“Madam President,” slips from his lips. The President’s wearing a pantsuit. She’s got her arms resting in her lap, enjoying the autumn sun coming through the window. If anything, Nolan suspects she’s trying to put them at ease.
“Oh,” the President says warmly, smiling at Nolan. “So this is your UFO specialist?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the admiral says.
UFO specialist? Nolan cringes. He couldn’t think of a worse way to describe his role. He doesn’t believe in little green men in shiny flying saucers, or he didn’t.
Dr. McKenzie understands. She says, “Although the object is unidentified, Nolan and I have had some lively discussions about the inbound artifact.”
The President asks, “Is this thing in any way related to those grainy pictures we’ve all seen?”
“No,” they both say in unison. Nolan joins Dr. McKenzie, having found an ally in their shared understanding of what’s happening.
“As best we understand,” he says, “this is entirely unique.”
“And it’s alien?” the President asks.
Nolan and Dr. McKenzie look at each other, both wondering who should answer.
Nolan says, “Its motion is too precise to be an asteroid or a comet.”
Dr. McKenzie nods in agreement.
Nolan says, “The real issue here is timing. We’ve got roughly a month before it reaches Jupiter. At that point, we’ll know for sure if it’s coming straight for us.”
“When you say, straight,” the President asks, “How straight? Will it be here in a day? A week? A month? A year?”
Dr. McKenzie says, “The object’s shedding speed every time it encounters a planet, slowing its approach. Once it passes Jupiter, it’ll take another month to reach Earth.”
“So we have two months?” the President says, addressing the admiral. “One month where there’s still some doubt. Then another month, and it’s on our doorstep. Have I got that right?”
“Yes,” the admiral says.
“Yes, ma’am,” Nolan says, reinforcing that point.
“And the Russians?” she asks.
Nolan replies, “I think the Russians had some warning. Although we missed it, An̆duru passed close enough to Neptune to have skipped off the clouds there as well. Based on their behavior, I suspect the Russians saw that. At first, An̆duru would have been a curiosity, a footnote in some Russian scientific journal. But when it went on to skim Saturn, they knew they were dealing with something other than a comet.”
“And they’re recalling their subs because?” the President asks, leading the conversation. Admiral Jacobsen is conspicuously quiet. He’s clearly already said enough to her. The President probably knows far more than Nolan about the location and direction of the Russian submarines.
Nolan clears his throat. “As an analyst, it’s my assessment they’re preparing a second-strike capability in the event our visitors are hostile. Their subs are mobile and easily hidden. The Russians want to upgrade their nuclear missiles to reach targets in orbit. They can only get that by retrofitting their subs.”
“Now wait a minute,” Dr. McKenzie says. “You think the Russians are going to go to war with An̆duru?”
She looks at the general and the admiral. “You too. You think there’s going to be a war. No, no, no. We know nothing about them. There’s no reason to think they’re going to be hostile.”
“It’s a chance we can’t take,” the admiral says.
Dr. McKenzie shakes her head. “This is crazy.”
“That attitude,” the President says, pointing at Dr. McKenzie, “is precisely why you’re here—to balance the debate.”
As a military strategist, Nolan feels compelled to say something to break the impasse.
“It only makes sense to prepare for the worst, even if we expect them to be friendly.”
Dr. McKenzie shakes her head.
“Steve?” the President asks, talking to her communications director. “What are you thinking?”
The director has been making notes on a sheet of paper. He reads out a few points he’s jotted down.
“I’m concerned about the name,” he says. “An̆duru. It means Prince of Darkness, right? That’s not a good name for an alien spaceship. Can we change it?”
“It means regal or royal, but dim, barely visible,” Kath replies. “It’s a term describing how difficult it was to spot. An̆duru is just a name, like Mars or Saturn. You can’t read too much into its name.”
“But people are reading meaning into that name,” the President says.
The director says, “If this is alien, it’s going to be a bombshell. It’s going to scare a lot of people. We’ve got to control the conversation. Talk about peace while quietly preparing for war.”
“This is insane,” Dr. McKenzie says.
The President holds up her hand, wanting Dr. McKenzie to let the director speak.
“I think we need to get out in front of this. We don’t want to be playing catch up on something this volatile.”
The President says, “Even though the science isn’t settled?” She points at Dr. McKenzie, adding, “I mean, we won’t know for sure for about a month, right?”
The communications director gets to his feet and points at the whiteboard.
“I don’t mean to sound dumb or anything, but where’s Earth?”
“Right in here,” Dr. McKenzie says, tapping the region near the Sun.
“And that’s to scale?” he asks.
“Roughly. Space is big. Much bigger than we think. This thing has come a very long way. It’s trying to reach a very small destination right at the heart of our solar system—Earth.”
“Damn!”
“How confident are you about this?” the President asks. “I mean, they could miss us entirely, right?"
Dr. McKenzie says, “If you’d asked me a month ago, I would have said this whole scenario was impossible. Having seen An̆duru graze Saturn and knowing that might have also happened out by Neptune has me in a tailspin. If it skims off Jupiter, there's no doubt at all it’s an alien vessel.”
