by M R Cates
A few minutes after the designated time, Alvarez stood and gently tapped a spoon against his coffee cup.
“I think we're all here, so shall we begin. First, let me remind you all that this meeting is held in strictest security. Only a few others around the world are aware that we are meeting today and for what particular purpose. If you don't know me yet, I am Carlos Alvarez, acting as special science advisor to President McBrand. The list of attendees being passed around summarizes my as well as everyone's credentials. Now, let me recognize the President's Chief of Staff, Ms Madeleine Vigola.” He smiled her way and sat down.
Vigola stood. She looked rested, having had some time to recover from jet lag. Her suit was charcoal gray and her hair was nicely coiffed. Sandra realized for the first time the woman had nice features and had probably been quite attractive in her youth. She had chosen, however – and the choice met with Sandra's approval – to emphasize her intellectual, as opposed to physical, attributes.
The Chief of Staff said, “As you know, we are on the verge of an historic event, scheduled for three days from now, the sixteenth. Doctor Hughes, here, will be entrusted with a unique mission, one never before undertaken. Our goal is to anticipate any problems, make contingency plans, and support her as well as possible in that endeavor.”
There was a low murmur in the room. The depth of feeling was palpable. Sandra was struck by Vigola's words.
Vigola continued. “The timetable, as we understand it, is quite simple. At four o'clock on the sixteenth some kind of craft will land out in the Pacific west of here and south of Honolulu. Apparently this craft will transport Dr. Hughes somewhere or will act as a kind of meeting room. Further information is supposed to be forthcoming from the asteroid visitors via the flashing methods used so far during the night viewing time at the Keck Observatory that evening. The communications from the orbiting asteroid fragment labeled 'five' clearly stated that none of our resources should approach the landed craft. That is basically all we know. Naturally, all the alien communications are under continuous scrutiny by our best people, but we are confident that there are no hidden meanings in their words. Let me ask Dr. Hughes, first, if you'd like to make any opening comments before we get into details?”
Sandra was taken a little by surprise, and had been only concentrating on Vigola's words by mentally overriding her wish to be somewhere else. Without standing, however, she promptly responded. “Thanks, Ms Vigola. I must say that, at this point, I don't really know any more than any of us here. The elements of the messages received from Fragment Five are just as Ms Vigola says. A couple of physicians checked me out this morning, and found me in okay shape for the meeting to come. Consequently, I'm ready to go – recognizing that no one can really be ready for this.” She leaned back and sipped coffee, signaling the end of her comment.
At that point the meeting moved into details. There were discussions of aircraft carrier locations, where satellites would be, a few remarks about the space telescope and its observation times, what intermediate surface vessels were located in Honolulu, and those in Hilo and Kona. Military aircraft, their surveillance capabilities, locations, possible flight patterns and the like generated a long discussion. Communications links, routes of encrypted lines, and other details about the associated networks were laid out and discussed. Sandra didn't exactly resent all the explanations and expansions into exhaustive detail – because she knew these things had to be done – but she was nonetheless bored. Further, she was sorry that Carl, Françoise and Jason were inflicted with it. Reggie Wyler, she figured, was stuck, because he would have to be the Keck Observatory coordinator. Further, Sandra knew that very little specific planning could take place until after the Fragment Five transmission on the night of the sixteenth. And she also had concern that somehow the feds would try to violate the instructions to stay away from the alien craft.
Eventually, the meeting began to wind down, and Sandra was asked for any further comments. She started to shake her head no, but changed her mind. “Let me say just a couple of more things. First, I want all of you to know how grateful I am for your support, and speaking for our Keck team, we really do feel secure knowing we have such a large number of capable people working with us. That said – and I mean it fervently – let me remind all of us that we have to be prepared for totally unknown circumstances. Not that I am worried that the visitors will not live up their statements – I fully expect them to do just as they said – but because we are not dealing with an intelligence that we understand. We cannot be overconfident about predicting what they will do, and especially in what motivates them. One of my goals for myself – if the opportunity should arise – is to make an effort to understand something about what might be their motives for coming here. Maybe, of course, they'll simply tell us. We can hope so. Let's keep our minds open, and stay alert. Again, thank you all.” Sandra gave Vigola, in particular, a warm look.
Madeleine Vigola stood and said, “Thank you, Dr. Hughes for reminding us of these important matters. Let me add just one thing to that list of reminders. The main purpose of this meeting with the visitors will be to gain information about them. We can assume their purpose is similar, to gain information about us. We cannot allow ourselves, however, to not keep in mind some ulterior motive on their part. If anyone here has any further ideas that might help us optimize our chances for gaining information please let me know.”
Carlos Alvarez rose. “Thank you all for the hard work so far. Before we break up, however, I'd like to give an opportunity for anyone who wishes to speak. Some of you have said little or nothing. Dr. Carl Von Drath, would you care to make any comments?”
