Anomaly

by Peter Cawdron

  “Now, wait a minute,” Teller began, finally able to get a word in. “You're portraying science as though it were a philosophy or an alternative theological notion, but it's not. Science is the discipline to investigate the world without regard to any preconceived ideas, be they religious or traditional beliefs. Science looks for reasons. And it asks but one question. How? In this case, the technology is beyond our understanding, but that does not mean it is beyond all understanding.”

  The archbishop went to speak, but it was Teller's turn. He cut him off.

  “There are television screens in this hall, projecting and enlarging our image for all to see. And yet to someone from the Bronze Age, when the majority of the scriptures were written, these would be mystical, magical, supernatural, but that doesn't mean they are supernatural. It just means there's a gap in understanding that needs to be bridged. And, when it comes to the anomaly, we are bridging it. We are investigating this remarkable alien artifact to understand its science.”

  “If I may add something,” said Cathy. “The anomaly has been sprung upon us all. A week ago, none of us would have thought we'd be sitting here today having this discussion. And it is surprising. It is alarming. We want to understand it. We want to be able to reconcile it with our beliefs, and we will, but we need to be patient, to give the process of investigation more time. We should not be hasty to jump to conclusions, religious or otherwise.”

  “I agree,” said Reverend Johnson, her southern twang hanging on her syllables. “Christianity has always been about compassion and understanding. It hasn't always lived up to those ideals, but they are at its foundation. When it comes to this alien entity, these must be the guiding principles. We need to understand the anomaly, as what you don't understand, you invariably fear. And fear has no place in our first contact with an extraterrestrial intelligence.”

  Teller nodded. He liked the Reverend Johnson's style.

  “It is an abomination,” began the Reverend Stark, ignoring her entirely. “Ye shall worship the LORD your God and Him only shall ye serve. But look at you. You worship the anomaly. You adore it. You set up your little research centers. You focus your attention on it. You lavish your praise on it. You marvel at how it defies gravity. But it is to be condemned. You have been deceived by your science. Professing yourselves to be wise, you have become fools.”

  “Now, hang on,” said Teller, but he kept going.

  “Oh, I don't care what it is,” the Reverend Stark continued. “I don't care if it's from Vega or from Vegas, from Mars or from New Orleans. What I care about is what you've done to it. You have turned it into an idol. You've set it up on a pedestal. It may be from an alien world, but it cannot save your soul from the depravity and folly of your own idolatry. You have magnified it above God.”

  “I have to agree,” said the Imam at the end of the table. “Islam is also clear on the subject of idolatry. There is only one God and that is Allah. Mohammad is His prophet, blessed be his name. If this was the burning bush of Moses, of whom we, the Christians and the Jews all honor, then there would be a message from Allah in this anomaly. If this were the parting of the waters, enabling the exodus from Egypt, there would be great deliverance to the people of Allah. But it is mute. The angel spoke from the burning bush, but the anomaly is silent.”

  “But it speaks to scientists,” added Cathy, frustrated with their closed minds.

  “So it speaks to you?” asked the archbishop. “Are you now to assume the role of our apostles and prophets?”

  “Do you presume to speak for Allah?” asked the Imam.

  “Are you our new high priests?” asked the Reverend Stark. “Is it only scientists that can enter into the Holy of Holies to hear from the anomaly?”

  Teller was horrified, but he wasn't the only one, Reverend Johnson was clenching her teeth. She tried to say something, but she was cut off.

  “I see only suffering,” said the Buddhist monk sitting next to Cathy. “The Buddha taught us about the Wheel of Life. The turning of the anomaly is like the continual rebirth of life, with each cycle offering the hope of change, rising up before us, but it only ever turns back to where it began. It is a false hope.

  “You crave knowledge, but you don't understand that suffering is caused by these desires for knowledge. You crave a level of understanding you will never achieve. You cannot be content to let the anomaly be, to let the wheel turn. You are driven, consumed by your desires, and so your desire for knowledge will hurt you. It is karma. Everything you do to understand this anomaly will only drive you further from true enlightenment. For what you seek cannot be found in a test tube or a telescope, it can only be found through the cleansing of the soul, through mantra and meditation.”

