by M R Cates
“In science, as you've surely heard me rant and rave about, we deal less in facts than in probabilities. It's pretty rare that we know anything well enough to call it a fact. Probabilities, however, are easier to come by. Nobody could know the probability that the aliens mean us any harm, but few would suggest that the probability is zero, or even vanishingly small, as we would say.”
Debbie muttered a musing, “Okay. So?”
“So, since I have the authority and need to bring my sister closer, why shouldn't I do it?”
“What makes you think Hawaii is any safer than Austin?”
“Probably isn't. But we have infrastructure there. If, for example, the aliens drop a big rock in one of our oceans or a bunch of smaller rocks onto the mainland anywhere, there will be a general panic almost everywhere. Depending on the damage, certain parts of our lovely planet might revert to the Dark Ages, and in only a few hours. But here, because of the Kecks and other telescopes on Mauna Kea, and because we are the center of coordination of the various telescopes and other instruments, whatever civilization we have left will probably be maintained. Furthermore, we are two thousand miles from anything except Honolulu, so nobody's going to come over here and bother us.”
“Sandy, you're scaring me.”
“Oh, it won't happen, Deb. I'm just thinking about worst case scenarios. You'd do the same thing, dammit.”
“I would?”
“Just go to work, and think about what I'm asking. Okay?”
“When do you need to know?”
“Yesterday would be nice.”
“Right. And what will you pay me? Or will you pay me?”
“There's some standard salary for that particular job. Whatever that is, you get it. And it'll be ... adequate, I'm sure.”
“But you don't know what it is.”
“That's right. Sorry.”
“Offer somebody a job, but don't tell them what it pays. Bet you don't even know what the benefits are.”
“Sure I do. You get to work in our team. That's a big benefit.”
“Sure. Where do I live. I heard that housing in Hawaii is atrociously expensive.”
“Oh it is, Deb. But there's an apartment complex that the feds actually bought. Can you believe it? They provide subsidized rents. Françoise Marnier, the kid from Spain – remember I told you about her – she lives in that complex. You can get a place there. Unless you want to live with big sister.”
“Big sisters are fun to visit but hell to put up with all the time.”
“Just like little sisters, eh?”
“Exactly. Okay, Sandy, I'll at least think about it.”
“Call me tomorrow, okay, but not between nine and five here – the testimony, y'know. Oh, use a regular phone, not a cell, and call the Golden Oaks here.”
“Okay.” There was a pause in Texas. “Why the regular phone?”
“Because I'm paranoid, that's why. In case the aliens are listening.”
“What?” Debbie's tone was a little irritated.
“Cell phones use transmissions through air and space. But regular phones don't, not from D.C. to Texas anyway. If the aliens are listening to me – yes, I know it's truly weird to think they might be – but if they are, I don't want them to hear us talking. Just crazy that way.”
Debbie sighed on the phone. “Crazy is the right word. Why would you care if they hear you talk to your sister?”
“Hell, I don't know. But after thinking about those green men for four months I've started getting paranoid, sorry. Hey, I'll probably get to talk directly to the President tomorrow.”
“You and Jefferson Patrick about to have a thing going, huh?” Debbie's humor was back, albeit with a biting edge.
“Yeah, honey. He does seem like a nice guy, despite his politics. Oh, I’m going to dinner with him tonight.”
“With the President?”
“And a few dozen others.”
Debbie sighed over the phone. “Too high cotton for me. Got to go to work.” There was a pause, then, “Listen, Sandy, thanks for thinking about me ... the job, I mean. I already knew you think about me as a sister.”
“It would be doing me a favor, Deb. It's easier to worry about you when you're around bothering me than when you're in Texas.”
“Really, I got to get to work. Talk to you tomorrow. Promise.”
—
Reginald Wyler was not especially fond of bow ties, but looked at his image in the hotel mirror and decided he looked rather dashing for his age. Then his thoughts turned to Sandra Hughes, who’d be going with him to the state dinner that evening. The event was an to honor the British Prime Minister's visit, with the UN Secretary General included. It was the Secretary General, in fact, who had arranged an invitation for the two visiting astronomers.
