Maximum Warp,
Chapter 16: In Theory

I didn’t get very far in my story before the questions and comments started flying; I couldn’t even keep up with who was saying what.

“I get Cronkite, but why Mary Tyler Moore’s shoes?”

“Not hers, necessarily. Mighta been Rhoda’s. Or even Phyllis!”

“I vote for Phyllis. Cloris Leachman was brilliant!”

“Wait – wasn’t Betty White on that show too?”

. . . .

“Holy shit, if I wrote that, all the reality police on my blog would explode. I mean, megaton explode!!!”

“Worse than they did after you wrote that EVA scene in “Covenant Ark?”

“Much worse!!!”

“So hit ’em. Worked for Bradbury.”

“He was only dealing with one punk kid - I’ve got an army of them!”

“Let me get my violin!”

. . . .

“‘Ah Jeez’ and ‘Old Scudder?’”

“Yes . . . impossible – but only an alien or a machine would use both. Unironically, at least.”

“You did!”

“When?”

“Just now!”

. . . .

“The Enterprise? Seriously? Like in Galaxy Quest?”

“We did think of that. But, no, they seem to understand that Star Trek wasn’t real.”

“What do you mean, not real!”

“Heretic!”

. . . .

“SIRI? And they got it to work?”

“They could earn a Nobel for that all by itself!”

“And a lawsuit from Apple.”

“Good luck serving that writ of summons!”

. . . .

“Millions of years older than Earth? That’s . . . wow. I can’t overstate how significant that could be.”

“Or not; the creation of life forms might have taken longer.”

Grillo and Kurowkawa were the most animated; Cormier asked numerous questions about alien biology that I could not answer, and was frustrated that I had no idea what the aliens actually looked like. Harris was very engaged during my description of my first meeting with the aliens aboard their ship, but kind of dropped out of the conversation when we turned to the discussion of my idea for a trade. She appeared to be lost in thought.

“So whatever their battery tech is, they’re confident enough that we’ll get it within fifty years even if they don’t give it to us?” Grillo asked.

“Right,” I responded. “They took several days to reach that conclusion, and they devoted a chunk of resources to figuring out the state of all of our scientific studies on the issue, based on publicly-available data.”

“Suggests to me that we’re a lot closer to the theoretical limits on energy storage than I would have guessed – or might have liked,” he mused.

“But Professor Grimm indicated that this was a very significant advance, didn’t he?” Kurokawa countered.

“And that boy’s got a rep for significant advances,” Janet growled darkly.

“Sure, it’s a big advance,” Grillo said, “but I would have expected a spacefaring civilization to be – no joke – light years ahead of us on energy storage. Not fifty years.”

“Maybe their society doesn’t have the same drive towards ever-greater efficiency?” Kurokawa speculated. “Technological advances are always destabilizing. If their culture prizes stability . . . .”

“I should hate you, you know.” Harris was looking at me strangely. She clearly had not been paying attention to the conversation at all.

“Excuse me?” I asked, puzzled.

“Troi . . . .” Aguia began.

She waved him off. “I should. Really. You got it all. The full package. Not just female, but young . . . gorgeous. Hell, you can probably even have kids the old fashioned way. And all it took was one shot, and a thirty day transition. God!!! . . . I’da killed for that. A tenth of it.”

“Troi,” Aguia repeated, “It’s not her fault. She didn’t ask for it.”

“Makes it worse, in a way,” she replied. “I had to beg my parents to let me take the blockers, so I didn’t have to go through male puberty. Had to convince a host of doctors and shrinks. Fight every step of the way . . . she didn’t even have to ask.” Her voice had sunk to a whisper.

I didn’t know what to say. I had known several transgender students at Gryphon, at least one of whom had been an absolute delight – a gifted scholar in the making with a love of language that even surpassed my own. But none of them had ever opened up to me about their struggles, and it never occurred to me that they ought to. I wasn’t a very likely confidante, nor, I suppose, had I been very approachable. “I am so very sorry,” I said.

The silence in the room was deafening, especially in contrast to the cacophony of spirited free-for-all that preceded it. Aguia, in particular, looked pained. As well he might, I thought. He had to have known Troi Harris was trans; it should have occurred to him to think of how my story – and, more, my over-the-top appearance – would affect her.

“Oh, boo hoo! Life ain’t fair. Really? Shit girl, you think that’s breakin’ news?” Janet’s eyes were bright and uncharacteristically fierce.

“Janet!” I exclaimed, shocked and startled.

“Professor,” Aguia said diplomatically, “that was . . .”

“A direct quote,” Harris finished, sourly. “From Quentin’s Rangers. Like Richelieu said, ‘one should be careful what one writes.’”

“‘And to whom one gives it,’ if I remember the line right,” Janet said. “In this case, me. I loved that whole series. Especially tough-as-nails, spare the pity-party Sergeant Hart. Didn’t hurt that you named her Janet. I always thought she was your voice in that book. But maybe I was wrong.”

“They were all my voices,” Harris shot back. “But, okay. Yeah . . . Hart was the one I wanted to be like. There were others who might have been closer to who I am . . . when it’s maybe not my best day.”

Grillo intervened, his surprisingly high voice gentle. “Troi. Honey. Stanley didn’t invite you here to torture you. More than anyone, you’ve put real thought into what aliens and alien cultures might be like. I don’t have a tenth of your imagination that way. We have a short window here, and it may never come again in our lifetimes. We really need your ‘best day!’”

