The National Security Adviser continued, “The Chinese refuse to license us the technology. They propose to beam power to us using satellites. They want to generate the energy and sell it to us. The world just got the Middle East more-or-less off our collective backs with all the strings that came with their oil. I’ll be damned if the United States and our allies will start getting our energy from China now.” Ms. Kido’s stoic face changed. Her almond-shaped eyes focused on Sara with a distinct air of impatience. “Wells, you and your team do your damn job. Get our scientists what they need to finally get our own fusion efforts up and running.”
Sara sat upright. Well, she does have emotions. Not the kind I was hoping for. She paused, making Ms. Kido wait for her response. “I have a suggestion.” She paused again.
An impatient scowl crossed Ms. Kido’s lips.
Make her wait a bit longer. Sara said, “I worked with Dr. Okoye at NASA this morning. They developed some amazing little sensors. We feel we can combine them with off-the-shelf mini-drones, the kind Special Forces use for urban ops, to create an undetectable sensor swarm that can cover visual and a broad slice of the electromagnetic spectrum. Deployed near the fusion facility and around key government offices, we might pick up important information before the Chinese figure out what’s happening.”
“A swarm?” Ms. Kido raised her eyebrows. “They will eventually detect the operation?” she asked.
“They’re smart. We must assume the drones will eventually be spotted. Perhaps a security camera will focus in just the right location, or maybe a drone will crash in the wrong place. We should have days, if not weeks, of intelligence gathering before they discover what we’re up to. Even then, the drones are hard to target and nearly impossible to jam so it may be a while before the Chinese can take them all out. Once discovered, though, the value of additional information is questionable.”
Ms. Kido scanned the room, her piercing gaze examining each participant. “Any objections to this course of action?”
No one voiced dissent.
Her face brightened, and she said in an overly-friendly tone, “It sounds like we have a plan. Ms. Wells, as of this moment you are in charge of this project. Utilize any resource you need and tell me without delay if any agency fails to give you full and immediate cooperation. I’ll brief the president.”
A Pivotal Conversation
Somewhere in the cosmos, two voices conversed.
“It is confirmed. They are en route to Earth,” Anael said.
“What will they do this time?” Sariel asked, concerned.
Anael thought. “Human sophistication has significantly advanced since the malignants’ depredations were last visited upon Earth. Unless their algorithms have substantially mutated, a high degree of interference with humanity is probable this time.”
“Should we help the humans? Are they worthy?”
Anael thought again, for a good while this time. “There are competing factors. They have displayed remarkable ingenuity and tenacity. That is in their favor. Some of their numbers show remarkable compassion. However, others are markedly indifferent, and at times cruel. Even now, factions are fighting to control planet-scale energy, rather than sharing for the benefit of all. In some ways, I must characterize them as less evolved than when we last intervened on their behalf.”
Sariel sighed. “Agreed. However, when at their best, they are remarkable.”
“Agreed.” After a time, Anael continued. ”I have considered the probabilities. If we activate the contingency, there is a sixty-two percent chance they will avail themselves of it. If they do, a further thirty-one percent chance of countering the malignants.”
“Reasonable odds.”
“I also calculate a twelve percent probability that the malignants will use the contingency to inflict severe harm upon our mission.”
“Although that outcome is unlikely, the consequences could be dire. It could unravel our reason for existence. It does not seem prudent to intervene for humanity.”
“No, it does not.” Anael’s voice was soft, pensive. After a lengthy pause, she said, “I want to help them.”
“As do I,” Sariel agreed.
The Shepherd's Call
“I’m glad we can finally have that lunch together,” Jake said with an unrestrained grin. He and Sara sat down in the spacious NSA cafeteria.
“It’s about time,” Sara said. Dozens of whispered conversations droned in the background like a beehive trying to avoid unwanted attention. Are people staring at us? No. I’m imagining things. Jake eyed his ginger-kale juice with overt skepticism before taking a sip. His lips puckered and the corners of his mouth turned downward, threatening to erase his smile. “And so soon after our first real date.”
