by Lee Brainard
“I’m kind of in a jam and I need some advice on what I should do. I would tell you now, but we don’t have enough time this morning.” She felt relieved already. She trusted Woody and liked him. He was a true gentleman and always treated her like a daughter, which had earned her respect and gratitude.
When noon rolled around they met, as usual, at the north doors and began walking to Beckham Auditorium, where the food trucks parked. Ariele began her tale . . . Irina’s letter . . . a planet-size comet beyond Neptune that was headed for a close shave with Mars . . . her unauthorized search in Taurus near the Pleiades . . . her observation of a stellar occultation at the location Irina had predicted . . . and her six months of observations that confirmed Irina’s discovery.
She noticed that they were close to the food trucks. Wanting to finish her story without interruption, she leaned against a jacaranda tree and continued her account . . . giving Sally her report on the comet . . . Sally’s emotional response to the report . . . Sally’s muted defense of the official position that the occultations were caused by the shock wave of an expanding jet from a black hole . . . Sally’s phone call to the FBI’s Minoa hotline . . . Sally’s encouragement not to worry because she had things under control . . . her desire to trust Sally . . . and her hunch that the situation was spiraling out of control.
When she finished, she looked at him expectantly, a little puzzled that the man of few words had been unusually silent while she unfolded her story. Apart from an occasional nod, he hadn’t responded at all but had listened attentively, trying to absorb the salient facts. He met her gaze with a distant look. She knew that look. She had seen it many times before. He was weighing his response. But it was more than that. He was correlating her report of a gigantic comet headed for Mars with the Sundown River message that he had received from Jack yesterday. He no longer wondered what Jack’s warning was about. Now he knew, and it made him nervous.
But he was more worried about the threat they faced from the government than he was the threat they faced from the comet itself. If the authorities wanted this matter covered up, then it could be costly for anyone lucky enough—or unlucky enough—to possess information on it. And the two threats together . . . . . . the comet and the government . . . spelled a heap of trouble . . . life as they knew it . . . for all practical purposes . . . was now derailed.
Woody broke his silence. “I’m not going to deny the evidence that Earth is facing a potential extinction-level event, that the government knows it, that the government is trying to suppress this information, and that we could be in deep doo-doo merely for possessing this information . . . even incarceration in a FEMA on Security Act charges. But panic is counterproductive. We have plenty of time to make plans. In the meantime, you have to play the game. Don’t make any waves. Go along with Sally’s directions and suggestions. Pretend that you really believe that you only strayed a little bit, that you trust her assurance that your infraction will be treated as minor, and that you are weighing the official explanation, fully willing to be convinced. I know how hard pretending will be for you. But this is your best chance for survival.”
She nodded, “Okay. I can do that. I’ll feel like a phony car salesman, but I can do that.”
“One more thing. This is bigger than you think. Keep me posted if anything changes or you learn something new. I will do the same. If things go south faster than we anticipate, then we’ll have to change our plans accordingly.”
Bigger than I think? . . . Does he know more about this than he is letting on? “What if things go south before we come up with a good plan?”
Woody smiled. “Then we’ll have to make plans on the fly. Come on. Let’s go get our lunch.”
They ordered sandwiches and coffee from Henry’s Gyros, their favorite food truck, then sat on a ledge under an olive tree and continued to talk. Ariele gave him more details from Irina’s letter and from her own research. She told him about the online paper, Another Look at the Phenomenon Near the Seven Sisters, that had been posted under the name of Dr. Youngblood last August. He asked her a few questions about her friend Irina and about Sally, particularly her perceived changes over the past year. He too had thought the frequency of her visits to Washington, D.C. was a little strange—certainly not necessary for generic NEO research.
Woody checked his watch—he was old school and still wore a watch, an older model Breitling that Bob Reddington had given him years ago—“Hey, we need to head back. We’re already a few minutes late.”
On the walk back, Woody encouraged her. “Life is like the zany Martians screensaver. You have to pound the problems down as they pop up, or they will overwhelm you. But don’t make the mistake of thinking that the goal is to reduce your problems to extinction, for no matter how many problems you pound into the ground, there will always be a steady stream of problems popping up.”
Ariele smiled. Everyone at Caltech knew about the silly screensaver that Woody referred to. In 2016 some Caltech students had hacked a Windows 95 era screensaver—the one with goofy-looking Martians that pop up randomly from big holes and you have to hammer them back down with a big mallet. They rewrote the code so that it worked on Windows, macOS, Unix, or Linux, and they added one significant detail—the Martians were all wearing MIT sweatshirts or waving MIT pennants. Most of the Caltech students and faculty now had the Martian screensaver on their computers. She played it once in a while to relieve stress. She laughed when she thought of her problems being funny-looking Martians and pictured herself pounding them back into the cold ground from whence they came. By the time they got back to the building they were both laughing.
42
Caltech
Tuesday afternoon, June 4, 2019
At 1:30 p.m. sharp two agents rapped on Sally’s door and walked into her office. “Good afternoon Ms. Evans. We need you to summon Miss Serrafe to your office so we can visit with her.”
