The Asteroid

by M R Cates

  Sandra nodded and moved to sit in an available chair. “Okay,” she said, sounding more resigned than anxious.

  “Sandra,” McBrand said, with all the warmth and charm at his disposal, “it's a pleasure to hear your voice.”

  “Hello, Mr. President,” she returned. “It's nice to hear you, too.”

  “Is there anything you need to tell me immediately?” he continued. The mystery of what had happened in the alien craft was clearly dominant in his mind.

  Sandra composed her thoughts quickly. She knew she'd have to do this, but had not had the luxury of thinking about it during the outward passage. Nagging at her was the question of why the aliens had put her back to sleep. “Well, sir,” she began, “I had long conversations with the aliens – as I will report in detail from notes I took. As to what they will do next I can't be certain, but I expect something ...” Sandra stopped. She was looking at the image of the floating alien fragment as she spoke. “Sir,” she continued, “I think that something I expected is happening!”

  The image was not especially clear, but more than adequate to show what was occurring. A soft red-orange glow could clearly be seen in fissure lines visible on the top of the doughnut shape. The wispy cloud-like substance seemed to thin out and spread as it moved upward and was only slightly discernible a few hundred feet into the air. Over a very few minutes – about three or four – the wispiness brightened then faded, the last traces disappearing near the fissures.

  Sandra, still holding the line to the President, had not spoken further, then did so, “Sir, they are leaving the floating craft.”

  Vigola, now at her desk, headset connected to Sandra's line, said, “This is Madeleine Vigola. Are you watching the display, Mr. President?”

  McBrand replied, “Yes. What did you mean, Sandra?”

  “They've apparently finished their business on our surface, sir. At least for the moment.”

  No sooner had those words been spoken than the image they were watching began to blur.

  “What is going on there, Sandra?” asked the President.

  “I'm guessing they're going to move the fragment, sir.”

  Once more there was silence. The scene was difficult to interpret, getting more and more blurred. It took a certain imagination to know what they were looking at. No one spoke, in Washington, Waimea, or Kona. There seemed nothing to do but watch and wait – a condition they'd all experienced all too often.

  Françoise quietly moved into a seat next to Sandra, activating another display showing Fragment Five. Sandra gave an approving look. Then they waited. The blurry scene kept getting worse. Two or three times it switched to telescope images from different locations, but to no better effect. Sandra scratched her head. Finally she looked at Françoise. “You know,” she said, “I think they're leaving it here.” Within a few seconds the blurring reduced, then cleared. Sandra said quietly, “They let it sink.”

  Sure enough, the screens showed open ocean, the water where the craft had been floating still swirling a little, stabilizing into the steady pattern of sea around it.

  The President said, “Why did they do that, Sandra, in your opinion?”

  “No need for it anymore, sir. I think the message is clear. We'll need to turn our attention to the fragments now. Something is likely to happen to them, also.” Sandra's tone, while not ominous, carried a noticeable sobriety. After another short moment of silence, the astronomer added, “Sir, I need to start putting down a full account of activities in the craft. Do you mind if I get started on that?”

  “I know you are very busy, Sandra,” the President said, unaware of the kind of role reversal in play. “I'll talk to you later.” Then both hung up. Vigola had had no further chance to speak.

  While Sandra wrote at a computer in a small office made vacant for her, working from her notes where she could and vivid memory of the final touch experience, Françoise and Carl continued monitoring the fragments, on the phone constantly with Jason. At the same time, teams in Washington were also on duty, watching the various astronomical images and preparing to receive Sandra's report. Other groups of experts, charged with evaluating information after the fact, were reassembling in Oak Ridge and New York.

  It was nearly midnight when Françoise tapped at the office door, saying, “Sandra, fresh coffee?”

  The astronomer looked over at her, noticing the French student had changed into shorts, sandals, and sleeveless blouse, and signaled her inside. “You read my mind,” she said.

  “I have some news, Sandra,” Françoise added, “if you wish to hear it. I don't want to interrupt this ...” She indicated the computer screen, filled with words.

