by Mark Wandrey
“What does the President think of this?”
“I haven’t talked to him in a while, just been sending reports. He’s working it over with his people and whoever can give him advice. Sometimes these things are even bigger than our president. ”
“I thought it was up to me to decide who was to be allowed into the bag on this one?”
“It’s your Op, of course, but we aren’t ones to argue with the POTUS. If he wants to ask the advice of his second grade teacher, we can’t do a thing about it.”
“This is the biggest thing I’ve even been in charge of, and we’re risking loss of containment. You know what that could mean in this case?” There was no answer. Volant sighed and spoke again. “What do you want me to do?”
“Sit tight, I’ll get back with you inside forty-eight hours, well before the time set to re-contact those on the other side.”
Volant sat the phone on his desk and stared at it until it began to screech, then he hung it up. From the fridge under his desk he removed an expensive imported beer and cracked it open. The bitter brew slid down his throat, making him sigh with relief. The words of his boss echoed in his ear. He’d used the lingo of the NASA types when talking about the meteor. “Nickel Iron,” “Variable Trajectories” were the same kinds of things Dr. Skinner had talked about. He knew full well the fucking rock was going to hit Earth, and was taking steps to do something himself.
He had his second beer in hand as he opened his computer to fire off a quick e-mail to his second in command in Washington DC. It was direct and to the point; “Get me a copy of the briefing sent to POTUS on the Portal. Make it confidential, make it original, make it quiet, and make it quick.” That done, he set about emptying his fridge of beers, something he hadn’t done in years.
Mindy arrived back at the Renton offices of SETI the next day to find her friend Harold in a rage. Many of the data processing routines he had left to run had been shut down and not restarted. No one knew what had happened and he was pissed off. She did her best to look mystified even though she was guilty as hell. Harold bought the innocent act hook, line, and sinker. She ducked away from her angry friend and gratefully slipped into the small office they had assigned her.
She spent the morning answering phone calls from funding possibilities and sending off dozens of e-mails. Harold convincing her to come back had been a brilliant move after all. Many of the private supporters of SETI that had disappeared when she had fallen from grace had now returned. If half the promised checks materialized, they would triple their budget for the next quarter, and then quadruple it again the quarter after that. Harold had used the promises to wrangle a pair of Cryo Blue supercomputers from a sympathetic supplier. They were going to be delivered later that day. It would only take a few hours to bring the machines on line, and he could hardly wait to set them loose on the code he’d been using home computers to chew on for years. The mood around the office was much as it had been in the days after they had first recorded the ET signal, shortly before the fall.
It was after lunch before she was able to turn her computer to the new pet project. Once again, the screens were filled with images of stars from the pictures Skinner had given her. Again and again major groups of stars were presented to her in different orders and orientations. Occasionally she would freeze the display and manually rotate the image this way and that before dismissing it and moving on. After an hour of looking she'd put aside a pair of images to be looked at again. Neither of them were obviously any star clusters she was familiar with, but at the same time they tickled the back of her head every time she looked at them. She listed them as suspects and continued on.
Finally she had run through all the new images the computer processor had collected for her, and turned her attention for the remainder of her lunch hour to surfing the net. News and other articles of interest were her main attraction. Clicking on links concerning an independent SETI-like project in New Zealand led to her inadvertently hitting a stray banner ad that redirected her browser to a religious site. “Damn it,” she growled and moved the mouse to the “x” close button. Her finger a fraction of an inch from tapping the mouse button, she stopped and looked at the heading. “The Avatar of God has arrived through the Portal to the Stars!”
She read the first page and then began exploring the entire site. Working quicker and quicker she eventually found the scanned image of a hand-drawn picture. It looked just like the image she'd pieced together from hundreds of images. “Oh my God,” Mindy gasped. Among the sketches were several of “The Avatar of God”: an alien centaur-like being with no obvious facial opening and snake arms.
