The judge says, “I have been informed that attempts at mediation have failed. After reviewing the case file, I will take closing arguments before passing judgment. The lawyer for the defendant may begin.”
The hideously overpriced legal shark next to Andy gets to his feet.
“Your honor, the case for my client revolves around the need for the stability of his family beyond these proceedings.
“During a time of separation, emotional stress is heightened, not only for my client but for his wife and child. Divorce proceedings are underway. An amicable settlement is being negotiated. It is time to bring the stress of legal disruption to a close. We want to ensure that, going forward, all parties are treated equally and fairly.
“It is our position that to deprive Elizabeth Palmer-Anderson of access to her father would cause her undue hardship. A healthy parental relationship is important for her emotional development and wellbeing. By granting joint custody, both Justine Palmer and Andrew Joseph Anderson can share in raising Elizabeth. They can both support her physically, financially, and emotionally. It is our position that estranging Elizabeth from her father would cause her psychological trauma. By sharing custody, Elizabeth would be afforded the stability and assurance that comes from two loving parents.”
The judge makes a few notes in the case file as the lawyer talks.
After a few more remarks, Andy’s lawyer takes his seat.
Although he should be paying attention, Andy’s angry. He clenches his fists beneath the desk, trying to hide his frustration. Outwardly, he looks relaxed. He holds an appropriate half-smile, appearing warm and pleasant. Within his soul, a fire rages.
The judge waffles on for a few minutes. The jargon he uses annoys Andy even further.
The plaintiff’s lawyer stands to speak.
“Your honor. It is our assertion that Andrew Joseph Anderson poses a risk of physical violence to his wife and daughter. His history of verbal abuse and threats has been documented in separation proceeding C-344341. Our position is that Justine Palmer should be granted sole custody. Visits should only be conducted in the presence of a court-appointed third-party.”
Andy’s fingernails dig into his palms. His fists tighten. It’s all he can do not to clench his jaw. His lawyer writes something down, but Andy knows it’s a ploy. They’re both acting before the judge. They’re trying to downplay their opponent’s concerns.
The plaintiff’s lawyer continues.
“The court-appointed psychiatrist has noted Andrew has a tendency to escalate from verbal insults to intimidation. My client admits she has not been subject to physical assault. She has, however, been subject to abuse. Household items have been thrown at her. Chairs have been kicked over. Glasses have been smashed on the floor. Phones were broken. Credit cards were cut up. Laundry baskets were kicked downstairs.
“Andrew regularly engages in online conspiracy theories. His video channel is known for inflammatory remarks. It is our position that this conduct heightens his paranoia. His delusional behavior is a clear danger to his pre-teen daughter, Elizabeth.”
Andy can’t take anymore. All pretense is gone. He sits there with his hands locked together on top of the desk, no longer hidden from sight. His knuckles go white. He stares straight ahead, rocking slightly, not making eye contact. He has to block out the discourse or he’ll erupt. Although he remains silent, he cannot help but mouth his disdain through gritted teeth. Bitch. Cunt. Fucking whore. His attorney notices and nudges him. He hands Andy a glass of water, trying to snap him out of it. The ploy works. Andy sips at the water, desperate to remain calm.
The plaintiff’s lawyer finishes his arguments. The judge waffles on for a couple of minutes. Andy cares, and yet he doesn’t. Deep down, he knows the next few minutes will influence a decade of his life. He can’t breathe. He needs to get out of this goddamn courtroom.
“It is the judgment of this court that the best interests of Elizabeth Palmer-Anderson are served by her mother. Justine Palmer will be the sole custodian. Andrew Joseph Anderson is granted fortnightly access rights. For a period of twelve months, access will be conducted under the supervision of a court-appointed social worker.”
Andy closes his eyes, pinching them shut. A cascade of deep reds and purples swirl before him. He hangs his head.
The judge continues regardless.
