by M R Cates
Carstairs seemed to have been reasonably well briefed, including having the knowledge that Sandra had spent some effort decoding the alien transmissions. How much he actually knew, however, was hard to estimate. She read into Vigola's relayed comments that removing Sandra from the Keck facility altogether would be something the government might choose to do, using her computer programs and the like to collect and send data.
“Well, thanks again, Mr. Carstairs,” she said, trying to make herself sound unconcerned.
“You're welcome, Dr. Hughes,” he said pleasantly.
Sandra immediately dialed Tamara Wilson back. “Tamara, would you please connect me to Dr. Frederico Constanza, our colleague at the European observatory? Oh, it's asteroid business, you understand. Each colleague group expects regular updates.”
“Let me get this cleared, Dr. Hughes,” came the pleasant reply.
Sandra scratched her head and waited. In a few minutes, someone answered her in Spanish.
“Yo soy Sandra Hughes de los Estados Unidos,” Sandra said. “Senior Director Constanza, por favor.”
“Oh!” cried the secretary who'd answered, switching immediately to English. “Dr. Hughes, yes. I'll connect you to Dr. Constanza. Please, just a little moment.”
Constanza was on the line quickly. “Hello, Sandra, how are you?”
“Fine, Rico,” she said. “Nothing major here to report on the asteroid. Anything going on at the moment?”
“Nothing, Sandra,” he said, voice indicating some perplexity at her tone. Their daily updates were normally sent across the Internet, not by phone. He himself had rarely been directly involved. “Our live image of Fragment Five should be routed to your computers. Is it not?”
“Oh, it's here in all its glory, thanks. The main reason I called is to ask a favor.”
“I see, Sandra,” he said, though he actually did not.
“Great. Look, I'm trying to arrange to have Françoise on duty at the Kecks with me tonight and tomorrow night. At the moment she has been excluded from the team. There have been some administrative glitches. Would you mind making a call for me?”
“Glitches?”
“Mistakes, Rico. Would you call the Spanish government and ask them to contact the United Nations on my behalf? I'm trying to promote the international nature of our work, after all, and want to highlight the fact that we have a French citizen from a European observatory on our primary team.”
“Would it be necessary to go through the UN, Sandra? I don't quite understand. Could not Dr. Wyler simply make the assignment?”
“Under normal circumstances, yes, Rico, but as I said, there are some administrative glitches ... mistakes that complicate the matter.”
“Very well, Sandra. I'll certainly make the call.” He still sounded a little confused.
“Thanks a lot, Rico,” she said, guessing that Madeleine Vigola would soon be fuming. “And give my regards to the folks there. I'm still enjoying the memories of those beautiful Pyrenees.”
“It is very gracious of you to say so, Sandra.”
“Okay, Rico, thanks again.”
Constanza looked oddly at the disconnected phone in his hand. Then he shrugged. Sandra Hughes was not an easy person to comprehend. However, true to his word, he put in a call to Madrid.
Chapter 27
At four o'clock in the afternoon, Joseph Carstairs reappeared at Sandra's office door, this time accompanying Carl Von Drath. Sandra greeted the government official with a handshake and Carl with a quick kiss on the cheek. The kiss was a habit she'd developed from her trip to Spain. The warmth of the Spanish had been very touching, and the simple embrace that was their common greeting struck her as a very human and meaningful thing to do. Her humanity had been very much on her mind.
Carstairs said to her, “Dr. Von Drath has been cleared for work on your team, Dr. Hughes. I hope you find that helpful.”
Sandra, the picture of graciousness, actually gave the Deputy Chief of Staff a pleasant smile and said, “Very much so. And please thank Madeleine for me. It was so cooperative and helpful of her to make that accommodation.”
As if justifying the good deed by apologetics for the rejection of Françoise, Carstairs said, “Dr. Von Drath, of course, is a well known scientific personage. I'm sorry we don't have the same background information for your student, doctor.”
