by M R Cates
“I'm surprised at their insistence,” McBrand continued.
“This is not best for us, sir, of course, but ... well, our analysts are on it already.”
“Oval office at eight, Madeleine. I'll arrange for a few more people. Can you get Dr. Carlos Alvarez to that meeting?”
“I think so, Mr. President.”
“Great. See you then.”
Looking across at Jennifer, Jeff McBrand said, “They insist on meeting with Sandra Hughes.”
His wife, looking a little tired from the confused sleep schedule, said, “Why should you be surprised, Jeff? And why can't a woman do that job as well as a man?”
“She's a scientist, Jenn. What can she know about politics and decision making of that sort?”
“What does she need to know?” Jennifer stood and came over to hug her husband. Lifting her head she kissed him on the cheek before adding, “Put yourself in their place, dear. They've been talking to Sandra Hughes the whole time. It's her telescope they chose to send messages to, after all.”
“You're right, of course, Jenn. And listen, this isn't a Chauvinist thing. But any astronomer, male or female, is the wrong representative for the whole human race. Don't you at least agree with that?”
“Not in the least.” She crossed to sit at the computer screen and read the displayed text. “And they certainly don't mince words.”
“So you think I should give up trying to replace her?”
“Of course.”
President McBrand stood. “Let's get a little more sleep, shall we?”
Jennifer stood, too. “I do agree with you on that one, Jeff.”
They left the room arm in arm.
—
At eight o'clock sharp, Chief of Staff Madeleine Vigola, Dr. McArthur Lawrence, Deputy Ambassador to the United Nations, Vinton McDermott, Secretary of Defense, Charles Masterson, FBI Director, Dr. Carlos Alvarez, of the Scientific Advisory Board, and Jeremy Butler, British Ambassador to the United Nations and presiding secretary of the Security Council, were shown into the Oval Office. With the President already were several secretaries, secret servant agents, and two young people that looked like messengers or pages. Entering behind the guests were a handful of support personnel. The Oval Office was effectively full of people. No news media were there, of course, but official video was being taken of the proceedings.
“It seems,” the President said, getting down to business, “that the aliens associated with the asteroid are insisting that Dr. Sandra Hughes be their contact person for the expected landing that supposedly will come on the 16th.” He looked around the room, making sure everyone was tuned in. “I'd like your comments on the message we received last night.”
A kind of vague generalized discussion proceeded from that point. No one, even Madeleine Vigola, wanted to say anything specific about the message. It was obvious that each VIP in the room had a busy staff working, as they spoke, on ramifications of the message, but none had received a report from that staff. McBrand began to realize the reluctance and raised his hand to focus their attention.
“I recognize there are teams working on this, people. Look, I'm not holding any of you accountable for your opinions at the moment, but I want to hear what you think. We have some time before we need to actually do anything. Madeleine, what do you think?”
Vigola, looking tired, nevertheless perked up a little, and ventured, “Obviously, Mr. President, we can take the aliens at face value and simply wait to send Dr. Hughes out to their 'craft,' whatever it may be.”
“Of course we can, Madeleine,” he responded, showing an edge of exasperation. “But what do you think is behind their stubbornness about Dr. Hughes?”
“She's been their contact, sir, up until now. That's my best guess as to why.”
“Mr. President, sir,” Jeremy Butler said, in his rich British accent, “I daresay Dr. Sandra Hughes is among the most familiar sights on news programs around the globe. If in fact our alien visitors have been watching our news broadcasts, they would see her regularly as well. Isn't that, added to the fact that she is the one who first saw them, more than enough evidence of why she should be selected?”
Butler's comment seemed to make sense to all the assembled, imposing a kind of calm on the room, reducing the background noise level immediately.
“Let's work on that premise, then,” McBrand said, giving Butler an affirming look. “How should we prepare our astronomer. Dr. Lawrence, you've obviously been thinking about this. What are your thoughts here?”
