by Lee Brainard
When Irina returned to her apartment that evening, she skipped her customary practice of immediately putting on a pot of coffee. Instead, she immediately pulled out her laptop and logged into her local network. She wanted to put this spy-stuff behind her as fast as possible.
Mentally she walked through the steps her dad had taught her about using the internet securely and getting a Buster account. I got this . . . I think. She started by downloading the TOR browser bundle for Firefox. Then, utilizing TOR and its onion routing, she navigated to Buster and set up an account. As her father had described, it was simple and anonymous. No names. No addresses. No Social Security numbers. Just a twelve-digit username and a twenty-digit password that used small caps, large caps, numbers, and symbols. When it came to the payment step, she waffled a bit. It was $199 per year, quite a bit steeper than she had anticipated, and they only accepted payment with Bitcoin or an anonymous debit card. She had neither one.
She rolled her eyes at herself. Now she remembered. Dad had said something about needing an anonymous debit card and that they could be purchased at major drug store chains. She got up from her barely started project, grabbed her purse and coat, and headed out the door. Soon she was pawing through the rack of gift cards and debit cards at Rite Aid, looking for a name that sounded familiar. Vanilla Visa . . . that rings a bell . . . think that’s the one dad likes. She picked up two of the hundred-dollar cards and walked to the register.
Once back home she navigated to the card activation site, entered an alias name and address—Wheremy Cowboy, 123 Cactus Lane, Branding Station, TX 56789—and activated her card. That felt a little weird . . . too much like lying . . . yet such a spoof that it was hard to regard it as lying. Then she logged back into Buster, finished the payment process, activated her account, and set up her preferences.
Next, she created a new folder, named it Rogue, and queued up all of her files on the mother of all comets. Once the upload started, she raced to the kitchen and brewed herself a pot of coffee. She paced the floor in the kitchen, eyeing the dripping brew like a child eyeing the cotton candy at the local fair. Coffee always brews slower when you need it fast. When she finally lifted a cup of the elixir to her lips, she noticed that her hand was shaking. Guess I’m not cut out to be a spy . . . just a little bit out of my league.
An hour and fifteen minutes later the upload was done. She logged out of Buster and reformatted her thumb drive. Then she breathed a sigh of relief. Now she could relax. But she couldn’t. She found herself haunted by a vague sense that her job wasn’t done yet. I uploaded all my research. What else is there to be concerned about? She was just about to put her concerns out of mind when the oversight dawned on her. Of course . . . the research paper from Dr. Goldblum’s NASA acquaintance!
She hurried to her closet and rifled through the top layer of the box she jokingly referred to as her someday box. It was overflowing with periodicals, excerpted articles, and technical papers she intended to read some day. Underneath several recent additions—paper-clipped journal articles—she found the research paper Dr. Goldblum had given her several weeks earlier titled Rogue Apocalypse. When she had come home that day, she had nonchalantly tossed it into the box—more likely to be forgotten than read. She retrieved the paper, scurried back to her printer, and scanned the entire work into her computer, including Dr. Goldblum’s notes in the back. Then she logged back into Buster, created a new subfolder called Other Materials, uploaded the paper, and logged back out.
Finally, she really could relax—glad the day was over. She hoped that her involvement with intrigue and conspiracy would begin and end with this little caper. Hopefully, there was no cover-up. Hopefully, all the excitement was in her hyperactive imagination. Playing spy was not her cup of tea. She put on Satie’s Gymnopédie No. 1, kicked off her shoes, stretched herself out on the couch, closed her eyes, and lost herself in rhapsody. A few minutes later she was sound asleep, a victim of emotional exhaustion.
21
Cornell University
Monday, November 27, 2017
Shortly after 2 p.m., Irina heard the fax machine whine and chatter. Several minutes later Dr. Goldblum sauntered up to Irina’s cubicle and said, putting on an air of swagger, “You’re going to want to see this, Miss Kirilenko” and handed her a confirmation letter from the MPC. “If you can keep your nose clean, you are going to be a rock star in the astronomy world. Magazines and talk shows will seek interviews with you. What you have discovered in Taurus is far more rare and far more interesting than a comet.”
Irina looked at him dumbfounded, then it dawned on her what was coming. The government has decided to officially deny that the Rogue is a comet . . . they are trying to buy my compliance . . . they want me to sell my soul. She said nothing and took the letter from his hands with a heavy heart.
Dear Miss Kirilenko:
Congratulations. The anomaly that you have discovered is associated with a black hole—a near-neighborhood black hole—a tremendous first for the field of astronomy. The experts investigating the phenomenon are in almost unanimous agreement that the apparent occultations which you traced are not actually occultations by an approaching comet (a reasonable assumption on your part) but the refraction of light waves by the emission lobe—the shock horizon or bow shock—of the growing jet of a recently formed black hole.
By a tremendous stroke of luck, we have the privilege from our observation point on Earth to look almost straight down the barrel, so to speak, of the jet. This explains why we don’t see the jet, but only infer its existence from the stellar-occultations caused by its shock horizon as it extends across our galactic neighborhood. The jet has not shown up in the infrared, ultraviolet, and x-ray photographs of the region because this class of black holes emits only radio waves and low-frequency microwaves.