“Is that what it was? I thought you said it was quality time between two friends.”
“Is that all you want it to be?”
Sara’s head tilted slightly, and her lips curled into a pinched smile. “Jake, I’m glad we shared that adventure.”
His shoulders relaxed.
She tore off a piece of whole-grain baguette, dipped it in her tomato soup and took a bite. Yum. Fresh basil. “You know, recent events kept me at the office around the clock for the past few weeks. Heck, some days I don’t even make it home to Annapolis.”
“I guess you haven’t had much personal time since…” He quieted his speech and leaned in close. “Since the incident with China.”
“What do you know about that?” Sara asked in a sharp, whispering voice.
“Not much.” His cheeks flushed.
Her eyes narrowed.
“Really. Just rumors. Nothing substantial.” Jake averted his eyes.
“Rumors about intelligence matters don’t happen at the NSA. Not under my watch. What did you hear and from whom?”
“It didn’t happen here, Sara.” Jake’s voice was hushed, his tone urgent. “My boss told me there’s news about China that has the Hill in a tizzy.”
“Politicians.” Sara sighed. “Why can’t they keep their mouths shut? Jake, you should know better than to spread rumors. Especially here.” She sat back. Some of the penetrating sharpness faded from her expression.
Jake nodded and jabbed his salad with a fork. “You mentioned you like to sail. I used to sail quite a bit. One time, my cousin and I took a boat…”
Sara was distracted. Again. A red symbol blinked in the lower-right corner of her vision. “What?” Her eyebrows arched. “What!” The last time the AI interrupted their conversation, she was surprised by the news. This time, she was floored. She started to stand but smacked the edge of the heavy synth-maple table with her thigh. Thick, red soup sloshed out of its bowl. It hurt, but her mind, processing the new information, was numb to the pain.
Jake’s shoulders slumped. “It’s OK, Sara. I know you want to be here, and I know whatever just happened is important.” He glanced at the puddle of soup. “I’ve got this. Go.”
Sara stopped gathering her things and smiled ear-to-ear. That’s so kind. He’s so kind. She touched his shoulder. “Thank you, Jake. Really. You just made my day.”
He touched her forearm. “Sara Wells, we will share a meal one day.”
Sara said in a hushed, confident voice, “I promise you, we will.” She turned and trotted toward VIRCOM. The happy smile on his face would live on in the back of her mind the rest of this historic day.
#
Analysts and decision makers filtered into the darkened VIRCOM, holographically and in person. The moment Dr. Okoye joined the conference, Sara said, “Abel, what do you have for me?”
He looked both happy to see her and mildly surprised. “Sara, we are still waiting for two analysts from DC. Shall I begin without them?”
“No, of course not. I’m sorry for jumping the gun.” Sara’s normally focused demeanor had an undertone of giddiness. She noticed a smile on Abel’s oval, lightly wrinkled face. He gave her a knowing look. Does nothing get past that man? The remaining analysts joined. “
Abel,” Sara asked in an even tone, “what do you have for us?”
With a few gestures, Dr. Okoye created a three-dimensional representation of Jupiter. He spoke with a distinctive Nigerian accent, much stronger than when he was alone with Sara. “My team has been studying the radioactive environment around Jupiter using both Earth-based radio telescopes and a swarm of nanosats in the Jovian system.” With another gesture, the virtual space filled with a low, resonating sound.
Dawa Jacobs, one of the analysts from DC, noted, “Dr. Okoye, that sounds like a dungchen.”
“A what?” Abel inquired, gray, bushy, eyebrows raised in curiosity.
“A Dungchen. A Tibetan horn.” Dawa projected a three-meter, gradually curving horn into the room and allowed its sound to fill the virtual space.
“Interesting,” Dr. Okoye reflected. “The sound is, in fact, the radio waves emitted by Jupiter, converted to sound waves. We call that process data sonification. It sometimes helps us understand the nature of radio emissions. The similarity to the dungchen is most curious.”
