by M R Cates
“My pleasure as well,” Sandra said, looking around after putting her glasses back on. No one seemed to pay them any mind. Then she said quietly, “I'm getting paranoid about all this, you know.” It was obvious she was referring both to the efforts at and need for anonymity.
He said, “I wish it were unnecessary. I have made arrangements at customs. If you will follow me.”
The procedures had been well worked out. In less than half an hour, Sandra was beside her colleague in a Peugeot on the way to downtown Madrid. Traffic was terrible but moved quickly. It was a beautiful city, much more so than she had expected. Sandra was struck by the growing prosperity more evident each time she crossed the Atlantic.
“We have arranged a hotel here in Madrid for you tonight, Dr. Hughes,” he said, explaining. “Tomorrow we'll travel to the observatory by helicopter. We thought you might appreciate a few hours of adjustment to the time difference.”
“Thanks. I would. You were very nice to be so thoughtful in all the arrangements. But it's Sandra, not Dr. Hughes. Remember, we've discussed this before.” She gave him a pleasant but strong look.
“I'm sorry. Yes, Sandra. I must say, in person you are so ... well of course I have seen your photograph. Who in the world has not?” He smiled.
“Listen, this notoriety is not fun, okay? After a glass of your Spanish wine we can discuss it further if you wish. For now, let's talk shop, okay?”
Constanza already knew Sandra's personality; consequently, her brusqueness was not unexpected. “Fair enough,” he said. “As you know, nothing seems to have changed with the famous asteroid.”
“I was thinking, Rico, that we should be scanning its surface with a good spectrometer, all the time. I called back to Keck from Dallas and got them going. We should do the same here. There's no problem with your view, is there?”
“No. It's low, but rising daily.”
“I've also notified Chile and South Africa,” she continued, eyes glancing at the passing urban neighborhood. “This is quite a beautiful city,” she added, unexpectedly. “I especially like all the trees and flowers along the roadsides.”
“Thank you, Sandra. You say the southern scopes will also study the spectrum?”
“Yes. But I haven't worked out the protocol with them yet.”
“May I ask why you think the spectrum is important?”
Sandra turned her attention toward him, eyes away from the view. “We saw distinct spectral changes just before the orbital changes occurred. I suspect subtle changes may be noted on the surface, possibly now, though it seems quiescent. We may not know what they mean for some while, if ever, but it would be nice to have a record.”
“I see. Are you suggesting internal heating or some such thing?”
“Yes. It's hollow, I think.”
Constanza smiled her direction. “I was going to suggest that possibility. From the calculations made here. Obviously you have already taken it into account.” He sounded slightly disappointed. “Do you wish to release the information?”
“No, I don't, Rico,” was her quick response. “I'm sure some wag somewhere has already suggested it and come up with an elaborate doomsday scenario to go with it. But let's just let people speculate, for now.”
“Some wag?” he asked, not sure of the meaning.
“Like a journalist or talk show host. Somebody more interested in sensationalism than truth.”
“Oh, I see.” Constanza was fascinated with Sandra. Her relative youth and natural femininity totally confounded him. And neither her youth nor femininity seemed to have been given any notice by her. There was no feminine posturing, mannerism, or anything of the sort. As a Spaniard, he took some pride in his ability to perceive female nature – but this Sandra Hughes was completely unreadable as a female. “Is the hollow feature significant, Sandra, in your thinking?”
“Absolutely, Rico. But listen, tell me what you think it may mean?” Again her attention was fully on his response. An unnerving attention, in fact.
“Perhaps the aliens are ... are within the hollow region.”
“Perhaps.” Her tone, even to the foreigner, conveyed a kind of scolding, as if anyone could come up with such a scenario. Which in fact, was the case, and he knew it. “And?” she added.
“I do not know, Sandra,” he shrugged.
“The volume and shape, Rico. That's what I'm interested in. What do they mean to you?”
“Perhaps very large creatures, Sandra. Or very many of them.”
She nodded, unimpressed. “And the shape?”
“I do not know,” he said flatly.
“What's your guess?”
