“SETI” Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence — Chapter 33, 34, & 35
33
“I have to use the toilet, Mr. Eberle. I gotta dump really bad. Like it’s ready to start squirting out.”
The skinny, middle-aged mathematics teacher looked up from his Time magazine and pulled down his glasses.
“Matthew, there is no need for vivid detail. All I need to hear is, ‘May I go to the restroom, Mr. Eberle?’ I do not need to know the present position of the feces you need to deposit or the speed at which the excrement is moving through your bowels.”
Matthew was rocking back and forth on the halls of his feet. His face was twisted with discomfort, and the length of the study hall teacher’s response was prolonging the agony. Eberle knew that. He was enjoying poor Matthew’s predicament.
“Go ahead.”
Eberle pulled out a small yellow hall pass pad and checked off the box marked “restroom.” He dated, signed, and timed the pass and handed it to Matthew, who ran out of the room.
Eberle looked over the thirty-three students under his command that hour. Rows of desks and chairs were occupied by students bent over books, magazines, and notepads. Some had their heads down and were sleeping. Eberle didn’t care. At least they were quiet.
Eberle’s voice carried to where Sam was sitting toward the back of the room, trying to absorb another boring chemistry formula. He stared at Eberle and wondered why some teachers seemed to take great joy in controlling and manipulating their students. Sam rested his head in his hand and tried to think of any teacher, just one, who truly loved what he was doing and really liked the students he taught. Sam thought of Mr. Reese, his English teacher. He smiled when he thought of the tall, slightly chubby man, who was always smiling, always joking with his students. Mr. Reese was lenient on tests and made life bearable under sometimes unbearable conditions.
Sam’s countenance suddenly turned sour again. He was brought back to the reality of his personal circumstances. Richard Redden crossed his mind. Sam stared down at his notepad and looked at the list of ways he could get his hands on transmission and receiving gear. Time was short, whatever the alternatives. It might take weeks to put a station together again. No time. So what else is new in life?
The more Sam thought about the possibilities, the angrier he became. He couldn’t just sit back and wait for someone to tap him on the shoulder and say, “Ah, yes, Mr. Alexander, we have equipment you can use, as much as you want and whenever you want. Do what you want with it.”
He was going to make something happen.
Sam scooped up his books and book bag and jumped up from his seat. The squeak of the metal desk leg against the vinyl tile echoed through the room. Everyone looked up, including the teacher-monitor for that day.
“Mr. Alexander?”
Sam marched up to the front desk and stood over Eberle. Sam had fire in his eyes and in his belly.
“Mr. Eberle, don’t give me any long-winded bullshit about the necessity for study-hall time. Half the people in this room are either asleep or dreaming, and the other half are reading Road and Track, Sports Illustrated, or People magazine. I’m a busy man, and I have things to do and people to see. I am going to be active from now on, not reactive. So give me a hall pass to get outta here so I can get some real work done.”
Lisa had been concentrating on some bit of innocuous schoolwork and was stunned to hear the words pouring out of Sam’s mouth. She had been trying for the past thirty minutes to get his attention and could see why she had been unsuccessful. Sam was coming unglued in front of her and the study hall teacher.
The schoolyard was empty as Sam strode angrily away from the Study hall. Lisa raced after him.
“Sam, wait up! Sam!” she shouted.
Sam didn’t stop. He continued his brisk pace past the school office and toward the parking lot.
Lisa almost lost her books, juggling them from one arm to the other, as she ran after Sam. Finally, she grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop.
“Sam, hold up, will ya?” she asked furiously.
Sam was breathing hard and glaring down at her. As he looked into her face, he calmed, but not much.
“Where are you going? What’s gotten into you?”
He looked over toward the office. “I can tell you one place I’m not going, and that’s Jackson’s office.”
“Sam, if you don’t go in there, Eberle is really gonna be pissed off. They could suspend you.”
“Lisa, the planet Earth, and Sam Alexander are being contacted by an extraterrestrial civilization, and I should worry about being suspended for talking back to that blockhead Eberle?”
Sam turned and began walking swiftly again toward the parking lot. Lisa followed.