Mac Lawrence was lean, almost wiry. He was about fifty, but looked younger. The ex-astronaut had a full head of brown hair, strong features, and keen blue eyes. He responded immediately to the question. “Mr. President, besides the obvious recording devices and the like that will be used, we need to be sure Dr. Hughes is medically fit, and ready for what might be a physical as well as emotional ordeal.”
“An ordeal, you say?”
“Yes, sir. We have no idea what to expect, therefore we should try to anticipate anything we can imagine.”
“Alright,” McBrand nodded. “We have discussed delaying the meeting by some means, but the aliens have given us until the 16th. Is that enough time?”
“Probably,” Vinton McDermott said, speaking for the defense establishment. “The two carriers are already close to the identified point, and that spot is as close to Honolulu as to the Big Island. We have a number of resources very close by. There are also several launch vehicles that can count down with a few hours notice.”
“What about time to prepare Sandra Hughes?”
Lawrence spoke again, “I can work with her, Mr. President, if you wish. We can't get her into peak shape in four days but we can – based on a quick medical exam – find out if there are potential problems.”
“The key thing, it seems to me,” volunteered Jeremy Butler, spoken with a slightly supercilious smile, “is whether our Dr. Hughes is briefed on what to say, and mostly what not to say.”
Vigola nodded. “I certain agree with Jeremy on that point. Hughes is a bit of an unknown quantity in this regard.”
“More than a bit,” Charles Masterson said, showing the natural skepticism befitting his job as FBI director. “Further, we need to be sure to have some way of communicating with her during her time with them – if that's possible.”
“Certainly, Charles,” Vigola nodded. “That goes without saying.”
The President asked again, “So, will four days be enough?”
His Chief of Staff replied, “Sir, our effort to replace her was quickly dismissed by the asteroid beings. I think we may be wise not to push our luck any further with them.”
“I was thinking in that direction, too, Madeleine,” McBrand said. “What do the rest of you think?”
Several nodded agreement; no one voiced a counter opinion.
McBrand then looked toward Carlos Alvarez. “Dr. Alvarez, you have been quiet until now. Would you like to comment on any of these discussions, or bring up anything else?”
The scientist was almost a caricature of Don Quixote, very thin and slightly bent, bearded, and gray. The comparison vanished, however, if you looked into his eyes, dark brown and penetrating. “I have,” he began, showing a trace of Latino inflection, “been assigned to evaluate Dr. Sandra Hughes for several weeks now. Certainly I can understand reluctance to place a scientist – particularly a woman – in that kind of potential danger and where totally unpredictable events may take place. I do not, however, share your belief that non-scientists would be better qualified.” He swept his gaze around the group, determined they were still listening, and continued. “First of all, Dr. Hughes can only be considered a messenger, not a decision maker. I believe there is confusion on this point here. Were you, President McBrand, to be in her place, perhaps the world would expect you to make some kind of decision. That same is not true for Sandra Hughes. She is expected only to deliver messages and receive information. No more, no less. And the young woman is scien
tifically excellent. None of you have any real doubt about that. It seems to me that a curious scientific mind, analyzing the totally alien environment in which she will be placed is our greatest asset.” He smiled – unexpectedly – at the assembled. “She, in my mind, is not only the best choice, but the perfect choice.”
A stir moved through the crowd. At that moment, Jennifer McBrand, who had slipped into the office a few minutes earlier, came forward and sat down. The President nodded to her and said, in explanation, “I asked Jenn to sit in, as well. She's up to speed on the asteroid, and has met Dr. Hughes.”
Jennifer McBrand gave a polite look to the assembled and said, “Dr. Alvarez, I think, has assessed the situation perfectly. I must say I was concerned when the thought was to replace her. It's been wrong from the beginning, and I don't mind saying so.”
Jeremy Butler, looking across with a hard-to-analyze smile asked, “What's your thinking on this point, Mrs. McBrand, if you don't mind my asking?”
