The Asteroid

by M R Cates

  “So moving through something as opposed to nothing?”

  “Not exactly, Mr. President. It is not exactly true that vacuum is nothing.”

  Jennifer McBrand had her ear up by her husband's and looked at him questioningly. He shrugged at his wife, then asked, “Then what is it, Sandra?”

  “The forces in nature, sir, including gravity, electromagnetism, and the like, can be exerted across distances of space, large distances. The effect of, say, the charge on a single electron extends far into space, weakened considerably, yes, but not zero. Anywhere. If you combine all the forces from all the building blocks of nature, space – empty or not – is full of the fields, or the regions of action, of these forces. Some theories of physics claim that every tiny volume of space in the universe contains a certain intrinsic energy, that could be claimed if we knew how to access it.”

  “Amazing, Sandra.” He looked again at Jennifer, who had heard every word. “Does that have something to do with this eighty microseconds you speak of?”

  “Could have, sir. If the asteroid controllers handle the electromagnetic field in a more fundamental way, perhaps, than we can, in the sense of delving into the intrinsic energy of space – if there is any such thing, that is – it is not out of the question that they could slightly effect the space-time parameters in such a way that we mistakenly measure the transit time by a little bit.”

  “That is too much for me to comprehend, Sandra. But I will take your word for it.”

  “If such a thing is possibly true, sir, we are in a situation where predicting responses and behavior of these asteroid controllers would have to take into account an understanding of the universe that we don't have.”

  “So they could know something ... well, have some special abilities?”

  “Without doubt, Mr. President. We already have seen that they can shove around hundreds of tons of mass and put it exactly where they want it. If they have deeper understanding of some basic laws of physics they might cause or do things that we have no way of anticipating.”

  “So we are helpless then, Sandra?”

  She paused at her end of the line. “Of course not,” she said firmly. “Knowledge is strength, Mr. President. Every bit of further information helps us, and we are gathering data at unprecedented rates. I'm sure this has been brought home to you, sir, and you are certainly perfectly aware of it, but I remind you that we are in the midst of what is probably the most important event in human history.”

  Despite himself, President McBrand reddened slightly. Jennifer McBrand, who'd also heard Sandra's statement, looked up at him, smiling slightly. Then he said, “I hear such things, Sandra, but how can we be ... why do you, yourself, make such a statement?”

  “Astronomers,” Sandra replied immediately, “are always reminded, Mr. President, of how small we human beings are, how tiny the Earth is, and how unimportant and arbitrary our place in the universe is. We are bathed in the gaseous atmosphere of a blue planet circling an unextraordinary star in the fringes of an unextraordinary galaxy. Our sun, sir, is one of something like a hundred billion in this galaxy, and our galaxy one of at least a hundred billion in the known universe. As best we understand the laws of physics, the organic molecules that began to form in our planet's watery places a billion or so years ago formed in completely natural ways, nourished by the particular temperatures, pressures, and chemical mixes that were available because of Earth's distance from the sun and its particular chemical makeup. Life that arose from these molecules, as far as we can determine, is a fully natural consequence that would be expected to occur, with some non-zero probability, under the proper conditions.”

  The president interrupted her, but did not have any interest in cutting short her discourse. “Then an act of God was not responsible, Sandra?”

  “An act of God is not excluded, sir. As scientists we study material data. We are not privy to spiritual data. I should say actually that we cannot correlate spiritual insights or reported revelations with physical data. We can't mix apples and oranges, so to speak.”

  “I understand,” he said, with a smile in his tone. “It's just that many Americans would invoke God as the source of life.”

  “Some day, sir, if you wish, we can discuss this over a glass of Texas Chardonnay.” There was lightness in her tone. Then suddenly, she was serious again. “But to continue, Mr. President, scientists today are in reasonable agreement that life has a chance to form anywhere in the universe where conditions are right. Even if the odds are very small that those planets who have a chance to form life do in fact form it, we now know that planets are very common, and that suns not too dissimilar to our own are also common. So, it makes sense to have confidence that sentient life – life that is self aware – must exist at other places. Indeed, how sad it would be to consider our one planet to be the only source of sentience in this enormous universe!”

