Chapter 2
Decisions
Back in Europe Mario Vinchensa, the Duty Officer in Tracking at the ESA had not been idle, after his call to NASA, his next call was to ESA HQ in Paris, where he left a message for the Director General, Henry van Wolf, with a copy of the data package. Mario would not be on duty when the DG received the priority message but he was sure that he would get a telephone call soon after nine in the morning. NASA had also sent him their shots from HST-II along with the US Presidents suggestions for the consortium. Ten minutes later his blue telephone rang, the direct line to NASA, it was Doug Martins.
“Hi Mario, this is Doug Martins at NASA, you received the latest package I sent a few minutes ago?”
“Si, I mean yes, thank you, are you calling about this media release, asked Mario.
“I sure am, are you authorised to get this together, the President is anxious to get a statement out before the nuts and the gutter-press get hold of it,” explained Doug.
“No, I am afraid not, but I will include this in my message to the DG, I will put it as Very High Priority, and he will deal with it first thing.”
“OK that will have to do, I will wait for his call, it looks like I am going to be doing an all-nighter again; by the way, do you have the telephone number for Blake Northfield, who discovered the ship,” Doug asked.
“Yes I just spoke to him an hour ago, seems he's been up all night watching the craft, said he can't sleep.”
“Good, so I won't be disturbing his sleep,” said Doug, “we'll speak again, have a good day Mario.”
In Cornwall it was coming close to dawn and Blake was continuing to watch his discovery, just in case something happened. He'd used both infrared and ultraviolet filters on his telescope without detecting any emissions on any spectrum sector except the visible. Blake yawned for the tenth time in an hour and was just deciding to go to bed when his telephone rang, he rather expected it was his friend Ronnie at work. “Hello,” he said in a very tired tone.
“Is this Blake Northfield,” an American voice asked.
Waking up slightly Blake answered, “Yes, this is he, who is this?”
“This is Douglas Martins at NASA, Sky-Watch Program, sir, I just wanted to make contact and thank you for the discovery of the UFO out there, you did a swell job buddy.”
“Well thanks, you lot got on to it quickly,” said Blake.
“Your people contacted the ESA and they contacted us, as per our agreement for Sky-Watch.”
“You're the guys that watch for asteroids, yes?
“That's right, but our commission covers all near-earth objects, explained Doug, we have taken it to the President, that's how big this is, and he wants you and you wife to be a part of a management group on this, as a tracking engineer and you have plenty of experience in the area.”
“Well it depends on my employer Doug, but why my wife Jo, she has no experience in the field,” asked Blake.
“I believe you wife lectured in ancient languages, so she may be useful, if there are any aliens on board, or as it seems, it is abandoned for some reason, in which case we want to get it back to LEO. Then we need to form a team to back-engineer it if we can.”
“Yes she did, and she has kept up with everything since moving here.”
“Don't worry about your employer Blake, we will work something out on that score, the President wants to make sure you get full credit as the discoverer of the ship.” Anyhow, Blake, I just wanted to touch base to get you on board and reassure you that NASA are not going to walk in and take over. We propose that there will be six of us on the committee, you, your wife, two from the ESA and my Director and I, plus anyone we co-opt on. So we will be seeing you two soon, good night to you.”
“Well it's dawn here, but you have a good night, so-long,” said Blake as he hung up the phone, he walked into the house and shouted at the top of his voice, “Fancy a trip to the States, Baby?”
In Paris the streets were slick from the early morning shower, making the cobbles side streets slippery, but the main roads were already busy with incoming traffic bound for the city. In the leather back seat of one vehicle was Henry van Wolf, the Director General of Europe's Space Agency, the ESA. The official car was equipped with a secure internet connection, so Henry was able to access his e-mail during the fifteen minute journey to his office in central Paris, from his allotted apartment in Saint Germain. The inbox opened immediately as Henry placed his index finger on the finger-print pad. He immediately spotted the double priority mail by the flashing red envelope icon, it was from the duty officer in Italy. He tapped the screen and opened the message, read what Mario had written and opened the data package, he watched it for a full two minutes before he exclaimed, “Ouch Hell!” in his Netherlander's accent. The car pulled up outside the HQ building on Avenue Mario-Nikis, and Henry jumped out before the vehicle had actually stopped, then almost ran in through the front doors.
Henry's office was on the third floor and he decided to take the stairs rather than wait for the lift, where several people formed a queue, taking two or three steps at a time. His personal assistant was already at his desk and he stood as the DG burst in through the door, “George, get a Douglas Martins at NASA Sky-Watch, Washington on the telephone for me please as soon as you can, please.”
“Yes Sir,” said George, but his boss was already in his office. George took just four minutes to find Doug.
Henry reached for his telephone before it had finished buzzing, “Am I speaking to Mister Douglas Martins,” asked Henry.
“You are, and who is this please,” asked Doug.
“This is Henry van Wolf at the ESA, I have just received your package about the UFO discovery, is this for real, I mean is there a possibility that the image we see here is just space gas or something, you know, like the Martian face.”
“No sir, it's real enough, we have several conformations now, and we think it is unoccupied, no emissions of any kind, we have had Hubble staring at it for hours now using every tool we have and there is nothing, it just seems dead.”