“But where are you going?”
He stopped again. “We sent a password. Redden still has my META box. What if he figures it out? Changed the password?”
“What if they won’t let him? They are looking for you, Sam. They want to communicate with you — no one else.”
“I have to be sure, and I have to receive and transmit somehow. And I have to stop Redden from doing whatever he plans to do with my translator.”
He put down his bag and gently held Lisa’s shoulders.
“Can we get into the Pac Tel satellite facility again tonight?”
She shook her head. “No way, I overheard my father on the phone this morning. They discovered the settings and equipment moved around. They have extra guards in there now.”
Sam turned away. The vast schoolyard was empty and quiet. He considered his alternatives.
He grabbed his book bag and looked into Lisa’s eyes.
“Let’s take a ride to LA.”
34
Driving on Interstate 15 north from Los Angeles would be taking a great risk for Richard Redden, so he decided to take the less-traveled State Route 247 north from Lucerne Valley to Barstow. Barstow is where he would have jumped off the interstate, saving time, but Richard could not take the chance of being spotted on the heavily patrolled route to Las Vegas. The few exits in that area would surely increase the chance of his vehicle being identified. And the sedan he was driving, with the large NASA logo stenciled on the door, was a necessity. Without it and his ID, it would be impossible to get through the guard gate at the Goldstone Deep Space Tracking Network. And once he got through the gate. . . but even if he had to crash the gate, he had a better-than-even chance of getting into the control room, his goal. Right? If, if, if.
As Richard drove northward in the midday heat of the Mojave Desert, he paid no attention to the sharp mountains and the clear air. He watched the road and sat erect every time he spotted a car passing him or coming toward him. He kept his speed at sixty miles per hour. In the desert, he could have gone the speed limit, sixty-five, or even seventy or seventy-five, and the odds of being stopped would have been low. But Richard couldn’t take that chance, either. He knew that the CHP, the sheriff’s department, NASA, the FBI, and probably the secret government types in the National Security Agency were probably looking for him. He wasn’t sure whether they had pegged him for the break-in at Sam’s or would be looking for him just because he was missing. No one would possibly believe Sam. Is the deputy director a thief? No way. Impossible.
At that moment, he would have loved to know what was going on at JPL.
Richard’s mind raced. Why should he be scared? He was a damn hero. He discovered the SETI transmission. Yeah, a bonafide hero. But what was he doing with this strange black box? It’s him, that’s why. Sam Alexander — who’s he? No, my secretary is mistaken; I’ve never seen him.
Thinking, just stop thinking. Just go to Goldstone. Tell ’em that the big boss from HQ in Pasadena is at the gate, and let me in right away. It’s an emergency. Use your key to get in. They can’t stop you. Thinking, you’re thinking again.
Richard glanced in his rear-view mirror. He leaned forward and squinted. His body prickled from heat and fear. He turned up the air-conditioning fan too high. He was sweating too much. A black-and-white California Highway Patrol car was gaining on him. Its red lights were flashing; its headlights were rapidly blinking off and on, alternating from one side to the other. Richard snapped his head from side to side, looking for a turnoff. But there, in that landscape of parched earth and no green cities, no side roads existed. Could he outrun the CHP? No way. A lousy four-cylinder sedan would never be able to stay in front of or lose an eight-cylinder supercharged engine built for pursuit speeds.
The highway patrol car was coming up behind him. He slowed down. He gripped the steering wheel tighter and watched the patrol car inch closer and closer.
Richard closed his eyes. The CHP car was on his tail. It swerved to the left, passed Richard, and raced ahead. Richard opened his eyes and saw the CHP patrol car become smaller and smaller on the road ahead.
“Shit! Goodbye, you fucking asshole!” Richard screamed. He threw his head back and laughed and yelled at the same time.
Barstow was no more than twenty miles ahead. Richard looked at his watch. 5:30 in the afternoon. He looked to the west, to his left, and saw the sun edging closer to the horizon. He decided to go into Barstow, have dinner in some obscure restaurant, and wait for darkness. He would not risk moving closer to Goldstone until the blanket of night could hide his movements. The only people who would be moving along the road had business with government installations north of Barstow.
