by M R Cates
“What?”
“I probably can't sail the damned Devil Fish back against the wind. But the fiber optic cables are strong enough to pull me back.”
“And if they're not?” Debbie asked.
“I'll do what I can to get the boat somewhere where I can be picked up.”
Debbie looked at her sister a moment. “Doesn't sound all that solid a plan to me.”
“Best we can do, Deb, under the circumstances.”
“So you're ... all set, then,” Debbie said. “Hope you have a big gun or something with you.”
“No guns, Deb. Or metal at all. That's the point.”
The point finally struck Debbie. “Oh, damn. Sure. I see now. Is this ... I mean, why, no metal?”
“The little green men insist on it.”
“What about the brass in your head, Sandy? What will they think?” The younger sister smiled.
“Goes with the lead in my butt,” Sandra said. “Nothing they can do about that.”
Chapter 36
At seven o'clock in the morning on July 18th, Sandra Hughes bounded down her front steps, very much like any regular day in her life. No neighbors were out that morning, with no one to greet, not even Iz, the dog from two houses down that often came over for a quick pat. Instead, however, of crossing over to get into her own car, the scientist, suppressing a yawn, found a government car waiting to take her immediately to a helicopter that would transport her back to the Kona dock where the Devil Fish floated.
Sandra wore full length jeans, a red cotton shirt and the same old sneakers she'd worn during her previous day's sailing lesson. The sneakers were still slightly damp. She also carried a green nylon windbreaker to take along and a small nylon tote bag. She settled herself in the back seat and nodded to the driver, a young man in a military uniform. She wasn't sure of which branch of the service. There were a few courteous words shared between her and him during the short run to the helicopter. The copter was chugging slowly when she was let out, instinctively ducking (unnecessarily) to avoid the rotor as she scrambled into the waiting seat next to the pilot, another young man in uniform. Once more she nodded and off they went, quickly dropping Waimea below. Sandra could look north for the first few minutes, clearly picking out the Haleakala volcano on Maui. Few clouds could be seen. It promised to be a clear day. Had the asteroid beings known it would be? She doubted it; how could they? Of course, they might be watching our weather reports. As the helicopter turned south toward Kona, she looked directly west, unable to make out any sign of the floating rock doughnut, though she knew accurately where it must be. We're too low, she thought. In the last few minutes of the flight Sandra started composing her thoughts, going through an internal checklist. It was as normal to her as breathing.
Madeleine Vigola, Dr. McArthur Lawrence, and several others, most in uniform, greeted Sandra as she moved away from the helicopter, near the dock area at Kona. In all directions there were clusters of military vehicles and a number of troops stationed at various checkpoints. No uninvolved civilian was within a half mile. The aircraft powered down, leaving them in welcome silence. Vigola came forward and said, “ Dr. Sandra Hughes, I want you to meet General Winston Boydston.” She indicated a gray-haired man who stepped forward. Sandra was able – after a couple of seconds examining his uniform – to determine he was from the Air Force.
“Good to meet you, General Boydston,” she said, extending a hand.
Vigola continued, “General Boydston is responsible for the air surveillance for this contact. Also, I want you to meet Admiral Malcolm Reynard, and Colonel Jon Greenberg.”
These two men also shook hands with the astronomer. Each was slightly chubby, showing his middle age, but with a tanned body and strong, purposeful movement. Their eyes met hers easily. There seemed no doubt about their competency.
“Admiral Reynard will coordinate the naval support of your mission, doctor, and Colonel Greenberg will be the contact that you will be speaking to most of the time.”
“Nice to meet you both,” Sandra said. Her ponytail fluttered a little in the breeze. The contrast of military uniforms, Vigola's perfectly tailored suit, and Sandra's jeans could not have been more stark. “Colonel Greenberg,” she added, “please call me Sandra, and I would prefer to call you Jon, especially during our communications.” She smiled. Since the gesture from Sandra Hughes was somewhat rare, it had the desired effect.