  Teller wanted to walk out in disgust, but the cameras were watching, broadcasting his reactions to the world. They were goading them, ganging up on them. He didn't want to say anything he'd regret, but sooner or later his anger was going to spill over.

  “This is an age-old debate,” he began, finding an opening and vainly hoping he could steer the conversation. “It reaches back to the days of Copernicus, if not further. This debate is clearly not about the anomaly, this is not a discussion, as it should be, about the prospect of talking to an alien race. This is about the religious distrust of science.”

  “Are you an atheist?” asked the Reverend Stark.

  Teller was exasperated. He squinted as though he were trying to look right through the tiny man.

  “How is that question even relevant?” asked the Reverend Johnson. “We are here to discuss the proposition of mankind talking with an alien intelligence, not to stir up strife.”

  Teller appreciated the way she stood up for him.

  “I want to know who I'm talking to,” said the Reverend Stark with disdain.

  Teller looked over at the archbishop, the rabbi, the Hindu and the Imam, before turning to look at the Buddhist monk and the Baptist minister sitting beside Cathy. Reverend Johnson was shaking her head in astonishment. The others were silent. For once, they actually wanted to hear what he had to say, but Teller wasn't about to let the debate degenerate into a personal attack.

  “Listen to yourselves,” he began. “Just stop and think about what you're asking and how irrelevant it is to any discussion about the anomaly.”

  “Oh, it is very relevant,” insisted the Reverend Stark.

  “Really?” asked Teller. “And I suppose the fact our Buddhist monk here does not believe in any kind of god at all is of no relevance. Doesn't that make him an atheist? But because he's sincere in his religious convictions, so you'll tolerate him.”

  Teller felt the adrenaline surging in his neck as he spoke. His hands were trembling. He was surprised to see how deeply stirred he was as he spoke.

  “And I suppose your refusal to acknowledge the Hindu gods also has no relevance? Even though, from their perspective, it is you that is the atheist.”

  “How dare you?” snapped the Reverend Stark. “This is an interfaith commune group. We have respect for each other's beliefs.”

  “Respect?” Teller replied, feeling the reverend was being disingenuous. He struggled to find something to say that wouldn't inflame the situation further. Cathy grimaced.

  Reverend Johnson tried to calm things down, saying, “Let's take things back a step or two.”

  But the Reverend Stark would have none of it. “I did not come here to be insulted,” he said. “Answer the damn question.”

  “To be fair,” said Cathy, interrupting, “I think there is a valid point here. Religion is, by definition, exclusive. If I believe in God according to your definition, then I'm an infidel according to everyone else at this table. To believe in one religion is to exclude the others.”

  “Are you an atheist as well?” asked the reverend, staring down the table at Cathy.

  “I am ashamed of you,” said the Reverend Johnson, cutting into the argument in defense of Teller and Cathy. “You're obsessed by this. You've got to put everyone in y
our little, fundamentalist box. You just don't get it, do you? This is an opportunity to learn, an opportunity to explore, an opportunity to grow, but you'd rather descend back into the dark ages where your faith is unchallenged.”

  Damn, thought Teller, Reverend Johnson has moxie.

  “Don't you see what this is?” asked Teller, seizing on the lull to bring the conversation back to the anomaly. “We have the chance to talk to an intelligence beyond our own.”

  “Some of us already do that,” the Reverend Stark replied coldly. “It's called prayer.”

  “Do you see our concern?” asked the archbishop, picking up on the train of thought started by the fundamentalist minister. “We have our God. To us, this anomaly is being presented as a false god, a deity promoted by science. When the Spanish first landed in South America, the Aztec worshiped them as gods. It seems this same trend is unfolding before us today and that is dangerous. It's wrong.”