“Thanks anyway for the effort,” Sandra said, figuring that Carstairs had been informed of her call to Spain.
“Dr. Von Drath,” said Carstairs, “if you'll let us know, we will return you to your home when you wish.”
“Thank you, Mr. Carstairs,” Carl said, and moved to sit in the chair opposite Sandra.
The Deputy Chief of Staff left at that juncture. Sandra stood with her back against the closed door and gave her old friend a wry look. “Welcome to the asteroid team, Dr. Von Drath.”
“Perhaps you will brief me, Dr. Hughes,” he responded, “on my role in this enterprise.”
“You are responsible for pearls of wisdom, rendered in a rich accent that would have impressed Einstein or even Beethoven.”
“At your service,” he said, with a smile.
Sandra indicated her office with a sweep of the hand. “Settle in there, Carl, and I'll run get us some coffee. Guaranteed good; I didn't make it.”
“Excellent,” he smiled.
When she'd returned with the coffee – in a carafe so they could have another cup later – the two talked casually for a while, during which Sandra had gone to her white board and written, “remember, big brother is listening,” and getting a nod of understanding before erasing it.
“I'm hoping,” she eventually said, “that Françoise will get reinstated into our Keck team. Tomorrow night will be hectic I'm sure. And she knows the ropes.”
“I gather,” he said, “that you expect a communication tomorrow night.”
“Yes,” she said, then pointedly, “I wasn't sure whether I'd be able to inform you about the earlier messages, but fortunately, thanks to Madeleine Vigola's cooperation ...” She looked at some pretend location of a listening device. “... I can fill you in.”
Carl then understood that she'd sent him information at home that the Washington officials hadn't known about. He couldn't help smiling. Sandra was always a step ahead of most people, most of the time. Why she'd done what she did wasn't exactly clear to him, but then, Sandra's actions usually turned out to make good sense.
During their second cups of coffee, Sandra went back to the first communication from Fragment Five and carefully brought him completely up to date. Despite the casualness of her speech and the informality of the setting, the gravity of the sequence of events weighed heavy in the air. Carl got the distinct impression that a part of Sandra's thoroughness was a desire on her part to provide a detailed record of her experience and impressions. The government listening devices would serve well to provide that record.
“I must say, Sandra,” Carl said, at the end of her account, “that you are carrying the burden of fate with remarkable aplomb.”
“Looks can be deceiving, Carl. I'm scared to death.”
“What are your specific concerns, Sandra?”
She looked at him a moment before answering. “My weakness. My ignorance. My temper. My lack of insight. My fear. My tendency to speak before thinking. And I'm sure there are some other problems I haven't thought of yet.”
Carl sipped the coffee in his hand. He, too, looked toward her imaginary listening device location and said, “Sandra, at the risk of sounding patronizing, or even prejudiced about a friend, I have to say that the aliens have chosen a good representative.”
“Be serious, Carl. Why would I be any good at all? I'm nothing but a stubborn damn astronomer that is better at shooting off her mouth than listening. Worse than that, I'm not one of the alpha males that are in charge of our race of apes.”
“I stand by my opinion, Sandra. Besides, it is – as you have already said – a moot point.”
She
sighed. “Damn straight, Carl. Listen, are you willing to hang around this evening and tomorrow evening? I know you'll need rest. We have some bunks down the hallway. Since we are basically vampires here at the observatory, we have the needed facilities.”
“If you think I'd be helpful, Sandra, yes.”
“You will be,” she assured him. “Reggie is the only senior person here that has the full story, and because of his position he has to be available during the day. So ...” She let the implications trail off. “When we get through this next message, Carl, I'm buying you and Françoise the best dinner available on the Big Island.”
“And where is that?”
“Down at the Mauna Kea Resort.”
“You can't afford it, Sandra.”
“Right, but it'll be a business expense.” She winked at the imaginary listener.