The Keck Observatory Director knew that his famous colleague would be less than happy to be in a dress, but he had not considered the impact of seeing her for the first time, in fact, wearing a dress. That impact came the moment he stepped into the lobby. Sandra stood, with her back to him – a bare back at that – speaking with someone he didn't know. The sleekness of her form suddenly caught his eye. There was a turn of leg he hadn't been prepared for and a feminine aspect to her that had been hidden from him, or anyone else.
Wyler might not have known, in truth, that he was looking at Sandra Hughes from the back except for the dead giveaway, her world famous ponytail. She heard him behind her and turned, instantly seeing his stunned look. Her basic black dress was fairly conservative of cut but still her shoulders were bare and her bosom had more than sufficient prominence to illustrate that she was not flat chested.
“Hi, Reg,” she said, “relax, it's just me.”
“Sandra, you ...” He stopped, then shook his head. “You know, this might be the first time I've seen you in a dress.”
She walked toward him a couple of steps and the person she'd been speaking with – apparently either from the hotel staff or the cadre of security personnel that were always around – drifted away. “First time I've been in a dress in two years,” she said, coming very close to smiling. “What do you think?”
“I think you are a knockout.” He tried unsuccessfully to avoid a blush.
“That's absurd, Reg,” she said, looking him straight in the eye. The angle was a little higher than he remembered, because Sandra was also wearing heels. “I'm no different than ever, except for being half naked.”
“I'm not taking back my opinion,” he said.
“Thanks, Reg. Okay, I did wash my face.”
Wyler came a half step closer. “When this is all over,” he said, “this asteroid thing, would you consider going out with me?”
“Like a date, that kind of going out?”
“That kind.”
Sandra wrinkled her nose. She said, “I’ll consider it, Reg. Yeah, I’ll consider it.”
“Thanks.” He smiled at her.
“But who the hell knows when this asteroid thing is going to be over?”
Wyler's head went from side to side, in feigned disbelief. “Sandra, let's get out of here.”
—
The state dinner, held in the main dining room of the White House, was, not unexpectedly, a posh and gala affair. There were about ninety guests, including dignitaries from seventeen different countries and the United Nations. The room was decorated with sprays of flowers but free of gaudy effects of any kind. The furnishings and draperies were more than enough elegance. Distributed around the room were men and women of the Secret Service, mixed in with the 'actual' guests, along with a dozen or so official media representatives who had been allowed to attend. Each of these was identified by a lapel pin with their agency's name on it. There were four video cameras, mounted on stands, located in a central portion of the large room. The video feed would then be distributed to any legitimate news agency that wished to have access. At the head table, at one end of the room, was a row of microphones and a podium. When Sandra and Wyler entered they were
immediately sent toward a receiving line, to the right of the entrance, to greet the President, his wife, and the British Prime Minister and his wife. They had expected the U.N. Secretary General to be in the line, but discovered he would not arrive until later. Beyond them and the line, they could see people in small groups talking, drinking Champagne, and could hear beyond the low buzz of conversation a five-piece combo playing background music. The two astronomers moved tentatively toward the line, seemingly unnoticed by those around them for a few moments, then an elegantly dressed middle aged woman a few steps away suddenly spoke, a little too loudly – and in a Scandinavian accent, “Oh my, aren't you the famous Dr. Hughes?” Instantly, the woman curtailed her conversation of the moment and turned to move swiftly over to the Americans. Others also looked around.
“Hello, I'm Sandra Hughes,” Sandra said, then glanced toward Wyler, “and this is Reginald Wyler. We're from The Keck Observatory.” The astronomer presented her hand in as feminine a gesture as her boss had ever seen from her.
“What a great honor!” the woman said. A number of people turned to observe. “I am Adriana Gustoffson, Dr. Hughes, Dr. Wyler.” She seemed to curtsy a little. “My husband is Swedish Ambassador to the United States.”
“I think the honor is ours,” Sandra said. “I've never met an ambassador before. Or an ambassador's wife. Would you do us the further honor of introducing us to your husband?” Sandra added a gentle smile.