  “To you,” he continued, “this may seem petty or irrelevant, but the scriptures foretell of the end times. They speak of lying signs and wonders. They speak of a strong delusion that causes the elect to believe a lie. To us, the anomaly is a godless wonder bewitching the people.”

  “But it's not,” pleaded Teller. “It is the opportunity for a new beginning.”

  “And that is blasphemy,” the Reverend Stark countered. “The only new beginning will come when Christ returns as the King of Kings to start his reign of a thousand years.”

  Teller responded instantly, without missing a beat, almost jumping out of his seat.

  “And that is blasphemy to him, him, him and him,” he said, pointing at the Hindu, the Buddhist, the Muslim Imam and the Jewish Rabbi.

  Reverend Stark simmered in silence, his teeth clenched in anger.

  “When you get in an airplane,” said Cathy, turning the topic around quite innocently, “do you care about the religious beliefs of the person that built it? Or do you care about the science behind it?”

  Teller liked how she shifted the argument. It was a legitimate point. She may be soft spoken, but she was sharp.

  “And these days,” he added, picking up on her logic, “most planes are held together with little more than glue. There are no welds. There's not a pop-rivet or a nut and bolt in sight, and yet we trust them. But why? Neither you nor I have read the scientific reviews, we haven't studied the methodology or even seen the test results. And yet we inherently trust the science behind an airplane. Why? Because we trust in progress. We trust the rigor of scientific expertise constantly refining and correcting itself.

  “And that's the key. We don't trust science because it gets everything right. We trust science because, regardless of whether it gets things right or wrong, it measures, it records, it calibrates, it learns, it changes, it refines and it corrects. And that process of transparency and open review has transformed the world in which we live for the better.”

  “We have to be willing to learn,” said the Reverend Johnson. “We should be excited about the times in which we live, not afraid of them. There's too much uncertainty already, too much fear. Our people look to us for comfort, for stability, for assurance. We need to embrace the future, not to rail against it.”

  Cathy leaned forward, wanting a better view of the participants further down the table.

  “Will we make mistakes with the anomaly?” she asked. “Sure. It would be surprising if we didn't. But we will ensure there is transparency, we will ensure the world shares in each discovery. The research into the anomaly isn't being conducted to threaten religious values, or to overthrow the role of religion in society, it's being undertaken with a sense of adventure, like the explorers of old, like Magellan and Columbus.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Teller caught some movement back stage. The Marine that drove them to the meeting walked out on stage and whispered in his ear as Reverend Johnson pleaded with Reverend Stark for understanding.

  “If we spend our time fighting each other, we're failing to understand each other. Is that what Christ would want?”

  “I'm sorry,” said Teller, interrupting Reverend Johnson. He put his hand gently on Cathy's forearm as he stood up. “We've been informed we're needed urgently back at the research center. Thank you for the opportunity to be here today. I apologize for arriving late and leaving early, but we'll have to continue this debate another time.”

  The Marine directed them toward the backstage area. Cathy smiled, waving at the restless crowd, trying to instill one last act of openness and kindness into the torrid debate.

  Teller smiled for the crowd before whispering in her ear. “We need to get the hell out of here.”

  The chair of the debate started recapping the main points as they left the stage.

  “What is going on?” asked Cathy as they were hurried out the back door and into the waiting Hummer.

  “The crowd outside is getting violent,” said the Marine as they climbed in the vehicle. “The police have started firing tear gas to disperse the protesters, but it's getting ugly. The police chief is concerned about your safety. I need to get you out of here, now, before things get any worse.”

  “Where is our escort?” asked Cathy, noticing their police detail was gone.

  “They're not due back till three, at the close of the conference. We can't wait that long. We need to go now.”

  And with that their Hummer headed north.

  Chapter 12: Blue Sky

  Within a few minutes, they were heading north along 6th Avenue and passed the Holland tunnel. Before long, burnt out vehicles blocked sections of the road, making progress slow. The driver cut across to Hudson St, driving away from Midtown, on an angle away from the UN building on 1st Avenue.