The President says, “But it’s not your ass on the line. It’s mine. If I go out there and say ET is dropping by for coffee and this thing turns out to be a rock, I’ll look stupid.”
The President looks for a response, but heads drop around the room. She provides her own rebuttal, saying, “But if this is a visitor from another star, and I sit on that, I’ll be labeled a fool.”
Dr. McKenzie says, “There’s always some uncertainty in science.”
“We can qualify that,” the communications director says. “People are going to be looking for leadership on this—strong leadership. We need certainty. The country, the markets, the international community—they need to know that we know what we’re doing. They need reassurance that this is being handled in a competent manner. We need to avoid panic.”
“And how do we do that?” Dr. McKenzie asks. “How are we going to convince people not to panic?”
“Ah,” the director says with a smile. “We have to make this boring.”
The President laughs. “God, I love you, Steve. How do we make the single most significant event in human history boring?”
The director says, “The media is going to go nuts. Social media is already going into meltdown. The news is going to be saturated with 24/7 commentary, guesswork, fake news, and conspiracy theories.”
“And?” the President asks.
“We throw a wet blanket over the whole thing. We make this routine. We hold daily briefings. Keep them short and on point. We make out like An̆duru is nothing special. We make the discussion commonplace. Within a week, it’ll lose its novelty. In a month, it’ll be the norm. We use our position to slow things down. Keep people calm. We keep repeating the same message—there’s nothing to worry about.”
“I like it,” the President says. She claps her hands together, signaling the discussion is over. “Let’s not keep them waiting any longer.”
The President scoots down from the windowsill. “Dr. McKenzie, you’ll be on my left. General Nolan, on my right.”
“Ah, Lieutenant Colonel, ma’am,” Nolan says, not sure where they’re going but feeling it’s important to get his rank correct.
The President looks at him with a stern face, saying, “Not anymore.”
As they file out of the director’s office, Nolan whispers to Dr. McKenzie, asking her, “Who have we kept waiting?”
Dr. McKenzie smiles, saying, “The press.”
Press
Nolan’s anxious. Kath can see that from the way he stiffens as they walk through the West Wing toward the press briefing room.
Kath may have only just met Nolan, but she’s a shrewd judge of character. The way he reacted to her challenge about dick pics and his reaction when walking in on the President tells her he hates being surprised. She pities him. She’s here for the ride. Stepping out in front of a room full of reporters doesn’t faze her in the slightest. Kath defended two Ph.D. theses in two different, albeit related fields. That was intimidating! Fighting for recognition in the astrophysics community forged steel in her soul. She suspects the newly appointed general would rather sit in a cubicle somewhere and line up his talking points with meticulous care. Chaos is not his forte.
As they walk into the crowded briefing room, it’s clear the press corps is bored. They’re caught in casual banter, leaning over seatbacks and standing in the aisles. When the President appears, they jump back into their seats. Kath finds their shift to professionalism amusing. Pens are pulled from jacket pockets. Notepads are opened.
Kath and Nolan stand at the back of the podium, flanking the President as she steps up to the lectern.
“Good afternoon.”
President Elizabeth Rose Aston is relaxed. Perhaps comfortable is a better term. If she’s nervous about what she’s about to discuss, it doesn’t show.
“Last weekend, we watched in awe as NASA streamed images of a comet colliding with Saturn. Normally, an astronomical event wouldn’t require a presidential address, but something remarkable occurred. Instead of plunging into the gas giant, the comet bounced off the atmosphere. It acted like a stone skipping across the surface of a pond.”
The President continues reading from a teleprompter.
“As speculation mounted, our scientists watched and waited, looking carefully at the evidence. I’m told asteroids and comets regularly hit planets like Saturn. Impacts occur up to sixty times a year, but most of them go unnoticed.
“Once every two or three years, the gas giants are struck by objects as big as the Titanic. These impacts leave dark smudges in the clouds. Such collisions aren’t as rare as we might imagine. With so many impacts occurring, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that eventually one of them is a near miss.”
She pauses, looking at the reporters for a moment and ignoring the cues on her teleprompter.
“But last Saturday was different. It’s not just that a comet skipped across Saturn, but that it had previously skipped Neptune. Now it’s heading toward Jupiter.”
The press corps erupts. Reporters jump out of their seats. Questions are thrown at the President like footballs. In the midst of the cacophony, one word comes through clearly—aliens. The President raises her hands, wanting to continue.
“At this point, we do not know that this is an alien spacecraft, but it is a possibility we are actively considering.”
Again, the room explodes with questions. Reporters get to their feet, yelling. Pens are pointed. Arms are waved. Notepads are used as flags to gain the President’s attention.
“Please,” she says over the commotion. “I understand you have questions. We all do. That’s why I’ve asked Dr. Kathleen McKenzie from NASA’s Ames Research Center and General Nolan Landis from NORAD to accompany me. If I were to answer your questions, I’d be guessing. Instead, I’ll defer to the experts.”
As the shouting subsides, she says, “We are in the midst of something quite remarkable. This is an unprecedented and historic moment, not only in the history of our country, or even our species, but for life on this planet as a whole.