Wyler whispered to Sandra, more than amazed, “Where did you come up with that sophistication, anyway?”
Out of the side of her mouth she said, deadpan, “Reg, remember I'm from Texas.”
From that moment followed a frenzy of introductions and stirring of attention. It became clear within a few minutes that two centers of attention had developed in the room: one around the President and Prime Minister and one centered on the scientist whose name and ponytail were invariably associated with Asteroid 1744 and its offspring. Sandra was not emotionally or intellectually prepared for such attention, but maintained her cool and aplomb by Herculean efforts of will. She doggedly worked her way toward the real celebrities – in her mind – that made up the receiving line, especially wanting, finally, to actually meet President Jefferson McBrand. The effort got her separated from Wyler, but she figured he would have to fend for himself.
At last, Sandra was able to reach forward and shake the Prime Minister's hand.
“Oh, hello!” said Nathan Foster in elegant English and with a distinct flourish. “Here is a face known to all, I daresay. What a pleasure, Dr. Hughes.”
“The pleasure is mine, Mr. Prime Minister,” she returned. “Welcome to the United States.”
“Oh, thank you so much,” he emoted, then introduced his wife, Cassandra Foster. Foster himself was rather slight of build, about Sandra’s height in her heels, and looked very much at home in black tuxedo, bow tie, and stiff, starched white shirt, complete with what must have been diamond cuff links. Mrs. Foster was approximately her husband's height and had chosen to wear low heeled shoes. She was not especially beautiful but carried herself with regal bearing. Her dress was a long formal gown in the palest green, off the shoulders, with abundant lace and fairly low-cut bodice. The contrast to Sandra's basic black was as noticeable as the contrast in how comfortable the two women seemed in their clothes. Cassandra Foster looked and moved as if she could do housework or play cricket in her formal attire. Sandra Hughes had to concentrate on every step in her high heels, feeling for all the world like a high school girl at her first prom.
Sandra and Cassandra talked briefly, then the scientist was allowed to step across to the American President. He was already smiling when her eyes contacted his.
“Ah, Sandra!” McBrand called out. “Finally, I get to see you face to face, and I must say ...” He didn't finish his sentence. Obviously, he had not expected such an attractive presentation.
Sandra, who felt like she knew him already – therefore took her usual liberties – reached out her right hand, saying, “Please, sir, no comments about the dress. I feel a little like an idiot in it.”
The President smiled, glanced toward his wife, then introduced her. “Jennifer McBrand,” he said, “meet Dr. Sandra Hughes.”
Jennifer, tall and stately, quite pretty and anything but delicate, warmly shook the astronomer's hand. “I confess,” she smiled, “to having listened to your phone conversations with my husband. Felt it important to check up on scientists as attractive as you are.”
If Jennifer were trying to impress Sandra it didn't work, of course, but Sandra knew better than to take the statement personally. “Such a joy to meet you, Ms McBrand,” she said. “I do feel out of place at such an elegant affair, but have been truly looking forward to personally meeting you.”
The two women exchanged a few sentences before the President re-entered the conversation.
“I suppose your presence here, Sandra, means that nothing of importance is happening with our famous asteroid and fragments.”
“Correct, sir,” she nodded, looking away from Jennifer toward him. “Our visitors seem to be enjoying Earth scenery for the moment.”
“I hope,” McBrand said, getting to the point, because the receiving line still contained a dozen or so waiting to meet him, “you'll consent to speak a few words after dinner, doctor.”
“If you wish, certainly,” Sandra nodded.
They talked another minute then Sandra moved off, taking a little while and several other short conversations to find Wyler.
The dinner, as expected, was elegant. There was a lovely hors d'oeuvres plate which included crawfish and shrimp, then a baked and garnished Cornish game hen – explained as a favorite of Prime Minister Foster – along with asparagus, a cheese plate, and outstanding Créme Brulé dessert. Sandra ate with some enthusiasm, noticing that Reginald Wyler was far more reluctant. They sat at the head table, to the right of the British Prime Minister's wife, therefore, in a place of high honor. Sandra's trained memory was strained to its limit by names and faces she'd never seen before but knew were important. Mostly, she made polite small talk with several around her and tried to be patient.