“It isn't clear to me why the toroid is important.”
“Has to be, Rico. Why go to the trouble of making it, otherwise?”
He asked, trying to take some measure of charge of the conversation. “Is it important that we discover the reason for the shape?”
“Everything we can evaluate is potentially important. Any detail may be critical. We have to ask all questions, even where no answer is expected or even feasible.”
“Yes, I understand that,” Constanza responded, a little irritated, but carefully in control. “But you seem focused on the shape.”
“I'm focused on energy, Rico. The aliens had to use a lot of energy to re-shape the asteroid. Unless energy means nothing to them they did it for a reason.”
He nodded. “I can think of nothing, however, that the toroid might ...”
Sandra burst in. “Toroidal plasma confinement!” She struck her left palm with her right fist. “Damn it, confinement, of some kind. Could be.”
Constanza looked over at her, attending for the moment to traffic, then said, “The plasma we saw was developed outside the asteroid.”
“Yes, and was probably made from material drawn from the inside surface. But I am intrigued with the idea that some kind of optimization for something important to them is provided by a toroid, but not a sphere, say. Confinement profiles, like those of a magnetically contained plasma, are naturally easier to achieve with a toroid. It represents a kind of continuous, well-defined channel.”
“I accept that possibility, Sandra, but ... well, is there some importance to such an idea?”
“Damned if I know, Rico, but we have to think about it. Better, we have to get a large number of smart people thinking about it.”
Constanza was still struggling with her idea. “Are you suggesting there may be a plasma confined within the toroid?”
“No. Unlikely. The plasma they made was for propulsion. Something, however, is confined inside that toroid. Something about them. Something like an atmosphere or a set of conditions needed or wanted for some purpose. Otherwise, why hollow the damn thing out? And one other thing intrigues me, Rico. Just before and during part of the propulsion from that plasma jet the doughnut rotated, rather fast, it seemed to me. What the hell was that for?”
He exited the main road into the heart of Madrid. The traffic got even worse. There were several moments of concentration before he spoke. It was obvious Constanza wasn't able to put much detailed thought to the question. “Stability perhaps, during the thrust.”
“That's what most people think.” Sandra's eyes were on the city around them. “And it could be part of the reason. But with remarkable control of the plasma like they had, and the amazing precision of the orbit they dropped that monster rock into, my guess is the rotation had some other primary purpose.”
“An important purpose?” Constanza asked. He made no other effort to lead the conversation, knowing it would be of no use.
“Yes. To them. If we knew what it was it's possible it would be of no value to us. We have no other clues, however, to the nature of these creatures, other than their actions related to the asteroid.”
He commented, “No one talks of anything else in Spain, it seems. Is it also so in America?”
“It is. But nothing has happened in so long people are beginning to lose – or at least divert – their interest. Americans
in particular are pretty fickle.”
“Fickle?”
“Flighty. Going from one interest to another. Being drawn away by some trivial or unimportant new attention. I hope the Europeans are not so fickle.”
“I think many are similarly fickle here, as you say, though I hope many others do recognize the significance of the asteroid.”
Sandra turned sideways a little, to face him across the front the seat. “You know, Rico, most serious thinkers, yes, do understand the asteroid's potential significance. The frustrating thing, however, is that we can't yet be certain the significance will ever be known. Or be known within our lifetimes. We have no real understanding of what time means to these creatures. Or whether they themselves are represented on or in the asteroid. It may be perfectly natural for these aliens to put the rock in orbit and leave it there two or three thousand years before deciding what to do next. Or maybe that was all they wanted to do, put it there and get on to the next thing. Or maybe they put it there as a marker, to think about or use the next time they drop by earth, say in fifty or a hundred million years.”
“Very provocative ideas, Sandra.”
“And they're probably all wrong,” she said. “I only hope we have a chance to learn the truth.”
“As indeed do I. There, Sandra, is your hotel.” He pointed to a forty story building ahead.
“Thank you, Rico, for the taxi service. I am very pleased to be in your country, and am very anxious to see the observatory. And also to meet Françoise Marnier.”