“You can always hate me later,” I offered. “Seriously. I think you’ve got every right to.”

She closed her eyes, and her face went through a startling number of complex expressions. After a minute, she opened her deep brown eyes and looked at me directly. “Did they actually say they were giving us their current battery tech?”

Crisis averted? Maybe?

I got my mind in gear. “Not directly. I asked how much energy they could store in a device the size of a twelve ounce Coke can. The implication was that it was their current tech.”

Harris puffed her cheeks in and out, visibly thinking. “Maybe. Probably, even. But, it may be that their most advanced tech isn’t optimized for the specified size constraints.”

Grillo was nodding slowly. “Yeah, that’s certainly possible.”

Mercifully, we moved on. Whatever Troi might be feeling, she did not let it affect her further.

The scientists really got engaged when it came to the issue of language and the possibility of collective consciousness. Kurokawa was particularly enthused. “This would dramatically affect every aspect of their society. Everything! The balance between the communitarian impulse and the individual. The raising of offspring. The concept of 'other.' I mean – wouldn’t the very concept of race, as we know it on earth, be impossible for a species that had a collective memory?”

Cormier shook her head. “Maybe, but I don’t think it would necessarily follow. Consider Carl Jung’s view that even our species has a vestigial collective memory, manifested in shared archetypes in our collective unconscious. Even if Jung was right – and it’s just a theory – we obviously have layers of non-collective memory.”

“Yes!” Kurokawa exclaimed. “So, in theory, you could have a collective consciousness and memory at a species level, with an overlay of a distinct group consciousness and individual consciousness.”

“That would be a pretty volatile mix, I’d think,” Grillo said.

Harris frowned. “Yeah – you could have group consciousness-infused racism that would be even worse than what we have.”

Aguia shook his head. “That doesn’t seem to fit what Jessica and Janet have reported. They were particularly unimpressed with our lack of a unified culture and language.”

“Even turned up their noses at Scooby Doo, if you can believe it,” Janet growled.

“Did they indeed?” Aguia shook his head. “Well. Even Philistines have their good points, I’m sure. But, the value the aliens place on species unity seems incompatible with sub-group consciousness as you’re describing it, Troi.”

“Unless they had intraspecies diversity at one time, and their current monoculture is the result of one faction dominating and either absorbing or destroying the rest,” Harris said. “That would actually tend to reinforce a visceral rejection of diversity.”

“It would, absolutely,” Kurokawa confirmed.

“Count on Troi Harris to see the dark side!” Grillo grinned.

“No pie-in-the-sky in my stories, big boy,” she joked. “Not like Apotheosis!”

“I thought you liked Apotheosis,’” Grillo said, wide-eyed.

“Oh, I did! Ate it up. Best characters you’ve ever written, and you write better characters than anyone I know – very much including me. But even you’ve gotta admit, Dave, the ending was pretty . . . ah . . . fairy-tale perfect.” Harris’ smile was broad and affectionate; it was apparent that the two authors knew – and liked – each other well.

“You certainly see the dark side,” Janet observed, “but you never joined it. Or valorized it.”

Harris gave her a thoughtful look. “No,” she said quietly. “I might have, once.” Then she smiled, changing the mood. “But I’d need Luther Corbin’s pipe-organ bass to really pull it off, and I had several medical interventions to make good and certain that never happened!”

We laughed.

Aguia had arranged to have lunch brought in – blandwiches and bottled water – and that was perfect. We were too engrossed in our discussion to do anything more than top off the fuel tank. I did finally come to the end of my story, sort of, but the discussion rolled on, with each of the participants throwing out theories and caveats and alternative possibilities.

We talked about how the aliens might look. “Troi covered the theory in The Unicorn Factor,” Grillo said. “There are good reasons to believe that the aliens’ bodies aren’t dramatically larger or smaller than our own.”

Troi nodded. “The Twitter summary is that the square cube law restricts plausible maximum size and the need for a large enough neural net to support advanced sentience restricts plausible minimum size.”

“Is there anything we can deduce about their physical forms from Jessica and Janet’s interactions with them, that might support or undermine the theory?” Aguia asked.

“Maybe not,” Kurokawa said. “The professors could have been interacting with pure projections, right?”

“That doesn’t feel right,” Harris replied. “First, ‘Ensign Worm’ felt the need to grab Jessica – well, James – when they first met, leaping over the fire to do it. James felt the touch physically. And, Worm handed Jessica the battery later . . . and performed a medical operation. I mean, maybe a projection could do all of that, but it seems like a lot.”

“What can you recall about that leap, Jessica?” Cormier asked.

I thought for a minute. “There was a lot going on, but . . . it wasn’t a human leap. Worm was on the other side of the fire. Twelve feet away, prolly. He didn’t get a running start, like a person would. He just bent a bit at the knees and jumped. High enough to clear the fire easily, but no more’n that.”

“Huh.” It was Cormier’s turn to think. “Of course, if it was a really big creature that could just step over the fire, it could cover with an illusion of a human jumping. But that seems like a lot to process in the spur of the moment.”

“Agreed,” Grillo said. “If I were creating a dynamic illusion, I would simply program the illusion to link to whatever part of my anatomy most closely corresponded to the human equivalent. So, I would link the “leg” illusion to the motion of whatever appendages I use for locomotion. That way, most of the illusion could be programmed in advance and wouldn’t require actual decisions that could distract me.”