“After twelve months, visitation will be reviewed. At that point, consideration will be given on whether to allow unsupervised visits. Court is dismissed.”
Andy still has his head bowed and his eyes shut. Chairs scrape on the floor. Briefcases are opened and closed. Someone types on a keyboard. Justine talks to her lawyer as she leaves. As much as he tries, he can’t bend reality to his will.
Andy’s lawyer gets to his feet.
“I’m sorry.”
Finally, Andy opens his eyes.
Barely anyone hears the words he whispers.
“Fuck you. Fuck all of you.”
The Announcement
Normally, the President doesn’t attend the White House daily briefings on An̆duru. There have been times when even Nolan has skipped them, leaving Kath to field questions. Today, though, the President is on point. Kath can’t help but admire the woman’s fortitude.
Ever since the news broke about An̆duru, President Aston has been subject to relentless criticism. In the eyes of her political rivals, every step she’s taken has been wrong. She was premature going public while there were still doubts about the nature of the comet. She should have addressed Congress and the Senate in private. She should have considered the impact on the stock market. She was just wrong, ‘full stop,’ the pundits said.
From both sides of politics, the one thing everyone agreed on was the President was wrong to address the United Nations. Her demand to widen the UN Security Council to include all G20 nations for the duration of the encounter was a mistake. The print news said involving the G20 was arrogant. There were too many voices. Too many agendas. Too much confusion. Conservatives said, only the five permanent members of the Security Council should vote on resolutions about An̆duru. Liberal think-tanks complained the G20 did not go far enough. They said it didn’t and could never represent humanity as a whole. Twenty’s an even number, they complained. As roughly half of the existing members of the Security Council were also in the G20, the council was taken to a total of twenty-eight. Another even number. Everyone agreed this would lead to deadlocks. The UN was already gridlocked with endless bickering and arguing. But it seems the rancor only ever came from the TV. Every night, Americans were reminded their President was reckless, presumptive, misguided, arrogant. But now, she’s the only person on the planet absolutely everyone wants to hear from.
“An hour ago, the world watched as Comet An̆duru rounded the gas giant Jupiter. As predicted, the vessel remained intact, reduced speed, and changed course for Earth.”
An announcement like this should cause an uproar. Questions should erupt from the reporters present, but no one breathes. The silence within the room is akin to a funeral. No one wants to break the moment.
Nothing she’s said is new. Everyone’s known this for over an hour, but hearing it from the President of the United States of America is validation.
“There can be no doubt,” she says, pausing. The next words are right there on the teleprompter, urging her on.
Kath and Nolan stand behind the President, flanking her. The scrolling text comes to a halt. Someone somewhere hits the pause button, waiting for the President to continue. Her words linger. No. Doubt. Kath understands. From here, it’s all uncharted territory.
“We are not alone.”
The President breathes.
“From somewhere within the constellation of Taurus, an alien civilization turned its eyes to the skies. They looked into the cosmos, longing, searching, hoping to find others in the darkness.”
Kath likes the way the President uses the word darkness in a context other than the name of the comet itself. As it is, t
here’s been too much made of An̆duru being the Prince of Darkness. That meaning was never intended, but it’s all the crackpots seem to focus on. When Yudhanjaya Wijeratne named the comet, his intention was something regal but obscure. Being Buddhist, he never meant Satan. Far from that, he imagined a jewel out of reach, but western society is nothing if not consumed by conspiracies.
The President speaks with deliberate pacing.
“Their scientists peered through telescopes. They examined the sunlight that reflects off our oceans and swirling clouds and found signs of life. Like us, they’re curious. They long to learn more about the strange, exotic lifeforms that inhabit the obscure planet we call Earth. They undertook what might be the most ambitious feat of exploration in their history. They reached out across the vast empty expanse of space. They sent a spacecraft intent on confirming their findings and learning more about our astonishing home.”
