The Asteroid

by M R Cates

  Sandra sighed, then asked, “Are there more than one of your type of ... your kind of extended existence?”

  “We do not know.”

  “And why not?”

  “We cannot determine the existence of another – as you say – extended entity of our kind without contact. We have made no such contact.”

  “Couldn't you see the distribution in space from the messenger photons, as you call them. We can see this evidence ourselves.”

  “Messenger photons from other entities such our ourselves might be sensed, but could not be identified as to their source. Almost all photons arise from mass-energy, carrying information about it from one location to another. Messenger photons from our essence do not arise from mass-energy, yet they are indistinguishable from those that do. To sense ourselves or essence like ourselves requires the near association we have already discussed.”

  “So you might sense another group like yourselves somewhere in the universe but couldn't tell what or who they were unless you got close enough to them?”

  “Yes.”

  “So there is no characteristic space distribution that would identify your selves?”

  “No. There are many nebula and dust clouds, of many sizes, for example. All are mass-energy, yet indistinguishable from us at a distance in space-time.”

  “So many of these nebula might be relatives of yours and you wouldn't know it?”

  “It is possible. But it is also unlikely. We have memory of our origin and have no memory of any separation of any part of us.”

  “Couldn't other ... other beings have evolved the same way?”

  “Again it is possible. But again it is unlikely. We have observed many locations in this galaxy. Traces of essences like ours would be found. We have found none.”

  “What traces? Surely not your little tags you mentioned.”

  “Traces from mass. Our nature is to move and shape mass. Everywhere we go in space-time leaves records in the mass-energy of that location.”

  Sandra nodded. That she could believe. There were six of those 'records' orbiting the Earth as they spoke. “Speaking of shaping mass,” she said, “tell me why you shaped the asteroid and other fragments into toroids.”

  Plato, looking at her as if he saw her the way she saw him, said, “It is a convenient shape to allow us to interrelate in a bound and oriented pattern.”

  Sandra thought about her own understanding of confined plasmas, systems of symmetry and the like. “A sphere, then, would promote a more random distribution of your separate components?”

  “A sphere would require use of more energy to achieve proper orientation with respect to each other. A toroid allows a kind of continuous alignment of ourselves with minimum energy for orientation.”

  “And of course,” Sandra said, “you wanted to use some mass to propel your asteroid along, so why not take it out of the middle?”

  “Yes.”

  “So the asteroid is actually a living space for you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you require mass for your living space?”

  “No. We wish to be in association with mass.”

  “It feels good, then? Is a source of pleasure?”

  This question gave rise to another long pause. Again there was a momentary loss of Plato's form. When he began his answer he was only partly re-formed. It was very odd to hear the sound coming from a distorted shape. “Part of our uncertainty about human brain function is related to an understanding of your concepts of pleasure. If our understanding is correct, the answer is yes.”

  “Is touching my brain, as you did, also a source of pleasure?”

  The image of Plato said nothing. It was as if he were considering the question.

  Sandra said, “Let me ask in a different way. How does touching my brain compare with the pleasure of inanimate mass, such as the asteroid?”

  “The more complex the relationships within mass the more ...” Plato hesitated in speech for the first time. Sandra had the feeling he was actually struggling for a word. Good. Plato found it, and said “... meaningful to us.”

  “Meaning as opposed to pleasure,” she followed up quickly. “Mass provides meaning?”

  “Yes.”

  The astronomer was stunned by altogether alien nature of the alien persona. In her understanding of the universe, curiosity was considered a prerequisite for the evolution of high intelligence. Perhaps there should also be included a need for meaning. But could the two be separated. Curiosity might stem from a desire to find meaning, and expressing curiosity might in itself represent a kind of meaning. Moving and managing mass, for an entity that in itself – if it were to be believed – was not mass might in fact be understood as very meaningful. Couldn't it? Must. Why would Plato wish or need to lie about it?

  “So,” Sandra asked, “is your reason for wandering and seeking out places such as Earth the desire for pleasure and meaning?”

  “Yes.”

  “How would you compare the pleasure or meaning associated with touching my brain with other experiences associated with mass?”

  “Your brain has provided the maximum challenge to understanding we have experienced. It is a pleasure because it involves mass, but it also requires energy from us. That kind of pleasure must be carefully managed because it reduces the energy of our gestalt. Yet it is an important process for understanding. Consequently, it has an important association with meaning.”

  “You do, then, distinguish pleasure from meaning?”

  “In some ways,” the figure said. “Pleasure relates to sharing of common sensations within and among ourselves. Meaning relates to gaining further understanding within and among ourselves. We seek meaning because we seek understanding. Meaning and understanding are closely related. We hope we have properly expressed ourselves in your English.” It was the first admission that the aliens were not quite sure of their mastery of human language. Or it was their way of saying that human language didn't contain the precise concept they wished to convey. Sandra thought it a mixture of both.

  “But you said,” she reminded him, “that mass provided meaning for you.”

  “Yes. Moving and processing mass enables understanding. Processing the complex mass in your brain, Sandra, will enable further understanding.”