“Could it be a Trojan Horse, a trap for us do you think,” Henry asked.
“I suppose so, but we won't know unless we can get out there,” Doug admitted, “which is one of our more immediate problems, the most immediate is getting a media release out before the crazy press gets hold of it, to be honest I am surprised that no one has picked it up by this time, it is not exactly insignificant in the sky.”
“Right, I see you need two nominees for the consortium panel, which I can do today, then just let me know when the first meeting will be. For now I will transfer you to our press office and our Chief Press Officer, he is British and a very good writer, I will send the data to him straight away so as he can review it while you talk.”
“Thank you Mister van-Wolf,” Doug offered, “one more thing before I leave you in peace, I don't suppose you have any vehicle that is capable of getting out there do you? We have heard rumours that you have something in development.”
“I have heard the rumours too, but sad to say our deep space personnel vehicle has not made it to prototype as yet,” said Henry, “I am sorry to disappoint you. Don't believe all you hear Mr. Martins. This is very exciting, so please keep us involved; I am transferring you now.”
“Mister Martins I assume, I am Jeremy Winston, senior press officer for ESA, I believe we have a media release to get together.”
“So it seems,” said Doug, “our President feels that it is a European discovery so the media release should come from Europe, and he is most insistent that Blake Northfield, get the credit for the discovery, his number is in the data-pack.”
“No problem Mr. Martins . . .”
“Please call me Doug.”
“As I was saying. . Doug, that is no problem, I will speak to Mr. Northfield later; would you like to leave it with me for a couple of hours and I'll submit something that we can kick around, old boy?”
“Sure, that would be great, we'd like to get it out in time for the US second editions and morning news shows.”
“So that gives us about a hour and a half to get it agreed; we can do that, under the circumstances,” said Jeremy, “This is so exciting Doug, I think I will be covering this story myself; I will speak to you in just over an hour, I have your direct number and I will send the piece through over the secure connection.”
“Speak later,” said Doug.
Forty minutes later the computer station did its usual 'ping-pong' sound and Doug, who was now half asleep in his chair, was startled by the noise. He he struggled to regain wakefulness and then pressed the return key, a document popped onto the screen, Doug rubbed his eyes and read:
ALIEN SHIP PARKS IN ORBIT
At around 10pm last night, a American man, now a naturalised British citizen, made the discovery of a lifetime. At about 10pm yesterday, Blake Northfield a resident of Coverack, in Cornwall happened to discover a giant space vehicle arrive and stop at about twice the distance of the Moon from Earth. Mr. Northfield, who is employed as Chief Engineer at the nearby Goonhilly Downs Earth Station, told me this morning that he noticed a flash in the night sky. Blake, being a keen amateur astronomer took pictures and video which were sent to the ESA who passed the information on to NASA in the United States. Both the ESA and NASA have confirmed the presence of the craft.
Both the ESA and NASA say that there seems to be no imminent danger as the craft seems to be dead in space. No emissions of any kind have been detected from the craft. NASA and the ESA are planning to investigate the craft and have set up a panel to manage this, and possibly reach the craft. The panel will include Blake Northfield and his wife Joanne, who is an ancient languages expert, two ESA representatives, yet to be assigned, and two NASA personnel. It is hoped that mankind will be able to interact with any aliens on board; as it seems likely that the craft is abandoned, to be able to learn its secrets and back engineer its systems.
Both NASA and the ESA have asked me to stress that there is no cause for alarm at this time as the craft seems to be devoid of energy of any kind. This however is an exciting discovery for mankind that proves that we are at least not alone in this universe. I am sure we will be hearing much more in the near future.
ESA Media Centre, Paris, France.
Almost as Doug read the last word his telephone buzzed, as he expected it was Jeremy Winston, at the ESA, “Will that do you Doug,” asked Jeremy.
“I think that's just about right Jeremy, nice and low key with just the facts,” answered Doug.
“I have contacts here with the European media, including the mid-morning news programs,” said Jeremy, “I'll get this out here and I will leave it to you Yanks to feed the story to your people, you have a bit more time over there.”
“Thanks Jeremy,” said Doug, as he returned the phone to its cradle.
It was late on Saturday morning when the Northfields were awoken from their delayed sleep, Blake rolled over and grabbed the receiver, “Hel-lo,” he said, still half asleep.
“Is this Blake Northfield,” asked a refined British voice.
“Yes it is, who is this please?”
“This is the BBC news-room sir, I wondered if we could have a chat,” said Malcolm Thatcher.
“What does the BBC want to talk to me about,” Blake asked in a rather annoyed manner.
“I'm the Deputy Editor, my name is Malcolm Thatcher.
“Should that mean something to me?”
“Probably not Sir, but it's about your discovery, the UFO,” continued Thatcher.
“What! Said Blake, now almost shouting in his sleep-deprivation temper, “It only happened last night how the hell did you find out so quickly?”
“There was a press-release from the ESA and NASA a few hours ago, may I call you Blake, sir?”
“Yea, sure, whatever,” Blake said as he started getting out of his bed.
