by Scott Mackay
A few seconds later the helicopter lifted into the smog-filled Baltimore morning.
‘‘What about the symbols?’’ Lesha asked.
He nodded. ‘‘They simplified them before they turned them off. I was understanding more of them.’’
‘‘And the music?’’
‘‘Not since Pittman’s strike. Just like the Greek.’’
‘‘So you really think they’ve given up on us?’’
He considered the question for several seconds. ‘‘Before I lost my sense of them, I got the feeling they were grappling with . . . greater concerns. They’re really not that interested in us. They’re frying bigger fish.’’
Her eyes narrowed. She felt slightly ill. ‘‘So it’s like you say. We’re incidental.’’
‘‘Exactly.’’
She brooded on that. Incidental. She looked out the window at the pollution-blurred urban sprawl below— Baltimore and Washington, one big megalopolis— and resumed an old nervous habit, nibbling her thumbnail. Ignored. The word Pittman had used in his report. Target ignored our assault. The word struck with chilling implication. And greater concerns? Out there in the wider universe? What was going on out there that the Builders should have to accelerate one main-sequence star after another into red giants? How big was the fish they had to fry, and why did they have to wipe out the human race in order to fry it?
‘‘Do you think another launch against Alpha Vehicle might help? Or maybe one against the Moon towers, since Alpha Vehicle didn’t work? The president was asking.’’
‘‘We don’t know how they’ll respond. Until we have a better understanding of the way they think, any further military action is really pointless, and could end up being disastrous.’’
Lesha saw the White House a short while later. The helicopter descended to the South Lawn, and two Marines in dress uniforms greeted her and Cam with crisp salutes.
Lesha showed her pass smartly while Cam fumbled with his. She helped Cam up the steps into the building and they followed one of the Marines down a long corridor to the west part of 1600 Pennsylvania. They were shown into the waiting room outside the Oval Office.
Chief of Staff John Gielgud came out and got them a few minutes later.
Having missed Gielgud on her previous visit to the White House that morning, Lesha was meeting the man for the first time. He had a broad but close-lipped smile, and his head, bald, of average size, with the pink color of a cooked ham, was as spherical as Alpha Vehicle. Like the president, he was of below average height. He walked quickly.
‘‘Dr. Weeks. Dr. Conrad. Right this way. President Langdon is waiting. He’s so happy to know you’re feeling better, Dr. Conrad.’’
Lesha helped Cam to his feet and they followed the chief of staff into the Oval Office.
A number of people were already assembled there, waiting for them. Secretary of Defense Leroy Congdon stood by the fireplace, his black face set, his brow an unrevealing line, the coppery planes of his cheeks like twin battlements. Brian Goldvogel, of Orbops, sat on a yellow sofa trying to look poised, but came across more like a nervous bunny in a boa constrictor’s terrarium. General Morris Blunt was admiring one of the paintings, hands clasped behind his back, looking desperately tired, his usual pink face now the color of an old paper bag. Dr. Jeffrey Ochoa was there as well, a smile frozen to his face, standing at the end of the yellow sofa. Oren Fye sat in a Queen Anne chair next to him, his substantial bulk looking precariously supported in the delicate old piece.
Most surprising of all was Dr. Renate Tennant. Lesha found it strange to see her out of her Gettysburg coveralls and in a standard business suit.
President Ray Langdon was a short stocky man, barrel-chested, with thick limbs and short hair. An aging drill sergeant, thought Lesha. And so unbelievably tiny. Even smaller than Gielgud. So that as he came out from behind his desk to shake hands with her for the second time that day, Lesha was again surprised by how far she had to incline her head. ‘‘So good of you to come again,’’ he said. He didn’t move with Gielgud’s same quickness but with a deliberate step, toes pointed outward as he walked toward Cam, soles of his oxfords sinking with casual and assured ownership into the thick pile of the flagblue rug. ‘‘And, Dr. Conrad. How are you feeling?’’
Lesha glanced at Cam apprehensively, fearing his speech would misbehave.
‘‘Better. Much better.’’
His second word came out like ‘‘mush,’’ and Lesha watched the president glance at Dr. Ochoa. Dr. Ochoa’s eyebrows rose.