—
It was five-thirty in the afternoon, five-thirty in the morning, Spanish time, eleven-thirty in the evening on the American east coast, before Sandra got the call from Washington. Carl had been taken home by some of the security agents and would return at eight o'clock.
The astronomer said into the encrypted phone, “Sandra Hughes, may I help you?”
“Dr. Hughes, this is Madeleine Vigola. How are you?”
“Fine, Madeleine. How are you this evening?”
“Well, doctor. We've worked out the arrangements to allow Ms Marnier access to your recent asteroid information. She will be joining your team this evening.”
“Thank you so much,” said Sandra, as genuinely as she could pretend. “That will round out our team perfectly. I feel much better about the arrangement now.”
“Good, Dr. Hughes. Since these are extraordinary circumstances we have made exceptions to the usual rules.”
“Extraordinary is an understatement, Madeleine. I can tell you I am grateful that the President's staff has been working so closely with us. And the UN, too, of course.” She let her eyebrows rise, pleased. “This is, after all, a matter going well beyond our American interests. Thank you again.”
“You're quite welcome, doctor. Is there anything else you will need?” There was careful masking of the Chief of Staff's coolness, but Sandra heard a little seeping out.
“Guess not, Madeleine, but thank you.”
“Alright, doctor. We'll talk again. Good luck this evening.” Vigola hung up first this time.
—
Françoise Marnier arrived just before dark. She was unaware of the effort that Sandra Hughes had put forth to make it possible for the French student to enter the observatory building. Jason Nagato was already in the control room, busying himself with tasks he knew were necessary in advance of any program they might pursue with the Keck telescopes. Françoise joined him. When they were done with the preliminaries the two left the control room and went to Sandra's office, knocking on the door. This was the routine they'd established since Françoise's arrival in Hawaii.
“Come in,” came the astronomer's response, and they entered.
“We have the instrumentation all checked out, Dr. Hughes,” Jason said.
“Thanks, Jason,” she said. “Françoise, it's good to see you.”
“Sandra,” said the young woman, “I had brunch with Dr. Von Drath today. It was very nice.”
“Oh, good, Carl got in touch with you. By the way, he will be with us tonight.”
“Oh truly?” Françoise said. She was pleased.
“I need to bring you both up to date,” Sandra said, looking at each in turn. “And you have to be aware that we are now in a tight security situation.”
The looks on both young people's faces showed their surprise. Sandra had only one guest chair in the room, so she suggested that Jason use it and that Françoise use her chair. Standing, she briefed the two in considerable detail about all the transmissions from and replies to Fragment Five since she'd sent them home early the night before. Jason and Françoise listened in rapt silence, stunned by the facts and the implications. Neither was sure what to say as she came to the end of her comments.
“It, well,” Françoise said, “it is quite difficult to ... you see, a very unexpected thing.”
Sandra nodded. “That's for sure, Françoise. Whatever their reasons, however, our friends the little green men appear to have very definite ideas.”
Jason was a person of few words. The momentous situation he now was a part of took away even the few. He looked stricken and said nothing.
Sandra glanced out the window. Dusk had fallen. She said, “Fragment Five won't be back in range until about nine. It's passing us right now. But I want you two to concentrate on the asteroid itself tonight anyway.” She then went to the white board and outlined the plans for the evening. The two left shortly thereafter to go back to the control room.
Carl Von Drath arrived just after dark, passing the check of his credentials in the entrance hall, and coming straight into Sandra's office. She was at her desk, looking at a clear image of what she called Fragment One, one of the geosynchronous orbiters. “This is the best resolution I've ever gotten of this fellow,” she announced, eyes on the screen. “Last night's data.”
“Hard to believe, Sandra, that the rock is 22,000 miles away.”
She glanced back at him. “These mirrors are sometimes unbelievable, even to me, Carl. Take a look at the orange emissions, or whatever, that come and go.”