“Of course, doctor, er, Sandra.” Then Greenberg smiled.
“Good,” the astronomer said. “Now, Madeleine, I trust the tow ship is that one there.” She pointed to a coast guard cutter docked next to the Devil Fish. It was about eighty feet long, sleek, and probably fast. There was a raised boom on its aft deck with an attached spool of what appeared to be the fiber optic cable they would use.
“Yes,” nodded the Chief of Staff.
“Alright. Remember that I can make between seven and nine knots in the Devil Fish. Given the weather forecast for late morning and early afternoon. If it's an average of eight it will take six hours to cover the forty-eight miles required. So I'll have to leave the 50-mile radius boundary no later than ten. It would be good if the tow boat had us in place by, say, nine-fifteen, so Jon and I can go through a set of checks. And I need to practice our special Morse Code.”
There were general nods of understanding and approval.
Sandra continued. “Reeling out the fiber cable will be the most critical issue. We also have not directly measured the drag it may cause on the Devil Fish, especially at extended lengths. We can only go by the calculations, you all understand, and I never trust calculations. The rate of spin out, keep in mind, is a good estimate of the Devil Fish speed, so be ready to tell me the numbers.” She looked at Jon and got a nod. “Now I'd like a quick word with Carl and Françoise, before we start,” she added.
Vigola, who had stepped back, symbolically giving way to Sandra, said, “Doctor Von Drath is in the trailer you see there, where the shore monitoring station is located. Ms Marnier is also there.”
Sandra started immediately toward the trailer, about a hundred feet away at the edge of the open area where the helicopter had landed. The site was a similar distance from the dock. “Have we missed anything?” Sandra asked the group in general as they walked.
Admiral Reynard said, “I think we all know our roles.”
“Yes,” agreed General Boydston. “We already have thirty-five craft in the air. With the available telescopes, Doctor Hughes, you will be under constant observation.”
“Great,” Sandra nodded. They all went into the trailer, following the briskly walking astronomer.
Carl Von Drath was standing to greet Sandra, having seen her approach. “Good morning, Sandra,” he said immediately. “I talked with your sister, just a moment ago. She said for you to 'break a leg.'“ The old man smiled in his rather distorted manner.
“Thanks, Carl,” she said, then went directly across and hugged him. “Damn, but I'm glad you're going to be on the cutter. Where's Françoise?”
“Here,” the young woman said, coming through a door from the second of the trailer's three rooms. Françoise was in a suit not much different from Madeleine Vigola's, with – like everyone there except Sandra – a government identification badge pinned to her right lapel. “Jason is in the Keck control room, Sandra, as you asked.” She smiled. Everything about the French student was bright and fresh. She was bursting with pride to be there.
“Good, Françoise. Let me speak to him quickly, please.” She directed her question to a young woman in uniform sitting at the left end of the console in the room.
The young woman turned, nodding, and tapped in a four-digit link, offering Sandra the phone. Sandra got a glance at the name tag just under the badge the woman wore. “Thanks, Jessica,” the astronomer said, lifting the phone to her ear.
“Good luck, Sandra,” Jason said.
“Thanks, Jason. Listen, watching Fragment Five, especially, and the other fragments is important. A
ll the linked observatories are partly clued in, of course, but not totally. It'll be up to you to keep the data flowing. Okay?”
“Got it, Sandra,” he said. There was a little smile in his tone. Sandra's thoroughness could sometimes be amusing.
“They may communicate from Fragment Five,” Sandra added, partly for the sake of those next to her. “Or possibly one of their visible geosynchronous fragments.”
Jason said, “We're ready here. Don't worry, Sandra.”
“Okay, Jason. And thanks so much.” She hung up.
Sandra turned to her student. “By damn, Françoise, you look like a businesswoman.”
Françoise smiled. “I thought, you see, it might be proper to be formal.”
“Don't think I've ever seen you dressed up. Looks good on you.”