“That would also suggest that elements of the human anatomy that had no alien counterpart would appear more static than you would expect if you were interacting with another human,” Cormier said.

“Worm and the boys all have pretty wooden faces, that’s for sure,” Janet noted.

“Although,” Kurokawa cautioned, “that could just as easily be because their corresponding features don’t move anything like ours, or carry any communicative significance. Let’s say they had both an eye and an eyebrow. They might not be able to raise their eyebrow. And even if they did, it almost certainly wouldn’t signify surprise, or communicate a question.”

“Spock will be so disappointed,” Janet murmured.

“You know he’s dead, right?” I asked her.

“Only in the Kelvin Timeline,” Grillo said.

“No, no,” Kurokawa said. “That’s . . . ”

“ . . . a bit off topic,” Aguia said firmly. “If I may throw out a question, what – if anything – can we deduce about the alien’s home world?”

“Were the colors on their Star Trek uniforms accurate?” Cormier inquired.

“Kayla,” Aguia warned.

She smiled. “Not a digression, Stanley. Bear with me.”

“I think so,” I answered, “though I’m not exactly a big fan of the show.”

“Too lowbrow for my ‘distinguished’ colleague,” Janet joked. “Not for me, of course, ’cuz I’m just a full professor. Yeah, they were accurate. Command gold for the Elder, science blue for the guy at Spock’s station, expendable red for the guy at comms. The tints and shades looked right. Does it matter?”

Cormier nodded. “I think so. I would say it makes it more likely that their home system’s star, like ours, is a golden G-type. And that they have some form of ocular sense that is at least as capable of reading fine gradations in what we think of as the visible light spectrum as the human eye.”

“Unless they were just smart enough to figure out how someone with a human mark-one eyeball would perceive the colors in the transmissions they reviewed,” Harris argued.

“Possible, but . . . it seems like quite a leap. Our brain is heavily involved in ‘reading’ the raw feed from our optic nerves,” Cormier countered. “Think of the mistakes they were making with the English language. The likelihood they would make similar mistakes with a wholly foreign system of color differentiation seems pretty high.”

Janet shook her head, a look of wonder on her face. “Sometimes it pays to be a nerd, guys!”

“It just doesn’t necessarily pay well,” Kurokawa added with a laugh.

Anatomy, physiology, sociology, culture, and geography . . . . Everyone had ideas and comments. There were times it felt like we had more devil’s advocates than a meeting of the ABA. But Aguia guided the discussion masterfully, keeping us from going too far down any particular rabbit hole and showing a genuine appreciation for everyone’s contributions. I could see why the President put him in charge of his irregulars. In short in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral . . . .

The eager, open speculation made a convivial conversation for any academic, so Janet and I felt right at home. But we ended with more questions than answers. A lot more.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “All of these things we’ve been talking about . . . I didn’t have the first idea. We didn’t know what to ask. It would have been so much better – for all of mankind, really – if Worm had dropped in on one of you.”

Harris gave me a complicated look. “I think everyone here would have given the world to be the one. . . . Especially me,” she said quietly. “But I can honestly say, I don’t know that anyone could have done any better than you did. And I’m pretty confident that I wouldn’t have done as well.”

Grillo smiled. “You get extra points for your tractor beam tricks. Damn! I wish I could have seen that!” He whistled a few bars of The Blue Danube.

That got a laugh.

“Things tend to happen for a reason,” Cormier said philosophically.

I shook my head. “No, sometimes things happen randomly. Stupidly. It’s blind luck, and sometimes it’s bad luck.”

“Don’t beat up on yourself, Jessica,” Aguia admonished. “You’ve managed to accomplish the most important thing. The People trust you.”

“Amen!” Kurokawa said, with great feeling. “Relations between societies need some level of trust to be productive. You may be the only bridge we have.”

“But . . . that’s not a good thing,” I said. “They can’t begin to understand our species just by talking to one of us. We aren’t the People. Whether they like it or not, diversity defines us. And all they’ve seen is its bad side.”

“All we can do is what they’ll permit,” Aguia pointed out. “We can’t make them talk with us.”

It was 6:30, and we still hadn’t heard anything from Dr. Livingston or Corbin. Aguia sent Livingston a message and got back, “Send them home for the night. We’ll be at it for hours more. But have them back by 8:00 a.m.”

Aguia looked around at all the participants in the day’s discussions. “I don’t know whether we’ll get much time with Jessica and Janet tomorrow, but we might. We can reconvene here at 8:00 a.m., if you're game.”

Everyone was.

Janet and I headed back towards Livingston’s Office; we needed to check in with someone to get connected with our security detail.

Surprisingly, Troi Harris walked with us. “I’m sorry, Jessica. I didn’t mean what I said, about hating you. That’s not who I am – not anymore, anyway. I’ve been in a good place for a while now, and any time that happens, I convince myself I’m all good. As soon as I do, boom. Just like that. My emotions jump up out of the black pit and drag me back.”

“I really am so very sorry. Whatever Stoneheart over there may say,” I nodded at Janet, “I think you’d be perfectly justified in wanting to rip this pretty face right off me. But . . . I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Grown accustomed to your face, have you?” she asked, with a smile.

“I have. It’s weird. I was a man for sixty years. I’ve been a woman for just a few weeks. But this just feels so much more real . . . like everything else was just a dream. Not a bad dream, by any stretch. But . . . Not real, in some sense.”