  “About the fragments, Françoise?”

  “Yes. There are glows that perhaps, you see, are weakening.”

  “Damn, maybe they're actually leaving,” Sandra said, sighing. “What about Fragment Five?”

  “It still glows, Sandra, very much like before.”

  Sandra's hand went to her head for a moment, scratching briefly. “Could it be that they are moving back out to the asteroid?” she thought aloud.

  “Did you ... “ Françoise hesitated, knowing it may be the wrong time to bring up the question, then continued, “Did you discover, perhaps, what ... what the aliens were planning?”

  Sandra leaned back, indicating the other chair. The student sat down, tanned bare legs shining in the fluorescent light. “Françoise,” Sandra said, “I don't think the aliens knew their own plans. You'll see what I mean from this report. But I suspect they've made some kind of decision. We have to be prepared for the fact that it may not ...” She stopped. “Well, they'll draw their own conclusions about us, you see,” unconsciously mimicking Françoise's speech pattern. “We can only pray that we'll pass.”

  “Pass?”

  Sandra laughed, for the first time since returning. “Pass the exam they've given us. They seem to want to know what kind of sentient race we're going to turn out to be.”

  “And what will we, Sandra?”

  “We'll make a helluva mess of things for a long time. If we survive it – and I suspect some of us will – we might turn out alright. As long as we can evolve ourselves out of this goddamned human nature we have at the moment.”

  Françoise was quiet. Then she stood. “I'll see what is happening, Sandra.”

  Her friend nodded and turned back to the computer. By one-thirty, fortified by a continuous supply of coffee, Sandra Hughes had completed the draft. She stood, rubbed her eyes and went back out into the main room.

  Carl and Debbie had long since retired to their hotels, having given up on waiting to see Sandra anymore that evening. Jason, too, had been relieved, briefly by Reginald Wyler, then at midnight by members of the federal team. Vigola and Françoise were still working. By the time Sandra had entered the room, Vigola was already reading the astronomer's draft and had forwarded it to Washington. President McBrand would decide who further to route it to. It was the dead of early morning in Washington, however, and only the few trusted staffers on duty would be doing any reading at the moment. They'd wake the President at whatever time he'd set. Further dissemination would have to wait for that.

  Sandra dropped down beside Françoise and looked at the screen. It showed one of the geosynchronous fragments.

  “Any more activity out there?” she asked.

  “They are quiet, Sandra. We see no indication of glow.”

  “Fragment Five?”

  “The same as it was. There are always some flickers.” Françoise switched channels, showing the low-orbiting fragment, now in view again over Hawaii. “We have the recorded data on it, too, from three other observatories. No changes.”

  “Françoise, can we connect to my computers at the Kecks?” Sandra asked suddenly.

  “Yes, I think so.” The bright Gallic eyes were questioning.

  “Will you be able to stay awake with me?” Sandra continued.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Good. My gut says
something will happen soon. With those other four fragments dead, they'll do something.”

  “Are you saying you understand these aliens, Sandra?” Françoise asked. It was a gentle reproach, reminding Sandra of her own early skepticism and the wisdom of having it.

  “In a way, yes, Françoise. They are immensely complex but not ... well, not devious.” She paused, thoughtfully. “They don't need to be, after all. Damn them.”

  “I will contact the Keck control room, Sandra.” Françoise stood and crossed the room, round hips moving in the universal feminine manner under her shorts. No one of the eight people there seemed to notice, such was the combination of tension and exhaustion in the room.

  Three minutes later Fragment Five came to life. And Sandra Hughes was ready for it.

  The glow started much like it had on the fissured surface of the floating craft. Orange, red, and red-orange flickers became strongly visible and rapidly repeating in a kind of irregular rhythm. Then the doughnut shape began turning. It was nearly across the Hawaiian night sky and Sandra knew she had only a few more minutes to watch directly; so she contacted the space telescope control room in California. They would have a few extra minutes view. In half and hour or so, however, she'd lose it for awhile.