  “And this, then,” he urged, beginning to realize she was on a soapbox, “is why the asteroid is such a pivotal event?”

  “Yes, sir. It is prima facie evidence that other sentience exists.”

  “Yet we know little about this alien race,” he reminded her.

  “That's right. That's why I said this is probably the most important event in human history. If nothing more happens with the asteroid, or if we later discover that it and the fragments are empty of life or traceable clues, having been controlled remotely in some way, then we will be left with the frustrating truth that aliens exist but we won't know what they're like – except they can do what has been done. We wouldn’t know where they came from, and most importantly, why they are here.”

  “I see your point, doctor,” said the president quietly. “Many scholars and advisors have told me similar things, of course, but hearing these words from an astronomer, under these circumstances, is quite humbling indeed.”

  “As it is to all of us, sir. But surely you must see this as a moment in history that world leaders should be seizing.”

  “In what sense, Sandra?”

  “To remind us all that our petty squabbles, important as they may seem, are trivially insignificant compared with understanding our place in the universe, and indeed looking toward our survival and thriving as a race of sentient beings.”

  “Survival I can understand,” he said somberly. “Everyone is worried about what danger we may be in. But why do you mention thriving?”

  “Our opportunities, sir, to evolve and grow in understanding of ourselves and the universe around us, as I see it, are absolutely enormous. Such a gift is perhaps a grand stroke of good luck, or God's beneficence if you wish, but not a gift to be casually ignored or worse, to be frightened of.”

  “Well taken, Sandra. Thank you for those words.” Jennifer, beside him, actually had tears in her eyes.

  Knowing she should stop her discourse, Sandra then said, “Sir, I've taken enough of your time. But please know that our opinion in the consortium is that no emergency action is required at the moment. Alert status, of course, has to be maintained, and we will give you and other leaders full information the moment we have it.”

  “Thank you very much,” McBrand said. “I'll call Madeleine right away.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President. Well, goodbye.” And Sandra promptly hung up.

  Across the room from her in Constanza's office – where Sandra had gone to use her encrypted cell phone – Françoise Marnier had heard the conversation with the President of the United States. The young woman's awe was palpable. She was incapable of comment as she watched the American astronomer tuck the phone back into her purse, reach for a cup of too-cold coffee and take a long drink. Then Sandra stood and took note of Françoise.

  “I spoke to Rico Constanza this morning, Françoise,” Sandra said, with no indication in tone that she had just spoken with the most powerful leader on earth. “He's given his permission for you to complete your thesis work in Hawaii. And the U.S. Air Force has given permission for one French citizen to fly out of Madrid wi
th me tomorrow. Are you still game?”

  Françoise, trying not to sound either too excited or too frightened, smiled, though a little distortedly. “I am very honored, Sandra. Thank you very much.”

  “No, we're honored. We have to have people who can do the jobs that need to be done. Besides, I want you to see what my two 'husbands' can really do.” She added a warm look that was a Sandra approximation of a smile.

  “Yes, your husbands,” Françoise repeated, smiling. “I just hope I can ... you see, can relate well to such gentlemen.”

  “They are no gentlemen,” Sandra said, turning to leave. “But they can sure show you a good time.”

  Chapter 16

  Carl Von Drath extended a hand to Françoise Marnier as he settled into the cane chair. “She's my new student, Carl,” Sandra said from her similar seat across from him. “You remember I mentioned how helpful she'd been in following the Asteroid into earth orbit.”

  “Yes,” he nodded and added a smile that might best be described as Teutonic. “And Sandra convinced you, I see, to come to Hawaii. It's a long way from your home.”