“Recency bias?” Troi asked.

I thought about it. “Yes. Undoubtedly that’s a big part of it. Present reality is the only reality, and all of time is now, right? But it’s more than that. Being a woman . . . suits me, somehow. I can’t put it any more clearly than that.”

“You like it, then?” she asked.

I nodded. “I do.”

Janet cracked up. “She likes it! Hey Mikey!!! Don’t believe her, Troi. Jessica ‘likes’ bein’ a woman like Gollum ‘liked’ Sauron’s ring. She loves the shit out of it. God’s truth. Took to it like a cat to a sun patch!”

I blushed raspberry red, but nodded again. “Guilty, I’m afraid. I mean, the period purely sucked, but even that’s just proof, like you said, that my systems all work.”

“Behind every silver lining is a big, black cloud,” Janet quipped.

Troi smiled at our byplay. “I’m glad. It would have been worse if you were moping around about having to be female, or missing your dangley bits, when there are so many of us who would have given everything we had, and everything we could get, for what they gave you gratis.”

“After our session today, I understand why Stanley wanted you to come – your insights were amazing.” I paused, trying to find the right way to say what I was thinking. I gave up. “I just wish there had been a way to avoid causing you so much grief.”

She shook her head. “I wouldn’t have missed that session for anything. It’s part of why I get so frustrated with myself, sometimes. I’m given a chance like this, by Stanley Aguia of all people, and I almost blow it because of old emotions and bad memories. You’d think I was still twelve or something!”

We reached Livingston’s suite. On impulse, I said, “Troi” – we’d all been using first names in the discussion – “I don’t know what the limitations are on our movement. I’ve got to check with the security team. They can’t just bring us back to the safe house; we’ve worn these outfits twice in ninety degree weather with ninety percent humidity. But we could both use some real food, too. If the security team allows it, could I talk you into joining us for dinner somewhere?”

She hesitated for just a moment, but then her features cleared. “Yes. I’d like that.”

“Great. Let me check,” I said.

Mitt Walters was amenable, so long as certain precautions were taken. They were familiar with a restaurant in Arlington where they thought we could eat while being inconspicuous, and they made pains to keep clear lines of retreat and exit options in case things went south. It all seemed like a lot of bother, now that Singh, Agnew and Tsong were out of the picture. But I hadn’t forgotten what getting shot felt like, so I let them do their thing.

They also agreed they could take Janet and me to Pentagon City afterward for some shopping. “You’ll need to be quick about it,” Mitt said, blanching at the thought of escorting us on a shopping expedition. “Security first, you understand?”

I grinned at him. “Oh, naturally! We won’t linger in the lingerie.”

“Too much peril?” Janet teased.

“Way too much peril!!!” Mitt said, panic showing in his face.

We had a delightful dinner with Troi. Great Cuban food . . . candle light and crisp white linens . . . a good Rioja vintage . . . quiet, understated service. Because we were in a public place, we made no mention of aliens, energy storage or weapons-grade uranium. Instead, we mostly talked about Troi’s books. Janet was not only a real fan of her work, as a literature professor she was probably one of the most educated fans Troi might have.

“I was surprised so few people picked up on how closely I based Adhya Khan’s character on Ahab,” Troi said.

Janet shook her head in disbelief. “The way she so single-mindedly pursued vengeance – destroying her whole life to achieve it – how could anyone miss the parallel?

“Maybe they just don’t associate wrath with female characters,” Troi offered.

“Which only goes to show that I and my colleagues have failed – completely failed – to hammer the rudiments of knowledge into young skulls!”

“Maybe you can’t put in what God left out,” Troi said, then dissolved into laughter. “I know – it should make no sense for me to say that!”

When Janet stopped laughing, she said, “Maybe if you’d made her first name “Abha” instead, people might have figured it out.”

“Believe it or not, I thought about it,” Troi confessed. “That was too much even for me. I suppose anyone who can’t figure out the parallel will just think I’m an original genius!”

There were lots of exchanges like that. I mostly sat back and listened while they geeked out. Janet was right, I decided. I really did need to read more. But tonight was right out, and tomorrow didn’t look so good either.

I did eventually steer the conversation to Troi’s life, which turned out to be a litany of overachievement. If she was, as Stanley Aguia jokingly suggested, a ‘shameless self-promoter,’ she at least had some pretty amazing things to promote.

“So,” I summarized after drawing her out, “by the time you were twenty-seven, you had graduated from Carleton College, written – and published! – two short novels and one four-book series, cycled across the country, hiked the full Appalachian Trail, and transitioned from male to female. And you have a pilot’s license for fixed wing and rotary. You’ve traveled on six continents and base jumped in a squirrel suit. I mean . . . damn!!!”

“I bet she leaps tall buildings with a single bound, too!” Janet’s tone, like mine, was full of admiration.

“My brain just never stops spinning,” she said. “I can’t turn it off. So I hike, or cycle, or jump, or whatever, just to get a little peace. And even then, half the time, I’m thinking up a new story.”

“Why science fiction?” I asked.

“Why linguistics?” she countered, but immediately relented. “I’m sorry. That was defensive. Truth is, SciFi comes naturally to me. As a trans woman, I’ve always felt like I was living in an alien world. Our culture’s rules and norms feel foreign to me, in a way that they just don’t for most cisgendered people I know. It’s easy for me to write about alien worlds. Alien cultures. It’s all I’ve ever known.”