  The plasma began to form three minutes before Sandra lost the image. “Dammit,” she muttered, but soon had the space telescope image. Before the Keck images kicked out Sandra had a quick estimate of the trajectory.

  Madeleine Vigola was next to her, standing. Sandra said, as her fingers flew at the keys, “It's a strong burn, Madeleine. They're moving the fragment into any elliptic orbit. I'm about to get the parameters. Hang on.” A full minute of keyboard clicking followed. “I hope they modify it,” came the ominous words. “It will come back on a grazing trajectory on the way around.”

  Sandra slid back and looked up at the Chief of Staff. “I think you better wake up the President, Madeleine.”

  By the time they'd lost good readings on Fragment Five the President was wide awake and had called the Secretary General, among a few important others. Sandra had recalculated the orbit, more finely this time. Fragment Five would swing around Earth and strike the atmosphere not far out to sea from Kona. A full state of local emergency had been declared. They only had five hours. Already those in hotels were being notified to evacuate to higher ground. The small command center where they were at the moment was quickly being shut down. There would be time to get Sandra and the others to Waimea, and that was their destination. By a quarter to two, the helicopters had arrived. By two they were in the air, and by two thirty, setting down at the helicopter pad within sight of the Keck Observatory headquarters building. In deference to Sandra another chopper had gone to retrieve Carl and Debbie. It would arrive a few minutes later. Jason Nagato and Reginald Wyler were in the control room when Sandra arrived.

  Madeleine Vigola spoke quietly with Wyler while the astronomer's team re-established their configuration, relieving the backup team who remained, however, within the building. Vigola said, “I don't see where she gets the energy.” She nodded toward Sandra.

  Wyler, suppressing a yawn, said, “Nor do I.”

  Vigola said, “I've scanned her report. It's hard to imagine what she went through with the aliens.”

  Wyler looked concerned, just shaking his head.

  Fragment Five was coming back into view. They would have a couple of hours to observe before dawn. Its new elliptic orbit gave more continuous viewing time. Sandra Hughes, coffee cup in easy reach, seemed perfectly natural in that position, working with eyes and fingers continuously. Most of those she was in contact with had no inkling she'd just spent more than a day in the hospitality of those beings whose artifact they were tracking.

  Sandra finished a sequence of keyboard clicks and rose, coming straight back to where Vigola and Wyler stood. “I've done what I can for the moment,” she said. Then to Vigola, “I want to thank you, Madeleine, for the amazing response. We can only hope it matters.” Then she returned to her seat, hitting the button to contact the President.

  “Yes, Sandra?” he said. McBrand was wide awake.

  “Sir,” she said, words slightly clipped because she wanted to speak quickly, “I'm sure your experts have informed you, but if this fragment hits the ocean ...” She paused. “You've got some real tough decisions, sir. California won't have enough time to save that many people. The tidal wave will propagate at about – I'm guessing – two to three hundred miles an hour. That gives no more than ten hours. You should fly key people out now – if you haven't already started the process. And I hope you've been talking to the Japanese, Chinese and Australians, as a minimum, sir.”

  “We have, Sandra. And the evacuation is underway – to the extent we can do it without creating panic. One news leak and ... well, you understand.”

  “We're careful here, sir. But the observatories around the world are seeing this. The news will be out, and soon. You have to be prepared, Mr. President.”

  “We have a plan in place, Sandra.” His words were patient and controlled. Something about Sandra Hughes kept him from saying she was wasting his time telling him something he already knew.

  “Good. Now, I'm seeing the fragment image again. There's no plasma plume at the moment. I've also been watching the asteroid, our friend, Asteroid 1744. Don't get your hopes up, sir, but I have a hunch. Let me tell it to you, mostly to bounce it off someone. Is that okay?”

  “I'm as good as anyone, Sandra,” he said. Next to him, his wife, hearing, smiled and kissed his cheek. Only she could see that the President of the United States had tears in his eyes.