  A shudder went through Sandra. She didn't really want to hear this. “Plato, do you have a moral code?”

  “We follow a process of existence based on a structure of priorities. If you choose to call that morality we have a moral code. Otherwise, we do not.”

  “I was afraid of that,” she said.

  “Afraid?” Plato – in a rare admission – didn't understand.

  “It is a colloquial expression, Plato. It means I understand what you are saying but do not personally like it.”

  Sandra tried to put herself into Plato's position. It was a ludicrous exercise she knew. But, if what she understood of these glowing creatures was correct, they lived in a universe by themselves. With the possible exception of the human beings on Earth, they had not interacted with any other sentient creatures except themselves – or at least, with no other beings anywhere nearly as sentient as themselves. Moral codes, systems of rules of behavior, develop when groups of separate individuals have to work out a way of living together. Pleasure or pain for one doesn't automatically distribute itself on others. For Plato, however, it seemed different. Yes, there were many of them but they were a kind of joint entity. Pleasure for one was felt by all – or so she thought she understood. In such cases, morality would have very little meaning.

  Plato said, “I now understand the expression.”

  Sandra was feeling a little cramped in the hind quarters. She shifted in her seat and said, “Do you intend to touch other human brains in addition to mine?” It was a dreaded question for her, but she had to ask it.

  “After we have understood your brain better we will decide whether to do so.”

  “What are the determinative factors? What must yo
u find in my brain to make you wish to touch other brains or not need to touch them?”

  “Understanding of the processes of your evolutionary development. If we learn what we need from you, we will need no other touches of human brains.”

  That was a surprising answer to Sandra. “How can you generalize all human beings from one? Are we that much alike, as you perceive us? Remember, the different parts of your self are far closer to each other than we human beings are to each other.” She was assuming Plato was telling her the truth about his nature.

  “We can generalize well enough, Sandra,” said Plato. “Our interest is not in variations that might occur among human beings but the history of your brain development. If the history is clearly perceived from your brain, it will be adequate to extrapolate from. We do not need accuracy. We only need an accepted level of probability.”

  “Probability for what?”

  Plato faded. Sandra sat and looked at the diffuse column of redness for close to three minutes. When the figure returned, it was still poorly defined. Plato – or the approximation of him – said, “We will allow you to rest for six of your hours, Sandra. Then we will proceed with questions for you while you are touched.”

  “I have not agreed yet,” she said, defiant.

  “We provided the explanation you required.”

  Sandra looked at the shimmering creature. Plato couldn't seem to fully re-form. “I suppose you did. But my agreement is vital to your success, correct?”

  “Correct.”

  “Then give me an opportunity to communicate with my friends.”

  Plato wavered again, vanishing briefly, then coming back into some semblance of his former shape. “If you will write a message to your friends we will send it to your telescope as we have transmitted to you before.”

  “Thank you. Give me an hour and I will give you the message.”

  Plato's form was clearer now. “Leave the message on this chair in one hour. After five more hours we will speak again.”

  “That seems fair enough ...” she said. Plato had vanished before she was able to finish. His form coalesced into a swirling red cylinder and blended upward into the ceiling.

  Suddenly it was quiet. The chamber was as it had been before. Except for Plato's seat, resting on the platform facing her. Sandra was overwhelmed within herself, feeling unreal and hyper-real simultaneously. Putting one hand to each side of her head, the astronomer pressed against her cheeks. Then she sat for a moment, slumped in the chair and looked up at the red ceiling. After ten or fifteen seconds, Sandra lowered her gaze, staring straight ahead. Unbidden and unexpected, tears welled up in her eyes.

  Chapter 43

  Jason Nagato was near exhaustion. He was sitting in Sandra Hughes' usual place in the Keck control room, for the moment relaxing with a slightly stale cup of reheated coffee. The night of July 18th had just given way to the morning of July 19th, and still he was there. It was Jason who knew best how to apply Sandra's analysis codes, who knew her procedures, and who – among a relatively small group who did – knew where Sandra was. Reginald Wyler, the observatory director had just gone home, after a very long day for him as well. Wyler had been relieved by one of the scientists from Madeleine Vigola's shop who had been assigned to the Keck team. This engineer, a certain Dr. Adam Witherspoon from MIT, had taken over the job of coordinating the various observatories, worldwide, who were cooperating in the tracking of Asteroid 1744 and its fragments. Fragment Five, in particular, required a lot of attention because of its low orbit, taking it into and out of daylight and into and out of range of various telescopes as it made its continuous way around the earth.

  On the screen to Jason's right – one of six now in place at Sandra's usual station – was a poor but improving image of Fragment Five. The fragment had just climbed far enough above the horizon to be seen by one of the Keck tracking scopes. The main pair of telescopes would switch to Fragment Five in a few more minutes, along with the several types of measurements that were now automatically configured into the various instruments available. Next to that screen was an infrared image of the moored Devil Fish, with the looming side of the aliens' stone craft. The whole scene was somewhat sinister in its monochrome. The floating stone revealed numerous gradations in tone, arising from varying temperature distributions on its surface. The bobbing sailboat, with few details visible, was like a ghost ship, taken straight from an ancient Norse fable, showing its basic form but appearing oddly ancient in its mysterious lack of clarity. Two other screens showed the status of various instruments and the other two the images of Fragments Two and Three sent from other telescopes now active on the night side of the world.