“As is she to meet you, Sandra. We are truly honored that you have come.”
Chapter 13
Françoise Marnier was not what Sandra Hughes expected. In the course of their several conversations, especially in the heat of activity related to finding and tracking Asteroid 1744, Sandra had built up a mental image of the French student. Although Sandra's face was now known round the world, and surely had been seen in photographic form by Françoise, the same could not be said for the student. Sandra could have – had she thought about it or wanted to – acquired a picture of Françoise in advance, as she could have for Rico Constanza. But she didn't, and in fact, didn't even think about doing so, for either person. The truth was that Sandra Hughes was only marginally interested in the faces or bodies of others. Her focus was on their minds. Could they speak well? Did they express ideas clearly? Did they come up with original approaches or insights. Her mental image of Françoise did not articulate an imagined face or form, rather an imagined personality and style. Had someone asked her if she guessed Françoise Marnier were attractive or plain, she'd have said attractive, but would not have been thinking uniquely about a face or body.
Françoise was among a group of ten or so that met the helicopter bringing Sandra to the Insituto Astronomico de la Europa. Included in the group was Sandra's old nemesis, Haim Sieber. He was the third to shake her hand. Sieber had dark hair with significant streaks of gray, a well trimmed beard and mustache, and was somewhat taller than average. He was a very distinguished looking man, dressed immaculately in a well tailored suit.
“So we finally meet, Dr. Sieber,” she said pleasantly as he shook her hand. “I hope there are no residual hard feelings about our shared nova.”
“None whatsoever, Dr. Hughes,” he said gallantly. The man's face was unreadable.
“Please call me Sandra,” she said, turning so others could hear as well. “I don't know how to be formal, I'm sorry.”
“Indeed, so Dr. Constanza told us,” Sieber said.
Sandra, undaunted, added, “I hope you don't mind my calling you Haim.”
“If you wish,” he replied, after an instant of hesitation. She knew he didn't like the idea. Probably she wouldn't have brought it up if she'd thought he would.
By this time Sandra was shaking hands with the fourth person, then a fifth. The sixth one said, “Hello, I'm Françoise Marnier!” The girl's eyes were as bright as diamonds and her face was lit with a smile.
“Oh, wonderful,” Sandra said. “So nice to finally meet such an important colleague.”
Françoise was dressed in a dark blue skirt, quite short, a pale blue silk blouse, stockings and high heels. She seemed prepared for the arrival of royalty – which indeed Sandra Hughes was considered. The student's hair was dark, long, and pinned into a elegant coiffure on her head. She was strikingly pretty, even to Sandra, and seemed closer to twenty than her actual age of twenty-eight. When Sandra spoke to her, Françoise could not restrain a blush, the pink showing clearly on her light Gallic complexion. “I ... we are very honored, Dr. ...”
“Sandra,” came the interruption, and accompanying lifting of eyebrows. “After all, we have worked on important things together, Françoise.”
“It is embarrassing to be so ... so familiar with a great astronomer.”
“Nonsense. Listen, I do remember I owe you a dinner.” Then Sandra moved the next person.
The tour of the observatory went on for three hours. Sandra was interested in everything and seemed to devour information of every type. She asked questions about every piece of instrumentation and almost immediately was making suggestions for various improvements in use, calibration, and maintenance. Constanza, for the most part off to the side as an observer, was content to watch and be amazed at the young American. Françoise had remained as one of the persons designated to speak at the appropriate time, in her case when they reached the control console of the ten-meter telescope. Sandra wanted to know the details of where Françoise had been during their conversations, how the consoles were similar to and varied from those at the Keck Observatory, and in particular, what procedures the student had used to enter various computer files, including those Sandra had sent her during their tracking of the asteroid. Then they were on to the next stop in the tour. As the time moved up to just after one in the afternoon it seemed that everyone hosting Sandra was near exhaustion, though their guest seemed indefatigable.