Around nine-thirty the President stood and offered a toast to his visiting British guest, adding appreciation to many others who'd come from many other countries. He also called the group's attention to the Secretary General, who'd arrived a few minutes earlier. There had been an intentional delay in the after-dinner proceedings, until the Secretary General had arrived, long enough that all were through with dessert, some sipping brandies or other drinks. Sandra had had only three sips of wine during the meal, sticking with the coffee.
President McBrand spoke about five minutes, mentioning all the expected things about American and British friendship, then the Prime Minister spoke, being similarly effusive about his host. Then the President asked the Secretary General to come up and say a few words. Sandra was taken aback when she looked at the man she’d spoken to by phone. The Secretary General was dressed in a formal African robe and was a thoroughly impressive sight. Mumbabwa Alundi, of Zulu stock, was tall, powerful looking, and very soft spoken. Alundi had a doctorate in political science from Stanford, had lived many years in Europe, and retained his citizenship in the Republic of South Africa. He spoke about five minutes in general terms, praising his hosts, mentioning various friendships that were represented in the room, and expressing his apologies for late arrival. Finally – in Sandra's interpretation – he got to his real point.
“It is a truly festive occasion,” Alundi said in formal British-tainted American English, “when leaders of free nations come together. How fortunate our world is that great and powerful states can live side by side as friends. Now, as never before, we can see that we indeed are one planet, with one humanity. Our struggle, as your representatives in the United Nations, is always to stress that fact, striving always for peace, communication, and free and open trade among nations. We ask for your prayers and support in this constant endeavor
.” It was a to-the-point and powerful speech, typical of Alundi, after which he smiled politely and stepped back, relinquishing the podium.
The Secretary General was shown to a seat made available next to the President's wife, and McBrand again spoke. “Before we break up this wonderful time together, ladies and gentlemen, I have imposed on her good nature and asked another of our distinguished guests to say a few words. May I present the coordinator of the Asteroid Project, a scientist whom most of you have met this evening but already knew from her worldwide fame, from the Keck Observatory in Hawaii, Dr. Sandra Hughes.”
There was a stirring around the room, including polite applause, as Sandra stood, presented the audience a smile and turned toward the President. There was a palpably different kind of attention in the room. No one was idly chatting or looking around as if bored.
“Thank you, Mr. President,” she said, after moving into position at the podium. “Let me first introduce all of you to my boss, Dr. Reginald Wyler, Director of the Keck Observatory. He has been the strong, underlying force of coordination that has been responsible for keeping our worldwide network of scientific facilities effective at working together.” She then indicated Wyler and, in so doing, brought forth more applause. Wyler stood briefly, acknowledged the crowd and sat back down. That said, Sandra got on immediately to what she wanted to say.
“The last four months,” she began, “have been unprecedented in human history. This is a truth that all of you, just as much as those of us sitting at the controls of large telescopes, know in a very direct, even visceral way.” She paused, letting the words sink in. “As Secretary General Alundi said so appropriately just a moment ago, 'Now, as never before, we can see that we indeed are one planet, with one humanity.' The most important word in his statement, however, is the word 'can.' We can see if we are willing to look. But we also, as individuals and nations, have the option of failing to look. Unfortunately, many of us have been looking up at events in space, refusing to look down at our own human failings on this planet. This time of attention to events and potential events from beyond can also be viewed as a time of diversion from realities on Earth, providing excuses and opportunities for those who have corrupted global perspective and no interest in their fellow human beings – or even in fact in the fate of our very planet. We can say over and over again that this is no time to be concerned with our own petty, local, or selfish interests, but these words are likely to fall on many intentionally deaf ears. Small minded men and women everywhere, many with poor self images, some who are mentally deranged, and – most frighteningly – who have no ability to show remorse or care for other people, will always move in times like these to pursue their own distorted, selfish, evil goals.
