The Asteroid

by M R Cates

  Wyler nodded, sipping his water. The probable watchers across the room were certainly looking their way. He could see them; Wyler and Sandra had arranged to have Sandra's back to them on purpose. “What can we do about it, though? Any ideas?”

  “Not a damn one.” She turned slightly, glancing idly toward Magdalene Chosit across the room. “But I'm betting that reality is about to slap us right in the face.”

  “Sandra, I know it's a lonely situation for you. But, don't forget all the support you really do have.”

  She played a little bit with her glass. “I don't feel neglected, that's for sure. You know, Reg, the key word is 'alien.' We aren't dealing with human beings here. Weird as we may be, all of us humans are working with the same basic circuits. How these aliens are wired is ...” She shrugged. “They can't be wired like us.”

  “Why not, Sandra? Wouldn't evolution proceed more or less the same way anywhere?”

  Sandra scratched her head, a classic routine he recognized. “I don't buy it, Reg. Carl and I talked about this last year. My feeling is that life forms – and sentient life forms too – behave in ways that are dominated by the way they reproduce.”

  “Don't follow you, Sandra.”

  “Well,” she said, after a sip, “take humans for example. Our tribal nature, our interest in sex, our emphasis on war and the like, centers on the fact that we don't live very long. Tribal creatures have damned little time to reproduce themselves. The tribal rules, the vulnerability to being wiped out by some other tribe, these kinds of things, have to do with how uncertain it is that the tribe will go on into the future.”

  “Okay,” he nodded, “but ... “ He left it hanging.

  Sandra, as always when on a roll, didn't hesitate, saying, “What if we lived five hundred years instead of the fifty or so that people have lived over the generations? More importantly, what if the threats to our lives were different and less dangerous? What if dying accidentally was the main thing that interrupted a five hundred year life expectancy? Or what if our evolution had gone so that people lived five hundred years routinely and reproduced, say, by laying an egg that took a hundred years to germinate? Or maybe, at some age or another, split in two to make another one. These variations, which might be just as normal – as far as nature is concerned – as what happened here, would change basic values, mores, and moral standards.”

  “Are you saying that aliens might not view life or death similarly to us?”

  “Why should they?”

  “But they mentioned our safety in the message they sent,” he pointed out.

  Sandra nodded. “You know, that has been nagging at me. I think it means either that the aliens are fragile like we are, or maybe the opposite. Maybe they recognize that we're fragile because they are, too, or because they aren't. Whatever the case, they seemed to have analyzed our basic life processes. They also mentioned the atmosphere, and almost in a way that implies it is something we need but they don't.”

  “What kind of life wouldn't need an atmosphere?” he wondered.

  She said, “What kind of life needs a big stone doughnut? That's what I want to know?”

  “Is this what you wanted to talk about, Sandra? Away from the feds, I mean.”

  “Sorry, Reg, no. I just got off on that tangent. No, I wanted to ask what they were telling you and what they were asking you to do with respect to me.”

  Wyler's brow furrowed. “With respect to you?”

  Sandra shifted. “I don't want to sound either neurotic or self important, Reggie. What I'm worried about is somebody like Madeleine Vigola, or even the President himself, making a mess of this alien encounter thing. Who'd have guessed the green men would have sent their message to a goddamned astronomer? Where's the 'take me to your leader?' that everybody expected?”

  Wyler laughed. “I see your point.” He, too, shifted, eyed their watchers and spoke with the glass intentionally in front of his lips. “I can tell,” he went on, “that the message was exasperating to them – or to Vigola anyway, and probably all of them. But I think ... and it seems obvious, doesn't it, that the aliens have them over a barrel. They asked for Sandra Hughes after all.”

  Sandra's nose wrinkled. She said, “How could these alien guys, tossing asteroids around for fun, not know that an astronomer, sitting on an island a long way from all the fat cats of the world, all the power brokers and the like, has about as much authority over this mob of apes as one of the dogs that bounces around yapping in our backyards? And they must know about dogs.”

  Sandra looked at him, earnest for a few seconds, then suddenly laughed aloud. It was such an explosive and totally genuine thing that he beamed instantly in response.

  “You need to laugh more often,” he said, meaning every syllable.

  “You are absolutely right,” she said, and let the smile persist a moment. “This really is a pretty funny spot we're in, you know. We're all so taken with ourselves – we humans, I mean – and these asteroid guys might be wondering what all the big deal is about us. They have to see how preoccupied we are with the pig slop of our daily lives. We are probably the weirdest damn things they've ever seen.”

  “You think they've seen other, maybe less weird, 'things,' Sandra?”

  “If I had to guess, yes. Don't know about the weird part, but look, Reg, if they can cross space and commandeer one of our asteroids, they probably ran into some yellow men or red men or whatever in other places during their traveling.”

  “What about red girls or yellow girls?” he asked.

  “Girls, too.” She instantly saw but ignored his gentle effort to relate to her man to woman. “Those asteroid guys probably know I'm a female, Reggie, but I doubt if they understand how hard it is on President McBrand's confounded male ego that I am.” She grinned again, as if practicing her new awareness of a need to smile more.