  As the clock reached 12:30 Jason activated a microphone connecting him to Madeleine Vigola's control center down in Kona. Jason said, “This is Jason Nagato reporting in. Nothing new here. Fragment Five observation will begin again in a few minutes. Dr. Wyler has gone home for the night. Any news?”

  The dispatcher, at a desk in the same room with Vigola, a female Air Force Major named Lois Petrie, replied, “Thanks, Jason. Nothing new here either.” There was a short delay, then she added, “Ms Vigola says to let you know that Dr. Hughes' sister and Françoise Marnier are here. Oh, Ms Marnier wants to speak with you.”

  Jason waited as Françoise moved to pick up a headset.

  “Jason, how are you?”

  “Tired,” he admitted. “But okay I suppose. There's nothing from Sandra?”

  “Nothing. She is surely with the aliens, but we do not know what is happening.”

  “Pretty strange way this was arranged, if you ask me.”

  “There was little choice, you see,” she said, sounding defensive, as if she had been involved in the decision. “But the fiber optics cables, they are still intact. When Sandra comes out she will talk to us.”

  “Right.” He sighed, sounding very tired indeed.

  “You should go home, Jason, and get some rest.”

  “I should, and I will,” he replied, “after this passage of Fragment Five. That's about all I can manage for one very long day.”

  “Yes. Do not forget, Jason, Sandra was told to bring food for three days. She may be there, you see, for many hours.”

  “Right. Listen, Françoise, if something happens after I leave promise to have me waked, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  There was noise indicating the French woman was done, turning the head set over to someone else. Major Petrie came on the line after a few more seconds.

  “Anything else, Jason?”

  “No, thanks. I'll check in at one.”

  “Okay, later.” The connection was broken.

  Jason took another sip of coffee, decided it was not worth drinking, and pushed the cup away. He yawned, during which the twin Kecks begin whirring, shifting into the tracking sequence for Fragment Five. Several smaller telescopes could have been used for the fragment, and would have done an adequate job, but Sandra had insisted on using the huge main instruments. In an effort to get maximum information it made sense to her to use the finest instruments available. Besides, other areas of interesting research at the Keck facility had been delayed and rescheduled. The enormity of the events surrounding the asteroid reduced other plans, scientific or otherwise, to trivialities that could be ignored for a while.

  The familiar doughnut shape formed beautifully on the screen. Jason always enjoyed seeing it, even in its relative changelessness. He tweaked a few settings on the tracker, double-checked the spectrometers, and leaned back again. The young man, despite his natural stamina, was running down quickly and knew it. It was hard to keep from dozing off. But it wouldn't be long before he could hit the sack. And would he be glad to see that bed. Jason yawned again, and was taken aback completely when the inner circle of the fragment began to glow.

  He sat up, suppressed another yawn and stared at the screen. There it was, the rapidly building glow, then the flashes! His head turned to the computer display. Yes, the code – Sandra's ASCII
interpreter – was active. The flashes kept coming. Before they stopped he'd dialed Kona again.

  “Message coming in from Fragment Five,” Jason announced.

  Vigola herself replied. “Will you patch it here, Mr. Nagato?”

  “Already routed there, Ms Vigola. It will be uncoded in ... there it is! You should have it.”

  After a pause, the Chief of Staff said, “Yes, we have it. Thank you. We'll talk later. Remember to protect this carefully, Mr. Nagato.”

  “Yes I will.” Then he hung up.

  Jason looked at the screen. He read for a few seconds, then murmured aloud, “Damn it's from Sandra!”

  The form of the message – coming from Fragment Five instead of some place associated with the floating sailboat and alien craft – and its actual origin were major surprises. In the Keck control room, in Kona on Vigola's display, and in a special room in the White House, the message was seen and read in near simultaneity.

  “Hello all. I am well. This is a written message I gave to the aliens. Françoise, Carl, and Debbie, remember that Texas Chardonnay is the real nectar of the gods.

  I'm inside a stone chamber. It's comfortable enough. Size of a large room. I have spoken with an image created by the aliens to look like a man. The image calls itself Plato and looks like a glowing-red Greek god. The aliens appear to have some kind of extended intelligence, linked together as many interrelated individuals. They contend that they consist of energy taken directly from the space-time continuum. The glow they produce arises from photons that are stimulated by the energy they draw from space-time. They can manipulate mass – as we already know! – and say they enjoy doing so. They claim they are here to observe us. In particular, they are interested in how our brains work and how we have evolved. What their intent is, if any, beyond that has not been revealed. They say they live in the asteroid and fragments but do not require them – only enjoy the presence of or effects of mass.

  This note can only be brief, but I am writing down everything that happened and was said. I and Plato will speak again in about five hours. I don't know how long they plan to keep me here. I miss coffee. Again, I am okay. Sandra.”