by M R Cates
“No burden,” Sandra lied. “When will I meet with the relevant people?”
“Before noon, as I understand it. Or later, if you wish.”
“I'd like to go home for some rest soon. Is that going to be a problem?”
“Oh of course not, Dr. Hughes!”
“Thanks.” Sandra sighed as she pushed the stop button. She leaned back and thought. It would probably be most of that hour before Vigola got back to her. Fatigue had truly set in. The concentration and the significance of her efforts had combined to sap both mental and physical resources. Rest would be wonderful. But – and she steeled herself – she had to check a few things first, just to see how confined her communication might be. Sandra didn't blame the federal government for its actions, but also didn't think of herself as a risk to them – so their actions irritated her a little – and wanted to have other options available to her if desired. Sandra's nature was to seek freedom of action for herself and anyone else she felt sympathy or respect for. Besides, it was a way to spend the time waiting. And she couldn't afford to let up in concentration until she'd sent that message to Fragment Five.
First, just to be sure, Sandra checked her computers' links to the Internet. All three at her desk were tied in through the standard Keck firewall software. In a few dozen keystrokes she found the outside pathways, noticing that all were routed in parallel to new links. The feds had tapped in. At the moment she could access the net, but they could follow her anywhere she went, and almost surely would be recording every keystroke. Even if she sent some kind of code they'd know she sent something. No good, but also no surprise. Her phone lines were already cut off, so that method would be no better for her. They've put me into house arrest, Sandra thought. The whole idea of it was irksome. But a little anger helps keep you awake.
—
Sandra's drowsiness had returned when the Chief of Staff's call came in, a full twenty minutes ahead of Fragment Five.
“Dr. Hughes,” said Vigola, “we reviewed your answer and decided on a few changes.”
“Okay.” Sandra expected it. “Read me the revised version, if you would?”
“Alright. It goes this way. 'We understand the request for a direct meeting with a human representative. We await your further communication.'“
Interesting, Sandra thought. They're going to take me out of this, and want some politico to talk to them. Why should that be surprising? She gave away a slight suspicion when she said, “I suppose every word has been carefully considered, Madeleine?”
“Yes, absolutely, Dr. Hughes.” Vigola's tone continued to be on the chilly side.
“I'll send it,” Sandra said. “ The signal will go out in, let's say, about twenty minutes or so. If they do like last time we'll get a quick answer.”
The Chief of Staff said, “Excellent, Dr. Hughes I'll stand by to hear from you by phone.”
“Alright, Madeleine,” Sandra said before hanging up. I wonder what the nickname for Madeleine is, she thought. Maybe Maddy. I should use that next time.
Sandra still had the override controls on the atmospheric sampling lasers, the ACLs. She configured the revised message in Morse Code and was ready to go when the Fragment Five image began to form clearly on the screen. The twin Kecks had been set to wait for the toroid's arrival above the eastern horizon then begin tracking it on the known coordinates. She let the tracking go on for ten minutes or so, to get the fragment into an optimum orientation, alerted the control room, then hit return. There was no quick response as before. Uh oh, she thought. Sandra knew this was the last chance of that night. On the next pass of Fragment Five there would be too much daylight. The wait would have to be another twelve hours.
Sandra typed into the full scheduling information on the asteroid consortium. Finding the telescopes that were assigned to the geosynchronous fragments, she called each control room, using the FBI number that was now required. In each instance her message went something like this. “Use both imaging and spectroscopic observations if you would. We've gotten interesting spectroscopic information from Fragment Five.” She figured that gave the needed instructions without saying too much. Apparently the FBI thought so, too, because Sandra got confirming responses from all the telescopes. Three of the other four fragments were also visible from Mauna Kea. The fourth was blocked by the earth. Sandra looked up the coordinates for the three and generated a quick search routine. She planned to implement it when Fragment Five set in the west, knowing she'd have about an hour more observation time before dawn.
Thirty minutes passed, then the Chief of Staff called again.
Sandra answered with, “No response yet, Madeleine.” She hadn't had the heart to say “Maddy.”
Vigola didn't sound pleased. “Are there no indications at all, Dr. Hughes? Could they have perhaps answered in a different way?”
“No way that we can read. The only variations we've observed have been the relatively random brightenings along the surface fissures. Those are being recorded, of course, but they seem no different than before. That is, they are similarly random.”
“I see. And your response was in the same format as your first?”
“Yes, it was.” Sandra leaned back, sipped coffee and noticed it was cold. “I'll take a detailed look at the data we have recorded – after I get some rest. In the meantime, we'll keep watching.”
“Thank you, Dr. Hughes.” This time Vigola managed to hang up first.
Sandra yawned. Damn those green men. I wonder if they sleep. The time crept on. It was time for one last cup of coffee. She went down the hall, thinking her brief absence would be a great time – by Murphy's Law – for the response to come back. She was right.
Sitting down at her desk, the control room was talking. “Did you see that, Dr. Hughes?”
“Had just stepped out,” she said. “Must be over.” Her screen showed the same Fragment Five she'd grown accustomed to.