  Françoise, already adapting to Hawaii's casual ways, was in khaki shorts and halter top, showing tan already on her bare midriff and shoulders. She looked rather jaunty, even carefree, the retired astronomer thought, especially for a busy student involved in the most publicized scientific work in human history; but then Sandra seemed to attract out-of-the-ordinary personalities – like himself, he dared to think.

  The young woman said, “Yes, sir, it is quite far, you know. But I am very honored to be here.”

  “To get her butt worked off,” Sandra added. Sandra was in jeans and loose tee shirt, but her hair was pinned up and a pair of sunglasses hung from a light chain around her neck. It was her now-common disguise. It had become something of an irony that when Dr. Sandra Hughes made a public appearance it would be in a pony tail.

  The three were sitting around Carl's round picnic table, located under a banyan tree near the entrance to his prized tropical forest, a short distance behind his house. The air was fragrant with exotic flower aroma, arising from twenty or so different species that were growing nearby among the larger plants. Clouds were above, as usual, but there were regular breaks to allow the sun to stream through. After greeting Carl inside from his front porch Sandra and Françoise had come around the house, the former carrying a bottle of Texas Chardonnay and the latter a trio of wine glasses from Sandra's house. The old man had come out the back door to join them, carrying macadamia nuts filling a small stone bowl. As they spoke Sandra poured the wine.

  “It is an honor, I should say, to have wine from your home state, Sandra?” Carl said.

  “Damn right, Carl. Just remember, when it comes to wine, what it took the French eight centuries to do, and the Californians eight decades to do, we Texans did in eight years!”

  Françoise looked oddly at her, then smiled. “Of course, you don't think this is so good as our French Bourgogne, do you?”

  “Absolutely, Françoise. Just taste it. But Carl is the real expert. Let's hear his opinion.”

  Carl sipped the rich golden liquid. His eyebrows raised. “Let us say,” he ventured, looking at the Frenchwoman as he spoke, “that you French have taught the Texans well.”

  “Ha!” Sandra smirked. “Afraid to tell the truth, Carl?”

  Françoise took a sip, too, then shrugged her bare shoulders. “It is truly good, I must say. You know, perhaps the Texans are a small bit civilized.” All three laughed.

  The wine got them off to a good start. Sandra had missed her old friend during the time in Europe, and had in fact only had a couple of chances to give him brief phone calls. Françoise, she had decided, was the closest thing she had to a new friend, and felt it important for each to know the other. Besides, she wanted a few unburdened minutes to talk with Carl.

  A half hour earlier, Sandra had left her home, passing through a police barrier that now always surrounded it, greeted the two FBI agents who were constantly on duty, and proceeded toward the apartment house a mile toward Kona – the expensive side of Waimea – where her new graduate student resided. She drove a blue Corolla that had been left in her driveway the evening before, one of the parade of cars that were randomly traded out so that she could not be identified by the car she drove. It had seemed trivial enough for her to wave at the FBI agents, but it had required special permission from their superiors to allow Sandra Hughes to proceed unaccompanied. Fortunately, this little region around Waimea was very isolated from the rest of world, and had been declared off limits to anyone except residents – who all had been issued government identification and window stickers for their cars – registered representatives of the media, and government officials with specific business. Sandra considered all the security rather strange, but appreciated the fact that it left her world relatively intact and uncluttered. Since she was a private person anyway, the forced isolation caused by sudden fame was not a radical change in her life style. On that day, the FBI allowed the unaccompanied visit to her old friend partly because she insisted on it and partly because conditions on the northern part of the Big Island were very calm indeed.

  It had taken Sandra and Françoise the minimum time to get from Europe to Hawaii, less than sixteen hours, because they been aboard a U. S. Air Force jet, an adapted Boeing 727, that had crossed the Atlantic, was refueled in air over Alabama, and continued across the North American Continent, half the Pacific Ocean, and into the Kona Airport nonstop. They'd been met by armed Special Forces troops in a Humvee and driven to Waimea in a caravan of three of the monster vehicles. Françoise had remained dumbfounded the whole trip by air and ground vehicle, feet not seeming to touch the ground. In the three days since their arrival, the young woman had only begun to recover a sense of normalcy.