“Thank you, Sandra.” Françoise averted her eyes briefly. She didn't handle flattery well, at least not from Sandra. Changing the subject, the student said, “I have been thinking about the time shift, Sandra, when the alien craft landed. Could it, you see, be worse when you approach the ... that is, I don't understand what may happen.” There was a trace of concern in her eyes.
Sandra put a hand to her head. “I don't think that will be a problem, Françoise. Unless I miss my guess the time shifting had to do with the adjustments the aliens were doing to the atmosphere to protect their rock from overheating.”
“Then we are seeing the craft,” Françoise continued, “in real time?”
“Yes. Shifted by the few microseconds required to see it.”
“Then why did they ... the aliens mention metal?”
Sandra nodded in appreciation at the question. “We can only surmise, of course, but my thought is that they may have some electromagnetic means of isolating themselves from our environment. It's possible that any metal we bring in would disrupt it. Might be dangerous for us or for them, or for both.”
Françoise nodded.
Madeleine Vigola, who had drifted close enough to hear the last part of the conversation, got the astronomer's attention. “Dr. Hughes, before you go out to the cutter there are a couple of phone calls waiting for you.” She added a wan smile, showing a rare flash of friendliness.
“Who?” Sandra wondered, mind already elsewhere.
“The Secretary General and the President,” came the reply.
“Oh.” Sandra was suddenly reminded of the significance of what she was about to undertake. Until that reminder she'd been locked into her standard working mentality, mind on the task at hand. “Well, fine.”
The communications engineer, Jessica, handed Sandra the phone again, rather dramatically it seemed.
Secretary General Mumbabwa Alundi's voice was quiet and controlled. Sandra remembered his face, demeanor, and style. His first words were, “Dr. Hughes, we are truly grateful for your service to our world community. Our prayers are with you.”
“Thank you, sir,” she replied. “I am looking forward to an interesting experience. It is very comforting to know you are so supportive.”
“This is a time,” Alundi continued, “in our world's history with which we have no other to compare. How aware we are that you represent us all. All of us who share this blue planet together.”
Sandra was touched by his poetic use of language. “I will do my best,” she said, not sure what else to say.
“That we are certain of, doctor,” was his reply. “Now, Godspeed, Dr. Hughes.”
“Thank you sir.”
Sandra stood with the phone to her ear as the Secretary General disconnected. Jessica raised a finger to indicate the astronomer should continue to listen. In a few seconds the President was on the line.
“Sandra,” said Jefferson McBrand, voice bombastically loud in comparison with the Secretary General's mild tone, “I just wanted to wish you the best in this effort to contact those aboard the alien craft. As you must know, we are very proud of you and the kind of principle and talent you represent.”
“Thank you, Mr. President,” she said simply.
“We're doing all we know to support you,” he went on. “Our best people are there. Even my right hand. It is very difficult functioning here in Washington without Madeleine Vigola.”
Sandra almost smiled, managing to keep a straight face and say, “It is very impressive, sir, how much has been done in so short a time to prepare for this contact. All of us are very grateful, especially me.”
“I understand you are about to leave shore, Sandra. We will be praying for you.”
“Thank you again.”
“Just so you know, Sandra, we will remain in contact with the Coast Guard cutter constantly. Any message you need to get to me, Dr. Alundi, or anyone else, can be relayed promptly.”
“I appreciate that, Mr. President. However, you should be aware that there is no guaranteed good communications link between the cutter and the shore.”
“Oh?” The President's scripted words were suddenly interrupted. “I had heard nothing of that possibility, doctor.”
“Just a caution, sir, since we have already experienced some disruptions during the alien landing. Fortunately, there are both radio and satellite links. Neither, however, is absolutely necessary. I expect to send back everything I hear through the fiber optic link directly to the cutter. At worst it will be available when the cutter returns to shore.”
“So I understand, Sandra. Best wishes again. Please take along the good will of the American people.”
“I will do that. Thank you for the kind words.” She hesitated a moment, then hung up the phone.