“Yes, it's over. Two flashes this time.”
“Okay, thanks. I'll work on it. Keep looking, gang.”
Sandra shook her head at herself, but knew whether she saw it live or not wasn't all that important. Ignoring the image data, since she knew they'd simply show two flashes she went straight to the spectroscopic recordings. And there it was: two shorter sequences. Remarkably like the first set in general character. Her eye immediately noticed the lowest levels, now knowing they represented blanks. The first part, in fact, looked exactly the same. (In fact it was.) “Here goes,” she said aloud, and sent the data into her decoding program. The message appeared nearly instantly.
“We confirm your receipt of our message. We will provide more information about the meeting in two days.”
The astronomer's response, though dulled by her fatigue, was a mixture of sensation. Probably the aliens would have no idea that the President's advisors would replace her as the contact. But why would they care? And why should they understand such careful wording, anyway? She wondered if the aliens could possibly perceive human subtleties of speech. Sandra shook her head, symbolically trying to clear it.
As she'd done before, Sandra rose from her chair, scratching her head. She walked slowly around the office, then came back and sat down. The response on the screen, unchanging, was a reminder of the remarkable turn of events, totally incomprehensible but also totally revolutionary. “Okay,” she said aloud quietly, “two long days ahead.”
Chapter 24
President Jefferson McBrand sat in the Oval Office with Madeleine Vigola, his Chief of Staff, the Secretary of Defense, Vinton McDermott, and the Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Charles Masterson. McDermott was a big, somewhat overweight man, dressed as usual in a suit that seemed wrinkled from neglect. He had keen blue eyes, dark but sparse hair, and a quiet confidence. Masterson was smaller in height and build, younger by a few years, now in his mid-fifties, and sported a full head of graying light brown hair. The FBI Director, too, had intense blue eyes and the same confident air that was the norm for lead
ers at the level of the four in the meeting. Madeleine Vigola was certainly their equal in this regard, and for this meeting, the best prepared of the four.
Also in the Oval Office were a pair or recording secretaries, both women, and the President's Press Secretary, a man in his late thirties named Brandon Chou, an Asian American well known to television viewers. Chou was glib and quick on his feet, as was necessary for the job, but well out of the policy-making loop. Also there were two aides, a young woman and man, properly in the background, taking notes, and available to run various errands. The ever-present recording equipment was operating in full redundancy. The arrangement of chairs made it clear that the four senior members would be in discussion, with the others there to observe and record. The atmosphere was intense, raised to a level rare even in meetings of this type.
McBrand said, “Are there any questions on the background so far?”
Vinton McDermott looked up from some briefing notes. “Is there any chance these communications could have been made up? After all, the Keck Observatory is the only location recording the light flashes. We have two carriers on patrol with excellent telescopes. Neither got the images.”
Vigola replied, “There are several other telescopes on Mauna Kea, Vinton. Two were looking at Fragment Five during that pass. Both got weakened images of the signals.”
“Weakened images?” Masterson asked, brow wrinkling. “So the signals from more than 500 miles out were that concentrated?”
“That's right, Charles,” Vigola nodded. “Our Oak Ridge team tells me that we have lasers with similar capabilities. This is not an unusual degree of concentration.”
“The point is,” said the President, “that the aliens aimed at Mauna Kea and nowhere else.”
“More than that, sir,” said Vigola. “They aimed at the Keck Observatory.”
“And it was unquestionably the aliens?” McDermott reiterated.
“Unquestionably it came from the Fragment Five,” Vigola said.
“This is astounding,” muttered the Secretary of Defense.
“But why should we be surprised?” asked Vigola, looking at all three. “Over time the asteroid and its various pieces have kept moving in on us.”
“We are surprised,” Masterson explained, “at least in the sense of something unexpected happening. It's just that the whole asteroid situation is so ... so beyond expectation that we can't be sure we're responding rationally.”
McBrand nodded intently. “Exactly my feelings. Tell us, Vinton and Charles, what your staff assessments have been.”
Vinton McDermott brought a hand through his thin hair. “We have, at your order, Mr. President, prepared about a dozen launch vehicles at Canaveral and the Pacific site in California. Our colleagues in Russia – thanks to President Kazrafski – have a similar number nearly ready in Kazakstan. Any can, in principal, reach Fragment Five, and most can work their way out to the geosynchronous group. Based on our earlier problems with relay satellites out there at 22,000 miles, however, the electronic targeting is a source of concern. I don't need to tell you this seems a pretty risky business.”
“Yes,” McBrand said. “Granted. But we have to have contingency plans.”
“The asteroid itself,” McDermott continued, “is really very difficult to reach, although there are three vehicles that can get out there, in about six days.”
“Okay,” the President nodded, “but what have your experts said?”
“That waiting and watching are our only real options. We don't know much more about these suckers than we did four months ago. They're just closer, that's all. As for this meeting they want with the astronomer, we can only guess what they might do.”
The President asked, “So, what are their guesses?”
