IGMS Issue 5 (16 page)

Someone once told me that two hundred years ago it was traditional for college graduates, freshly armed with their degrees, to announced themselves to the world by spending the summer after their graduation backpacking across Europe. I never understood that. Here these graduates had just completed four years worth of reading about the place so often in their history books and science books that you'd think they'd be sick of it! Eventually, I guess, they did grow sick of it and the tradition progressed from romping through the ruins of Stonehenge to hopping across the Ocean of Storms. That's where I was headed and I couldn't wait to get there.

Mind you, I was not one of those troglodytes who'd never been up in a shuttle before. We'd taken family vacations and I'd rocketed to Japan and New Zealand. But those were little lob shots, the kind that the girls on my sister's softball team tossed to one another. Going to the moon was like a fastball -- or at least a hanging curve -- in comparison.

Thus it was one week after graduation that I found myself climbing aboard the shuttle that would boost us into orbit. I was anxious, and perhaps a little nervous too, but as I looked around the cabin, no one else appeared worried, and so I did my best to ignore the feeling and focus on the flight. I calmed myself by humming "Fly Me To the Moon" under my breath (I am a fan of early-twentieth century music; it's my personal quirk!) Not long after we'd fastened in, the engines shuddered and thundered and I was flattened onto my couch for the ten longest ten minutes of my life.

When the shaking and rattling had reached the point where I thought my head would burst, it suddenly stopped. There was a momentary silence among the passengers and then the gentle three-note chime of an electric tone, followed by the voice of a flight attendant making the traditional announcement: "The captain has turned off the fasten seatbelt sign. You may now feel free to float about the cabin." And that's just what I did.

How does one expect to meet the love of one's life?

For me, I'd always imagined that it would be love at first sight, that we would stroll past one another in some exotic port, our eyes would lock, and the rest would be history. Or perhaps she would see me from afar, and come ask me for directions, and one thing would lead to another, and --

It's never quite how you play it through your head. Thus, I met Audrey on the free-return trajectory to the moon. In later months, I would leave off the last detail, telling people I met Audrey on the free-return trajectory, adding that if she didn't like me, she could feel free to return me from whence I had come.

She happened to be sitting in the seat just to my right, and I took no notice of her until she spoke to me. And the first thing she said to me was:

"I hate space travel. Only six hours into the flight, with half a day to go and already this stuffy little tin can just wreeks of an imperfectly washed humanity." And she glared at me when she said it.

I tore myself away from the view of a quarter-crescent Earth, ready to see if she could take it as well as she could dish it out, but when I saw her, actually looked at her, all thought of malice left my mind. I looked into her green eyes, from which she brushed away dark curls of hair, and in that instant, I longed for a washroom where I could scour away the scents of my imperfectly washed humanity.

I don't know what she saw in my face, but she must have taken pity on me because her face suddenly softened and she tilted her head slightly and said, "I'm sorry. You must think I'm rude. It's just that I get edgy on these shuttle flights. I don't like being closed in like this with no escape. It happens every time."

"You do this often?" I asked.

"About a dozen times, I guess. Mostly during the last few years, while completing my degree."

"Oh, did you just graduate?"

"Yes."

"Me too," I said.

"Congratulations. What did you study?"

"Political science."

"Ugh," she wrinkled her nose.

"What, not a fan of constitutions and elections and nation-building?"

"Let's just say I'm not a fan of bureaucracy and its petty rules and regulations."

"What are you a fan of?" I asked.

"That," she said, and leaned across my lap to point out the window.

"You're a fan of the earth?"

"Space, the stars, the whole universe!"

"Come on," I said, "you just graduated, didn't your professors tell you to start small?"

"I can't. Comes with the territory."

"Why? What do you do?"

"I'm an astronomer," she said. I detected a quaver in her voice when she said it, as though it were some secret thrill for her.

"So maybe you can explain something to me, oh learned astronomer."

"And what might that be?"

"Why haven't we found any other intelligent life in the universe?"

"Now whose getting ahead of himself. Don't you think we need to find the intelligent life we have right here at home first? Beside," and her voice grew momentarily grave and confident, "if they're out there, I'll find them."

"You're very self-assured. Ever think of running for office?"

"The only office I ever run for is the one in which I keep my computer and research notes," she said. "Now maybe you can explain something to me, Mr. President."

"And what might that be?"

"What on Earth are Wilson's Fourteen Points?"

"Six field goals and two free-throws," I said, and this time she laughed.

"I'm Audrey," she said and held out her hand.

"Dan," I said taking it, "but my friends call me Danny."