“I think we should get started,” Sandra said to Vigola. She forced herself not to sigh. This was not a time for the astronomer to stop and consider her situation. She wanted to keep moving, focus on the task at hand and worry later, if necessary.
“There’s one more person who wants to talk to you,” Jessica said, speaking to Sandra’s back.
“Oh?” The astronomer turned.
The phone was handed back to her. It was Reginald Wyler.
“Sandra, best wishes,” he said. “Our fingers are crossed.”
“Thanks, Reg.”
“Don’t forget, we have a date when this is over.”
Sandra blinked a moment, then nodded with the phone at her ear. Won’t forget. Actually, I’m looking forward to it.”
The crew already on board the cutter included several technicians and engineers and the navy team operating the craft. Allowing Françoise and Carl to join that crew had been a direct concession to Sandra. Sandra spoke briefly with Vigola before boarding the cutter, following Françoise up the ramp. Carl and Greenberg had boarded a few moments earlier, and were already in the small control center aft of the cutter's main cabin. As the ship began slowly to move away, tightening the tow line to the Devil Fish, Sandra Hughes gave a nod to the President's Chief of Staff. Vigola had been – whatever Sandra's first impressions – solid as a rock in this whole enterprise. I misjudged her, Sandra thought, then added a final wave before turning to enter the cabin.
There was little to say at that point, and little was said. Speaking quietly, mostly with Greenberg on logistical issues, Sandra felt the cutter gain speed. In a few minutes she went out on deck with Françoise to observe the Devil Fish being pulled behind them. The Kona dock area was already a tiny cluster of structures in the distance. Behind it, the mass of the Hualalai, more than 8000 feet above the ocean, loomed. Her own blessed Mauna Kea was also visible, to the left and farther away. A member of the coast guard crew was on board the Devil Fish, monitoring the rigging and double checking the rectangular structure just aft of center where the fiber optics cable terminated. Behind that structure was a small storage area where Sandra's provisions had been sealed against the weather. Otherwise, the Devil Fish was identical to its look of the day before.
They had some twenty-odd miles of ocean to cross before reaching the 50-mile radius that marked the isolated zone around the floating alien craft. It would take about an hour. Françoise stood n
ext to Sandra quietly for a moment, as both looked back toward shore, beyond the sailboat being towed. The French woman spoke first.
“Sandra, I ... you see, we are very honored to be on your team. I hope you understand.” Françoise, so formally dressed, seemed somehow a different person to Sandra. It flashed through the scientist's mind that how a person dresses does have an impact.
“No, I'm the honored one,” Sandra said. “I've lucked into a hell of a team. Don't underrate yourself, Françoise.”
“I cannot help being ... very anxious, Sandra,” the student continued, ignoring the compliment.
“Nothing to worry about,” Sandra insisted, but didn't look at her friend, staring instead toward shore. “We've done everything we know to do. Now, we just get on with it.”
“It is all still, you see, very ... unreal, Sandra. Real, but not real. I am so foolish.”
“No, just normal. Nobody can believe this. Certainly not me. I'll be damned if anything could possibly be weirder than getting on a sailboat to go out and meet with aliens that may or may not even exist.”
“They must ... must exist,” Françoise gently objected.
“Somewhere, yes. But out on the rock? Who knows?”
“But you believe they are there?”
“I do. But what this 'they' is is beyond me.”
“I see,” murmured the other. This subject had been discussed often. There was little more to say about it.
The two were quiet for several minutes, together, but apart in separate realms of thought. Finally, Sandra turned, thinking to go back inside for the rest of the ride. Françoise reached out and caught her arm. “May I ... I need to say something to you, Sandra, while we are alone.”
“Sure,” Sandra said, turning to face her. The wind whipped the astronomer's hair around, blowing stray strands across her face. The two women's eyes meet firmly for the first time.
Françoise swallowed, brushed at her dark hair, and spoke. “It is very selfish of me to think about myself at this time, but I want you to know that you have ... have made my life something very wonderful, Sandra. And ... you are the most ... the most loved person in my life.”
