“SETI” The Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence — Chapter 22
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The Revilla Gigedo Islands are situated south of Baja California on nearly the same latitude as Mexico City. The string of small islands lie approximately four hundred miles from the western coast of Mexico, off Manzanillo. It is in the waters of the eastern Pacific Ocean that cyclonic storms are born. The warm waters and humid atmosphere feed these sometimes monsters, which threaten Baja California, Southern California, and the Hawaiian Islands. The spiral arms of these tropical storms spew out streams of moisture and humidity that flow across Mexico and into the southwestern United States.
And in the early fall, that moisture feeds errant tropical thunderstorms that make their way across the Mexican border or up from the Pacific into Los Angeles, San Diego, and Escondido. These storms bring with them, at times, high winds, lightning, thunder, and torrential rain. They produce nothing like what the Gulf of Mexico or the U.S. East Coast can experience with West Atlantic and Caribbean hurricanes, but strong thunderstorms can occur none the less.
Sam lay, exhausted on the chaise lounge on top of his roof and watched the low but building wall of cumulonimbus clouds marching northward, accompanied by phosphorescent green, blue, and yellow lightning illuminating the southern horizon. Pulsating low thunder followed seconds later. The air felt heavy.
At the bottom of the nearby antenna tower, Sam could see a one-foot piece of electrical tape slowly fluttering in the breeze. He closed his eyes after a particularly bright flash of lightning shot through the clouds and crashed into the ground. Booming thunder followed. Sam knew that within an hour, the tropical thunderstorm would march in from the sea and begin to drench the summer-parched land with the moisture it so badly needed.
Sam loved to watch storms move in. Their power, majesty, and beauty were as entertaining as any movie, sporting event, or fireworks display. It was entertainment that he could enjoy by himself. He preferred it that way. It was lonely, sometimes exciting, and sometimes scary. He had seen several violent summer-afternoon thunderstorms in the desert and watched flat plains, cracked and parched, suddenly turn into raging rivers that swept away anything in their paths. All around him, the character of the desert would change after such a storm. Life would spring from lifeless sand and bricklike earth. The freshness was glorious, as sweet and pleasant as any smell Sam could imagine. The pungent odor of sage permeated the air, which had been washed clean and bright. The range of vision was limitless, with resolution enhanced to infinity.
Sam watched the spectacular light show, but his unusual enthusiasm was not there. He felt disconnected and passive about the storm, the sounds of the street below, and his family inside the house. He felt apathetic and listless — and nauseous as he looked over the destruction in his room and on his roof.
Both satellite dishes pointed to the ground, their edges bent and their low-noise amplifiers smashed. The suspension rods that precisely placed them at their peak mode reception points were twisted like pretzels. It had taken a great deal of anger and strength to contort them into those positions. The thin metal tubing of various amateur-radio antennas was grotesquely bent, rendered useless.
Sam stood and took several difficult steps to the bundle of cables that snaked across the roof and into an inlet box. He bent over and picked up the frayed remains of copper center conductors and black plastic insulation. Every cable had been cut. Connectors had been squeezed flat. Sam could not understand the anger and jealousy that led his father’s old workmate to wreak such destruction. What was he so angry about? So scared about? What did he think Sam would do to him? Why did Richard take this so personally? What in God’s name had Sam ever done to Richard?
All he wanted was Richard’s help. All he got was Richard’s hate.
Sam was more perplexed by WHY than he was by WHAT happened. Richard obviously wanted Sam’s META box to make the connection with the SETI signal emanating from the Tau Ceti planetary system. But why did he destroy Sam’s equipment and antennas? Sam concluded that it was fear that ruled Richard at the moment — fear that somehow, Sam could make the contact even without the translator/detection equipment; fear that Sam would be credited with the discovery of not only the century, but also of human history. Sam knew that Richard desperately wanted to be the one associated with that discovery.
How foolish he had been. Sam thought, not to have detected Richard’s jealousy and interest when he visited him several days before JPL. How could Sam ever again trust anybody? He knew it was unnatural to live that way, but he would be more cautious and watchful in the future, carefully analyzing any move.
“But the hell with the future. What am I going to do now?” Sam thought. The signal could continue, the information could grow and become more precise, and the transmission of data could be even more critical, perhaps calling on Sam for some type of action. He would never know.
Sam put his head in his hands. A sharp flash made him look up. He saw a latticework of brilliant lightning etch across the sky and felt deep within his body the low frequency of the thunder.
Sam sat hunched over his workbench. A gooseneck lamp illuminated him and the META prototype he had built months ago. Surrounding him in the shadows were the devastation and disarray that used to be his amateur-radio station and his SETI receiving equipment. He knew it would take days, or even weeks, to put the major components back together. But he could fashion another META box quickly from the initial model. Schematic diagrams were taped to his equipment, facing him. He would refer to them periodically as he soldered one small electronic piece after another. The resistors, diodes, and transistors would be easy. The integrated-circuit chips would have to be burned in separately with outside help, but he had friends who could do that quickly as a favor. The cost would be minimal, compared with the sum that would be needed to rehabilitate his reception and transmission gear, the antenna system, and the cabling.