Carl, who had alertly kept up with the entire meeting – a real achievement in Sandra's opinion – considered the question for a moment, then responded, leaning forward though not standing, “Some of you know I am Sandra's friend, and am here because we have had an informal working relationship for several years. She has discussed the events of the asteroid with me from the beginning. Many of you here do not know Sandra Hughes. Some of you have gotten to know her since the events began to unfold and know her only in the context of those events and your own responsibilities with respect to them. Probably – if I may be frank – there are some in this room and others among the group around the world who know about the upcoming landing who wonder how a young female astronomer could possibly be the best choice to represent us as a species, even as a planet, when the stakes of the meeting may be so high. If you are one of those people let me reassure you. As I near my eightieth birthday I can look back on associations with outstanding scientists, engineers, scholars and leaders of many kinds, and the truth of the matter in my opinion is that Sandra Hughes has to be among the best choices possible for the difficult role she is entrusted with. Rather than embarrassing her by bragging on her in public, let me say that any of you who wish to understand the details of my opinion should see me after the meeting.” He smiled at Sandra who was giving him a pleasant scowl.
Shortly after that the meeting broke up.
—
The afternoon was warmer than usual in Waimea, so Sandra knew it would be even hotter – though drier – over on the Kona coast. With the heat in mind Sandra chose Bermuda style shorts and a favorite tee shirt of hers that she knew Debbie would love. The shirt was pale blue with a simple phrase “Made in Texas by Texans” printed on it. Sandra knew that Debbie would pick up the sexual connotation but the real reason for its being a favorite for Sandra was the allusion to her long-dead parents. She picked up Françoise in the rental used green Saturn sedan that had been the latest in her regularly changing vehicles. Despite its age it was quite comfortable. The young Frenchwoman was also fully aware of the warm weather and had dressed – or undressed – accordingly. Françoise wore short cream colored cotton shorts, a matching halter top and sandals. Carl, whom they picked up next out at his place – where they'd spent the previous evening – looked a little worse for the wear, because of the rather late night,
too much wine, and the morning meeting that he had endured so nobly. He wore khakis and blue shirt, with good walking shoes, his standard uniform.
On the way to the airport, they discussed the meeting, knowing that such discussions would be off limits after Debbie was picked up. Sandra, in particular, wanted to know how Françoise had reacted to the discussions and the people.
“I think,” said Françoise, “that I felt very ... strange with all of those very important people.”
“None more important than you,” Sandra assured her. “Do you think we are making good plans? What have we left out?”
Françoise was seated in the back, directly behind Carl, and was able to look diagonally across at Sandra in the driver's seat. Sandra could also glance back at the student. “I think,” came the response, “that everyone wants to do their best for you, Sandra.”
“No doubt about that,” Sandra said, passing an area she knew was a security check point. They would be followed probably, or kept track of in some way, but were basically out in the real world again for a while, not exactly free, but not within the confines of the huge security zone that now comprised the town of Waimea and much of the surrounding land. “But,” persisted Sandra, “have we left anything out?”
“Certainly no detail about airplanes or boats or satellites that I can ... well, identify,” Françoise said. “But, you see, I worry foolishly, because I do not understand these visitors.”
Carl said, “I've been thinking about the fifty-mile radius, ladies. Why are the asteroid people so insistent on such a large radius?”
“Because they knocked out our geosynchronous satellites for awhile,” Sandra suggested.
“That's the obvious explanation,” said the old man, “but can there be other reasons?”
Françoise ventured, “Could there be some radioactivity perhaps?”
Sandra added, “Or simply a desire to see first how their craft reacts to the water and air.”
“Both scenarios,” Carl pointed out, “imply a concern for human safety. And that is probably part of their interest. But, if you're right, Sandra, that they are needing to communicate with each other, a fair amount of space around their craft could be useful. As far as we know they are uncertain about the effects of air and water vapor.”
“But,” Françoise objected, “they must have air or water or some such thing, you see, on their planet, wherever they come from.”
“Because they're alive? Is that what you mean?” Sandra asked.
“Yes.”
“Maybe they're not alive,” Sandra said. “At least in the strictest sense that we are alive. Maybe they are androids or some ... well, equivalent thing.”
“What is equivalent,” Carl asked, “to an android that is not an android?”
Sandra looked over and gave him a raised eyebrow. She nearly winked. “A sentient creature,” Sandra said, “that doesn't need the same kind of life support we need.”
Françoise asked, “But how can that be anything but an android?”
“A living creature, say,” Sandra came back, “that runs on something beside gas and food.”
The French student laughed. “Oh, we 'run', as you say, on gas and food. Yes, we do.”
“But why does every living thing have to?” Sandra continued.
Carl rubbed his eyes. “A good point, Sandra. It is another example of assuming that any sentient creature anywhere would have to be something like us. But I do have trouble figuring how life would form in nature – spontaneously at least – without carbon chains.”
Sandra was letting the car have its head a little. There wasn't much traffic. “Think about this, my fellow travelers. I was reading recently about the Oak Ridge Supercomputer. Associated with the big center there is a group doing genetic programming. Are you familiar with it, either of you?”