“What is going to happen to her?”
“That isn’t for us to decide. We are merely field agents. Our responsibility is to gather the necessary information so that the proper authorities can determine the best course of action to take with Miss Serrafe.”
“So, what are the possible courses of action?”
The older agent rattled off an answer that sounded like it was memorized, “If it is determined that she doesn’t pose a security risk, she will be retained here as a member of your Minoa team with limited Minoa clearance as per your recent application. If it is decided that she poses a security risk, she will be detained and placed in an environment that will neutralize the risk she poses.”
“A FEMA camp?”
“We are not authorized to say.”
“How long will this process take?”
“They will make their decision before midnight tonight.”
Sally sighed a hopeless sigh and felt herself descending into the abyss of forlorn heaviness. Ariele . . . you are walking on thin ice . . . please be on your best behavior.
A few minutes later Sally escorted Ariele into her office. One of the agents motioned for Ariele to take a seat at the table. She obliged. Then they motioned for Sally to leave the room. Sally exited, a little alarmed. This may be much more serious than I anticipated. The agents took their seats across from Ariele and stared at her with emotionless faces. She thought to herself, I hope their cold facades are just an act, otherwise, these poor guys are doomed to bachelorhood. She tried to disarm them with her most winsome smile, but they seemed impervious to warmth. They just sat there and stared at her. She might as well have tried to charm a tombstone.
The younger agent began the session, constantly glancing at his notes. “The agencies concerned express their gratitude for your willingness to go above and beyond the call of duty in the prosecution of your assigned mission. Nonetheless, there is always a danger when going above and beyond the call of duty that you may overstep reasonable bounds.” He paused, “The government believes that you have overstepped reasonable bounds in this mat
ter. Do you concur?”
“Yes. I definitely overstepped what they have determined to be reasonable bounds.” Not saying whether I think their bounds actually are reasonable.
“Do you understand why the government is enforcing a ban on apocalyptic fear-mongering?”
She nodded affirmatively. But to herself she thought, to prevent the man on the street from learning the truth about an impending disaster.
“The ban is part of a larger effort by the government to quell a groundswell of unhealthy interest in apocalyptic theories among the American public. This mania has resulted in hundreds of wild reports circulating on the internet and talk radio about existential threats lurking in our solar system that are headed in the direction of Earth. Despite the fact that these reports are fostered by fringe groups like conspiracy theorists, preppers, and Bible-thumping fundamentalists, their unhealthy influence has managed to reach deep into the psyche of mainstream America. Because this interest has swelled into a nationwide delusion which leaves the average man unable to discern the difference between fabrication and truth, the government has stepped into the chaos and banned all fear-mongering with apocalyptic theories.
“America doesn’t need this apocalyptic drama. It is the position of the government that we have too much instability in our nation already: political tensions, religious tensions, racial tensions, and the uproar over climate change. They don’t want fear-mongering apocalyptic stories adding yet more volatility to an already explosive situation.
“If these reports of apocalyptic doom were permitted to circulate among the general population, which is predisposed to end-times gullibility, the results would be devastating. Panic would destabilize the nation. There would be rioting and looting, runs on banks, and bare shelves in stores. People would walk away from homes and jobs. America would go up in the flames of anarchy. Thankfully, the government has determined to deal summarily with the apocalyptic nonsense and the sick minds who propagate it. Both will be rooted out and removed from society.”
The agents were making Ariele nervous. The way they talked, many of her family and friends were enemies of the state. She might disagree with her conservative family and friends ideologically and her Christian friends theologically, and she might think that her far-left friends were drinking bad tequila, but America was supposed to be a completely free marketplace of ideas, not a fixed marketplace where a domineering viewpoint bans every idea that challenges it. Any ban on free speech was a dangerous precedent. Let the ideas fight it out in the marketplace.
The younger agent continued, “Do you understand why there is a ban on Taurus that covers research, publication, and communication?”
Ariele replied, “I wasn’t informed by anyone that our research efforts were limited by a ban on Taurus. I was told that we were implementing CNEOS protocols—that we were being assigned research sectors. We were led to believe that this constraint was budget driven—eliminating overlap so CNEOS could maximize their limited man-hours and dollars, allowing them to catalog the entire body of one-kilometer-or-larger NEOs at the earliest possible date. My effort on my own time cost the federal government nothing.”
“The government is definitely concerned to catalog every NEO larger than 140 meters and calculate the threat they pose. But they are more concerned about the security issues that are caused by loose lips than they are the security issues that are spawned by NEOs with impact orbits. They regard the public’s chaotic reaction to threats, real or perceived, as a greater problem than the damage that would result from the impact of any known NEO.
“Therefore, when it became apparent that the conspiracy kooks, the apocalyptic wackos, and the sensationalists on the internet were drawn to the anomaly in Taurus like bugs to a light bulb, and the anomaly had become the primary focus of everyone who was engaged in apocalyptic fear-mongering, the government decided that the ban on apocalyptic fear-mongering absolutely had to be expanded to include a ban on all research, publication, and reporting on Taurus. It was not enough to ban the fire. They also had to remove the source of fuel that fed the fire.”