  “Where are we going?” asked Teller, leaning forward from the back of the Hummer. “Why don't you just take Houston over to the FDR?”

  “I'm sorry, sir,” replied the young Marine. “I didn't want to worry you. Command has re-routed us through the Village and up around Hell's Kitchen. Midtown's a powder keg. They want me to bring you in from the north. Apparently, it's quieter.”

  “So we get to tour New York,” said Cathy, realizing their four mile journey had just been extended to ten miles and God knows how many hours.

  A burnt out semi-trailer blocked the road, forcing them onto a side street and over onto Greenwich St, but they were making better time than they did on the more direct route down to the town hall.

  The streets were quiet. The ride was rough. Rocks, stones and the odd tear gas canister littered the concrete roads. Dark smoke rose up from several parts of the city. There were few cars on the road now, just the odd emergency vehicle. Gangs of youths walked the streets.

  Reports came in over the radio of a riot at Penn Station, so they cut across to 10th Avenue, all the while moving further away from 1st Avenue. As they approached the Lincoln tunnel, Teller realized they were roughly level with the UN complex on the East side. He looked East, out over the haze toward where he knew the anomaly was located even though it wasn't visible at that distance. He figured they had to be ten to fifteen blocks away, at most. He could have walked that in the time they'd already been on the road.

  “How much further north?” asked Cathy, also realizing where they were.

  “I've been told to head up to 59th before heading East.”

  “That's Lower Manhattan,” said Teller, surprised. “Right on Central Park.”

  “Affirmative,” replied the Marine.

  “Is this really necessary?” asked Cathy.

  “Yes, ma'am. It's for your safety.”

  “But not your comfort,” Teller joked.

  Cathy smiled as she settled back into the seat beside him. The seatbelt was designed for men, she noted, muttering under her breath to Teller. It was coarse and cut across her chest at an uncomfortable angle. For his part, Teller noted that the US Marines hadn't heard of inner springs, feeling the hard bench below the thin foam mat covering the seat.

  “What's your name?
” asked Teller, realizing he didn't even know the name of their driver.

  “Corporal John Davies,” replied the Marine.

  “How long have you been in the Marines, John?” asked Cathy.

  For Corporal Davies, it was strange to be called by his first name while on duty. It was nice.

  “Four years,” he replied.

  “How did you end up on the anomaly detail?” asked Teller.

  “I'm a heavy lifter, sir,” replied the corporal. “Working closely with the SEALs, assisting with—”

  He never finished his sentence.

  In a blinding flash, the windscreen erupted in flames, bathing the inside of the vehicle in brilliant strands of crimson, burnt orange and fiery yellow. From where Teller sat in the back of the vehicle, he could feel the searing heat lash at his exposed forearms and face. The Marine swung the Hummer hard to the right, clipping the side of a parked car before plowing headlong up onto the curb.

  The Hummer slammed into the corner of a ten-story brick apartment building.

  For Teller, everything happened in slow motion. The vehicle came to a thundering halt, but his momentum continued forward and it felt as though he was thrown out of the seat. The seatbelt locked. Teller twisted sideways as the anchor point held him back. He felt his hip catch as the belt cut into his waist, drawing blood. His hands flew forward, as did his head, whipping down and back.

  Cathy screamed. Her hair lashed out before him. And as quickly as it had begun, they came to a painful stop.

  Fire danced across the crushed hood of the Hummer. Bricks fell on the smoldering vehicle, drumming out a crack and boom as they pelted the sheet metal.

  Cathy groaned.

  Teller popped open his seatbelt and fell forward. His ears were ringing, his forehead thumping.

  He turned to Cathy. She was dazed, struggling to comprehend what had happened. She released her belt as Teller fought to open the door. Fire lapped at the tires on the Hummer. Black acrid smoke wafted in the air. Stumbling out onto the road, Teller fell to his knees.