Her lunch hour had ended long ago and she was still surfing the hundreds of images available on the site. Apparently this group, or cult, known as the Followers of the Avatar, was led by someone named Victor and his apostles. He had seen the Portal delivered by this Avatar and all the sketches were based on his accounts. Included among the images were several drawings of the perimeter of the Portal, a series of floating discs, each holding an icon.
She looked more closely at some of the more enigmatic images from the Portal. These were not pictures of people marching through the Portal or of the Earth being destroyed; she hadn’t even really looked at them or understood what she had seen. No, she was locked in on what appeared to be a background of the images that was composed of rows upon rows of dots. Whoever had drawn this either had an eidetic memory or was making it up from scratch. But those dots had a pattern to them.
It only took a second to call up the data Harold was working on. Something about the pattern he had found in the signal had set her off when she’d looked at those dots. A signal received from space, its data broken into twelve millisecond blocks, twelve bocks per signal group, and one hundred forty-four blocks per main segment. She picked up a stylus and began counting; praying that whoever had drawn this was as anal-retentive as she was. When she put her stylus down she had her answer. One hundred forty-four groups of dots were organized in each section on the Portal. The same data sets as they had received from the stars.
Mindy jumped up and screamed in triumph, then shook her head as she realized what this meant. Had this Portal been sent after an attempt to communicate by radio had failed? That was seven years ago, round trip light speed placed the signal origin at three point five light years. It didn’t add up. The probable origin of the radio signal was closer to two hundred, maybe two hundred fifty light years distant. Still, this was a serious development. It just couldn't be a coincidence, it couldn't!
“Shit, I need to talk to Harold!” she yelled and ran out of her office.
When Lt. Billy Harper arrived for his twice-weekly briefing at the station house, he had a couple of unwelcome surprises. The first was a note on his shared desk to report to the investigation department's briefing room as soon as he got in. After a hasty cup of coffee he made his way to the designated room where he found the second unwelcome surprise. There waiting for him were his ex-wife Trisha, her new husband (none other than Assistant Chief of Police Niedelmeir), and someone he had never met before. This middle-aged and slightly overweight man exuded an air of power and confidence. Billy instantly knew he was a government agent.
“Sit down, Lieutenant,” Niedelmeir said and pointed to a chair. Harper sat without comment. A speculative eyebrow raised at Trisha resulted in her looking down at her computer so he knew something serious was under way. “We have a few questions for you.”
“If this is an official investigation, I'd like to speak to my councilor.”
“It's not an investigation, Billy,” Trisha said quietly.
“Not yet anyway,” Niedelmeir added.
“Can we proceed?” asked the stranger with a glance at his watch. Niedelmeir grumbled and pushed some buttons on his computer before beginning.
“On March sixteenth of this year, you reportedly accepted a duty assignment for an investigation in Central Park by Capt. Panini here...” Billy looked at her quickly, suddenly
afraid that this non-investigation was against her, but Niedelmeir continued. “During that investigation you interrogated and later booked on misdemeanor possession charges, one suspect identified as Victor Huxford.” Harper was relieved that Trisha was not under investigation, but now afraid that he knew where they were going. “Can you tell me what became of the defendant?”
“No, I cannot,” he replied casually. “Since when is a small time perp worth this kind of Q&A anyway? I've got work to do.”
“Just answer the questions, lieutenant.”
“Why don't you answer my fuckin’ question, Niedelmeir?!” The assistant chief came halfway out of his seat in a patented display of the temper that had kept him from the top job for so long. Trisha put out a restraining hand that was rudely batted aside. Harper's eyes narrowed slightly.
“I don't think there is any call to let this friendly little get together become nasty, do you, assistant chief?” All heads turned to the stranger at their meeting. “Wondering who I am? Senior Sector Chief Mark Volant, NSA. Mr. Huxford is a person of interest in an investigation.”