Jennifer was not used to the spotlight except on social occasions and blushed slightly. She looked as if she wished she had not just been so outspoken. But she swallowed and said, “Er, well, you see my thinking has mostly been ... intuition. How can anyone know what those asteroid creatures are thinking? Or what their motives might be? I'm ... well, I met Sandra Hughes and I heard her speak. She inspired confidence in me. And, as Dr. Alvarez reminded us, her role is not a decision-making one.”
“How can we be so sure, Ms McBrand?” Madeleine Vigola said. “Especially since we don't know – as you mentioned – the aliens' motivations.”
Jennifer had no answer and blushed again. McBrand himself bailed her out. “I think the point is that we don't know what to expect, but we do know who the aliens expect. Isn't that something we all agree on?”
“Yes,” Butler nodded, almost regally, “that summarizes it perfectly, Mr. President.”
There was a sudden moment of silence, such as happens from time to time in gatherings of this sort. The President broke it, with, “Here's a plan then. We can modify it as we go, if necessary. Dr. Lawrence and Dr. Alvarez, if you would be so kind as to join Ms Vigola in a trip to Hawaii, it would be well if all three of you briefed Dr. Hughes in your areas of specialization. I'll order the medical examination immediately, so her physical state will be fully assessed by the time you arrive. Air Force One will be at your disposal, and will be ready to leave in an hour or two, depending on how much time you need. That'll get you into Kona airport by, say eight or nine hours from now. The rest of us, of course, will stay in touch with you and each other. Agreed?”
They all agreed. Shortly thereafter, the assembled crowd was gone, leaving Jeff and Jennifer McBrand alone in the Oval Office.
“Jenn, thanks for your comment,” he said, putting a hand on her arm. “I hadn't known you felt that way.”
“I should have said something earlier, Jeff,” she said, with a wan smile. “But you can be ... well, stubborn, you know.”
“You mean you figured I wouldn't listen to you, is that it?” He put an arm around her, knowing they were about to leave, too.
“I'm just glad Madeleine doesn't turn you on, Jeff,” she said, eyebrows raised. “The woman has too much influence over you.”
“That's her job, Jenn.”
“No, that's my job, dear. But of course you can't see it.” She hugged him back, as they went out into the hallway beyond.
“I'll pay better attention, Mrs. McBrand,” he said.
“Then I'll speak sooner,” she said. “Deal?”
“Deal.”
Chapter 29
A select number of leaders from around the world were briefed in secret on the messages sent from Fragment Five. The task of making those briefings fell to Jeremy Butler, as the presiding secretary of the U.N. Security Council. It was agreed that he conduct the briefings personally, and flew to London within hours after meeting with the American President and his close advisors. In London, Butler met with a dozen European leaders who had been called to the city for that purpose. After the London meeting, Butler flew directly to Tokyo and held a similar meeting with the Japanese Prime Minister, the Indian Prime Minister, the Australian and New Zealand Prime Ministers, the President of South Africa, the Chinese President, and the President of Brazil. One of the notable aspects of both meetings was the fact that many nations were left out. The other important aspect was that strict secrecy was asked for by all participants. Keeping the knowledge under wraps was expected to be possible – at least for a while – with this particular gathering of leaders. Butler and President McBrand both realized that leaks were likely to occur after some time; but the hope was that, for four days, the veil of secrecy could be reasonably opaque. There was no wishful thinking, however, about trying to keep the upcoming landing entirely from the public view. The main hope of these leaders was that the kind of craft the asteroid aliens would land in the Pacific might possibly be kept from public knowledge, and details of the event itself. The fact of the landing – or some evidence of it – however, was likely to be seen and reported generally. Too many telescopes were constantly watching Fragment Five and the other “visiting doughnuts,” as they were sometimes called.