The president turned back to Cam. ‘‘Good, good. I’m glad to hear it. I trust you know these others.’’
Langdon quickly went through everybody. Only the secretary of defense came forward to shake Cam’s hand, then hers, as he hadn’t met them previously. ‘‘Why don’t we get started?’’ said the president. ‘‘Dr. Weeks, did you have a chance to talk to Dr. Conrad on the way down?’’
‘‘Yes. And I’ve got news. He tells me he had another major episode with the Builders just before Colonel Pittman launched his attack against Alpha Vehicle.’’
The president’s brow rose. ‘‘Really? And have they changed their position on Omega Sol at all?’’
‘‘Not exactly. But they seem to have revealed more of their nature.’’
‘‘Let’s have it, then. Dr. Conrad’s agreed to let you be his spokesperson under the circumstances?’’
‘‘Yes.’’
‘‘So, what did the Builders say this time?’’ asked the president.
‘‘Dr. Conrad says that in his most recent contact with him they seem to have expressed pity for us.’’
‘‘Pity?’’ said Congdon. ‘‘Why?’’
‘‘Perhaps because we are unable to think the same way they do.’’
Blunt turned to Congdon. ‘‘You see what I mean by nerve? And arrogance?’’
Lesha pushed on. ‘‘Dr. Conrad spoke quite extensively about the Builders on the way down.’’
The president said, ‘‘And what does he make of them, now that he’s had time to reflect in Johns Hopkins? What about the Worldwide Crash? Have they explained that at all? We still haven’t got Dr. Conrad’s opinion on that.’’
‘‘Dr. Conrad believes the Worldwide Crash is a direct result of the unnecessarily complex message Dr. Tennant sent to the Builders.’’
Renate stiffened. ‘‘We have no proof of that.’’
Lesha gave Renate a patient glance, then continued. ‘‘The Builders received Dr. Tennant’s message, and Dr. Conrad believes they were so puzzled by it, particularly by all its complex cultural overlay, that in their search for greater context they rifled through all the world’s computers—the Moon’s as well—and inadvertently shut them down.’’
‘‘Inadvertently,’’ said the president. He glanced at the secretary of defense. ‘‘There’s that word again.’’ He turned back to Lesha. ‘‘Go ahead, Dr. Weeks.’’
‘‘Dr. Tennant sent samples of seven different languages: English, Latin, Greek, French, Spanish, Cantonese, and Arabic. But with no easily understandable referents, the Builders launched twenty-three energy cells to Earth, and two to the Moon. By searching through our databases for referents, they derailed all normal programming in an attempt to piece together some kind of understanding. In such a computer-dependent world, it caused major chaos and widespread fatalities.’’
‘‘Yes, but think of what we’ve gained,’’ protested Renate. ‘‘If it weren’t for me, we wouldn’t know about Omega Sol. It was embedded in part of their information dump, and the information dump happened as a direct result of my communications attempt.’’
‘‘Perhaps. But there are three hundred and twenty-five thousand dead, Renate.’’
‘‘Ladies, let’s not talk casualties,’’ said Gielgud. ‘‘Dr. Tennant’s decision to send an expanded communications packet was sanctioned by the highest levels of government. And Dr. Tennant’s right. It seems likely that if it weren’t for her communicati
on attempt, we never would have found out about Omega Sol.’’
‘‘But then you responded to Omega Sol with an attack against Alpha Vehicle, and this has just made things worse. Dr. Conrad can’t hear them anymore. That’s the real import of his latest episode with them. They’ve more or less said good-bye to him.’’
Dr. Ochoa stepped forward, looking concerned. ‘‘Is this true?’’
‘‘Yes. He can’t speak Greek. He doesn’t hear the music. He hasn’t seen the symbols since the colonel’s launch. He believes that because of the colonel’s launch, they’ve abandoned him.’’
Ochoa glanced at the president, who in turn looked at the secretary of defense. Congdon said, ‘‘That’s unfortunate, and it certainly lessens the possibility of reaching some kind of peace accord with them. But I think our bigger concern is Omega Sol.’’
‘‘Yes, but don’t you see? The colonel’s attack has escalated things.’’