“It will be a month before An̆duru passes Jupiter. At that point, we will know for sure if it is heading toward Earth.
“I am instituting a daily briefing schedule. My administration intends to keep Americans fully informed. This is new for all of us. It’s exciting. There’s no need for any fear. Transparency is important. We will provide you with the most accurate, up-to-date information possible.”
Kath has her doubts about the term, ‘transparency.’ The President won’t be sharing her options for war with the American public.
Again, reporters call to be heard. Questions ricochet off the walls of the room like bullets. The President points at a reporter in the second row and the others fall silent.
“What do we know about the intent of these creatures?”
The President turns to Nolan, saying, “General, would you like to field that question?”
Nolan freezes. His eyes are like saucers. He stutters. The term ‘creatures’ has thrown him for a loop. There’s been no discussion about the intelligence behind An̆duru.
He starts to step forward, stuttering. “O—kay, wh—well, we’re still, ah—”
“Allow me,” Kath says. The President nods, gesturing for her to walk up to the lectern. “First, as the President said, we’re yet to confirm this is an alien device.”
Kath’s careful to avoid loaded terms like spaceship and UFO, knowing how her words will be scrutinized. Traditional media is going to focus on its own narrative. Social media pundits will magnify and distort her words to suit their agendas.
“We have yet to establish the exact nature of An̆duru, but it’s not a comet.”
The reporter asks, “If this thing that bounced off Saturn isn’t natural, what is it?”
“No one said it’s not natural,” Kath replies. “Life is natural. Alien life might be unknown to us, but it too is entirely natural. If An̆duru is an alien craft, it’s not in any way supernatural. We’ve known for a long time that, just as life arose on Earth, it could arise elsewhere. Up until now, we’ve lacked evidence for this idea, but it’s a reasonable explanation for what we’re now observing.”
“Are they hostile?” the reporter asks, getting to the heart of his question.
“No,” Kath replies, offering only one word as an answer.
She’s determined to make the press work for their sound-bites. Kath understands the game. She’s been involved in science communication long enough to know it’s an uphill battle at the best of times. For every one person trying to promote rational discourse, there are hundreds of others ready to shout out the latest conspiracy theory. Kath has given a measured response. There’s no ambiguity. There’s no uncertainty to exploit. Clear, succinct answers cannot be misrepresented.
“How do you know?” the reporter asks.
Nolan and the President are quiet. She’s drawn the short straw. They’re happy for her to field the question that’s on everyone’s mind—Should we be afraid?
“We’re hostile,” she says, turning the question around on the reporter. “Fighting is something humans do really well. It’s only natural we’d assume extraterrestrial life would also be hostile, but we have no reason to think that. In fact, we have every reason to assume otherwise.”
Again, she’s holding back, baiting the press. Kath can see from the look on the reporter’s face he’s far from happy. Gimme that goddamn sound-bite!
Kath is doing all she can to keep isolated snippets from becoming the only talking points. If this exchange is replayed, she wants it to be as a comprehensive discussion. She knows her deliberate, slow pacing will help calm nerves. Right now, she can imagine the various network news anchors going nuts, pulling their hair out. The media thrives on the speculation science abhors. Sensationalism sells.
“What reason?” the reporter asks.
Fair question.
“Because they’re slowing down,” she says. “Let’s look at what we do know. Their navigation system has them cruising from Neptune to Saturn and then on to Jupiter. That’s remarkably precise. That’s like hitting a golf ball in LA, bouncing it off a few buildings in London, and sinking a hole-in-one in Moscow.”
“So this isn’t surprising?” the reporter asks, seeking clarification.
“No. Not at all. We’ve used Jupiter to speed up. They’re using Jupiter to slow down.”
The reporter nods.
Kath continues. “If An̆duru were hostile, something like a missile, it wouldn’t bother slowing down. If there are aliens out there that want to destroy us, all they need to do is throw a rock at us and,” she claps her hands for effect, “we’d go the way of the dinosaurs.”
Okay, there’s your sound-bite.
She points to one of the other reporters for a follow-up question.
“Why skip through the clouds on other planets? Why not come straight to Earth?”
“Great question,” she says, stalling for time. She’s not sure where to begin on what could become an overly technical answer. “Going anywhere in space is difficult. Space travel requires lots of fuel. When you see a rocket sitting on the pad ready to launch, 90% of its mass is fuel. Imagine a car that’s pretty much just a gigantic fuel tank on flimsy wheels.
“Getting anywhere in space takes a helluva lot of energy. But it’s not just getting there that’s the problem. Stopping takes just as much energy as getting started.
“Picture yourself driving from New York to Baltimore. Imagine it took the same amount of fuel to stop as it did to start. And if you don’t stop, you’ll find yourself hurtling on toward North Carolina. From there, you’ll drift to Florida, South America, and eventually Antarctica.
“Remember when New Horizons flew by Pluto? Ever wonder why it didn’t stop? It couldn’t. Pluto was so far away we couldn’t give New Horizons enough fuel to stop. We took as many photos as we could while we sailed by. From there, New Horizons drifted out into the unknown.
Wherever Seeds May Fall (First Contact) Page 7