The Asteroid

by M R Cates

  “Yes, doctor,” he said, as well modulated as she, though several notches louder because of his particularly resonant voice, “the international importance of these efforts is well understood. In this particular case, however, the need for strict security is pervasive.”

  Sandra nodded her understanding, then said, “Is there any reason to think that Françoise Marnier is a security risk?”

  “It is simply that she has not been investigated, Dr. Hughes. And as a foreign citizen we in the United States don't have the right to do such an investigation.”

  “I suspect,” Sandra pointed out, “that our European colleagues have a dossier on Françoise and other students, that could serve as the necessary security investigation.”

  “We have no way,” Carstairs said, “of verifying or certifying such credentials. I'm very sorry, Dr. Hughes.”

  Sandra nodded again. “I see. To whom do I have to submit a request for an exception in this case?”

  “No exceptions will be considered, I'm afraid.”

  Sandra stood. “Well, thank you for telling me, anyway,” she said, a little too quietly. “I suppose it is also forbidden to give Françoise a call and try to explain the situation to her.”

  Carstairs gave her a sympathetic look, but said, “I'm sure you've noticed the limitations on the phone system. Again I apologize. In the case of your student – because of her citizenship – you won't be allowed direct contact with her for the time being. It is probably an unnecessary precaution, of course, but we simply can't take any chances, doctor.”

  Sandra's brow furrowed but she didn't immediately speak. “Someone will inform her, no doubt.”

  “Yes, of course. And I think she will certainly be understanding of your unusual situation.”

  “Françoise doesn't really have any clear way to understand my unusual situation.”

  “Well, not entirely, of course. But everyone on the team here knows about the transmissions to contact the asteroid.”

  “Right, I guess they do.” Sandra gave him a wry look. “You know, Mr. Carstairs, we are in a very odd situation here. Our team knows generally what's going on, and now all of a sudden, a security blanket drops down on most of them. Don't you consider that a little peculiar, maybe even paranoid?”

  He nodded. “I do, Dr. Hughes, but unfortunately, these are not my decisions.”

  “Thanks for making that clear,” she responded. “Now, if you don't mind, I'll need to continue with my work. I do appreciate your coming early enough in the day.” She held out a hand to shake his.

  Carstairs made his exit. His countenance revealed little emotion, but at least he'd been honest about his feelings. And had been honest in her office where he was probably recorded by their bugs. That gave her a little satisfaction. Had Carstairs really been sympathetic or had he been told to act like he was? Damn, but I'm paranoid! she thought. Sandra returned to her seat, fuming. She could only guess that this was mostly the doings of Vigola, or maybe the President himself. It took her few minutes to calm now. But she was not going – if she could help it – be cut off from Françoise and Carl, or Debbie even, during a time that might in fact be challenging all the resources she had.

  Why was this such an issue to her, Sandra wondered? But it was. Why would they care if she talked to her old friend? Or to her sister? She'd find out soon enough. Sandra's reading of the situation was that the Washington types had already felt rebuffed – in a sense – by the aliens in control of the asteroid, and were trying to reassert their own significance and primacy. Those in power in the human world would feel a driving need to somehow have their share of the action, to have some control over it – and in this case, her – even if they didn't understand their own emotions. Can't they understand, she wondered to herself, that they are being very petty indeed about this? One side of her realized that the federal authorities were only trying to do the best they could in a unique, unexpected, and totally unplanned-for situation. But another side of her thought such a situation should be the time, if ever, that human beings rose beyond their idiotic short term self interests.

  Sandra called the government number, 466-6890, and got the operator, the same female voice answering as before: “May I help you, Dr. Hughes?”

  “I'd like to speak with my student, Françoise Marnier. Her number is ...”

  “I'm sorry,” came the gentle interruption, “Dr Hughes, the only outside calls must be official business.”

  “But this is official business. Scheduling of the Keck telescopes.”

  “No, doctor, I'm very sorry, but Ms Marnier, as I believe you were notified, cannot be scheduled at the moment.” Left hanging was the implication that no official business could, therefore, be conducted with the young French woman.