‘‘The logical tactical response to the Omega Sol equation was to launch against Alpha Vehicle. We had to stop what they wanted to do to our sun. Unfortunately the mission seems to have failed.’’
‘‘Logical tactical responses aren’t going to work with the Builders. We’ve shown a fantastically advanced class of intelligence that we respond like animals. Dr. Conrad believes that they might have been willing to give us the benefit of the doubt, and that their possible careful probing of his own mind might have been the first overtures in establishing a meaningful dialogue with them. You’ve read Rhona Lindsay’s reports? Dr. Conrad woke up one day understanding all seven languages included in Dr. Tennant’s subgravitational ‘send.’ And as much as we don’t agree with the unnecessarily complex and even dangerous communications packet Dr. Tennant transmitted, we believe they were getting ready to talk to him using those languages. Then came Colonel Pittman’s overt military action against Alpha Vehicle, and now it’s all gone. Dr. Conrad thinks that after the Moonstone attack on Alpha Vehicle, the Builders had all the answers they needed about us, weren’t going to put out any more feelers, and withdrew those few probes already in place.’’
Dr. Ochoa interrupted. ‘‘I’d like to run some tests on him. If what he’s saying is true, it represents a medical change, and it should be investigated.’’
‘‘Dr. Conrad I’m sure has your willing consent,’’ said the president.
Cam nodded. ‘‘If it will . . . prove to you . . . that I’ve been deserted.’’
The president leaned forward. ‘‘Does Dr. Conrad think the Omega Sol energy cell impacts into the sun are a direct result of Colonel Pittman’s attack on Alpha Vehicle?’’
‘‘No,’’ said Lesha. ‘‘He believes they would have gone ahead one way or the other.’’
The secretary of defense spoke up. ‘‘Dr. Conrad, it’s now been theorized by some of our leading strategists and scientists that the Moon towers might be more vulnerable than Alpha Vehicle, and that together with the energy cells they could be driving the incremental changes we’re seeing in our sun. Do you have any idea of what we might do to take these towers down?’’ Cam turned red with exasperation at this suggestion. Congdon continued. ‘‘Even as we speak, I’m amassing significant forces on the Moon to put at Colonel Pittman’s disposal. If you’re telling us that negotiations are at an end with them anyway, then I feel I must defend the United States using whatever means necessary. As the Moon towers don’t seem to have the same structure as Alpha Vehicle itself . . .’’
Cam’s face turned redder. He raised his hands and shook his head. ‘‘That will just . . . ex . . . exacerbate . . .’’ He sounded drunk. Cam turned to Lesha in frustration. ‘‘Dr. Weeks . . . please explain. . . .’’
She put a reassuring hand on his knee. ‘‘We spoke about this on the way over as well. Dr. Conrad feels that further military action against the Builders might be potentially disastrous. They may have ignored Colonel Pittman’s first attack, at least in the way of any direct counteroffensive, but that doesn’t mean they won’t respond aggressively if you go ahead with a second one. You have to remember, these are beings, or entities, who have traveled twelve million light-years through a series of space-time way stations that have brought them to our system instantaneously. Based on everything Dr. Conrad’s seen, documented, and learned from the Builders, he contends they could exterminate us instantly if that was their ultimate goal. And so to throw more missiles at them would be pointless. Dr. Conrad believes the only way to move forward is to again try to establish communications with the Builders, and to do it through the universal language of physics.’’
‘‘Physics?’’ said the secretary of defense, as if he had never heard of the field.
‘‘Yes. And it has to be frontier physics, as Dr. Conrad feels the Builders have shown a specific interest in our ability to understand these more abstract concepts. Let’s not forget, the Builders are masters of curved space and bent time, fully comprehend the multidimensional intricacies of membrane theory, and are experts in the true essence of the universe, right down to its mysterious string-theory particles. Humans have barely scratched the surface of these subparticle phenomena.’’
The president spoke up. ‘‘As a matter of fact, we were just talking about another communications attempt with the Builders before the two of you arrived. As an alternative to an attack on the Moon towers, Dr. Tennant thinks we should send a second even more expanded packet. It will give us a good chance to ask them why they’re targeting us for extermination.’’