Richard let out another yell. He was ecstatic. Tonight would be his night. He would be the one to contact whoever was trying to contact Earth from deep space. They would be looking for him from now on. He would be the liaison between their civilization and ours.
He relaxed and slowed down to fifty-five miles per hour. He extended his right hand and rested it on Sam’s META box, now his.
The unfamiliar knock at the door was that of someone she didn’t know. It was late in the afternoon, and Marion had an uneasy feeling as she opened the door. Standing in front of her was a slight man with glasses and a beard. She became fearful when she saw two other men behind him. They wore some type of identification badge. With her poor eyesight, it was difficult for her to make out the logo printed on the badges. Her attention switched to the bearded man as he began to speak. She stood partially hidden behind the door, ready to slam it shut at a moment’s notice.
“Mrs. Alexander?”
Why did he know her name? Who was this? “Yes,” she said hesitantly.
“The aunt of Samuel Alexander?” The man looked down at a ragged piece of paper. “His amateur radio call is K6ZDQ, I believe?”
Now Marion was truly frightened and worried. Was Sam injured? Dead? Were these people policemen? They certainly did not look like policemen.
“Yes. What about him?” she answered in a higher-pitched voice.
“Mrs. Alexander, my name is Charles Williams. I’m from NASA, from the Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Pasadena. May we talk to you about Sam for a few minutes? We have a few questions to ask.”
35
“May I take your order?” the squeaky voice asked through a rattling six-inch speaker.
Sam leaned out the window and glanced at the backlighted menu board. He had to shout over the street noise and the idling of his own engine.
“Yeah, I’ll have a six-piece chicken with sweet-and-sour sauce, two hamburgers, a large order of fries, and two Cokes. And can I borrow your telephone book for the Pasadena area?”
Lisa looked over at Sam and tried to hide her face.
“I don’t believe this,” she whispered.
Sam turned to her. “Hey, this way I can kill two birds with one stone. We can eat and save some time trying to get the address.”
“OK, that’ll be $5.24 at the first window. Your food and phone book will be at the second window,” came the reply through the speaker.
“Thank you,” Sam said. He put the Jeep in gear and pulled forward. “Stick with me, kid; we’re goin’ places. Do ya think she thought I was weird?”
Lisa shrugged. “I don’t see why, Sam.”
Sam’s Jeep turned down Markham Avenue, slowed in the middle of the block, and stopped in front of a modest tract home. It was well-lighted, and some money had been spent on landscaping. But it was no different from any of the other houses on the street, except for the color and the fact the director of the Jet Propulsion Laboratory lived there.
“Well, this is it,” Sam said.
He shut off the engine and put his hand on Lisa’s shoulder. They both stared up at the house on the elevated pad.
“Sam, is this gonna do any good?”
Sam pulled his hand back and considered his response carefully. “I don’t know. I don’t know what Redden has been telling him. If this guy can be made to believe me, then I can get the help of NASA. It’s either that, or I go to the newspapers or television. And they’ll think I’m some kind of nut. They’ll never believe that I was the one who picked up the signal. It’s not like discovering a new comet or star or supernova, where you can call or telex the discovery to a central logging authority that verifies the event so proper credit can be given.”
Sam took a deep breath. “Who knows how many more times the signal has been sent, or who has picked it up, or even who else has figured out a way to decode the message?”
He opened the door of his vehicle. “C’mon. Let’s do it and get it over with.”
Kenneth Wood had had an impossible day. The phone was still ringing off the hook, and he had to eat dinner at the kitchen table while taking messages and giving orders. His wife had given up on conversation and gone up to the bedroom to watch TV.
He was stretched out on a long leather couch in the living room/library with his eyes closed. The FM tuner was playing Mozart. Nearby, a glass of Scotch was almost gone. A few feet away was his desk, littered with reports and pictures.
Wood was not surprised to hear a knock at the door. He sat up quickly and stumbled to his feet. He grabbed his glass and finished his drink. He suspected that it was a zealous reporter who was eager for a story.