“A Stranger in a Strange Land?” Janet asked.

“Not one of my faves, honestly – not even one of my favorites by Heinlein – but . . . yeah. That’s the idea.”

“How young were you, when you realized you were trans?” I asked.

“Before I had the words to explain it,” she replied. “Before I started school, for sure. The older I got, the clearer it became. I hit the point where I couldn’t live with it anymore.”

We talked for an hour and a half. I learned things that maybe I should have made a point of finding out, back when I was a “distinguished” professor and had trans kids in my lectures and seminars, trying to find their way. But Troi probably wouldn’t have confided in James Wainwright, however well intentioned he might have been. That she was willing to tell me her story now was just a side benefit the aliens had given me, along with my young and female form.

Our security folks were getting pretty antsy, so we passed on dessert. I walked Troi to her car where, surprisingly, she turned and gave me a hug.

“Today could have been bad,” she said. “I was sure my black devils were going to come for me tonight. I don’t think they will, now.”

I hugged her back, hard. And, strangely, found myself fighting tears, and reluctant to let her go. “It should have been you, Troi. It should have been!”

Life really is unfair.

We were back in our safehouse ninety minutes later after a short stop at the Pentagon City mall. We would not have to embarrass ourselves if we had two more days of meetings.

Mitt had posted Vic outside on a rise that had a good overall view of the house and brought Gordon and Roger inside. “Alright you two, grab some rack time. I’ll wake you up at 0200 to spell us.” They all went downstairs, where both bunks and the command center were located.

I had some additional arrangements to make. Janet made some tea and joined me in the living room. I placed a call.

“How was your day, dear?” Worm asked when we connected.

“Productive – I think. I’m hopeful I’ll have an offer to bring to you tomorrow morning.”

“We prepared are,” Worm responded.

“Worm . . . . I know that Elder Mission Leader said you would only ‘deal’ with me. But – apart from our negotiations – would you at least be willing to talk with more of us?”

“I do not understanding what for is this,” Worm replied, mechanically.

“This isn’t just our first contact with your species. It’s our first contact with any non-earth species. There are better representatives of our species than me – at least some of them should talk to you, and you to them.”

“This will our negotiations help?” he asked.

Be honest, I thought. “No. I’m pretty confident we’ll be able to reach a mutually satisfactory deal in the timeframe you’ve set. This request is purely personal. I think it would be good. For our species – and for yours. You should meet some of our best.”

“Jessica James . . . We are, you say, maybe, ‘shy’. . . . Elder Mission Leader decide will.”

I couldn’t ask for more than that. “Alright. Thank you.”

We ended the call and I sat back in the chair, thinking. We were quiet for a bit, finishing our tea.

“Jessica?” Janet’s voice was soft. Far away.

“Umm hmm?” I responded.

“You’ll be fine.”

“Oh, sure. Absolutely,” I said. “Someday.”

“Stop frettin’. You’re gonna change the world in a way that usually only war and fluoride can.”

“What?”

Even her laugh was sleepy. “You keep sayin’ that like it means somethin’.”

“I’m not half the woman Troi is, and I never will be. It should have been her, Janet!”

“We don’t need perfect, girl. We need you. Have some faith. And get some rest.”

We turned in.

* * * * *

Diddle-loo-do, diddle-loo-do, diddle-loo-do, my phone sang, waking me up from a disturbing dream. Still half asleep, I scrambled for the unit, trying to recall where I’d plugged it in. I grabbed it and managed “hello?”

“Worm this is,” replied the Ensign’s wooden voice. “Two male humans approaching house are. Walking strange.”

“Strange in what way?”

“Your species normal walk on your long two appendages, yes?” He asked.

“Uhhh . . . yeah.” For the last few millennia, I thought.

“These on all appendages four walk. Slow.”

“Can you tell whether they are carrying weapons?” I asked.

Siri’s melodious soprano voice kicked in. “This is Elder Specialist. Sensors indicate each human is carrying over three pounds of metal alloys, mostly iron infused with carbon, chromium and manganese. These results are consistent with items you call ‘guns,’ though other explanations are possible.”

“Communications equipment?” I asked.

“Affirmative,” Siri’s voice responded.

“Do you have the ability to block the signals going to or from their communications equipment?” I was thinking quickly.

“Affirmative,” the Elder Specialist repeated.

“How far are they from either the house or the human guard stationed outside?” I asked.

“247 feet from your current location,” Elder Specialist responded, “and 316 feet from the location of the other human in your party.” He gave me the directional information as well, which was helpful.

I was fully awake now. What to do? At very least, I needed to alert Mitt and his team. They wouldn't know where I got the information, but they would certainly spot the intruders if they knew where to look . . . .

But then what? If they tried to stop the intruders, in the dark of the night, there was a good chance gunfire might ensue. Someone could get hurt . . . or killed.

Not on MY watch!

I came to a decision. “Okay . . . keep the line open. Worm, if they make any rapid moves, please use the tractor beam to repeat the quick, random up-and-down motion you used the other day on the people who were driving Janet, Mr. Grant and me. I want to make sure no one gets hurt.”

“Affirmative, Jessica James,” Worm replied.

I got up and slipped downstairs. Roger was at the communications station.

His eyes bugged out. I picked the wrong night not to grab a boring bathrobe, I thought, just a little late to be useful.

“Roger. I got a call from a source. We’ve got two armed people attempting to sneak up on the house.”

He started to rise, looking grim. “What kind of source?”