It was too much to even think about at once. Sam leaned back in his chair and looked out the window. He heard the wind howling and the rain pummeling the street and the roof. He stood and walked to the window. He was blinded by a flash of lightning and jumped at the immediate report of thunder. It had been months since the area last received rain. And this rain was not the cold, steady rain of a winter cold front from the north; this was a violent tropical storm from the south. At any other time, he would have enjoyed the awesome power.
Tonight it was a miracle for him just to concentrate on the reconstruction of the box. “If I could just finish that element,” he thought. If he could just finish that element, he knew that somehow, he could jury-rig a transmitting/receiving station with Efrim’s or Rollo’s or Mitch’s gear. With his small hand-held transceiver? Where would he get access to a large satellite dish? He had to find a way quickly. Somehow.
Sam rubbed his heavy eyes and stumbled back to the workbench. He looked down at the partially completed motherboard. He gently held a small bundle of hair-fine wires those cross-connected disparate sections of the board. He tried to regain some modicum of concentration as he collapsed in the chair. He watched a thin stream of smoke float upward, away from the tip of hot soldering gun. He was transfixed by the smoke, which curled and shimmered as gentle interior wind currents made it waver and dance.
There was another flash of lightning and a smaller thunderclap. The rain slackened a bit as the storm moved northward.
As if in slow motion, he picked up the soldering gun and began fumbling with the minute wire harness, placing the wires in position on the board, in and around the empty IC chop bases. He worked quietly and slowly. In the past, a precise wiring mistake would have caused him to curse, would have raised his level of nervousness. But now his movements were so calculated that any mistake would be corrected without fuss and fury.
Sam did not hear the heavy steps of his Uncle Stu climbing the staircase. Stu walked into Sam’s room and shook the rain off his coat. Sam didn’t look up from his work.
Stu stood in the dark entryway and looked around the room. He had never seen such a mess. He walked up slowly behind Sam and waited for Sam to say something. Sam didn’t.
Stu looked around and found a folding chair leaning against the wall. He grabbed it and opened it next to Sam. He sat down with a moan.
He watched Sam work for a moment or two, then asked, “Sam, how long you gonna be workin’ here tonight?”
Sam hesitated, then quietly said, “As long as it takes.”
Stu looked down at the floor and thought. Then he said, “You have school tomorrow you know.”
Sam suspended his soldering gun in midair and looked at Stu plaintively. Stu knew what it meant: here comes a favor request.
“Uncle Stu, can’t I just straighten up here later and get my thoughts together? I don’t think I’d be any good in English or biology, or even P.E. Please lemme stay home?”
Stu shook his head. “Ya know, of course, your aunt is gonna kill me if I say yes.” Stu looked around at the devastated room again, then back at Sam, who was still staring at him. “But OK.”
Sam turned away and continued his work on the shiny aluminum chassis and the wiring harness. “I may even take a drive out to Anza, just to think.”
Stu looked toward the window. “I don’t know if this is gonna be finished by tomorrow. There’s a flash-flood watch out there.”
“Only if it’s not raining. Uncle Stu.”
“Why don’t you wait till after the detectives come by to interview you tomorrow morning?”
Sam appeared to be distracted. The damage had been done. His META box was gone. He would have to spend all his energy on putting a new META together and considering how he would tie it into some means of reception and transmission on the cheap. He didn’t feel like talking to detectives. That evening’s interview with the investigating officers had been enough. He had more important work to do. But he would do as his uncle asked. He liked Stu — he loved Stu — and responded to his uncle’s confidence in him and the freedom and independence he gave him.
Stu just pushed himself to his feet and pulled back the folding chair. He looked over Sam’s shoulder and shook his head. He was amazed by the accuracy and precision it took to work the way Sam worked with the circuitry in front of him. Then he looked at the back of Sam’s head and stroked his disheveled hair once. He reached around Sam’s chest and gave him a hug. Sam held his soldering gun in place. He closed his eyes for a moment and enjoyed the warmth and love of Stu’s embrace.
Stu released his nephew and walked toward the door. He tightened his jacket and opened the door. A gust of wind blew in and filled the room. Sam breathed deeply. Inhaling the sweet smell of the rain, and listened to the dripping water rolling off the roof and hitting the landing. An overwhelming sense of exhaustion grabbed him from head to toe.
Stu looked at Sam. “Not too late, Sam. Not too late.”
Sam nodded without looking back toward Stu. He heard the door close. He stared straight ahead at the schematic but did not see it. He heard another crash of more distant thunder.
Sam whispered, “I hope it’s not too late.”
