by P F Walsh
Sean began telling Doris all that he had been told, that our solar system had been discovered by an automated starship from another portion of the galaxy searching for other sentient life forms. The ship was one of twenty ships called “Seekers” which wander the cosmos in that search. Once they detect a world with a sentient life form, the ship parks in a location nearby that conceals its presence and dispatches field units called Collectors. One of those was that chrome Ball we found.
They are small, built-in limited AI, but have enormous storage space to strip off whatever knowledge and intelligence that it can detect while on or around the subject planet. If the Collector reports back to the Council of Worlds that the sentient life is sophisticated and developed enough to be considered for inclusion in the existing Council of Worlds, it randomly identifies a single sentient from the whole planet that possesses the average maturity, general knowledge, and behavior that would satisfactorily represent the applicant planet.
Random selection statistically avoids individual power pursuits, and existing leaders are always set lower on the selection scale. No planet is granted membership without examination of both the vast Collector’s data, and the live representative of the sentient inhabitants of the planet. The form and type of examination is determined at the return of the Seeker, its report, and a formal application.
Sean paused saying,
“I have to get something to drink.” He got up and headed to the kitchen.
Doris had sat quietly listening to Sean as he recited a story of unbounded improbability that she was, for then at least, captivated. His recitation was seamless and absent all those hints and pauses that criminal use while mentally creating a story that absolved them.
“This seemed too sincere, too real, and yet, it can’t really be true, can it?” She thought.
“Starships? Star Trek? I’m going to need proof. I spent my recent life investigating and shutting down swindles, scams, hustles of all types, and then there were the desperation stories of those in critical need of drugs. All believable at some level, but all false.” She thought, as she watched Sean coming back with a glass of Pepsi.
Sean sat down and was quiet for a few minutes as Doris sat expectantly waiting for more behavior or information that would help her decide whether this was some kind of hallucination from the stuff on his hands, the beginnings of an emotional breakdown and cry for help, or what? She sat there until it seemed odd and then said,
“Y’know, I think I’ll get a glass of that stuff too.” She deliberately avoiding any suggestion of an alcoholic beverage as being something that should be introduced now. She got up and went to refrigerator, grabbed a can of Pepsi, and an empty glass and headed back to the library. She popped the can and poured it into the glass. The pop and the fizzing sound as she poured the Pepsi seemed to bring Sean’s attention back from wherever it was.
“Doris, there’s so much more. And, when you get over realizing all the excitement of first contact, space stuff, then the bad part comes quickly into focus.” He said quietly.
“Bad part?” she asked.
“Yes, the bad part is, if we are not accepted as a member, we become a vassal world, our location published, and then subject to any of the other member powers who wish to exploit our world.” Sean said, while his eyes were downcast.
“Exploited? How, for what?’ She asked.
Sean explained a Vassal world could be exploited for energy, metals, minerals, water, and the worst of all, indentured human service of all humans, which was really just a mild form of a slavery that could never be shed. Once a world became a vassal, all militaries were disbanded, all our weapons which are drastically inferior to the member worlds would be useless. We will become an occupied vassal. Citizen rights will be non-existent, and lives will be shed as needed to enforce, all clinical and tidy, but brutal as well. Sean continued,
“If we are unsuccessful in convincing the Council that we are a valuable contributor to the vast weal of the Council of Worlds, then, that is our fate and there is no appeal. Nor, is there anyone to appeal to.” He finished, and took another drink out of his glass. Sean smiled grimly and added,
“I can just imagine what life will be like without diet pop. That may sound inane, and trite, but our world will be forced back to subsistence living, which is sparse, and will not have any of these abundant personal pleasures we take for granted. Nothing will be the same.” Doris replied,
“Sean, look, your explanation is comprehensive, full of detail. information, and experiences that only you have seen or felt. Yes, your physical body seems to have benefitted from something that has been absorbed by your body, the lump behind your ear you told me about could easily be just a swelling and not an alien device, where is the proof for the body of the story? Have you asked for some tangible level of incontrovertible proof?”
As Doris said that, she realized what she just said was partial acceptance pending some demonstrable evidence that such beings and machines were real. As a Law Enforcement Officer, she characteristically has just mentally moved to the “trial” portion of an episode, where proof and challenges were common, and all expected to finally reveal the end truth.
Sean looked at her and said,
“Yes, I have, and that is where you come in.”
“Me?” Said Doris.
“Yes, you. I’ve had all this happen to me, and still I am skeptical that I am delusional and so I not only asked for proof positive, but also a witness that I trust to confirm what I am seeing is not an illusion, or some sort of mental fantasy. I was hoping you would be my witness.”
Doris looked at him.
“What do I have to do?” She asked.
Sean replied,
“I don’t know yet, but I’ve been told that I can bring a trusted witness. I was told through my communicator that the proof would irrevocably set aside any doubt as to the gravity of my world’s situation and my part in its outcome....” his voice trailed off, and he looked very pensive.
“Doris, I have to admit I am a little scared over this whole thing. I am grateful I have your company, right now would not be a good time for me to be alone.”