Sara would normally allow time for all information to surface. VIRCOM made it easy for participants of diverse backgrounds to introduce facts, often uncovered new connections. With the summary the AI provided during her aborted lunch with Jake, she simply could not wait. “Abel, please continue.”
His smile seemed to restrain enormous satisfaction. “Ah, yes. You see, two hours ago a new signal appeared over the background noise.” A distinctive PING-PING filled the room. The first ping was a pleasing, low-pitched note. The second was higher. All in attendance were silent, contemplating the potential meaning. After a short pause, the PING-PING repeated.
“The frequency of the sounds are two hundred twenty and four hundred forty Hertz respectively,” Abel said. “Corresponding to the musical notes A-three and A-four.”
Sara’s gaze was distant and reflective. “Abel, what else can you tell us about the signal. The pings, for example, are not exactly the same duration, are they?”
Dr. Okoye again raised his eyebrows, this time showing surprise and a hint of admiration. “No, they are not. You have quite a fine ear. The first ping you hear is precisely 0.99862349 times as long as the second ping. At least, within the limitations of the carrier bandwidth.” He studied her for a moment.
Why is Abel looking at me like that? Is he stuck on how I noticed that difference?
He shook his head briefly and continued. “Additionally, there is another, very short ping just before the first audible one. It is eight hundred eighty Hertz, A-five on the scientific musical scale. It is 0.00054386734 times as long as the final ping in the sequence. Again, precisely, within the limits of accuracy theoretically possible with the radio frequency they used.”
“They?” Sara was shocked by the significance of the statement yet not surprised. She had begun to guess as much.
“Yes, they. You see… the ratio of the signals. It is the ratio of the masses of an electron to a proton to a neutron. The three building blocks of matter. And Sara?” Abel paused for effect. “The ratio of the two pause durations is pi.”
The virtual room fell still.
Sara’s mouth opened to speak, but she closed it again. She drew a breath and said, “Is there any possibility of another source? Perhaps an undetected satellite or spacecraft? China has been actively exploring asteroids for mining further out in the belt.”
“I mentioned we have quite a few nanosats measuring the radiation and electromagnetic fields in orbit around Jupiter,” Dr. Okoye said. “They’re not equipped for detailed visual observation, but they do each carry a low-resolution camera. As luck would have it, one was not far from where the pings originate.”
A small part of the Jupiter visual was overlaid with detailed imagery from the nanosat. Dr. Okoye zoomed in. A few dark pixels began to take on structure. The shape, backlit by Jupiter, appeared roughly as a circle connected to a cylinder, with slowly curving projections on either long side. The image was still blurry, due to both the high level of zoom and degradation of the camera itself in Jupiter’s intense radiation fields. The structure was most distinctly artificial, and Sara could picture no scenario in which it originated from Earth.
JUPITER CALLING
Getting From Here to There
Commander Dylan Lockwood inched a new fence post into a freshly dug hole. His hands, protected by worn leather gloves, packed the rich soil back in. He tamped it down with a crowbar and repeated the process until the post was solid as a tree stump. Dylan inhaled the fresh, earthy air and studied his handiwork, giving the post a firm shake. “There we go.”
His sturdy palomino brayed.
“What do you think, Cleo? Will the new post keep the cattle off the airstrip?”
The horse was indifferent.
He enjoyed working the ranch after time in space. The last mission with Musa recalled painful memories. A few days spent mending fences seemed just the right therapy. Dylan stood back, stretched his shoulders and took a moment to survey his expansive ranch. Patches of snow still dotted the hills. It would be another month before the bluebonnets and other wildflowers would brighten the landscape. Dylan began refastening the barbed wire when his ancient mobile phone rang. He took the call with a tap on his ear. “Howdy, Roy.” Dylan worked the fence as the other man spoke. “Uh huh. Well, you’re a few months early for April Fools. Nice try, though. You coming to the barbecue Saturday?” Dylan dropped the wire and crossed his arms loosely over his chest. “You’re shitting me, right?” His eyes squinted, and his left eyebrow arched up. “Be straight with me now, is this for real?” He forced a chuckle. “OK, I’ll be there quick as I can. If this story ain’t true, you owe me gas money and a juicy steak.”