  “I see.” Sandra's tone was even. “Has she been notified of the change in status for her?”

  “I don't know, Dr. Hughes.”

  “Would you please find out?” Sandra asked quietly. “Please call me about it in, say, the next five minutes. Extremely important.” And Sandra hung up without waiting for a response.

  Using the five minutes she'd suggested, Sandra went down the hall to the refrigerator and came back to her office with a Dr. Pepper and peach. After eating the peach and downing half of the Texas concoction – the main reason she drank it – the astronomer called and got the operator again.

  “I'm expecting your response to my question,” Sandra said immediately. “This is a busy time. Oh, I also want to speak with Dr. Carl von Drath. Probably you have his number there. Thank you very much.”

  There was a moment of possible confusion on the other end, and the sound of some kind of movement, maybe papers being shuffled. The woman then said, voice still perfectly modulated, “Dr. Hughes, Ms Marnier has been notified that she is off the Keck telescope duty schedule for the moment. We are not sure what business you need to conduct with Dr. Von Drath. Could you please help us here?”

  “Who is 'we?'“ Sandra asked pointedly.

  The FBI, Dr. Hughes. It is our responsibility to protect your privacy and provide a secure environment for your necessary work.”

  “I do appreciate that,” said Sandra. “By the way, what is your name please? I much prefer to speak with people by name.”

  “I'm Tamara Wilson, doctor.”

  “Okay, Tamara – or is it Tammy?”

  The woman sounded a little put out by the question. “Tamara, Dr. Hughes.”

  “Tamara, I need an exception to these rules in order to talk to Carl Von Drath. He is an important colleague and confidante. I consider him vital to the work I must do, work that – as you know – is secret in nature.”

  Tamara Wilson lost a touch of her composure, but did reply, “I ... will make contacts, Dr. Hughes, and find out.”

  “Great, Tamara. Please I need to know in five minutes. And two things: one, I really would like an encrypted line to Carl Von Drath, and two: I want to have the opportunity to visit him today and tomorrow, preferably at his home. Thanks mucho, Tamara. Remember, five minutes.” Sandra hung up once again. Her heart rate had gone up a few beats, as she leaned back in her seat.

  Sandra supposed that an encrypted line into Carl was the last thing they'd give her, but then they might be willing to tell her she had one, hoping for information she might leak. Why, she wondered, did the FBI do stuff like this? And why, she wondered even more, did she herself have such a sneaky mind as to suspect such behavior? Both questions were disturbing.

  In six minutes – not too bad, Sandra thought – the phone rang. Tamara Wilson said, “Dr. Hughes, we've arranged your protected line to Dr. Von Drath. We have also arranged to bring Dr. Von Drath to your office for meetings when you wish. I hope these arrangements will help you, Dr. Hughes.”

  “Thanks, Tamara,” Sandra said. “Now, if you'll put me through, I'd appreciate it.”

  In a more seconds the phone began to ring. After five rings Carl answered.

  “Hello.”

  “Hi Carl. Final
ly got through to you.” She hoped he'd guess they were probably being bugged.

  “Greetings, Sandra.” Carl's voice sounded a little forced to her, and his accent was stronger.

  It almost made Sandra smile. He knows, she thought.

  The old man continued, pretending a naiveté he didn't have, “Why did you have problems? Were the phone lines down?”

  “They're protecting me, Carl. Such sweet concern. Listen, the action related to the asteroid is heating up a little. Not surprising, of course. It's been doing so from time to time, as you know, and I'd like to pick your brain today. How's your afternoon schedule? No hot dates, I hope.”

  Carl said, “I have an important appointment with an acacia species growing over south of Kona, but I suppose I could send it a delaying note. As you would say, a rain check.”

  “Would you, Carl? And I also think it's time to introduce you to some new friends of mine from Washington.”

  “That would be nice, Sandra.”

  “How about four o'clock today in my office?” she asked. “I can send a car for you.”

  “I'll be there,” he said.

  “Great Carl, bye.”

  A wave of relief swept over Sandra Hughes. She did need to visit with a friend. Finishing her Dr. Pepper first, she then called Tamara Wilson once again.