The female aide came over at McDermott's signal and filled his coffee cup. After a sip, he said, “Some have said they'll have some kind of rocket to send down to pick up the scientist. Others have said they'll come down themselves and either land on Hawaii or in some kind of floating craft off shore.”
Vigola asked him, “Your scientific assessments of Fragment Five? Anything different than we hear from the asteroid team?”
McDermott shook his head. “Our telescopes – quite good at these distances – show nothing but rock and random light emissions. Cryptographers have been studying those emissions day and night. Random, apparently. We agree with Dr. Hughes' notion that Fragment Five has some underlying metal shielding, more than the other four. Otherwise ...” He shrugged and opened out his hands, showing their emptiness.
“And,” asked the President, “have your boys had a chance to look at the data Sandra Hughes sent me?”
“Our boys and girls,” smiled McDermott, glancing at Vigola, “have jumped onto it with both feet. Hughes had the messages figured out. There's no question about it. Otherwise, they don't see anything else hidden in there. Yet.”
“You think they might?” asked the FBI Director, having been quietly concentrating.
“Who knows?” answered McDermott. “This is so beyond any good sense that I wake up at night remembering watching re-runs of “Lost in Space,” when I was a kid.”
All four laughed, Vigola less than the others. She said, “The temptation to not see reality here is a problem for everyone. I'm not sure our Dr. Sandra Hughes is properly tuned into reality.”
“Why's that?” asked Masterson.
“Well, she seems so, almost flippant in her style.”
The President eyed his Chief of Staff. “Madeleine,” he said, “do you have any evidence about Sandra other than how she seems?”
“She didn't bother to let you know about the transmissions until she felt like it, Mr. President.”
“That's so. But the first communication was addressed to her. She did let me know when the important second one came in.”
McDermott said, “It was probably a mistake to leave a civilian in that role, Mr. President.”
McBrand turned a little to face the Secretary of Defense. “Sandra Hughes was ... and is ... the scientist closest to the facts, Vin. Who better to observe the asteroid and fragments? In fact, she was the only one that could even see it in much detail, at first. She and the other Keck people. But don't get the idea she has any real authority here. We're constantly monitoring every aspect of the situation.”
“But she has access to the aliens, directly,” McDermott reminded him. “Isn't it better to put someone else into the Keck control room and send the young woman on vacation?”
“I was just about to do that very thing,” the President laughed. “But ...”
Masterson looked a little concerned. “How do the aliens know who she is, anyway? Don't tell me they've been listening to the news.” Then he shrugged, saying, “I suppose that has to be it.”
“Has to be,” Vigola nodded. Her face was totally sober. “They can understand English and they seem to know who Sandra Hughes is.”
“Well, they know she's been on TV at least,” McDermott suggested. “Do you think having her out there visible all the time was a mistake?”
“Probably,” nodded the President. “But maybe it's too late to do anything about it. At least now.” President McBrand looked earnestly at the others a moment. “What do you all think would be the downside to sending someone else, despite their request for Sandra Hughes?”
“Maybe we should send someone who's made to look like Dr. Hughes,” McDermott said. “A volunteer, maybe one of our top notch female Navy Seals.”
“Are you willing to run that risk, Vin?” Masterson asked.
“Well I'm not willing,” McBrand said. “We have to assume the aliens could detect an imposter. Even if there's only a chance in a thousand they could, that would still be a serious risk..”
“They might be receptive, however,” Vigola interposed, “if we told them that someone more authoritative would be replacing her. They are likely to consider that a sign of our respect, or at least that we take the meeting as seriously as we do. And this
is consistent I believe with what all of us think is best.”
The President nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, that has been our belief.” He mused more a moment, then continued. “I'd like, however, for Sandra to feel okay about the substitution.”
McDermott wondered aloud, “But would she go, I mean, willingly? Maybe she'd prefer not to go and would be pleased to be replaced.”
“If I know her,” McBrand said, “she'd go. Maybe not willingly. But who would?”
McBrand came to a decision. “Do any of you see any risk in telling the asteroid visitors that we are sending a higher level person to replace Sandra Hughes? The man I have in mind, in fact, would be perfect, and a former asteroid.”
“Who, Mr. President,” Masterson asked, “do you have in mind?”
“Let me hold off on that, Charles, until I've actually gotten it squared away.”
Vigola, who probably knew who the substitute would be, was thinking beyond the choice to the President's question. She rubbed the side of her face. “Of course we have no way of knowing the alien logic, but it would surely seem appropriate to let them know we would like for them to speak to someone with authority.”
“Any other comments?” asked the President.
Masterson and McDermott looked through some notes. The idea of substituting for Sandra Hughes had been discussed from the beginning in various strategy sessions. Neither had any objections.
“Then we will make the change of contact,” McBrand said.
His Chief of Staff seemed pleased enough, but said, “It would be best, I think, however, to not let Dr. Hughes know about the change immediately.”
Masterson asked, “Why not?”
“So that any possible leak to the press or any other unforeseen reaction will have little time to propagate.”
“Makes sense,” McDermott said. “What if the aliens, however, don't like the idea?”