The most likely explanation for the shock horizon causing stellar occultations is that refractive lensing is occurring where the shock horizon impacts the interstellar medium, bending the Earth-bound visible light waves emitted from the star and directing them on a tangent that makes them invisible to viewers here on Earth.
The apparent path of the phenomenon in the direction of our solar system is due to the fact that the jet is still growing, which means that the shock wave at its nose is continually extending further outward. This apparent travel in the direction of our solar system will cease when the jet reaches maximum sustainable extension. At that point the jet will begin to pulsate—alternating between minor retreats and re-extensions.
The curved path of the occultations, which bears a remarkable similarity to the orbit of a long-period comet, is caused by axial precession. The spinning black hole makes tiny changes in its spin. And these tiny movements cause the nose of the jet to move in a large circle. If we had the luxury of watching this phenomenon for several thousand years, we would observe the occultations trace a full circle.
Our estimations of the distance of this black hole and its jet, based on the work of many experts in the astronomical community, suggest that neither one poses a threat to our solar system.
Despite the fact that we are confident of this interpretation of the phenomenon, we request that you say nothing about it to anyone. This is not public information. The decision-making parties involved in this research—the MPC, NASA, JPL, the Pentagon, and other federal institutions—have decided not to go public with the story until the research teams have finished their investigation. We anticipate releasing their findings in perhaps 18 months. We trust that you will honor this request to neither publish nor communicate anything about your research in Taurus, especially this phenomenon. The federal government regards this phenomenon as a sensitive issue and is currently overseeing its investigation.
Thank you for your important contribution to astronomy and astrophysics.
Sincerely,
Barry Naylor, Director of the MPC
Irina mused . . . a sensitive issue though it poses no threat to the solar system? . . . JPL? . . . hmm
. . . they don’t get involved unless a body poses a credible threat to Earth . . . why the Pentagon? . . . why other federal agencies? . . . this is no mere scientific investigation . . . people in high places are worried.
A half hour later Dr. Goldblum called her into his office and asked her to sit down, something he had never done before. This must be big, she thought to herself.
“I don’t know how to break this to you easily, so I will just be blunt and give you the cold, hard facts. NASA has been obligated by the federal government to implement the expanded CNEOS and PDCO programs, despite the fact that she is already juggling two massive projects—the Mars mission and the Moon base—while struggling with an under-funded budget. Under the NASA Bill, all federal and state-funded observatories and all large private observatories are being brought under the NASA umbrella. We are no longer partners.” He hesitated for effect. “We are now subordinates. We answer directly to them.”
Irina looked at him, slightly bewildered, wondering what was coming next.
He continued, “NASA’s first cost-cutting measure is eliminating unnecessary research overlap so vital research goals can be pursued in the most efficient and cost-effective manner.”
She swallowed hard. She didn’t like where this seemed to be going.
“This affects astronomical institutions in several ways. The most important is that research programs must now be authorized by NASA and will on occasion be assigned by them. For most astronomers, this will only be a minor inconvenience—another layer of bureaucracy and some extra paperwork. It won’t affect either their current research projects or their future research preferences. But on rare occasions, projects will be canceled, denied, or modified. Further, researchers may be reassigned according to NASA’s directives and priorities. Sadly, you are one of the rare occasions.” He paused and stared intently at her.
She met his gaze with the embers of defiance glowing hot in her heart.
“Research on the anomaly in Taurus has been assigned to select teams at a dozen elite institutions and general research in Taurus is in the process of being reallocated to them. You may continue your research in Orion, but you have been formally requested by NASA to cease all research in Taurus. You are further requested to forward all of your research that pertains to the anomaly to NASA, via me, so it can be forwarded to the proper institutions.”
She looked at him in shock . . . select institutions? . . . other institutions? . . . proper institutions? It was hard to stifle the tears. Even harder to repress the anger rising inside. She was furious and crushed, like a mother whose baby was being taken from her. For a moment she felt like clawing his eyes out, but she managed to gather herself and maintain her composure.
He continued. “Furthermore, we have been given a strict advisory notice from NASA, valid until formally notified otherwise, that they do not want any unauthorized persons writing or talking about the phenomenon in Taurus. There is to be no discussion . . . not even a mention. Not with family, friends, coworkers, priests, counselors, or nosy government officials. Every breach of this notice will result in immediate termination. No exceptions. This is the most important research project in the world. It has immense ramifications for national defense and astrophysical research. It must not be compromised.” He stopped his harangue for a moment and looked Irina straight in the eyes—drilling deep into her psyche. “Do you understand?”
She met his glare with her own and responded crisply, “Of course I understand. You were speaking English and I do have a PhD. Do you think I need a little mansplaining to help me understand the big words?”
He stifled an explosive outburst at her impertinence. “Will you comply?” he demanded.
“Do I have a choice?” she countered.
“No. You don’t have a choice. But I want an answer, not a rhetorical question from a hot-shot rookie astronomer. Will you comply?”