  “How about Vigola, Sandra?”

  “Vigola, right. Her testosterone output is probably in the upper one percent of female capability,” Sandra said. “Damn, she may be a man in a dress, as far as I know.”

  Wyler smiled once more, then went sober and said, “The business of your being a woman is probably a factor in the government's behavior, I agree. On the other hand, how does anyone know how to react to such a situation?”

  “Touché, Reg,” Sandra said. “I'll shut up.” She drank a last gulp, emptying her water glass, and looked toward the proprietor. With a glance, Chosit moved to get their coffee.

  “I wanted to remind you,” he said, a little hesitantly, “about going out on that date … I mean, after this is over.”

  Sandra looked intently at him. “I remember, Reg. And, yes, I’ll go. Damn you.” Then she smiled again.

  The redhead and the blue-collar guy got up and came toward them. The woman said, “Hi, sorry to ... well interrupt, but I wondered, Dr. Hughes, if you ... do you give autographs?” She was grinning broadly, the man back a little behind her.

  Sandra spun around to face her and gave the couple a kind, if not precisely a friendly look. “Autographs? Listen, this is Dr. Wyler here,” she said, eyes flashing his way. “He's the director, you know. I think you’ll want his autograph.”

  The redhead was slightly perturbed by Sandra's tack, but recovered and said, “Well, I know I should get both of them. After all ...”

  Sandra interposed, “Aw, I wish we could do the autograph thing, miss, but you see, the government doesn't let us. They're like watchdogs, you know. Sorry.”

  “Oh,” said the redhead.

  Her colleague behind her said, “Come on, Jassie.” Then he looked their way and shrugged. “Sorry,” he added.

  “Oh, no problem,” Sandra said. “Have a nice day.”

  The couple moved on out.

  “I wonder,” Sandra said, repositioning herself, “who took over for them. I wasn't looking at who came in.”

  Wyler, giving her a look of amazement, said, “I'm sure someone did.”

  Chosit came over with the coffee, taking a f
ew seconds to arrange the cups and pour. Sandra asked, “Any other spooks in here, Maggie, except the two cuties that just left?”

  The heavy woman gave them a wry look. “There's a couple of couples I think might be. Over by the door, and right behind me, two tables back.”

  “Thanks,” said the astronomer, going for her first taste.

  “Anything else?” Chosit asked.

  “Thanks, Maggie, no.”

  As she went back toward her post, Wyler said, “So, did you have some specific worry, Sandra, about the feds and me?”

  “I'm not sure what to worry about,” Sandra replied, looking at the coffee in the cup she held. “But I have this feeling that they'd have put me and you, too, probably, on ice if they'd had any idea what the asteroid guys were going to say.”

  “I think you're right there, Sandra.”

  “And,” she continued, “there will have to be some turf battles and pissing contests among all these government big shots. Some of their ego juice is bound to splash around and get on you, especially, in your situation. It's easy to imagine these politicos losing their reference. No matter what their think tanks tell them, they're going to tend to sell these green men short. We can't make that mistake, Reg. That's a gut feeling, yes, but damn it, it only makes sense!”

  “Tell me more about selling the aliens short, Sandra.”

  “They've studied us so well, Reg, that they can write good English sentences, can find an astronomer on an island in the Pacific, know about Morse Code – or figure it out damn fast – and old ASCII in computers, know how easy we are to kill, and so on. These are things we know they know. But they probably also know a lot about our biology, our social systems, maybe even our strange distribution of wealthy and poor countries. Who knows what all they may know about us? Damn it, they probably have been watching re-runs of our idiotic TV sitcoms! Can you imagine it? Anyway, unless they have very peculiar ways of thinking and simply can't understand anything subtle about human beings, we have to accept that we aren't about to fool them with some nauseating ploy to divert them from whatever their plan is.”

  “So they have a plan, you think? I mean,” he added, “a well-defined plan that we can't affect?”

  “I hope not,” she murmured. “What I think is that they have decided what they want to do at the moment, and by damn they're going to do it.”

  “What if you are ...” He caught his breath. “I shouldn't say that,” he continued, looking away.

  “What if I have to die because of their tomfoolery?” she said for him. “Not great fun for me, I admit, but – damn, why would I really say this? – but better just me than what they can do if they decide to play space pool with us.” She paused. “You know, I can still talk this way because – as I said before – it still seems so unreal! I guarantee you, Reg, that I am not brave. If I get hurt I'll cry like a two year old.” She ran a hand through her hair, tapping briefly on the top of the ponytail. “But here's the truth of it, scientist to scientist. And if you don't agree, tell me, okay? The aliens want to meet with me. They know there's some risk to me and they are taking whatever pains they know how to take to make it work. Somewhere in their little green heads they know why they want to do it. Maybe it is, in retrospect, the stupidest damn thing they could ever possibly come up with, but it doesn't matter. The best thing we can do – even if it's a job that's been turned over to a nerd instead of a level headed type – is talk to them. Come on, what else is better?”

  “You don't think,” he asked, a little taken aback, “that our government doesn't see it exactly that way, Sandra?”