Kath spent several days with the President’s speechwriter. Together, they refined this section of what’s become known within the White House as The Announcement. To defuse tension, Kath recommended the journey be described from the perspective of the extraterrestrials. She felt that change in point of view would help reduce the uncertainty. Drafts were shuffled back and forth with red pen marking edits and changes. One sentence, in particular, became a heated talking point, but to the President’s credit, it remained in the speech, exactly as Kath intended.
“Their voyage is akin to that of Charles Darwin sailing to the Galapagos.”
The President wanted to include a reference to Christopher Columbus discovering the New World. Kath stressed the importance of avoiding American-centric history. She pointed out that Columbus raided the Caribbean for gold and took slaves. Nolan suggested Magellan, but Magellan was a crusader. He boasted about bringing Christianity to the savages.
Likewise, the exploration of James Cook was marred with violence toward indigenous populations. Kath insisted that, to avoid what could be perceived as colonial bias, the only terrestrial comparison was with the voyage of the HMS Beagle. She knew the best way to downplay any supposed hostile intent was to lean on the scientific discoveries of Charles Darwin. She smiles, proud to have won that battle.
“Little could they know that we, too, have long wondered about the emptiness that surrounds us. That we too have longed to find life beyond our own world. That we have looked out at the silence, curious to know if there were others like us somewhere in the cosmos.”
She clears her throat.
“In forty-one days, An̆duru will approach Earth and contact will be made. For the first time in history, we will no longer be alone in the dark. We will be part of life on a cosmic scale. Space will no longer be an empty void. Instead, the light of life has bridged at least two separate star systems. This gives us hope of others waiting to be discovered in the darkness.”
To Kath’s surprise, the President pauses before saying, “We will not be taking questions today. Thank you, and God bless America.”
Wait a minute. That wasn’t the plan.
The President has cut her speech short. She skipped several paragraphs, ending without a Q&A session. Before coming out, she agreed to defer questions to Kath and Nolan, but she turns and walks off stage. The two of them stand there for just a fraction longer than they should, hesitating, confused.
Nolan falls in behind the President. Reluctantly, so does Kath. To her surprise, there’s no volley of questions from the press. They had to have known in advance what was going to be discussed. They would have come prepared. Like everyone, they’re stunned by what’s unfolding.
Outside the press room, a gaggle of Secret Service agents swarm around the President. They don’t seem concerned about any actual threat. They shield her as she talks with her communications director. Kath and Nolan stand further down the corridor. This is one aspect of public service Kath never appreciated before working in the White House. Her expertise is on-call. If her insights aren’t needed, the various assistants she works with beneath the President are quite happy to waste her time. To them, it’s not wasted. As best she understands it, she’s a fire extinguisher—always necessary, rarely used. Although it’s frustrating given her scientific workload, she understands.
Jim McGuire, the President’s Chief of Staff, sees them waiting. He walks over.
“That’s all for today,” he says, apparently speaking on the President’s behalf.
Kath can’t even begin to imagine the pressures being shouldered by the President. As much as Kath considers An̆duru the overriding concern, President Aston has to keep the nation calm. She’s navigating a path for the country as the world watches.
“Is she all right?” Kath asks, seeing the President with her back against the wall and her head bowed. She’s crying. The President has a hand up, covering one side of her face as she listens to another advisor. She’s fighting to stay composed, wiping away tears.
“We’re not ready for this,” McGuire says. He walks with them, ushering the two of them from the West Wing. “We are so not ready. Even with another month up our sleeve, we just… She can’t get the kind of cooperation she wants from Congress, let alone other countries. At the moment, the only one standing with us is Canada. Even the Europeans are jaded. They’ve been burned before. They feel as though all the bluster is just hot air. They’re afraid they’re going to be abandoned if chaos unfolds, so they’re preparing to go it alone.”
Kath nods.
“Understood,” Nolan says as they walk toward the door.
“Check in with me tomorrow,” the Chief of Staff says. “Let’s see if there’s been any progress.”