Ariele’s brain was starting to fire on all cylinders. Loose lips . . . lying tongues . . . most are groundless speculation . . . some have a grain of truth . . . a special ban on the anomaly in Taurus because it is too attractive as an apocalyptic story. She decided to gamble, “So, am I right or wrong that a threat is approaching the inner solar system from Taurus that poses a catastrophic threat to the world?”
“We have no idea what the heavens have in store for us, and we don’t care. We are FBI field agents, not astronomers. But we are required to remind you that the astronomical experts are universally agreed that the phenomenon is caused by a harmless, near-neighborhood black hole. This view is satisfactory to the sober-minded majority. Moreover, even if there were an apocalyptic threat headed for Earth, and we were privy to the fact, we wouldn’t be able to either deny or affirm your question . . . such information would be beyond your present security clearance.”
She nodded. The truth is right under your noses . . . can’t you think for yourselves for five honest minutes?
The agent continued, “The government does not care whether you are right or wrong. They care about the stability of the United States and her infrastructure. They take every threat to this great country seriously.”
She hazarded another question, “So, does the government regard me as a threat?”
“In their estimation, any story about an apocalyptic threat in the heavens that is currently circulating, whether true or false, threatens the stability and infrastructure of the United States. And anyone who spreads such stories is regarded as a threat to our national interest and security.”
“Well, I am guilty of neither.”
“No matter, for the government regards the possession of classified information on apocalyptic threats in the heavens without the proper clearance as a threat to the stability and infrastructure of the United States. And you, Miss Serrafe, are in illegal possession of classified information.”
Ariele looked down, brooding. It’s not looking good right now.
“Were you aware that the research paper you cited was a bogus research paper?”
“I wasn’t aware until yesterday when Dr. Evans informed me that Dr. Youngblood wasn’t the actual author of the paper.” Regardless of who the real author is . . . the paper is definitely not bogus.
“Professor Youngblood was actually deceased for several years before the publication date of the paper posted under his name. An unidentified person had the audacity to hack the University of Arizona network using his stolen identity, set up a hidden folder that was invisible on the local network yet could be accessed from the internet, and publish a paper that not only bypassed the protocols for academic publishing, but diverged so widely from mainstream science in its stated position that it would never have passed peer review.
“That paper was a cunning effort to get around the ban on research and publication on Taurus—particularly the debated phenomenon in Taurus. Whoever the culprit was—and it is widely suspected that the culprit is a Minoa insider—when they are caught, the government will not deal lightly with their treasonous act. They will spend the rest of their life in a secure facility.
“May we remind you, Miss Serrafe, that there is a ban on research in Taurus. Only authorized persons are allowed to conduct research in that sector. Unauthorized research—by telescope, plates, or online—is forbidden. And those who are authorized to pursue research are not permitted to talk to anyone about the subject. Not colleagues. Not friends. Not family. Every breach in this matter is regarded as a threat to the security of the United States. And every violation will be prosecuted by the authorities pursuant to the applicable laws under the Homeland Security Act.”
He paused and locked eyes with Ariele, “Will you comply with the ban?”
“Yes. From now on my actions at both Caltech and Mt. Wilson will be fully compliant with the ban.”
“A
re you prepared to reconsider your interpretation of the phenomenon in Taurus?”
“Certainly. I am prepared to go wherever the facts lead me.” But I will stand in mud up to my armpits with Jeremiah the prophet before I give up my candor . . . and in my world assertion is not confused with argument . . . and theory is not confused with fact.
“Do you agree that withholding classified information from the public is in the best interest of the American public and is necessary for the sake of preserving the security of this nation?”
“I understand the government’s logic and resolve in this matter. If that is what the government has determined must be done to preserve America, then every law-abiding citizen must comply with it.”
“Will you keep the information you have to yourself and only speak of it with those who the government deems have a need to know?
“I will.” Until I decide I won’t.
“That’s all for now, Miss Serrafe. You will have a visit with the Casper team later on this evening. Your case will be decided by midnight tonight. If we have any more questions, we will summon you. You are dismissed.”
She got up to leave, shaken but determined not to show it. Casper? . . . I might be able to beat a polygraph . . . nobody beats Casper . . . to be decided by midnight? . . . unless GOD parts the Red Sea, I am pretty much screwed . . . GOD . . . I don’t talk to you much . . . but I need help.
43
Caltech
Tuesday afternoon, June 4, 2019
Woody was leaving the break room with a cup of coffee when he noticed that the two federal agents had returned. They knocked on Sally’s door and barged in without waiting for acknowledgment. That was a bad omen. She knew they were coming . . . she was in cahoots with them . . . something ugly was brewing. Almost immediately Sally walked out of her office and headed toward the cubicle area where he and Ariele worked. She was walking slowly, however, not with her usual sense of purpose. That was contrary evidence . . . it implied she wasn’t in cahoots with them.