Doris could see Sean was troubled and knew what it was like to be alone and frightened. That had been a major part of her childhood years and it was not a nice place to be inside your head. She knew she would help; his appeal was sincere and she didn’t see much of that in her life so far,
“Whatever it was going to be, they would handle it together. Maybe I should clean Henry.” She thought.
They spent the rest of the evening going over his experiences and all that he had learned and been told. The picture was becoming clearer for Doris and she could see Sean felt better letting it all out. It was also apparent, all this had to remain contained between the two of them and no one else. With both of their recent life experiences, they would be suspect of faulty thinking for sure. The only thing left now was the proof.
“Mr. Secretary, Allyson Rangel is on the phone for you” The soft voice of Lori Bennet issued from the Secretary of State Lewis’s intercom.
“Thank you, Lori, I’ll take it. By the way, you can leave the office now, I’ll take this one call and I’ll be leaving right after for a dinner party at Senator Manders.” He replied.
He heard the little click telling him she had signed off. He recalled asking the communications people to install that little click. Knowing when the intercom was no longer listening, was a very good thing. Allyson was one of the three or four ladies he shared dinner dates with. Wealthy, no scandal, mostly apolitical, and had a wardrobe that must have been financed by Goldman Sachs. She was calling to see if he would be at tonight’s dinner. He affirmed, made social graces, and finished the call. He knew she would hunt him down later.
Secretary Lewis, tidied up his desk, moving some files into the large wall safe in his office and locking his desk. Even there, he had the security people install detectors recording each opening and closing of his desk drawers wit
h a time stamped record. So far, with every checkup he had made in these last three years, not a single issue of unapproved opening of his files or desk had occurred. Not like the last occupant who had most of his work and personal life compromised by someone only identified as dressed in black, wearing black sneakers.
He suspected the CIA had done the job, but proof was never forthcoming, and now he had the job he thought he would never get. He often wondered, did someone do this to advance me, and why? What will they want if they come forward someday?
Secretary Lewis swept aside these thoughts as he changed into his tuxedo in his private bathroom. Once a final inspection in the mirror was done, he left his office, locked the door and headed down to where his driver and escort was waiting for him.
“Mr. Secretary, what a surprise seeing you here.” Whispered Jane Malek, EBS’s most aggressive anti-conservative Journalist.
“I would have thought you wouldn’t wish to be seen amongst such a Liberal crowd of peacocks!” hoping to bait the Secretary into some verbal faux pas she could spin into at least two minutes of airtime.
“Ah, Jane, so nice to see you, and speaking of peacocks, may I say that is the most colorful gown I have seen in years.” Completely shunting the bait aside, and folding in on her own remark smoothly, escaping her comment as he moved away.
The Secretary was one of Washington’s most available bachelors and, of course, an important figure in world politics. This made him a prime candidate for a date, the sweet ambrosia of the wealthy single ladies who had just bought a new designer outfit. He saw Allyson Rangel on the other side of the room. She waved to him and mouthed the word “Later?” He just smiled at her boldness.
The Secretary then moved randomly about the room, careful not to spend any more time with any one guest than another, lest it appear in the Washington Post the next morning that he was having an impromptu meeting with a foreign dignitary. The paper would go on to speculate darkly about the content and intentions of the meeting. Of course, the Secretary avoided all of that studiously, denying the press its predatory satisfactions.
“Except,” he thought, “Who is she?” As he spied an elegant, slim lady in a black floor length Escada gown standing near the French doors to the balcony. The Secretary had never seen her before, and along with his engaged interest was the always careful consideration she may be a new member of the press sent in to bait and discover. Still, mysterious women always interested him, and she was no exception. The Secretary gradually made his way toward her, stopping every few feet to chat with each person for his requisite few minutes, shake a few hands and move.
He finally found himself next to her.
“You look as though you really don’t want to be here.” He said to her with a smile, as he came alongside her.
“Does it show that much?” She asked.
“I’m afraid it does, most of us are able to mask it. It is refreshing to see someone display their real feelings at one of these parties.” He replied as he looked about to room trying to see if any of the Press were eye tracking him.
“They aren’t, for at least a minute or two.” He thought.
“Oh, jeez” She said, surprised, “You’re Secretary Lewis” as she fumbled with her clutch purse, appearing mildly embarrassed.
“Yes,” he said, “that is the ugly rumor going around tonight. And, you are?”
She held out her hand and said,
“I am Senator’s step sister Melanie Walker. He always invites me to these things but I rarely go.”
The Secretary took her hand holding it as he asked,
“And, why don’t you come? It seems you lend a very attractive addition to the group.” Holding her hand a bit longer, and then releasing it.
“I’m afraid it’s because I don’t like Politicians.” she said, looking him directly in the eyes as she said it.
“Ouch, seems I qualify, and haven’t even had more than one minute to be shot down.”
He kept her gaze until she dropped her stare and began fumbling with her clutch purse. She reached unto her purse a seemed to take hold of the first item that her fingertips touched and took it out. A powder compact. She opened it and began powdering her nose as she looked in the tiny mirror. An act of sublime dismissal to an unwanted meet.