“Yes, Sandra,” Françoise said. “It is a popular ... what do you say, specialization for students in France.”
Carl nodded, “I know something of it, yes. What is your point, Dr. Hughes?”
“My point, Herr Doktor, is that computers – actually programmable gate arrays, to be exact – are now busily learning the world around them. There is some recent work where two or more 'senses' have been used, along with the genetic learning sequences. In other words, instead of just video cameras to act as eyes, they have added pressure transducers to act as touch, or some similar thing.”
“And this,” Françoise asked, “has something to do with ...”
“Yes,” broke in Sandra, not from irritation but from excitement. “We started off as carbon chains, yes, but we are about to make a form of life that doesn't use carbon, just silicon chips, batteries, and some mechanical and video gadgets.”
“I see your point, Sandra,” he nodded.
“Maybe our robots, with their silicon brains, will eventually make us superfluous,” Sandra continued. “And maybe they won't know – as far as they are concerned – that they aren't living just as much as we think we are.”
Françoise put her heads up to either side of her head, French braids and all. “Oh, that hurts my brain, to think about such things.”
“Your carbon chain brain, girl,” Sandra said. “If it were silicon chips, probably wouldn't hurt a bit.”
“Ha! Tres drole!” came the Gallic response, complete with a friendly cuff to the side of Sandra's head. That was the first time Françoise had ever been so playful.
She is finally relaxing a little, Sandra thought. About time.
—
The flight into Kona had come straight from San Francisco, and was a large, fully loaded jet. The little open-air airport in Kona allowed travelers to be met outside. There were no elevated, movable gates, so the passengers unloaded out on the tarmac and made their way across it to the exit gates that marked the airport security barriers. Debbie McAnn, in long baize slacks and shiny brown blouse came out of the plane and down the portable steps in full view of her greeting party. As she started down she looked over to see her sister out on the tarmac, halfway out to the plane. There, with her two companions, Sandra had been given special dispensation by the security team. (How many security people were at the airport was anyone's guess.) Debbie noticed, too, that the crowd beyond the gate was glancing and pointed toward Dr. Sandra Hughes – whom all would instantly recognize. Naturally, it made her smile, and gave her words of greeting.
“Why, there's the famous pony-tailed astronomer herself!” Debbie said, using as rich a Texas accent as she dared. “May I have your autograph?”
“Why, sure, honey,” answered her sister – in a thick accent that Françoise had never heard before. “For special people like you I give them a kick in the butt!”
The two siblings shared a warm hug in front of the others, then Sandra did the honors.
“Carl Von Drath – my great buddy – this is my sister Debbie.”
The two shook hands politely. Debbie – who smiled much more often than her sister – grinned appreciatively at him, having heard so much about the old man. She told him as much, saying how nice it was to finally meet him.
“And Françoise Marnier, well on her way to being Doctor Marnier, formerly one of France's finest, happily now a Hawaiian.”
Françoise took Debbie's hand, then leaned out to give her a ritual peck on the cheek. It was slightly confusing to the Texan but she managed not to look that way.
As they passed through the gate into the main open-air area of the terminal, a kind of path opened up to let them pass. People were watching, but didn't step forward to comment, or interfere in any other way. It was surprisingly quiet, in fact. The people watching did so without conversation. Sandra guessed that possibly her fellow citizens were either being polite – as she hoped was the case – or the federal authorities had butted in and told everyone to cool it.
Arrangements for Debbie had been thorough, both on the surface, and in the depths of federal security programs. The apartment, down the hall from Françoise, was ready and fur
nished to some degree with temporary items like a bed, table and chairs, and the like. Debbie's furniture would arrive by ship within a few weeks. Sandra had provided linens and towels of her own until Debbie's got there. A security clearance, up to the level required, had already been processed for Debbie, and was signed off and in place at the Keck headquarters building. Unbeknownst to either sister, Debbie's apartment had been carefully bugged, just as Sandra's and Carl's homes and Françoise's apartment had been. The newcomer would also be given an encrypted phone at the government's expense. She had also been told by Reginald Wyler not to come to work until the following Monday, so there would be several days of adjustment and down time before Debbie would have to begin learning the accounting and financial system she would be working with.
The four driving back to Waimea carried on a lively, if trivial, conversation. Françoise had a number of questions about Texas, and Carl reflected on various occasions in Texas, during meetings and contact with colleagues. Debbie was fascinated with the scenery around her and squeezed in a number of questions herself, about the land, the people, the weather, and the like. Sandra faded to the background of the conversation, concentrating on driving and letting the new people get acquainted. Just before they reached the secure area around Waimea, Debbie asked her sister, “What's going on with our visiting asteroid these days? Anything new?”
“Oh,” Sandra said, glancing over her sister's way, “our famous rock handlers are always doing something new. Nice to have you here while we watch them do it.”