I waved him back down. “I think we can immobilize them until morning, and that’s what I’d like to do. But I want to make sure that Gordon stays safe out there. Can you put me through to him?”

“Miss, let us handle this. Taking care of bogeys is what we do. What you need to do is let us do our jobs, okay?” Roger sounded strong, chivalrous, kind . . . .

Just what I don't need right now! I had to remind myself that, as far as he was concerned, I was just a seventeen-year-old girl he was supposed to protect. “Please. Trust me on this. It really is need-to-know.”

“’Course it is, Honey. But this is my field, and we’ve got protocols for this. You and the Prof’ll be perfectly safe, I promise. If there’s something out there, we’ll find it, and we’ll do it to them before they do it to us, if you follow me. Don’t be frightened.”

I took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. This action had the unfortunate effect of rearranging the more . . . ah . . . prominent parts of my new equipment, pushing them against the light fabric of my nightie.

Roger’s eyes wandered . . . .

My frustration boiled over. For the love of all that’s holy!!! I'm just BREATHING!!! It’s NOT a come-on!!!

“Roger,” I said sweetly, “I’m not frightened in the least. What I am is seriously frustrated, because you’re wasting time and we don’t have much of it. If you don’t give me that microphone I’m going to start screaming.”

His eyes snapped back to my face – yay! – and he looked annoyed. But he managed to get himself mostly under control. “Alright, girl. Make Gordo’s day, then!” He thrust the mike into my hands.

I took the mike and opened the line. “Gordon, this is Jessica James down at the house. Please respond by two clicks on your microphone, without making any sound.”

A couple seconds went by, then I heard a distinct “click click.”

“I have information that two” – I looked at Roger – “‘bogies’ are inbound, on foot, probably keeping low as they move. Two minutes ago, they would have been approximately 100 yards from your location, north-by-northwest. If you can confirm that information, double click.”

Almost a minute went by, then I heard another double click.

Roger looked shocked.

Call ME 'Honey,' will you? I thought.

“Okay,” I said. “Listen closely. The bogies will not move from their location until morning. If they make any noises, you are to ignore them and stay out of sight at all times. This is important. Please confirm with two clicks.”

Silence.

After a minute, Roger said, “Surprise, surprise, surprise! Ol’ Gordo just sent me a text, asking what the fuck is going on. And I can’t tell him, ’cuz I don’t know myself.” He took a steadying breath himself, then continued. “Now look, your intel was good, and I surely do appreciate it. Really. But you need to let us do our jobs now. Please. We’re trained for this. You’re not.”

“Please confirm my instructions, Roger. I really do know what I’m doing.”

“I can’t do that,” he said, sounding earnest. “You’re asking me to leave a known threat active, and you won’t even give me a reason. Final point. You don’t give ‘instructions.’”

“But I do.” Mitt Walters stood in the doorway, wearing nothing but an olive T-shirt and boxer shorts. It did nothing to diminish his aura of command. “Confirm Miss James’ instructions, Roger, but tell Gordon to report immediately if the bogies are in motion.”

Roger looked at him, shook his head, and said, “Okay, boss.” He typed furiously on his phone for a moment, then hit send.

Click click, went the speaker.

“Alright. Thank you. I need to make a call,” I said, and turned to go upstairs.

“If I could have a moment when you’re done?” Mitt asked.

“Of course. Just meet me in the living room.” I dashed upstairs. As soon as I was out of earshot, I said, “Okay. Worm, if you could, please block the two human intruders’ communications transmissions, incoming or outgoing, and lift them up so that they can’t touch the ground. No further than that.” I got to my room, closed the door, and put the phone to my ear.

“Acknowledged . . . and, done.” he replied.

I headed back into the living room. Mitt was standing in the middle of the floor, waiting.

“Thank you,” I said. “I don’t know why you were able to trust me, but I’m very glad you did.”

“My employer said I should, within reason. You pushed the envelope pretty far just now. Farther than you should’ve with Rog, for sure.”

I felt like a child, called to task for misbehavior. But . . . he had a point. Based on what the team knew about Janet and me – essentially, nothing – Roger’s actions were reasonable. “I’m sorry . . . Really I am. I am trying, very hard, to keep anyone from getting hurt.”

He gave me a long, thoughtful look. “I understand there are some things you can’t tell me. But . . . my job, and my team’s job, will be a lot easier – and safer – if you tell us as much as you can.”

He was very close, and very solid. My heart beat faster, and I felt a shiver go through me.

I suppressed it. “The two people who were coming this way won’t move. But, they can still draw weapons and use them, and we have to assume they’re armed. I’m going to call the officials in DC we’ve been dealing with – the same ones that brought your team in – and they can decide how to handle it.”

“And the bad guys are just going to sit out there in the field until someone comes?” He sounded skeptical.

“That’s the idea,” I said.

“They may have other ideas, you know. People have been known to.”

I expect my smile was as tired as I was. “They might. But they’ll keep for now.”

He smiled back at me. “Long as they do, we’ll play by your rules. But I’m starting to think that this time, the truth might actually be stranger than my story.”

“I liked your story better.”

“Okay . . . Highness.” He sketched an ironic bow and went back downstairs.

I went back to my bedroom, pausing only to listen at Janet’s door. The sound of soft snoring reassured me. Janet had looked incredibly weary when we turned in; she needed some real sleep.

I shut my door, sat on my bed, and thought for a couple of minutes. Then I placed a call.