“He was what, a junkie? Why would a junkie arrested on a misdemeanor possession charge be of such interest to the NSA? You afraid he tried to steal your ‘satellite’ out there?”
“That’s really none of your concern, Lt. Harper. We merely need that man, and you let him go.”
“I didn’t let him go; the arraigning judge did that when Mr. Huxford didn’t show for the pretrial. We arrest about ten thousand people a day in this city, Agent Volant. If we put all of them in jail, the entire Upper East Side would be nothing but jail cells.”
“Might improve the city.”
“I think we’re getting off course,” offered Capt. Panini. “Lt. Harper followed procedures in booking the suspect and obtaining an arraignment date. Three days later the arraigning judge released Mr. Huxford on O.R. with a pretrial date set for April 15th. When he didn’t show up, just like most of those released on O.R., a plea of guilty was entered on his behalf and he was sentenced to time served; case dismissed.”
“I’ve read it,” Niedelmeir said with a dismissive wave. “The fact exists that the lieutenant had the authority to choose the arraigning judge, all but insuring that this Huxford would be released on his O.R.”
“Quite an accusation you’re making,” Harper said.
“If the shoe fits…”
“I’m not the one who’s been rooting around in the chief’s colon for the last ten years.”
“You insubordinate little bastard!”
“Do I need to separate you two?” Trisha demanded, “Or do you just want to whip it out and have a pecker contest right now?”
“I’m beginning to realize you three have a history together,” Volant said with a scornful look.
“Very astute,” Harper said.
Volant shrugged. “Yeah…I used to be married.”
“Capt. Panini left this loser when he refused one too many chances to be promoted in the department. We were married last year, just after I accepted the assistant chief position.”
“How wonderful for all of you. What I really came here for was Victor Huxford. You can keep the soap opera shit. So, Lt. Harper, do you, or do you not have any idea where this Huxford character can be located?”
“How would I know? I haven’t seen him since I booked him; the prosecutor’s office notified me he never showed for his pretrial.”
“Thank you Lieutenant, you may go.”
“Just like that? I think he’s hiding something!” Niedelmeir snarled and pointed as Harper got to his feet.
“Only my loathing for you, Assistant Chief Niedelmeir,” Harper said, smiling broadly. Niedelmeir turned bright red and choked on his reply. As Harper left, he caught the slight smile on his ex-wife’s face and that made him whistle a broken tune. It was part of Three Blind Mice.
“Think he’s telling the truth?” asked Volant.
“I think he’s lying,” spat Niedelmeir. “Get an Internal Affairs investigator to follow him.”
“We can’t do that without some evidence of wrongdoing,” Panini complained.
“I’ll give you all you need to order that tail, the authority of the United States Government.” Niedelmeir nodded his head and Capt. Panini just looked away. Volant stormed out. He was used to having his orders followed.
“Arrogant asshole,” Niedelmeir said to Volant’s back.
“You have a great way of dealing with them,” she said, “like fighting fire with a gas pump.” His look shot daggers at her as they left.
Once outside, Harper got into his cruiser and headed in the direction of his patrol sector. A few blocks away he pulled off the street, double-parked in front of a trendy coffee bar, and ran inside.
This was not his regular java-stop but it had other benefits. After he ordered his coffee he stepped to an empty table. From his organizer he pulled a simply printed card and copied off the card into the tiny netbook computer that rested there. The web page for The Followers of the Avatar loaded quickly. He found the button labeled Contact Us.
Later, driving through the bustling streets he tried not to notice the unmarked car following him. As he went about his duties that day another car took over but he was watched the whole day.
When he parked his cruiser outside his house that evening and climbed the stairs, Mr. Nebowitz was again carrying out a bag of garbage for his wife. "How's life treating you Billy?"
"I've been better, Mr. Nebowitz."
"That's life!" the elderly Jewish man said with a shrug. Inside Harper tossed his keys on a table by the door and while removing his shoulder holster he stole a glance out the window. One of his shadows was parked across the street. He plopped into the faded recliner and decided to give his shadow a long and boring night.