The average human being on Planet Earth had no inkling that anything new related to the asteroid was about to take place, but was reasonably well prepared emotionally for it. To be more precise, humanity was as prepared as possible under the extraordinary circumstances. The asteroid fragments – perhaps a poor choice of terms, since each of the five was a well-defined entity – were an ever-present reality of life, very much like the moon and stars. All these things were basically out of reach of common folk and hard to imagine or fully articulate, but known about and constantly discussed. Fragment Five's image, in recent weeks in particular, had been displayed everywhere in the world, on television, in newspapers, magazines, and tabloids. A popular folklore had grown up around the asteroid and fragments, with thousands of theories, speculations, and tall tales originating from every corner of the globe. For more than four months humanity had lived with the knowledge that another sentient form of life, or its representative, was in orbit nearby. For more than four months, the possibility, even likelihood, that the alien life would make contact with earth life was on everyone's lips. Public polls, taken in numerous places, poor, rich, isolated and mainstream, always indicated that this contact was expected.
The asteroid event had taken on a role for most human beings analogous to knowing a major war or natural catastrophe was going on in another part of the world. It was important, had potential widespread impact, and provided news stories that were both fascinating and frightening; but had little direct effect on people or their daily lives. The news that Fragment Five recently had emitted unusual bursts of light had found its way into the news media, but nothing about the nature of the light emissions had been available for public consumption. A few clever news professionals and other pundits of various kinds around the world speculated that the latest emissions might have some added dimension of meaning, but, generally speaking, the only people actually claiming that the aliens were trying to talk to humans were those in the business of generating hysterical scenarios that would sell to a certain segment of the public. Few really believed these people, but many enjoyed reading or hearing their ideas. There had long been a policy of releasing only a limited number of images from the Keck or any other observatory, but the astronomical community had tried to provide information about any discernible changes in the orbiting rocks. The fluctuating emissions through apparent cracks in the stone surfaces were well known to most people, and several detailed images had been displayed pretty much everywhere. Because these fluctuations were accepted fact, the presence of something different but similar was not much of an alert to most people. Furthermore, another well known fact was that the asteroid had never responded to the human attempts to make contact. In the average person's mind, a reply by the aliens would be by radio, in a format similar to what had be
en sent to them. Most people were not technically experienced enough to imagine that light fluctuations might represent a message. Those who did have that kind of imagination were often among the hardest to believe because they had already “cried wolf “so often.
These truths about people were certainly understood by Jeff McBrand's advisors. It was best, almost every advisor thought, to give the public only a little at a time, and nothing at all about anything new until some understanding had been developed by the experts. The greatest fear was that something harmless might cause a public panic or some other wide scale reaction that would be deleterious to stable society. Some leaders, too, were worried that a mishandled piece of information related to the asteroid might have an impact on their own careers. No legislator, councilman, judge, president or prime minister around the world wanted to lose a job because of the public's reaction to something about the asteroid – especially if the something were not dangerous or threatening at all, merely mysterious or misunderstood.
Françoise Marnier was not thinking about any of these sociological issues as she rose about two in the afternoon the next day. The student felt herself a little run down from the intense sessions of the last two nights, but elated to be involved in the “most wonderful adventure” that had captured her mind and heart. At that moment, she would have exchanged places with no one else in the world. She'd gotten back to her apartment shortly after dawn, completely exhausted from non-stop concentration, and was asleep by seven. Having fallen asleep on her back, Françoise woke in exactly the same position, having not moved an inch – or a centimeter, in her European mind. She padded into the bathroom and was soon in the shower, taking longer than usual to enjoy the water against skin. The young woman's thick dark hair was plastered against her head and she dripped all over when she slid back the glass door. After drying off, before dressing, Françoise went out onto her small private deck to breathe the fresh Hawaiian air and let that air finish off the last moisture on her skin. She had taken her cell phone – an encrypted model given her by the FBI only recently – with her and plopped down, naked, on the chaise to relax. She dialed Sandra Hughes, a call that had been requested by the astronomer.