  “I seriously doubt they do, based on the change they made in my first reply to the visitors. My guess is they'll expect to replace me.”

  “That might be risky, Sandra.”

  “Sure. But it's easy to rationalize some 'harmless' suggestion.”

  “I see your point,” he nodded. “I don't know, of course, what they have in mind, but I will keep my eyes open.”

  “Thanks, Reg. That's all I wanted to say really, but I wanted to say it before tomorrow night.”

  “Understood, Sandra.” One of the two possible 'spooks,' an older woman had drifted their way, apparently taking a route to the women's restroom that would get her a little closer. Wyler and Sandra drank, switching to meaningless discourse until she'd passed, then Wyler continued, with, “If I were more religious, Sandra, I'd be praying for you.”

  Sandra gave him a warm look and reached over to pat his arm. “Thanks. I bet a certain Asbury Methodist Church in San Antonio is having special prayer meetings for me every day. And who's to say they aren't doing the best thing possible under the circumstances?”

  “That the church you attended growing up?”

  “Attended is a poor choice of words. Dropped in on occasionally is more like it. And you know, it was probably a mistake on my parents' part, and mine when I got old enough to make decisions like that.”

  “Poor choice because you went so little or went at all?”

  “Went so little. Not that my – you know this – brain believes in religious dogma. Not that. But because churches – ones that aren't full of paranoid schizophrenics, anyway – give people a sense of family. Debbie is my only family.” There was a faraway look in Sandra's eyes that she'd never shared with Reginald Wyler before. “I got a letter from that church, Reg – that's why I mentioned it. I get thousands of letters, of course, but fortunately don't see but ten or fifteen a day. The church said they were praying for me. How in God's name did they decide I needed it?”

  “You're a famous former parishioner, Sandra.”

  “I know that's the reason, yes.” Sandra left the thought in the air. “And, you know, Reg, I really need to talk to Carl. And you know why. He's the only ... the only father I have.”

  Wyler nodded. A feeling of personal disappointment swept through him, but only for a moment. He knew how important the old astrophysicist was to Sandra Hughes, and kicked himself mentally for thinking he could replace that role. “You should go see him, Sandra, I agree.”

  “If I can.”

  “Surely you can.”

  She shrugged. Then, without warning, Sandra smiled at him. “Oh, Dr. Wyler,” she said loudly and brightly, “before we go, may I have your autograph?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “On the check, right?”

  “You got it,” she nodded, and stood, speaking more softly now, “But listen, thanks. And I was teasing about the check. Business expense. Asteroid account. We're flush, you know.”

  “I know,” he said, as they started toward the door.

  Chapter 26

  There was a knock at the door of Sandra's office. A man entered at her called-out permission.

  “Hello, Dr. Hughes,” he said, in a voice that seemed too loud, “I'm Joseph Carstairs. You haven't met me personally, but I spoke with you by phone on the first day the asteroid was announced. In a meeting with Dr. Wyler in Honolulu.”

  “I remember your voice,” Sandra said, hoping the facetiousness didn't come through. “Can I help you?”

  “I'm assigned here in Waimea now,” he continued. “It's ...”

  “You're Madeleine Vigola's deputy, isn't that right?”

  “One of her deputies, yes.” He added a smile meant to be self-effacing. “I apologize for interrupting your work. I realize how busy you are, doctor, but there are a few security matters I must go over with you. It shouldn't take very long.”

  “Security matters?” She had not indicated for him to sit. Gritting her teeth internally, she made the indication.

  As he sat, lowering a large body into her only available chair, Carstairs said, “Doctor Hughes, as you know it is important that information related to the orbiting asteroid and fragments be limited in dissemination. Especially now ...”

  “Mr. Carstairs,” Sandra broke in, “I'm well aware of the restrictions.”

  “Yes, doctor, but you requested a support staff for your evening work tonight and tomorrow night
that includes a foreign national. This is ...”

  “Yes, my student, Françoise Marnier. She is an important member of our team.”

  The man could easily hear Sandra's pique, but pretended not to. “She will not be allowed in the team, doctor. I'm sure you understand.”

  “No, actually I don't, Mr. Carstairs. I expect her, Jason Nagato, and the three telescope support personnel routinely on duty to be there. They all are completely trustworthy.”

  “I'm sorry, doctor, but Ms Marnier cannot be included.”

  Sandra fought for and managed control of her rising temper. She realized Carstairs was simply the messenger. “Mr. Carstairs, how did this decision arise, if I may ask?”

  “Just standard policy, doctor. It's not an exceptional case.”

  “Who notified you to give me this message?”

  “No one, doctor. I was reviewing your support request. And when ...”

  “Is that something that has been recently required? This review?”

  “Well, yes, doctor. And you certainly must understand the reasoning behind it.”

  “Has it been considered, Mr. Carstairs, that the scientific effort associated with the asteroid has been a worldwide cooperation? The United States is only the headquarters of the work, and only because the Keck telescopes have been so important.” Sandra tone was modulated. She knew she was speaking both to Carstairs and whoever else had to be listening.