“Jessica?” Dukkov Grant sounded both surprised and, surprisingly, very awake.

“It’s me. I’m sorry to call you at this ungodly hour.”

“What’s up?”

I explained the situation. “I don’t know how we should handle them. The security detail assigned to us doesn’t know anything, and I assume – so do they – that was deliberate. But they’ll start putting two and two together in a hurry if they see a couple goons hanging around in the field with no visible means of support.”

“Hardly. Most goons don't have any visible means of support,” he said absently. “But I take your point. I’ll come on over and take care of them, alright? I should be there in forty-five minutes or so.”

“You’ll have backup? They’re armed.”

“Leave that to me,” he said.

I put on a robe, went down and told Mitt that the cavalry was on its way, then went back upstairs to wait in the living room. I couldn’t sleep. Until, suddenly, I couldn’t stay awake.

Diddle-loo-do, diddle-loo-do, diddle-loo-do.

“Shit,” I snarled. Then woke up and grabbed my phone. “Yes?”

“Jessica James, Mr. Grant has from human intruders removed metal weapons. Should release them, yes?” Worm’s voice was, as usual, neutral.

“Wait just a minute. Let me confirm.” I called Grant.

“You’ll be so surprised at what the cat dragged in,” he said when he answered.

I could hear indistinct and unimaginative cursing in the background.

“Can it, motormouth. I’m talking here. . . . No? Fine. Have a shutthefuckupcake.” Grant’s voice was muffled, like he was trying to block the mic.

“Do you have them secure? Should the aliens shut down the tractor beam?” I asked him.

“Yeah, be a good idea. They’re cuffed. I’ll frog-march ’em to my car.”

“Okay. I’ll meet you there.” I made the arrangements with Worm, cinched my robe a bit tighter, then went outside. A couple minutes later, the pale crescent moon revealed three figures approaching the house, two stumbling ahead, covered in camo gear and face paint.

As they got closer, I felt a presence at my side. “Son of a hamster!” Janet said. “If it isn’t Thing One and Thing Two.”

I hadn’t noticed, what with all the cosplay warrior gear, but it was, indeed, the Brothers Tweedle – the same pair who had tried to whisk Janet and me off to join Averil Livingston in polite captivity. “Slow learners, aren’t you?” I asked them.

“Fuck you! Fuck you both!” snarled Tweedle Dee. Or Dum. I really couldn’t tell them apart.

“Yeah, yeah, we know,” said Janet. “And our parents, siblings and pet rodents, too. Gotta say, you’re busy little fuckers.”

“You really should have taken the hint last time,” I said. “If you’d just started running once your feet hit the ground, you might have gotten clean away. Now you’d better start cooperating, or I expect you’ll be spending a long time away from your families.”

“I got nothin’ to say,” Tweedle Dum said defiantly. Or maybe it was Dee. But Dee was the smart one, so that couldn’t be right.

“I see nothing! I know nothing!” Janet snarked, putting on an accent.

Grant pushed them into the back seat of his car. “Damn,” he said. “I thought you guys smelled bad outside.”

“What’s your guess?” I asked him. “Were they freelancing?”

“I calculate not,” he responded. “That’s a lot of pricey gear they’ve got there. But I doubt they’ll keep us guessing for long.”

It wasn’t cold – even at night, summers in the D.C. area are warm and thick – but I shivered. “Thank you. You do sleep sometimes, don’t you?”

He smiled, tipped an imaginary hat, and said, “Ladies.” Then he drove off.

Mitt was waiting when we came back inside. “Crisis averted?”

“This one, anyway,” I said.

“Well, I’ll give you this, Highness. You may be an exile from Erehwon, but you’ve got good intel and some high-octane juice. . . . The boys’ll have some good stories.” He was looking at me closely.

“It would be better if you could make up a story for them,” I said. “Something really good.”

“A Mitty special,” Janet agreed.

He smiled. “I’ll do that. You’ve got about ninety minutes before you’ve got to get up again; better rack out.”

“Thanks, Mr. Walters.”

“G’night again, Prof. . . . Princess.”

We laughed and went back to bed.

* * * * *

We were almost back at the EEOB when Worm’s call came in. “Good morning,” I said, answering.

“Jessica James,” Worm replied. “Elder Mission Leader willing is for people two more to accompany you today. They will not with you be during negotiations.”

Only two!!! But . . . it was better than just me. Or even, just me, Janet and Justin. There are people in this world, I thought, whose names DON'T begin with a "J."

“Thank you,” I said. “I’ll be in touch as soon as I know where we are this morning.”

“We know ‘where you are.’” Worm said, apparently puzzled.

“Sorry; figure of speech again. I mean, I will communicate with you when I know whether I’ve been given clearance to make an offer to you. I will need you to not listen in for a while, okay?”

“Affirmative, Jessica James.”

When we arrived, we were taken straight to the Science Advisor’s suite, where an exhausted-looking Dr. Livingston was waiting for us. “Good morning,” she said with a weak smile. “Grant tells me you had a fun night, too.”

“I’d take it over sittin’ in an all-day meeting with Mr. Secretary Britt,” Janet said. “You okay, Averil?”

“I’ll do,” she responded.

“Has Grant learned anything from them?” I asked.

Livingston shook her head. “Not yet. For now, it’s enough to know there are still threats out there, so we can take appropriate measures. But we’ll take care of that. You’ve got more important things to think about. We’ve got an offer to put on the table, and Corbin will be here in half an hour to brief you personally.”