  “Tamara,” she said with no preamble, “I need to speak with Madeleine Vigola. Thanks.”

  She couldn't hang up in time, hearing the woman say, “Dr. Hughes, may I ask the purpose of the call?”

  “Oh, I just wanted to exchange recipes with her,” Sandra said bitingly. “Or maybe tips on child raising. Just girl talk, you know.”

  Tamara was taken aback. “Er, Dr. Hughes, I assume you are ... well, not serious.”

  “Listen, Tamara, I don't want to be disrespectful, but I don't ask for help like this casually. And I certainly don't want to demean your talents or status or anything else, but unless you have the authority to give me access to Françoise Marnier I need to speak to someone who can. It's as simple as that.”

  “I ... yes, understand, Dr. Hughes. I'll make the call.” The FBI agent paused a moment, then added, “However, Dr. Hughes, I expect to be asked the purpose of the call by Ms Vigola's staff. It's likely that ... well, she may not wish to discuss the subject.”

  “Thanks for the honesty, Tamara,” Sandra responded. The scientist's tone took a noticeable turn for the kinder. “Perhaps you could tell her secretary or whomever that I have some asteroid business to discuss with the Chief of Staff personally. Okay?”

  There – for the first time – was the distinct auditory evidence of a smile from Tamara Wilson, who said, “I'll approach it that way, doctor.”

  Sandra said, “I'll hang up then, so she can call me. Thanks again, Tamara.”

  It did take about twenty minutes for the Chief of Staff to return the call, but Sandra busied herself with some data searches through old telescope records she'd gotten from the Chilean telescope. She hadn't forgotten her interest in looking for signs of the aliens in the months before the asteroid study began. Actually getting into the work helped Sandra's frame of mind. She'd almost forgotten her disgust at “the system” when the phone rang.

  “Dr. Hughes, this is the office of Chief of Staff Madeleine Vigola,” came the male voice – a new one to her. “Would you stand by to speak with her, please?”

  Sandra shifted her thoughts. “Is she ready to speak with me, or will I have to wait, sir?”

  “Only a few moments, Dr. Hughes.”

  “I'm very busy with some data at the moment. When she's ready, would you please have her call me? Thanks a lot.” Sandra hung up.

  Another ten minutes passed. Sandra simply went back to looking at her data. Then the phone rang. She let it ring five times.

  “Sandra Hughes,” she answered, “may I help you?”

  “Hello, Dr. Hughes,” said the Chief of Staff, cool as always, “I understand you needed to speak to me about the asteroid. I apologize for the delay in getting back with you. It was inevitable, unfortunately.”

  “No problem, Madeleine,” Sandra said, blithe as could be. “Listen, it's a simple thing, really, but I knew you'd be able to handle it. I want Françoise Marnier on my team tonight and tomorrow night at the Kecks.”

  “The student from France?” asked Vigola, as if she hadn't been sure.

  “That's the one. She's the most knowledgeable assistant I have and works very well with Jason Nagato. She also has a history of working on the asteroid project. Thanks in advance for working this out.” Sandra paused, made some noise with the papers on her desk, then added, “Oh, Madeleine, sorry, I've got an analysis displaying right now. Have to go. But thanks a lot, really.” Sandra disconnected.

  When the phone rang a few seconds later, the astronomer ignored it. She went over to her window and looked out. The observatories on Mauna Kea were clearly visible. There were her Kecks, those precious creations of humanity that had gotten this whole asteroid thing started. It was so easy, she realized, to assign personality to material objects of such import. Even evil and good, mischievousness, thoughtfulness, peevishness, all those human traits that had to be dealt with daily by almost everyone. Mauna Kea, the “white mountain,” as the Hawaiians called it, loomed magnificently as it had since long before the first Polynesians saw it. Then Sandra let her gaze move a little to the south and admired the extended outline of Mauna Loa, the “long mountain” of Hawaii. It, like Mauna Kea, rose over 13 thousand feet, but Mauna Loa very gradually, extending north and south nearly thirty miles. From the mountain's eastern flank stemmed the Kilauea volcano, the most active in world, still flowing lava into the Pacific, stream after stream, adding acre after acre to the Big Island, as it had been doing for decades. Mauna Loa itself – that is, the volcano vents on the long high crest – was still active, erupting every ten or twenty years, sometimes impressively. Yet the great “long mountain” was a dying creature, in the volcanic sense. Someday, maybe hundreds or thousands of years hence, it would be officially classified “dormant,” as were Mauna Kea and Hualalai near the Kona coast. And in more tens of thousands of years Mauna Loa would be like Kohala to the north of Waimea – and Sandra's favorite hiking country – not yet relegated to extinction but with average times between eruptions that would extend to many hundreds of human lifetimes.