Reluctantly he walked to the door, asking himself, “What do you think they want? Where are they from? Is this a precursor to an all-out invasion? Was Orson Welles right? Will our viruses and bacteria kill them, too?”
He grabbed the door and swung it open quickly. He was only somewhat surprised.
He looked down through the screen door. “Lemme take a guess. You must be Sam, and you. . .”
“Lisa. My name is Lisa.”
Wood opened the screen door and held out his hand to Sam. He shook it briskly.
“C’mon, kids. Let’s talk.”
Sam thought that Kenneth Wood looked the way a director of the JPL should look. Tall, stately, an air of authority, older, but not too old.
“You want something to eat? It was a long drive from Escondido, right, Sam?”
They followed Wood down a short hallway and into the library, somewhat put at ease by Wood’s easy manner ad honest concern.
“No, thank you. We stopped and got something before we came here,” Sam said.
Wood loosened his tie a bit more and gestured for Sam and Lisa to sit on the couch. He leaned against his desk, then sat on the edge. He was now wide awake.
There was a long, uneasy silence. Lisa leaned back and waited for the show to begin. Sam sat on the edge of the couch.
Kenneth knew that Sam was nervous and distrustful. That he should show up at all, especially at his front door, was nothing short of a miracle. At that point, Wood could trust Sam’s veracity. Sam was desperate. The other way around — well, that was something Sam would have to test.
The first thought that popped into Sam’s mind was, “What am I doing here? How could I trust this guy? What if Redden is in the other room, taking notes?” That, he guessed, seemed impossible. He had to trust Wood at that point. He had no alternative.
Wood did not have to be a mind reader to know what was going through the boy’s mind. He would have to gain his confidence, and quickly, if he was to get any information about the whereabouts of Redden and the data on the signal.
“Sam, I’m glad to finally meet you. I really am.”
“How so?” Sam replied carefully.
Wood stood and moved to an overstuffed leather chair across from Sam and a glass coffee table.
“I want to tell ya, I have had one helluva day. Have you been watching the TV news or listening to the radio on your way up?”
“We have. They’re going crazy.” Lisa said.
“And most of it, Lisa, is just knee-deep bullshit. As usual, these guys don’t know what they’re talking about. They’ve got crews out talking to anyone who can give them a reasonable intelligent answer about the authenticity of this signal. I seriously doubt that there is a human alive who won’t think by tomorrow that this is an invasion from outer space or the Second Coming of Christ.”
“Maybe it is, Mr. Wood,” Sam replied jokingly.
“I doubt that either applies. But let me tell you what I do know.”
Sam settled in and waited. He decided that he would know in the first twenty seconds whether the man was going to lie to him.
“I know you were the one who discovered the signal.”
Lisa grabbed Sam’s arm. Sam looked over at her, smiling and half-tearful at the same time.
“I also know that or black box, or whatever you want to call it, has been purloined by my ex-deputy director, who is still at large. His secretary, by the way, is a very sweet lady who came forward and gave us a wealth of detail about your first meeting with Richard. Sound does carry well in our administration building offices.”
“Thank God,” Sam said softly.
“No, Sam, thank you. The nation thanks you for what may very well be the single most important discovery in human history. The future will determine what it means.” He rose, his furrowed brow showing his concern. “But we have to worry about the present.”
Sam carefully followed Wood’s movements. Sam’s trust was growing; he was hearing what he wanted and expected to hear.
Wood walked over to his desk and leaned back in his high-back desk chair.
“Sam, do you have any idea where that asshole Redden might be with your equipment? Did he say anything or indicate in any way where he might be going with it, or what the hell he would be doing with it?”
“Mr. Wood, when we were struggling in my room, there was no time for an intellectual char. He was cursing at me and kicking me, and flew out the door when I was momentarily stunned.”
Kenneth shook his head in disgust. At that moment, had Richard been in the room, Wood might have attempted murder.
“Did you get any info from the signal source as to where they’re from or what they want or what they want to tell us?”
Sam tensed at the probing questions. He wondered how much Kenneth knew. It was obvious that Richard was not working with him; Richard was still acting alone.