“You have been recording them, correct?”
“I have many hours of recording, Carl. Don't make a goddamn bit of sense.”
“What do they look like?”
“Here.” She let her fingers blur across the keyboard, displaying ten wiggling lines on a screen to her right, in his view. Each of the parallel lines showed a unique pattern, no two even remotely alike. “I ran a line through ten locations on this Fragment One image where we've seen a fair amount of orange and red emission. Every time I select ten periods of time like this, I'll get ten completely random patterns, never coming even close to repeating.”
“Random patterns, Sandra?”
“To me, random. Or at least, non-repeating. To them, who knows. Probably this is communication of some sort.”
“And you don't think these fluctuations might simply be noise from some energy-producing process inside the fragments?”
“No, Carl, I don't. Noise of that type would – without exactly repeating, of course – have similar characteristics wherever we might record it. These signals – look at them – are each completely unique. Sure, it looks like noise, in some sense, but it looks unique, measurement to measurement. It isn't noise, Carl. It isn't noise.”
“Their language?”
“Yep. Well, maybe not their language, but their radio, or television, say.”
“Do the various analysis teams share you opinion, Sandra?”
“Some do, others don't – as you might guess, Carl. But who the hell could know? We're all just guessing.”
“Did you consider sending back some of their recorded ‘language’?”
“Did, yes. I really liked your idea.” Sandra looked over at the white board. “But it’s considered too risky – by the powers that be.”
The old man nodded and spoke in the same direction. “I understand.”
—
At home, after daylight had dawned, Sandra Hughes asked for an outside line to call her sister. Debbie was home and answered promptly.
“Hi, sis,” Sandra said.
“You sound tired, Sandy. Why aren't you in bed.”
“On my way, actually. Just wanted to know about your moving plans.”
Debbie's voice shifted upward in energy. “The movers are coming tomorrow. But I'm only sending some stuff. The rest of it I'll leave here with some friends.”
“Because you're going to miss good ol' Texas and have to go back?” Sandra's tone was light.
“No, because that apartment you so generously arranged is about as big as a Texas two-car garage.”
“But for two Cadillacs, Deb.�
�
“Sure. Anyway, I'm really excited.”
“Dumb blond,” Sandra said. “We're going to work your cute ass off.”
“You still have some meat on yours, Sandy.”
“Because I'm a scientist, honey. We don't really work.”
“Now you tell me. But after they load me up, I'm outta here the next day. Will be on your doorstep about noon, your time. Two days, Sandy.”
“Great, Debbie. Listen, I should warn you that the security gooks are getting more and more dedicated to their jobs.” She glanced into the air around her, wondering where the bugs were.
“So?” Debbie asked.
“So, they may make it hard for me to see you much for a while.”
Debbie didn't like the comment. “Well that's a fine kettle of fish!”
“Hey, that's what dad used to say, Deb. Did you actually remember?”
Debbie said, “Maybe. You don't say it.”
There was a sudden silence. Both sisters were thrown instantly into a kind of melancholy, remembering parents they really couldn't remember. There was a kind of created memory in both brains, stuffed with idealized ideas about the long departed ones. Sandra broke the spell, saying, “I'm going to try to get you into the ... what do you call it ... into the 'cleared' group.”
“Cleared? I could never pass one of those clearance things,” Debbie said.
“Deb, you can bet that our fine government has already investigated you down to the last time some guy hit on you at the bar.”
Debbie was stunned by the idea. “You mean they ...?”
“They know every hot stud you shacked up with, Deborah Hughes McAnn. Sorry.”
“Don't remind me, Sandy.”
“I don't judge you, Deb. The feds probably don't either.”
“You don't judge me, Sandy, because you don't really know what I've been up to. The damned feds probably do – or so you say.”
“You can bet they do.” Sandra almost laughed, and Debbie could hear the teasing coming over the line. “But they won't tell me and I won't ask.”