  Sandra mused about the great “hot spot” beneath the Pacific that had formed these marvelous islands. The molten region so close to the crust above it had for millions of years been the source of energy to bring material up from the Earth's mantle, piling it upon itself in one of the deepest parts of the ocean until it peeped above the water. The island string thus formed extended across half of the Pacific ocean, all the way to Midway Island. Interestingly, the hot spot itself, the great source of billions of cubic meters of molten material, lay fixed and relatively unchanging some miles below. It was the thin crust of the Pacific Plate, floating on the liquid magma, that moved, centimeters per year, out to the west-northwest. During Sandra's lifetime the ground below her had moved close to a meter in that general direction, and every meter of movement tended to more tightly seal the thousands of recesses in the main bulk of Mauna Loa, taking it closer and closer to dormancy. Each meter, too, seemed to open Kilauea's channels into the depths a little more, and those of the growing volcano below the sea, twenty miles off the south coast of Hawaii. This invisible yet massive seamount had been given the name Loihi, Hawaiian for “long.” Like Mauna Loa, Loihi extended basically north and south, and had piled itself up about half as high as the older volcano, with Loihi now about 15,000 feet on top of the seabed, only 3,000 feet below the top of the water. In a geologic eye blink, about 50,000 years or so, Loihi would emerge from the sea to form yet another Hawaiian island, then some thousands of years later probably to join itself to the Big Island, increasing its area by another twenty or thirty percent.

  These grand tectonic forces that built and continued to build Hawaii, Sandra realized
were on a par with the magnitude of the energy associated with the events of the asteroid orbiting above them, and its five fragments. Moving a chunk of rock fifteen miles across and eight or ten miles thick, hole in the middle or not, was an awesome achievement, somewhat comparable to depositing a mountain, full grown, onto the floor of the ocean. The asteroid, for example, laid flat like a doughnut on the Pacific floor a few dozen miles off the Kona coast, would rise into the sky four miles or more above the water, looking like a round island with the highest peaks in the Pacific ocean, having elevations above the sea only matched anywhere else on the planet by the Himalayas and Andes. What tiny creatures indeed were human beings, little specks of living tissue on the surface of this enormous round world. And, with such pervasive self-interest, she realized, it was so easy for human beings to consider themselves larger, really, than life. Those controlling the asteroid and its fragments surely must see us for the foolish creatures we are, she mused. Then Sandra shook her head at herself. There she was, facing a confrontation with something far beyond any human's grasp, all the while playing mind games with Madeleine Vigola. And for what purpose?

  When the phone rang again a few minutes later, Sandra answered. This time it was Joseph Carstairs.

  “Dr. Hughes,” he said, “sorry to disturb your work. Do you have a moment to talk?”

  “Yes,” she said, then added, “I'm at a stopping point for now.”

  “I spoke with Ms Vigola,” he said directly, “and she regrets that there is not enough time to clear your student, Ms Françoise Marnier, for the asteroid work on the next two evenings. She does send her apologies but knows you'll understand that security matters must take precedence.”

  “Oh my, that is a shame,” Sandra said, but without the intensity of feeling she actually had. “Well, I do appreciate her making the effort.”

  “Ms Vigola also asked that I relate to you that your responsibility itself shouldn't be considered a great burden. The need for special help from your student is really no longer necessary. There is, after all, only to await the appropriate transmissions. The network established through the FBI can actually relieve you of any extra work like that you had to deal with earlier, when the first transmissions arrived.”