  Carl Von Drath wore a straw hat that looked vaguely Bavarian in shape, complete with a feather. He was in old tan cotton slacks and a bright, flowery shirt, and sandals. He was moving no faster than he'd been weeks earlier, reminding Sandra that he was in fact a man nearing eighty. As the conversation moved away from the mundane Carl asked, “What is the latest word, Sandra, on the asteroid and its children?”

  “No change, Carl. Which is just fine. We need plenty of time to look at the fragments.”

  “The one so near,” he continued, “the one that is called Fragment Five, what do you know about it, if I am allowed to ask such a question?”

  Sandra scratched her scalp and looked at him. “I would never keep anything from you, Herr Doktor Von Drath. In fact, I want to tell you so you can tell me what you think.”

  Françoise watched the two, listening. She had shifted around, girl-like, in her cane chair, more sprawled on it than sitting in it. Sandra had told her that she needed Carl Von Drath as someone to keep her honest.

  Carl nodded, causing his feather to catch a wisp of wind and flutter. “I will certainly tell you my thoughts, Sandra, if that can be helpful.”

  “Okay, here's what we know,” Sandra continued, ignoring his modesty. “I'll take you back a little, because we haven't talked since the five rocks showed up.”

  “Showed up?” He sipped his Texas wine, giving her a look bespeaking patience with her unwarranted parochialism.

  “Well, we are guessing they came from the asteroid, but we haven't proved it yet. From studying the inside opening – the size of the hole – it does look to be a little larger. And, if the asteroid had or will eventually change orbits we can study the plasma plume, use the data we already have, and estimate how much lighter it is now than it was then.”

  “But surely it is only marginally lighter,” Carl said, “even with the loss of five fragments.”

  “That's right, Carl. Not sure we have good enough accuracy on determination of its total mass to know for sure.”

  “But why,” Françoise asked, looking perplexed, “would it not be obvious, you see, where the fragments came from?”

  “Probably the fragments did
come from the asteroid,” Sandra said, “but we can't let ourselves be content with any assumption, no matter how logical. In fact, we can assume nothing related to the asteroid and its controllers is obvious,” Sandra said. “If, for example, they are able to 'distill' mass from energy, the fragments – or the asteroid itself – could have been 'manufactured,' so to speak, by the aliens.”

  Carl smiled in his peculiar way, wrinkles on his face becoming more amplified, “Then I am supposing, Sandra, that you speak of causing intrinsic energy from space to turn into mass?”

  Sandra gave him an approving look. “Ah, Carl, how perceptive you are! And to think you've been trying to pretend to be an old geezer who is hopelessly out of date.”

  Françoise was not clear on what was going on. Her face showed as much.

  Looking at the student, Sandra said, “If space contains intrinsic energy, that energy could be – presumably – retrieved and converted into some other equivalent manifestation, for example, mass. Who knows whether our friends the little green men can do such things?”

  Françoise asked, “Little green men? But of course you have no idea of their color, do you, Sandra?” She added a smile, hoping they could see she was trying to be humorous.

  “Well the green part is obvious,” Sandra teased, eyes giving it away. “Have you ever heard of aliens being called 'little blue men,' or 'little red men?'“

  “Oh, then of course you must be correct,” Françoise nodded.

  Carl, entering the mood, asked, “How can you be certain the aliens are not, in fact, 'little green women?'“

  Sandra wrinkled her forehead into her best scholarly look. “Clever point, Herr Doktor. And since they also seem very intelligent we must come to accept that they in truth are women. Men, green or otherwise, could never pull off such feats of intelligence.”

  “Ah, but Madam Hughes,” Carl said, lifting a finger to strengthen his argument, “we have noted a very unfeminine aspect to the aliens' behavior thus far.”