"So you're a basketball fan, are you, Mr. President?"

I nodded.

"I should have guessed, what with your fascination with rules and all. Wait until you see them play basketball on the moon."

On the moon, I thought. I turned back to the window and glanced at the crescent Earth, which seemed to grow smaller each minute. The moon wasn't visible in our current flight path, but I couldn't wait until the moment that the descent shuttle touched down on its dusty surface.

One might suppose that meeting the love of one's life in an unexpected manner would lead one to conclude that just about anything can happen, and I must admit that my view of the universe was altered a bit on the day I met Audrey. But I must further admit that it was altered to a greater extent several days later when, completely by accident, I discovered the Drifters.

I should clarify that we assume that the Drifters are intelligent; we don't know for certain, and we may never know. But the evidence is pretty strong in our favor. I didn't know much about it at the time, but what I did know was that aliens would likely be discovered in one of three ways:

1. The rationalists felt that aliens would be discovered by some signal they sent out, some code, written in the language of Nature that would be detected by Earth's scientists, the discovery of which would open a new era of peace and prosperity.

2. Warmongers felt that the alien spaceships would one day appear out of the blue, descending through the atmosphere on an invisible tether, and firing their death rays which would destroy whole cities. Humanity would band together to do battle against the threat, but do so too late for any meaningful action.

3. Conspiracy theorists felt that the government would be forced to admit regular dealings with aliens who had been visiting our planet for years. And having heard the truth, the conspiracy theorists would detect a trap and announce that the government was only placating them, and that these were not the real aliens, but a decoy to cover up some ever more nefarious plot.

Need I say that the discovery of the Drifters turned out to be very different from any of these possibilities? And the irony is that while such a discovery could not possibly seem connected to my meeting the love of my life in a most unexpected manner, in truth, it would not have happened if Audrey and I had not met on that shuttle to the moon. Let me explain . . .

It is often hard to objectively gauge the effect a woman has on you. Friends might point out that you talk differently when she is around, or that there is a little more pep in your stride, or that your apartment appears less a shambles. On the shuttle down to the Ocean of Storms, none of my friends were around to gauge my reactions to Audrey, and yet I know she had an effect on me.

I know it because on that shuttle, she got me into some trouble.

The ride down started out like a roller coaster: sudden acceleration followed by freefall. I can't say that I enjoyed it. We'd been served a meal just before arriving at the transfer station and for the entire twenty minute descent, I had the distinct feeling that the lunch I'd eaten a few hours earlier was not only floating free in my stomach, but was beginning to crawl back the way it had come.

Audrey was sitting next to me and we had been chatting, but I had become silent as the queasiness overcame me. I suspect she knew I wasn't feeling well because after the descent burn started and the flight attendants disappeared into their compartment at the front (I thought of it as the "top") of the shuttle, she looked around carefully and then said, "Come on, I'll show you something really amazing, get your mind off the motion sickness."

"How'd you know?" I asked.

"I'd say 'woman's intuition' but the real giveaway is the color your complexion has taken on in the last ten minutes." She unfastened her safety restraint and took my hand, which thrilled me enough to help me forget my queasiness. "Come on, you don't want to miss this."

I looked around at the other passengers, many of whom looked worse for the wear. "We're supposed to remain seated," I said weakly.

Audrey leaned in, unlatched my restraint and pulled until I floated free in the cabin. Nervously, I stole another glance at the passengers, but they all seemed to be too concerned with the ride to notice our sudden acrobatics. Audrey pulled me "down" toward the back of the shuttle and as we became more noticeable, I began to feel the sting of an occasional stare from one passenger or another. I was sure that my face had turned a bright red, but Audrey didn't seem to mind at all. She pulled us to a small panel with an embossed sign that read: Crew Only. She took one quick look toward the front of the shuttle, and then slid the panel over and slipped inside the opening. There was nothing I could do but follow her down the rabbit hole.

I came to rest inside a compartment so small, it was clearly designed for a single person, perhaps a child. I didn't mind so much, because it meant that I was pressed up against Audrey's soft body. Before I could get my bearings, however, I was overcome by another wave of dizziness.

There, below my feet, the surface of the moon rolled by and I could see it moving closer and closer!

I reached out to grab something to stabilize myself and found I had clasped onto Audrey. She giggled but she didn't move my hands. "I told you it would be amazing," she said.

"What is this?"

"Docking compartment. The shuttle backs into the dock at the transfer station in orbit. If they have to dock manually for some reason, the navigator will use this room to get visual bearings. But it's usually empty and most passengers don't know about it. And since 'back' is 'down' on the descent, it makes for quite a view."