The Secretary smiled, nodded his head to the side in acceptance of her dismissal, and turned to move away. He did not see her open the powder pad and touch it to the collar of his tuxedo. It left no powder that could be seen. As he moved away extending his hand to greet another nearby guest, she slipped out the French door into the night unnoticed, disposing of the compact deep in a nearby balcony flower pot. Sitting on the rail as she climbed over was a small chrome Ball she did not see. She dropped to the lawn a few feet below and disappeared into the landscape shadows.
The Secretary continued to greet and meet, but noticed the back of his neck was getting itchy and scratched at it. As a waiter passed by, he reached for his third flute of champagne.
Later, after returning to his home in Arlington, escorted by two Diplomatic Service Security Agents, the Secretary headed for the first-floor powder room near the agent watch station, while the two accompanying agents relieved the single security agent who kept watch on the house while he was away and secured the front door. They checked the first-floor room by room and then headed upstairs to do the same sweep for intruders or security irregularities up there. By the time they were done, the Secretary had come out of the powder room and was waiting for the agents to come down the stairs. It was now 1:15 AM.
“All clear Mr. Secretary.” one of them said.
“Thanks boys, I’m going up to bed. I’ll probably sleep in late tomorrow, I’m way behind on rest, so don’t wake me in the morning, I’ll come down when I’m ready for something to eat.”
“That’s fine Mr. Secretary, either we, or our relief, will be right here. Good night, Sir.” Answered the lead agent.
The Secretary went up to his rooms, closed and locked the security door behind him, and walked over to sit in his favorite overstuffed chair. He then took out his smart phone and began to dictate his notes on the evening’s activities, who he met, who he stayed away from, and what transpired if anything of import. He included his interesting event of meeting the Senator’s Stepdaughter. He leaned back after finishing, and fell deeply asleep in the chair, the collar of his tuxedo jacket now firmly against the back of his neck. Fifteen minutes later, there was no sound as the chrome Ball effortlessly passed through the outside wall into the room and surveyed the inside... and the Secretary.
The Collector in its many trips between the Seeker and this planet called Earth, had a myriad of tasks and its processor was using more than a normal amount of memory just maintaining a running priority as tasks got done, and the next one began. This last task was extra burdensome since it involved transport of a live, sick biological to the Seeker with extra considerations for environmental protection during transport, and the urgent speed needed. For this it was using the Seeker’s transport box. This configurable box had been used for weeks by the Collector to transport Earth goods and food to the Seeker. Each box was an assembly of panels, with each panel expandable in size and thickness. These could be instructed to bond the meeting edges seamlessly into an air tight box of relatively any size up to 5 meters Then, an environmental unit was attached to generate the internal environment biological or plant matter would require for short term transport.
The box was self-assembling, but transport placed power demands on the Collector such that upon reaching the Seeker and sliding each transport box into the receiving cargo tread, the Collector needed to sit in its nest to recharge its fuel cells for six Earth hours before advancing to the next task. The Collector was pleased it had been chosen for all these tasks and that it was successful in each one thus far. No consideration was given to the task of remaining covert since the Collector was small in size, but these transports with the Box had challenged the Collector to leave the Earth t
hrough the Arctic departure route where minimal Earth scans if any, were at work. This resulted in a longer flight while maintaining position directly above the moving planet as distance increased until finally coming to a point where detection was minimal and the Collector could resume the flight home at high speed.
Inside the Seeker ship, the cargo tread moved the transport box containing a live but sick human along its long length and branched off into a pressurized area of the ship. The cargo tread ended in a multipurpose room for receiving fragile and live specimens. Lighting flashed on and loud hisses could be heard as the room readjusted the environmentals to suit this latest biological. An autocot from the med center had been dispatched to meet the box and slide alongside it. The box side panel opened and the arms from the autocot drew the unconscious biological form onto the autocot. Then, it secured the biological form and immediately went into motion to speed the biological form to the med center for treatment.
The form was breathing in a shallow rhythm, and its temperature had spiked. Treatment was needed quickly to preserve this biological. The autocot rolled through the passages and entered the med center, the doors closed behind it, and the environmental system began adjusting to match the biological’s needs and to add restorative and medical gasses to begin treatment assessment. The autocot attached itself to the med center’s floor interlocks and connections and became the arms and extensions on demand of the med center AI.
First, was to carefully remove the biological’s out and inner garments to expose the form fully to scans and needle sensors for medical analysis. The clothes were deposited into a specimen box and sealed. The box was sent to specimen analysis and cleaning.
The med center Ai quickly determined the biological was in distress from a poison and the med center began assessment of blood and scans to determine course of action based upon the uploaded medical information that the Collector had previously uploaded from Earth medical libraries to augment its own. After tri-checking it began its procedures with more attachments to the form’s breathing and circulatory systems. Meds began to flow, breathing became deeper and fuller and appropriate color was beginning to return to the skin.