Cam groaned and turned to Lesha a second time. ‘‘Tell them . . . that . . . we have . . . nothing to do with it.’’
She nodded. ‘‘While the administration might believe the Builders, by instigating a red-giant process in the sun, are launching an unprovoked attack against the human race, Dr. Conrad thinks the human race has nothing to do with it, and that the Builders are turning the sun into a red giant for reasons we can’t begin to comprehend. After all, the Builders didn’t specifically target the sun. Tau Ceti and Alpha Centauri A have also experienced the same activity. Dr. Conrad thinks the Builders have much bigger things at stake, and that the human race is a side issue to their larger goals.’’
The room grew quiet. Then the president said, ‘‘In other words, we’re incidental.’’
‘‘Precisely.’’
‘‘What could they possibly have at stake?’’ Leroy Congdon asked, in his deep baritone.
‘‘Dr. Conrad doesn’t know. Only that it stands to reason that if they’ve turned Tau Ceti and Centauri A into red giants, the sun’s red-giant process is part of a much larger project.’’
The president’s face quivered into a mask of puzzlement. ‘‘I don’t understand why they would hop-scotch from star to star, turning them into red giants. And frankly, I don’t care. My main concern is how to stop them.’’
Lesha watched Cam lean forward with mounting agitation. He spoke but it was with a strained effort. ‘‘If we can assume . . . that before Moonstone . . . they were investigating us . . . trying to determine our intelligence . . . and everything I went through in Alpha Vehicle tells me this . . .’’ He grew frustrated with his inability to get the words out. As the Builders couldn’t seem to communicate with humans, so the man she loved couldn’t either. ‘‘Would you find it . . . strange . . . if you were confronted by two-dimensional beings?’’
Cam glanced at Lesha with a pleading in his eyes, and the reference to two-dimensional beings jogged her into her next explanation.
‘‘What he means is that a two-dimensional being would have height and width, but no depth. A stick figure drawn on a piece of paper. In a metaphorical sense, can such a figure have intelligence? Dr. Conrad theorizes that the Builders operate on various hyperdimensional planes, and as hard as it might be for some of you to grasp five, six, seven, and even up to twenty-six dimensions, this is the kind of physics Dr. Conrad deals with every day. The work we were doing on the Moon, Stradivari Project, was all about generating, for a measurable amount o
f time, a sizable hyperdimensional field known as anti-Ostrander space. With the production of this field, Dr. Conrad hoped to prove the existence of these higher planes. To put it simply, we as stick figures have to get up off the page and communicate with the Builders, let them understand that we comprehend at least some of the principles of the universe the way they do, and that we share the same terms of reference. The understanding of hyperdimensionality is the yardstick by which they measure intelligence, and maybe if we can show them we’re intelligent according to their own criteria, they might think we’re worth saving.’’
‘‘There’s that arrogance again,’’ said Blunt.
‘‘It’s not arrogance. It’s simply an obstacle that we patiently have to overcome. We have to establish some commonality between the four dimensions of our own existence—I include time—and the hyperdimensionality of theirs. Dr. Conrad’s begging you to let him lead the effort.’’
The president and his chief of staff glanced at each other, then looked at the secretary of defense. Congdon gave his head a curt shake, just once, a quick twitch of his massive chin to the right. This was followed by a swiveling of his dark eyes on Cam.
Langdon said, ‘‘I think the consensus of everybody here is that you aren’t well enough at present to lead an effort this crucial. Plus we don’t really know whether you’ve been compromised by the Builders and might just end up working against us. As much as we admire your zeal, commitment, and patriotism, Dr. Conrad, I believe at this point we have to consider other options. According to your analysis of the Omega Sol equation, we haven’t got more than three months at the sun’s current rate of change before radiation levels become harmful to life on Earth. In other words, if we’re going to try to open diplomatic channels to the Builders again, our schedule would necessarily have to be tight. And as Dr. Tennant is our expert on communications—and, unlike yourself, in good health—I feel more comfortable appointing her as our leader on this extremely critical project. Considering everything she’s learned from her first ‘send,’ I think she’s well positioned to transmit a second one, especially because there’s evidence that they actually understand us now.’’