“So the man is the Lone Ranger,” Sam said.
“Sam, we’re not all megalomaniacs. We at JPL have the same dreams you do. I hope that someday you’ll believe that and will come to work with us. What I wouldn’t give to have you as my deputy directory instead of that cretin Richard Redden! I know your father would have been proud of what you’ve accomplished so far.”
Sam’s reaction told Wood that he had hit a nerve. Sam lowered his head, then sat up quickly. Lisa scooted closer to Sam and wrapped her arm around his.
Wood stood, grabbed a stack of eight-by-ten photos, and handed them to Sam.
“These have been computer-enhanced,” Wood said. “That’s the best we can do, considering the distance and the unstable — intentional or not — wobbling of the orbit of this. . .vehicle, I guess you’d call it. We’ll need some time to compute the wobble and vibration rate so we can take it out and digitally take out the fuzz. The damn thing won’t sit still, so we can’t take a sharp image.”
Sam’s eyes opened wide as he looked at the pictures. The magenta blur of the triangular object was not familiar, but it was what he had expected.
Then suddenly, he looked straight ahead. He was catatonic. The magenta color. He flashed back to the night he was awakened suddenly. The crash of thunder. No, it was the glow of the nearby lightning strike. But it was the same color.
Sam started to sweat. His eyes began to tear. His pulse began to race. He felt waves of nausea pass through his body.
Lisa noticed the redness of his cheeks. Wood asked, “Sam, are you OK?”
Sam came back to reality and steadied himself. “Can I have some water?”
Wood stepped over to a small refrigerator and handed Sam a plastic container of bottled water.
Sam asked weakly, “Is what’s been trying to contact me?”
Wood, still slightly concerned with his young guest, sat next to Sam and put a reassuring hand on his knee.
“Are you sure you’re OK?”
Sam nodded.
“I guess that’s the source of the signals,” Wood continued, pointing at the picture. “But we are not sure. You see when the signal was transmitted last night. . . “
“Last night?” Sam asked quickly.
“Yes.”
Sam turned and exchanged a worried glance with Lisa. He then looked at Kenneth. “I hope you recorded it.”
“Sam, we record everything,” he said. “Well, almost everything, but this signal for sure. Anyway, it stayed in a direct line between Tau Ceti and the precise longitude and latitude of your home in Escondido.”
“So does the signal originate from the Tau Ceti solar system or the satellite?” Sam asked.
Wood answered, “Or both? We just don’t know. And of course, we had a study group last night attacking the biggest question of all.”
Sam posed the question. “Is this a real-time transmission or a programmed transmission from the satellite?”
“Correct,” Wood said. “We think it’s the latter. I mean, if it is real time, they, out here, have figured out how to break the ultimate speed barrier, the speed of light. And from everything we know. . .”
“. . . and Mr. Einstein has taught us,” Lisa added.
Wood nodded, “. . that that is impossible. It seems to be one law of nature that is unchanging, immutable, intractable, unwavering, fixed, and rigid.”
Sam’s eyes were clear once again; his voice was strong. “From what we know,” he said.
Kenneth stared at him. “Yes, Sam from what we know. What they know, who knows? The simple fact is that they must have picked up your ham radio signals long ago, and they must think that you are the contact for the entire planet Earth.”
“They couldn’t have chosen better,” Lisa said.
Wood smiled and nodded. “Lisa, I think you couldn’t be more right.”
“Then, will you help me reestablish contact with them before it is too late? Before Richard. . . “
“Sam, you discovered this signal,” Kenneth said, “You are the key to the entire operation that is just getting underway. We will do everything we can to reestablish this contact for you. Whatever it takes. The administration is fully behind the operation.”
Kenneth had difficulty delivering the last statement. The raucous ring of his telephone saved him. He picked up the handset.
“What? What’s he doing there now? Don’t tell him anything. I’ll be there as fast as can. Don’t let him leave.”
Wood was obviously agitated. He began to pace. Then he stopped and turned to Sam and Lisa. “
“Let’s take a helicopter ride.”