“Outstanding!” My spirits lifted immeasurably. Real progress! But . . . “Averil, I need to talk with General Aguia and his group for a couple minutes before Mr. Corbin gets here. Are they in the building?”

“Yes, back in the library. Do you need help finding it?”

I wanted to say yes, but the poor woman was dead on her feet. “We’ll manage. Honest. Get some sleep!”

She nodded her thanks, and we headed down the hall. Made a turn. Another . . . .

“Shit. We’re lost,” I said.

“We could start randomly opening doors,” Janet suggested. “Or maybe yodeling.”

“You know how to yodel?” I was surprised. But Janet was always full of surprises.

“Can’t say I've ever tried it,” she responded, “but this looks like as good a place as any to learn, don’t ya think?”

I did not have time to be lost! “Every time we come here, I feel like we’re trapped inside a CucKoo Clock!”

“A Cuckoo Clockwork Orange, maybe,” Janet said.

A door opened ahead of us, and Stanley Aguia’s head popped out. “Ah! I’ve spotted them!”

When we rejoined the group, I said, “This is going to sound like the set-up for a bad joke, but I’ve got good news and bad news. Heartbreaking news.”

Aguia raised an eyebrow, which fortunately is a readily interpreted query between humans.

“I can bring two of you with me today when I meet with the aliens. . . . But only two. I’m so sorry. It’s all they were willing to do.”

Aguia glanced at his colleagues, then turned back to me, an easy smile on his face. “It’s all good news, Jessica. Really. Who do you want to go with you and Janet?”

Janet shook her head. “I’ve met ’em and they’ve met me. This is your shot, guys.”

“You’re certain?” Aguia asked.

Janet nodded. “Honestly, I could use a bit more of what our security boys charmingly call ‘rack time.’”

I said, “Janet wouldn’t be able to help me negotiate, anyway. They’re insisting I do that alone. This is just for, I guess you’d say, cultural exchange.”

“So, who gets Wonka’s golden tickets?” Aguia asked.

“Your choice,” I said. “If I do the picking, my biases will inform the choice. And the point is to increase the alien’s exposure to diverse viewpoints.”

Aguia looked at his colleagues.

They looked at each other. Then back at Aguia.

And shook their heads.

“I’m sorry, Jessica,” the general said gently. “This is your mission. The aliens trust you. . . . And so do we.”

I wanted to protest, but there was no time. I knew who I thought the best choices were, I just didn’t trust myself to be right. “I’m so very sorry,” I said. “I wish I could bring all of you. Troi, Daichi . . . . we should leave as soon as Mr. Corbin’s done giving me the offer.”

Aguia’s face showed nothing but compassion. “Why don’t you head back to Averil’s office,” he suggested. “Janet, can you stay here? We should caucus with the ‘Away Team’ before they go.”

I left, feeling like a complete heel. I didn't want to see the hurt in Dave Grillo’s eyes, or Kayla Cormier’s. But I was soon in a solitary office with Luther Corbin, and I had to focus, fast.

“Good morning, Professor,” he said, standing and reaching out to shake my hand. “How’s your poker game?”

* * * * *

An hour later, Janet and I were sharing a car with Harris and Kurokawa. Mr. Grant had the wheel, and he was taking us away from the capital, where our unorthodox “beam up” would be less likely to attract attention.

“You’ll be fine, Jessica.” Janet said. “I mean, unless you start an interstellar war or something. That would be genuinely bad.”

“Would not recommend,” Troi agreed.

“I’ll try to bear that in mind,” I said, “though whether I can manage it without Janet along to keep me . . . humble? Well, we’ll just have to see, won’t we?”

Janet looked pleased. “Continuity is so important. Thank you for always being a jerk!”

“My pleasure, I assure you,” I assured her.

Grant stopped at a grassy knoll inside a small grove of hardwoods, probably forty minutes south and east of the Capitol. It felt like more.

We walked up to the top. “Great view from here,” Grant said.

“Keep her out of trouble, will you?” I asked him.

He looked up and squinted in the bright sunlight. “A man’s got to know his limitations.” His voice was gravelly.

Janet giggled, then said, “Game on, girl!”

I looked at my two companions. “Ready?”

They nodded, anticipation palpable.

“Three to beam up.”

We shot into the air – no gentle drift this time. I had the sense that the aliens intended to take the ship lower to further reduce our exposed time in the air.

“WaHOOOOO!” Troi squealed.

Daichi looked surprised, then exultant. “Banzai!!!!”

We stopped almost as quickly, then the view beneath us disappeared. We landed gently on our feet in what I thought of as the hold of the aliens’ ship.

“Superhero landing!” Troi exclaimed.

Worm was waiting for us. “Welcome, Ms. Harris. Kurokawa-hakase.” Astonishingly, he executed a short, fairly stiff, bow.

I recovered quickly enough to say, “Troi, Daichi, this is Ensign Worm.”

“Pleased to meet you, sir,” Daichi said, returning the bow.

Troi was staring at Worm intently. After a moment’s hesitation, she said, “I am deeply honored.”

“Please to me follow,” Worm said. “I introduce you to crew will now.”

I moved to follow them, but a voice behind me said, “Not you, Ms. James. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

I spun around. “Justin!”

He grinned. “In the flesh. Ready to do some horse trading?”

. . . . To be continued. In Theory.