Irina nodded, but inside she was not nodding. She was seething mad. They didn’t want anyone to know about the looming menace she had nicknamed the Rogue.
“I don’t want a mere nod. I want a straight answer. Will you comply?”
“Yes,” she replied, with obvious exasperation. I will outwardly comply for as long as necessary . . . until I have a good opportunity to unleash my inner non-compliance. She felt a twinge of conscience. Was that lying? Did I just lie? She determined not to worry about it too much. Her situation reminded her of the account in the Old Testament where Hushai used deception to defeat the counsel of Ahithophel—thus saving King David’s life. Whatever God had in mind when he banned lying, he sure seemed to approve of Husai’s effort at misinformation. That was her take on the matter anyways.
There was an awkward silence for a few moments. Then Irina broke the silence. She couldn’t hold her exasperation in any longer. She exploded with a flurry of questions.
“Do you really believe this black-hole-jet theory? Pretty lame interpretation, don’t you think?”
“Of course I believe it. The brightest minds in the entire astronomical world have concluded, unanimously, that it is the very best explanation for the phenomenon.”
“Why are they trotting out the black-hole-jet theory now? How come astronomers never brought this theory up in the past when they observed a series of occulted stars?”
“Because no series of occulted stars observed in the past produced phenomena that met the criteria for consideration as a black-hole-jet situation.”
“And what phenomena are they referring to? What phenomena indicates that we are observing refraction from the shock horizon of a black-hole jet and not the common occultation of a star by a planetary or cometary body?”
“Are you challenging the world’s greatest astronomers? Listen. The brightest minds in the astronomical world have concluded, unanimously, that the black-hole-jet theory is the best explanation for the phenomenon.”
She smirked. The fact that he countered by repeating the same argument reminded her of something her dad used to say, “When men sound like a stuck record, they are speaking off a script.” Somebody is telling him what to believe and what to say.
She continued to protest, “Why do they still refer to it as the anomaly or the phenomenon if they really believe it is the shock wave of a black hole jet?” Before he could answer, she posed another puzzler, “If it really is a black-hole jet, and it really poses no threat to Earth, then why the secrecy?”
He was taken aback, knowing full well that she had him cornered. But surrendering the point was not an option. So he took a different tack. He relaxed a little bit and looked upon her as if he pitied her. “Irina . . .” he began, shaking his head slowly as if he couldn’t comprehend her dullness, “Try to see this from a practical perspective. You are way too idealistic.”
“Practical?”
“Yes. Practical. Listen. Things don’t always go the way we would like them to go in life. Life is a rough-and-tumble sandbox. And it is even rougher if a person is idealistic, or dogmatic, or always trying to make things go their way.”
Irina knew she tended toward idealism, but didn’t think her idealism had any bearing on the question of whether the occulted stars had been obscured by a comet or a black-hole jet. “What do you mean by that?” she demanded. “What are you implying?”
“I am implying that if you don’t watch yourself, your idealism will get out of hand and you will step on toes you don’t want to step on, or ask questions that are extremely unwise to ask, or appear to be a threat to people who have the power to crush you.”
“Can you be a little more straightforward? That sounds like a cryptic threat made in a movie by henchmen from the Mafia. How is my inquisitiveness going to negatively affect me? What particular consequences are you talking about?”
“If you refuse to comply with NASA’s advisory notice or challenge the official position of NASA in this matter, you will be stripped of access to any telescope or plate collection under NASA’s jurisdiction and you will be treated like a leper by every astro
nomy department and observatory in America and Europe. You will be undesirable in the job market and unpublishable in peer-reviewed periodicals. Your career in astronomy will be over. You will be squashed like a bug.”
“That’s not fair or right. What happened to academic freedom? What happened to the long-standing tradition of independent thought and independent research?”
“Welcome to the real world, sweetheart. The world where grownups work. Where you don’t have as much freedom as you think you have. Where you must deal with politics, egos, and deceit if you want to climb the food chain. And unless you make it to the top, you are part of the food chain. You don’t dictate. You are dictated to. You don’t make the rules. You play by the rules. That is the harsh reality. Either deal with it or get on the porch and quit running with the big dogs.”
She couldn’t pretend that the possibility of being blacklisted in the astronomy world didn’t make her uneasy. She had dreamed of being an astronomer since she was eight years old. But she had her priorities: integrity first, career ambitions second. Nonetheless, though she was willing to choose integrity over her career ambitions, she didn’t care to precipitate or hasten the loss of her career by a careless tongue. The tongue is a fire, a world of iniquity. She calmed her outward fluster and asked, “So, what do you suggest that I do?” But she was only putting on a face. Inwardly she was still fuming. She knew that she could neither comply nor take his advice. That’s not in the rule book that I play by.
He continued. “Comply. Sticking up for your beliefs doesn’t put food on the table or pay the bills. Rocking the boat doesn’t earn promotions. You are going to have to figure out, sooner or later, that there are times when being right is wrong. On top of that, you don’t realize the gravity of the situation . . . you don’t grasp how dangerous wrong decisions in this matter really are.”
She looked quizzically at him. Dangerous? Was he upping the ante a little?