Outside, a chill hangs in the air. Snow blankets the ground. The sun is low on the horizon. Vapor forms on their breath as they cross to the Eisenhower Executive Office.
“Are you ready to head back to the hotel?” Nolan asks.
Loaded question. Kath isn’t a workaholic, but there’s always more to do. There are always a bunch of emails in her inbox or projects she needs to work on. Although she’s tempted to return to her office in the Executive Building, she’s exhausted. Marine One descends beyond the trees behind them with a red light flashing on its belly. The President is being whisked away somewhere.
“Yeah,” she says.
“I’ll get us a car.”
Pizza
Snow falls from the grey sky.
Kath and Nolan wait by the guardhouse on the edge of the White House security cordon. Government chauffeurs aren’t known for being punctual. A marine stands resolute inside the flimsy hut, trying to stay warm.
Kath has her tablet computer tucked under her arm. She turns it on and checks social media. There are a few interesting articles on the composition of An̆duru. She opens them in background browser tabs. Given the trip to their hotel can take up to half an hour in heavy traffic, she’ll have plenty of time to read. Twitter is going nuts.
Beam me up, Scotty. Ain’t no intelligent life down here.
I, for one, welcome our new overlords. Could they please take our old overlords?
Do anal probes come in a variety of sizes? #askingforafriend
Where the hell is Will Smith when you need him? #ID4
A nondescript Buick pulls up. Government plates. Dull brown. Uniformed driver. Nolan opens the back door for Kath. She slides across the seat, making room for him to get in behind her. A blast of heat rushes from within the vehicle. Ah, nice and toasty. Kath slips on her seatbelt and goes back to looking at her tablet.
“Huh?” Nolan says, sitting beside her. He raps his knuckles on a Perspex screen cocooning the driver. The shield reaches from floor to ceiling, wrapping around the back of the driver’s seat all the way to the dash. “This is new.”
The driver doesn’t respond.
Kath doesn’t pay any attention. Transparent screens like these are used in police patrol cars and taxis all the time. Usually, they get assigned an Air Force staff car, but this driver is wearing an army uniform.
�
�Where to?” the driver asks.
Nolan says, “Gateway Park, just off Arlington Boulevard.”
The driver punches the address into a digital map, saying, “Oh, yeah. I know the Gateway. Traffic’s heavy across Roosevelt, but I should have you there within half an hour.”
“Good, thanks,” Nolan says, sitting back and putting on his seatbelt.
Kath’s distracted. There’s an interesting article on the geopolitical implications of An̆duru, but she can’t focus on it. Nolan’s a creature of habit. Every other time they’ve shared a car, he’s always put his seatbelt on straight away and then talked to the driver. Also, he’s not one to stare out the window. He tends to lose himself in emails on his smartphone. Today, though, he stiffens, sitting up straight and watching the sun set across the frozen city. He seems unsettled. Perhaps it’s subconscious. Everyone’s a little jumpy after seeing the passage of An̆duru past Jupiter.
Kath tries to concentrate on her article, but something’s off. After a few minutes, Nolan asks the driver, “Why are we going south?”
“Accident.”
Kath looks across at Nolan. His eyes convey all the meaning she needs. An accident where? It must be somewhere along their regular route. Most drivers would offer that up casually in banter, but their guy remains tightlipped. There’s nothing either of them can do about traffic congestion, but that their driver doesn’t provide a street name seems strange.
Kath looks out the window on her side of the car. In the distance, a red light flashes on top of the Washington Monument. She nudges Nolan, pointing. They’ve never gone this way before. The car speeds up.
“Why have you turned?” Nolan asks. “Why are we going east?”
“Bad traffic. Big accident.”
The New York accent evaporates. The driver’s sentences are clipped. English is a second language. All pretense is gone.
Nolan clutches at the door handle. Child lock. He flicks it several times as he says, “Stop the car. Let us out.”
Wherever Seeds May Fall (First Contact) Page 12
