where money rules. And that is why Stinson is still in office. Anonymous money keeps him in place. Apparently the faceless ruling oligarchy of the rich and privileged class feels that President Stinson is still of some use to them. So they've stymied the impeachment movement."

Steve Barringer, an American ex-patriot living in Christchurch, New Zealand, scowled as he shared his cynicism with his dear friend and companion. Corky had just returned from a long sea voyage in his ocean-going tug, the "Ocean Endeavor," and Steve was bringing Corky up to speed on the latest news over a beer and fish-and-chips lunch in their favorite Christchurch pub.

"I still call it amazing," Corky spat. "Half of the civilized world is calling for Stinson's administration to be called up on charges, and the other half is demanding that the United States be expelled from the U.N. Yet there he sits, locked away behind an iron wall of silence in the White House. And the entire American nation is tearing itself in half over the issue of space aliens and some perceived threat. Your whole damned country and its government seems paralyzed, and the White House has become the focus ... and there it stands, a silent fortress of denial!"

"Not so much a fortress of denial, as a force of subversion, I'd say," Steve said. "Stinson has thrown a third of his cabinet, including his National Security Advisor, to the wolves — even directing the Attorney General to research possible charges to be brought against some of them. And he fired the entire Joint Chiefs commanding the American military. 'Rank dereliction of duty; incompetence bordering on treason' he called it. He blamed the entire command structure for its failure to deal effectively with the 'alien menace.'"

"Steve, I never claimed to understand politics in your country," Corky replied, after taking a long pull on his beer. "But it baffles me how your Congress can attempt three different impeachment votes and end hopelessly deadlocked each time. And a major attempt was made in the United Nations assembly to censure the United States for international treaty violations and a 'crime against humanity' for that bombing attack against our friends in Antarctica. The U.S. was forced to humiliate itself with a veto against a resolution that was supported by an almost unanimous vote of the U.N. member nations. And then there's that little thing of the diplomatic recall. Hell's bells, Steve, half of the civilized world still refuses to restore diplomatic relations with your country!"

"Who knew?" Steve sighed. "Who could have guessed that Dee'rah and her people would have such an impact on the world's people? She is regarded by many as a living angel, and her people are seen as humanity's best hope to achieve the dream of world peace. I'm not surprised that Stinson's insane actions, and by association, the entire American nation, are being condemned. Forgive me, but its almost like an Angel of Heaven appeared among us, and the American president and his military tried to blow her to Hell!"

"Yeh, you're sure right about that," Corky sighed. "So, what's gonna happen back in your country? How long can things there boil over, with half of you Yanks ready to attack the other half in the streets? And what was that remark of Stinson and his bunch being a 'force of subversion?'"

"As for the fighting in the streets, I don't have a clue," Steve answered. "But I'm afraid that the 'subversion' part is more than a foolish fear. I've had some feedback from old Agency friends of mine. Stinson's administration is fostering a network of fanatics and religious zealots. I'm hearing reports that underground money is being channeled to them, and the tax people and the justice department have been told to overlook violations of political funding or hate crime laws. Stinson is looking to the extremist radical fringe to whip up hatred of the Masi'shen. I've been told of a private meeting where he informed a circle of fundamentalist church leaders that the laws concerning racial hate crimes would not apply to off-world visitors. Since they are not human, the laws don't protect them, he said. He told them that attacks on the Masi'shen or their followers would not be prosecuted. In essence, he gave them a green light for riots and murder, Corky!"

The fleet of Masi'shen ships hovered in tight formation around the orbital transfer station. The ice planet, their home, gleamed against the star-glittered backdrop of space like a pearl on black velvet. Three ships clustered around a fourth, obviously damaged vessel, linked by a scattered string of service and repair craft. Clusters of modules and lightly-suited workers hovered around the central spine of the damaged ship, cutting away torn hull sections and removing dangling cables, ducting, and shattered connectors. Fore and aft of the central area, the ship's bridge and propulsion sections' dull silver-gray exteriors were stained and discolored by two millennia laying buried in the frozen wastes of a distant, alien planet.

Nothing about this scene could reflect the absolute joy felt throughout the fleet, and on the planet. The lost were found. Those thought dead were alive and they were safely home. But generations had passed. Over the course of two millennia the original crew of the T'shu-niach (Galaxy Surveyor) had long passed on. Their descendants, the sixth generation, were returning home. They were bringing home two millennia of exploration records, data gathered and carefully evaluated, indexed, and recorded during their long isolation. They brought knowledge of a new sentient species, homo sapiens of the planet Earth of the Sol system. Of course, the Masi'shen cosmologists would integrate the Earth terms and coordinate systems into their own, broader system, but the knowledge itself was new, and precious. And disturbing.

Father-mine, does he adapt? Please, is he well and coping with the ... the change? Dee'rah looked closely into her father's eyes, seeking reassurance.

Yes, daughter-mine, I am told by the healers that he is quite well. The change is complete; he thrives and grows stronger each cycle, Jon'a-ren assured her. I am told that he will be ready to transport with us when we leave for the gathering and celebration.

But, surely he will need rest ... and peaceful solitude. There is so much ... he is so ... so much change, so much to cope ... surely he must... , Dee'rah struggled to express her concern, her worry.

Please, daughter-mine, calm yourself. He is well! He will be well, and every care will continue to be taken to ensure that he remains well during our transition to the surface. Quarters have been arranged for us all, and only your mother and I will be required to attend the nis'prax mas'shi-dul (planetary high council) consultation. You and Michael will have a suite for yourselves in our quarters. There will be healers there to observe and assist should Michael have any need. All will be well, I promise you. Jon'a-ren wrapped his arms around his daughter to calm her fears.

Please do not worry so, Dee-rah. Michael is strong in body and spirit. This was his choosing, his strongest desire. He would not be left behind, he would not be separated from you ... you who he loves more than his own life-spirit. There is no greater strength, my child. Be assured. He grows stronger as he adapts. You will see. You will rejoice when you see how he has grown!

The rejoicing in the assembly of the nis'prax mas'shi-dul was exuberant and emotional — a rare thing for the restrained and self-disciplined Masi'shen race. The surviving descendants of the shipwrecked crew were welcomed home with profound joy. Exquisite care had been taken by the survivors to maintain birth and death records, and a genealogy tree. Planetary records were updated with the information, and arrangements were made for the descendants of the ship's crew to be introduced and reunited with their family counterparts. The events were tempered with somber respect for those crew who had been swept into the void and lost during the ship's tragic accident.

It would be a strange and awesome experience for everyone involved. There was no precedent for such a thing. Never had there been such a long separation and reunion. Careful arrangements were made for counselors and advisors and spiritual guides to attend each family reunion; to make introductions and smooth the assimilation of the new-found relations. The process was greatly eased by the enhanced spiritual nature of the Masi'shen race. Suspicion and distrust were impossible among themselves; it did not factor in their lives. The impediment, however small, to assimilation into their new families would be the vast gulf of time and the many lost generations to bridge.

"You have brought a human among us?" the high council spokesman asked Jon'a-ren. "Such a thing has never occurred in the memory of our race. No member of any alien race has ever come to our planet, welcome or unwelcome. I see by studying your records and reports that he represents a violent, aggressive, warring species! And their evolution is hardly advanced; their technology is primitive at best; and far more to their condemnation, their race is disunited into warring factions that hold their entire planet hostage to thousands of armed nuclear weapons. Most are targeted at innocent populations in their largest cities! I am puzzled, Jon'a-ren. You brought this human here. Why?"