At the last stop, the outside observation platform that afforded a spectacular view of the observatory and the rising Pyrenees beyond, Sandra asked for the identity of the mountains they could see. Françoise, who had made a effort to position herself nearby, pointed to the highest portion of the ridge, quite a long way to the west, but visible as a prominent profile, and said, “That mountain, in the distance there, is Pico de Aneto, the highest point in the Pyrenees. It's 3404 meters high.”
Sandra nodded approvingly. “A serious mountain range,” she said.
“Serious?” asked Françoise. They were enough removed from the several others still with the tour that the young woman felt free to ask.
“Oh, sorry, Françoise. It's American slang, and I use much too much of it. By 'serious' I mean significant or impressive.”
“Impressive, they are,” smiled Françoise, her pronunciation tending toward the French emphasis on the last syllable. “We French also love these mountains, although the Spanish have a larger share of their beauty.”
Constanza stepped up to Sandra, saying, “Perhaps we could escort you, Sandra, to your ... accommodations. There is a guest house here at the observatory, reserved for you. You may have noticed it.” He pointed to a pretty stuccoed bungalow just to the west of the main observatory building.
“Wonderful,” Sandra said. “I had expected to have to travel maybe into Barcelona.”
Constanza smiled. “It is not a difficult drive, of course, but we thought you'd prefer to stay on the premises. Besides, it is a wonderful house.”
As the other tour guides began dispersing, leaving Constanza to escort Sandra, Françoise, too, started to walk away.
“Françoise,” called the visitor, “I am serious about that meal I owe you. Would it be possible at dinner this evening? And if you wish, bring a guest.” Sandra, in assessing the French girl, figured anyone that attractive was likely to have a boyfriend, a husband, or at least some considerable male attention.
The student blushed for the second time. “I ...” She looked at Constanza,
feeling very insecure in the presence of the institute director after such a question. She did, however, manage to say, “If you wish, tonight would be ... excellent.”
Constanza smiled at the interchange. It was consistent with the Sandra Hughes he was beginning to know that she'd bring up dinner to a student but neglect to include the senior staff that were her hosts. In fact, he had already planned to ask Sandra to join a group for that evening's dinner. But he understood their guest would remain at least three days. So to clear the air, Constanza said, “How generous of you to honor our student, Sandra. Of course, you must accept our invitation to have dinner tomorrow evening with several of our senior scientists.”
Sandra turned, immediately reading the situation, inwardly miffed at herself. “Fine. That would be wonderful, Rico. Tomorrow night with the scientists, tonight with your prize student.”
“Oh no, no prize,” Françoise objected. “I was only fortunate to be on duty.”
“She is being too modest,” Constanza said gallantly.
Françoise was afraid make any other response, worried about another blush.
—
The restaurant was not actually in a town. It was aptly named La Vista and occupied a restored farm house about ten miles from the European Astronomical Institute. Located on the top of a gentle rise, its view of the Pyrenees was awe inspiring. It was even possible on clear days, like that one was, to see the ten-meter telescope dome of the observatory located on a higher ridge in the distance. Only a few buildings were visible in the magnificent countryside, and all those were old houses and barns of the region. A few miles to the south of the restaurant the terrain became more level, and more populated, giving way eventually, after more miles, to the urban region around Barcelona.
Françoise had picked out the restaurant and was their driver. Sandra and she were the only two going. If the student had a significant other, Sandra figured, he was probably back in France or had opted out for his own reasons. When they left the observatory, Sandra resumed the ritual she'd been forced into in recent weeks, namely, wearing dark glasses and avoiding her preferred ponytail arrangement of hair. That ponytail, much to her own dismay, had become a kind of identifying symbol. Sandra, in fact, would have been appalled to know that tens of thousands of young girls, all over the world, had switched their hairdos to ponytails simply because the famous astronomer wore one. That evening, Sandra's hair was combed out and left basically unarranged, except for not being tangled. The hairdo was adequate to not attract attention and that was its real purpose, in Sandra's view. Françoise, still in her rather formal clothing by contrast, wondered if in fact she would seem in strange contrast to Sandra, but was certainly in no position to recommend an outfit to their visitor or to change her own.