Kadru retreated from the auditorium of the aged porn palace that served as the church and living quarters for the Followers. Twelve hours ministering to their rapidly growing flock left her shaking with fatigue.
“They're like an army,” Gabriel pointed out at one point as she was helping him carry sacks of donated food. “Between the apocalyptic warnings from some of the press and the power of his preaching, they would do anything for him!”
That's just what I'm hoping, Kadru thought. Now in private, she turned her attention to maintenance on their modest web page. It was mostly just a collection of pictures and some information about The Followers. The page possessed only a few functions, one of them being the contact e-mail box. There were more and more messages each day, and today was no exception.
“You people are a crazy cult that should be outlawed,” wrote Anonymous from the Bronx. “E.T. is out there man, keep looking!” added Jeffery Finnegan from Seattle. “Do I have to cut off my balls to join?” asked someone from the Upper East Side. She deleted that one quickly, not too sure whether this person was kidding. “To Whom It May Concern, I’ve seen the Portal in pictures as well and want to exchange notes.” Kadru sat up and became instantly alert.
The e-mail went on to describe that the sender knew of the Portal and that it was a transport to another world. She said she was an astronomer and had been trying to figure out where the Portal leads. Kadru smiled because she knew the destination was Heaven. The writer continued.
"Associates of mine have been studying a signal of extra-terrestrial origin for nearly seven years. Recently they made a breakthrough in reading the basic structure of that message. Everything is in sequences of twelve within twelve. I realize this might mean nothing to you, but the drawings you have are painstakingly detailed and in them they show what I believe is the same pattern as our signal! Twelve data bits within twelve blocks per group. Whoever recorded that information on the Portal likely also sent the message from space seven years ago!”
Kadru sat back and scratched her head, fatigue and her ever-present headache making it harder to concentrate. All her life’s teaching, her religious education, what her mother had believed, told her that she had s
een an Avatar of Shiva that night in the park. The talk of this being a Portal to another world shook her more than her hurting head would tolerate.
Still, a nagging truth was at the edge of her consciousness. How could Shiva have allowed this gift to end up in the hands of non-believers? They were worse than non-believers; they were spies unless she missed her guess. Who knew where their loyalties really were. It didn’t add up.
Enclosed with the message was a digital image. A montage, taken from dozens of other images, showed the Portal. The anonymous sender signed the message Sky Watcher, using a free public account on an Internet search engine. This Sky Watcher was not only knowledgeable about the Portal, but also careful lest the wrong person track the message back to its source.
Kadru used another browser to bring up an equally anonymous e-mail account. She wrote a quick reply then read it. Not liking how it sounded, she deleted it and wrote a new one. The second attempt was more to her liking so she sent it off. She didn't know what Victor would think of this and decided not to mention it. She went back to the e-mail and whatever else she might find there. She found it quickly.
The message was from an account named NYPDblue on a free and anonymous board. The subject line said; “For the Prophet Victor!” but she read it anyway, as was her procedure. It turned out to be from Lt. Billy Harper, who had been to the mission only this morning. She got most of the way through and had to stop. Victor would want to see this immediately.
In the hall, Kadru ran into Gabriel, now carrying a carton of soup down to the kitchen. He caught the look on her face and wondered what was wrong. “I’ve got to find Victor,” she said as she hurried by. “They know about him and that police officer, Harper. He thinks they might have been following him all along and that means they know where Victor is!”
Kadru
ran around the corner and out of sight leaving Gabriel alone. He watched after her for a moment then looked away. “They’re like an army,” he had told her. “They would do anything for him.” He had been referring to Victor, of course. And he had been right. They probably would do absolutely anything. The powers of faith were limitless. He nodded and headed down to the auditorium. Victor was sleeping in his basement quarters so he had the flock all to himself. Victor wasn’t the only one who could motivate people. It was time he gave preaching a try.