Footfall by Larry Niven, Jerry Pournelle Page A

it’s true,” Hart continued. “I do. So the important thing is, what do we do now?”
    “I suppose you want to tell the Russians,” Alan Rosenthal said. Arthur Hart looked at the Secretary of the Treasury with amusement. Rosenthal couldn’t always contain his dislike of Russians. “I think someone must,” Hart said.
    “Someone did,” Ted Griffin announced. When everyone was looking at him, he nodded for emphasis. “I got that news just before I came over here. That astronomer guy in Hawaii called someone…” he glanced at a note on the table in front of him. “… a Pavel Bondarev at the Astrophysics Institute near Sverdlovsk. Yeah, well, who could stop him? He dialed direct.”
    “How long do you suppose it takes a story like that to get from Sverdlovsk to the Kremlin?” the Attorney General asked.
    “It could be quite a while,” Arthur Hart said. “I was thinking that the President might call the Chairman…”
    “Moscow already knows,” Admiral Carrell said. His gravelly voice stopped all the extraneous chatter in the mom. “Payel Bondarev is the son-in-law of General Narovchatov. Narovchatov’s been with Chairman Petrovskiy for twenty years.”
    Everyone turned to look at the Chief of Staff. Jim Frantz almost never said anything in Cabinet meetings.
    “What prompted that, Jim?” Arthur Hart asked.
    “I often wonder if any country in the world could operate if communications went only through channels,” Ted Griffin said. “So. The Russians know, and by the time we leave this meeting, the country will know.” He smiled at the startled looks that caused. “Yes, Captain Crichton said this astronomer chap was calling a press conference.”
    “So we have to decide what to tell the public.” Hap Aylesworth was short and beefy, perpetually fighting a weight problem. His necktie was always loosened and his collar unbuttoned. He seldom appeared in photographs; when cameras came out, Aylesworth would usually urge someone else forward. As Special Assistant he was the President’s political advisor, but for the past nine years he’d given David Coffey political advice. The Washington Post called him the Kingmaker.
    “There may be a more pressing problem,” Admiral Carrell said.
    Aylesworth raised a bushy eyebrow.
    “The Russians. I don’t know it would be such a good idea for the President to call Chairman Petrovskiy, but I think I’d better get on the horn to General Narovchatov.”
    “Why?” Ted Griffin asked.
    “Obvious, isn’t it?” Carrell said. He pushed back a gray pinstripe sleeve to glance at his watch. “One of the first things they’ll do once they’re sure of this is start mobilizing. Military, civil defense, you name it. Ted, I’d hate for your military people to get all upset …”
    “Are you certain of this?” David Coffey asked.
    “Yes, sir,” Admiral Carrell said. “Sure as anything, Mr. President.
    “Why would they assume this…” Attorney General McCleve had trouble getting the words out. “… this alien spacecraft is hostile?”
    “Because they think everything is hostile,” Carrell said.
    “Afraid he’s right, Pete,” Arthur Hart said. The Secretary of State shook his head sadly. “I could wish otherwise, but that’s the way it will be. And they’ll very shortly be demanding an official explanation of why one of our scientists called one of theirs, instead of passing this important news through channels as it ought to be done.”
    “That’s crazy,” Peter McCleve said. “Just plain crazy!”
    “Possibly,” Secretary Hart said. “But it’s what will happen.”
    “To sum up, then,” David Coffey said. “The Soviets will shortly ask us for our official position, and they will begin mobilizing without regard to what that position is.”
    Admiral Carrell nodded agreement. “Precisely, Mr. President.”
    “Then what should we do?” Hap Aylesworth asked. “We can’t let the Russians mobilize while we do nothing. The country won’t stand