Dylan said, “Call the house,” and drummed his fingers on the fence post, waiting for an answer. “Mia, hi. Say, I’m out mending the airstrip fence. Something’s come up. I gotta head into town right quick. Could you be a dear and fetch Cleo? I’ll let her graze over by the hangar.”
Dylan hopped on his horse and trotted half a mile along the fence. He jumped off at a small gate, removed Cleo’s well-used leather saddle and laid it over a nearby tree stump. “You be a good girl now until I get back.” He scratched the horse behind her ears, removed her bit and bridle, and gave her a quick brushing. “Be good now,” Dylan told her. He headed through the gate.
A short jog brought him to an old but well-kept wood-and-tin aircraft hangar. He pulled a small tablet out of his jacket pocket and used it to call up an aviation weather briefing. His ocular implant could provide the same information, but he preferred to hold the weather map in his hand. Smooth sailing. Dylan threw open the hangar doors revealing an immaculate, bright yellow, 1940 Stearman biplane. Hello, beautiful! He ran his hand along the leading edge of the wing, then quickly yet thoroughly inspected his plane for airworthiness. Satisfied, he pushed the Stearman out of the hangar. Dylan climbed into the cockpit then glanced up at the clear blue sky and around the barren airstrip. “Clear prop!” he shouted. Even though nobody was around, he took care to follow procedure. The engine sputtered to life, and the propeller pushed cold air with a tinge of exhaust and engine oil over his skin. He increased the throttle, the influx of fresh air all but removing the hydrocarbon smell. The classic plane roared down the short, paved runway and lifted swiftly into the air.
The wind blew hard on his skin. It was refreshing, invigorating. Freedom.
Dylan flew low over the countryside toward Houston. Ranches gave way to prairie, which gave way to marshes on the edge of Trinity Bay. The air took on a brine smell. A pod of pelicans patrolled the waters below. Sure would be messy to hit one of those. He added throttle and climbed to three thousand feet. Ellington Field Joint Reserve Base, a modest airport adjacent to NASA’s Johnson Space Center, faded into view. Dylan contacted the control tower and began his descent.
His mind wandered as he tied the plane down for the night. It’s got to be a gag. Ain’t no way. At least I’ll get a steak din
ner out of it.
A car waited for him. Dylan did a final walk around the plane and gave a tie-down rope an extra tug then turned to his driver, an Airman First Class.
“Good afternoon, sir.” The driver spoke with the military formality of an NCO looking to advance.
“Good afternoon, Tom. Call me Dylan, would you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, don’t just stand there. Drive me on over to NASA. I got a steak waiting on me.”
#
Nobody noticed Dylan enter the planning room. Roy Evans and a half-dozen NASA engineers were sketching on a heavily worn whiteboard covering half of a wall, expressing ideas with hectic strokes of black, red and green markers. The smell of oily pizza and ink fumes permeated the air. Thoughts were thrown around, debated, and enhanced at a frenzied pace. A tall, thin man drew what appeared to be an orbital curve at the far edge of the drawing surface. Roy scribbled his own corrections with broad, energetic strokes.
Dylan stepped up behind Roy and rested a hand on the older man’s shoulder. “You know Roy, you went and missed the whiteboard entirely. Your orbit’s a permanent feature of the wall now.”
“What?” Roy blushed. His sketch had indeed extended onto the wall. “Dylan. Thank you for getting here so fast. You flew in?”
“Yup,” Dylan said. “Why are you in this old room? I thought they did away with it in the last round of renovations.”
“Nope, I vetoed that particular change. I know, I’m old school. But it works for me. The virtual reality tools are wonderful for detailed collaboration. When I’m just trying to figure shit out, markers and boards help my creativity flow.” He stood back and looked over the myriad drawings. “As you can see, we’re working out how to get up there.” Roy pointed his left hand in the general direction of the markings.
The Gods We Make Page 6