  “Okay,” Sandra continued, her dogged self driving on. “Mr. President, I don't believe the aliens are going to drop this fragment on us. First of all, if they wanted to really do us in, they'd do it with the asteroid or some other really big rock. And the asteroid is starting to be vacated – at least in my understanding of what they're like. Secondly, they know they can't leave Fragment Five in the low-Earth orbit. In some tens or hundreds of years it will degrade and spiral into the atmosphere on its own. My bet is that they're moving it away from us. Keep your fingers crossed, sir.”

  “I think I'll pray, too,” he said.

  “Not a bad idea,” she agreed. “If you don't mind standing by, sir, I’ll watch with you. That's all we can do now.”

  “Alright, Sandra.”

  So they watched, but they didn't have to watch long. In less than twenty minutes, the plasma plume began to form once more. Sandra spoke to alert the President, her fingers in action as she did so. The purple brightness grew rapidly. Within three minutes it was in furious burn, generating a tail several miles long. Telescope parameters were streaming into Sandra's computer memory. She watched, clicked at keys, and watched some more. The plasma burn continued. Sandra looked at the clock, sighed, turned to look at Françoise, then gave her a sudden thumbs up.

  “Mr. President,” Sandra said, eyes on Françoise, then Madeleine Vigola, “I have the new orbit. We're going to be safe!”

  In her phone set Sandra heard the President's wife gasp in the background. McBrand said, “You're confident, I guess, Sandra?”

  “I am. They could undo what they've done, but why would they? The orbit will be elliptical and about three thousand miles up. It won't get closer than, let's see, about eighteen hundred miles. It can stay in that orbit at least fifty thousand years before we have to worry about it, sir.”

  “Should I call off the alert, Sandra?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir, and give everyone my apologies. But we had to play it safe.”

  “Absolutely, Sandra,” he said. Looking over at his wife there was an unspoken communication that said, 'Jeff, I'm glad you've learned to listen to women.' McBrand was off the line a moment, speaking to staffers. He was already turning off the emergency. When he came back he said, “Okay, let's hope we called it off before too much has leaked.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Sandra said. “Oh, one more thing, Mr.
President. I have to confess something to you.” There was a sudden lightness in her tone.

  McBrand picked up on it and was relieved to do so. “Yes?”

  “When you were elected, I had my doubts about you. I did vote for you, but only did because I thought you were the lesser of two evils.” Her teasing tone had increased.

  “I appreciate your candor, Dr. Hughes,” he said, shifting to a false formality.

  “But dammit, Jeff, I was wrong! You're one helluva president.”

  Jefferson McBrand laughed aloud. “I was wondering when you would start using my proper name, Sandra,” he said. “Jenny and I have had a kind of pool going. I think she just won.”

  Sandra Hughes blushed in her seat. The name had just come out. She turned to Françoise, who didn't know exactly what was being said, and presented the student with a sheepish grin, confusing her more. Then, phone back to her ear, Sandra said to McBrand, “Do you really mind?”

  “I'd be honored, Sandra,” he answered. “I do count myself as your friend. I hope you'll return the favor, despite your earlier reservations.”

  “Guess we Texans aren't very good in politics, Jeff,” she said, back to normal.

  “We've known that a long time,” he said.

  When Sandra hung up, everyone in the room was looking her way, relief written all over them. The astronomer stood, scratched above her ponytail, then sighed heavily. “You know what,” she said, “I think I'm partied out. Anybody for a nap?”

  Chapter 49

  The blue planet was being pushed gently away. Vestiges of alien essence flickered and shimmered, feeling the mass-energy of Asteroid 1744 for the last time. All were reluctant to depart from it. Never before in their long existence had such fascination, pleasure, and complication been associated with a space-time experience in the galaxy. They had even felt frustration and confusion to a degree not recalled even within the most primal of memories. Even as its attention turned away there remained continuous flickerings among themselves that concerned the blue planet, its human denizens, and The Discoverer who had been directly touched. It was understood even as the blue planet began to recede that full understanding of the events just experienced would not be reached. But shoving aside that region of space-time was not to say it would now be ignored. On the contrary, they were sharing parts of themselves in a growing dialog about this first sentience that had recognized their existence.