“Who's on the phone Dear,” Jo asked sleepily.
Blake put his hand over the mouth-piece and whispered, “It's the BBC, about last night.”
“Arrrh!,” uttered Jo as she pulled the bed-covers over her head and crashed back onto the pillow.
“Right,” said Blake as he descended the stairs toward the kitchen and a cup of coffee, “what do you want to know?”
“We have much of the factual stuff Blake, but we'd like to get you into a studio for the evening news, give us the personal view, sort of speak,” explained Thatcher.
“Look Malcolm, I have been up all night and I really don't feel like going anywhere today, and my wife certainly doesn't.”
“Well what about tomorrow Blake, I have a slot on our political magazine between eleven and twelve-thirty,” asked Thatcher.
“No can do,” stated Blake, I am speaking at church in the morning and that's my priority”, stated Blake rigidly.
There was a silence for a while and Malcolm said, “Well can you get up to Truro, to BBC Radio Cornwall tomorrow evening, I could extend the local news bulletin, I am sure the other regions will want to take it up, considering the subject.”
“I guess, that's about an hour away, so unless something else comes up, it's do-able,” decided Blake.
“Please don't bother driving, we will send a car, and I will come down to Cornwall to meet you. Can I ask you one favour Blake, I am sure you will be approached by other news broadcasters, would you be kind enough to wait until after the BBC broadcast tomorrow before you agree to appear for anyone else?”
“You mean you want the exclusive,” stated Blake, “Well one thing I can guarantee you, I am not going to be doing any more of these than I really need to do, so yes, you can rely on that.”
“Thank you Blake, I appreciate that, the car will be with you around four tomorrow. Thank you again.”
At that moment Jo had walked into the kitchen, “Who appreciates what,” she asked, as Blake had put the phone on speaker whilst he started the coffee.
“BBC man, Malcolm Thatcher, we're on TV tomorrow night,” explained Blake.
“Oh no, this isn't going to turn into a media circus is it, said Jo, it was a rhetorical question so Blake never answered. “Just give me the coffee,” Jo said as she hugged Blake around the waist.
That Saturday the Northfield's telephone never stopped ringing, and by three in the afternoon, Blake decided to pull the BT plug from the socket. The TV were full of the story, somehow they had acquired pictures of both Blake and Jo, and had managed to corner Ronnie for an interview. Every news channel were running the video that Blake had shot through his telescope, along with dozens of artist's impressions of the craft and even the aliens, who they imagined had built such a machine. Thankfully no one had realised just how large the craft was, Blake thought that this fact alone, which had obviously been omitted from the press-release, would have the potential to start a panic. At around eight in the evening Blake's cell-phone vibrated off the coffee table, he checked the caller and saw it was Douglas Martins at NASA, so he answered the call.
“Hi Doug, manage to get some 'Z's'?”
“I got about six hours in the end,” said Doug, “I guess the media's been harassing you?”
“They sure have, I had to pull the phone, but I agreed to do the BBC tomorrow evening,”
“OK that's fine, try to keep it low-key,” advised Doug.
“That's a given, I'm certainly not into hype of any kind,”
“Glad to hear it Blake, about your visit back to the old country,” Doug lead into a new subject, “I have a tentative date for the first meeting of the panel, for Wednesday next week, how does that suit? You'd fly out on Tuesday, from New-quay to Heath Roe and then Washington direct, car to meet you at Dulles, you'll be staying at the Hyatt.”
“Wow,” said Blake, “you ain't' hanging about any are you.”
“No, the president has asked for all haste, and when the boss asks, the boss gets.”
“Hold a second,” Blake said to Doug, and then to Jo, “We OK to go to the states, leaving Tuesday?”
“Why not, college doesn't start for another four weeks yet, be a nice break,
“Hi Doug, yes that will be fine.”
“Right, I'll get you booked in to the Grand Hyatt on an open booking, we have reserved suites there all the time, Oh and your air-tickets will be waiting at the desk at New-quay, you flight is at seven in the morning and nine-twenty from Heath-Row, I have a car picking you up at five, you are on VIP tickets,” said Doug, I will try to drop in on Tuesday night to brief you both, it'll be good to meet you both.”
“Thanks Doug, see you Tuesday; and by the way, it's not New-quay, here you put the syllables together as one word, Newquay, like a pet name for a nuclear bomb 'nucie' OK.”
“OK I'll remember that, see you Tuesday.”
On Sunday night the car picked them up as promised and whisked them off to Truro, the capital city of Cornwall. Technically Cornwall could have been a separate country, as it was a Duchy, meaning it had a Duke or Duchess as its monarch, which was always the eldest son of the King or Queen of Britain. Cornwall also had it's own language, which thrilled Jo, and she made it her current hobby to learn the ancient tongue, which was closely related to Welsh. The ancient kingdom was called Kernow and the Cornish people are fearlessly defensive about their nationality. Truro was not always the capital of Cornwall, the town of Launceston, (called Lanson locally) closer to the modern Devonshire border once fulfilled that role until 1835 when Bodmin replaced it in the19th century. The BBC studios were situated overlooking the tidal river tributary of the Fal River which made Truro a port. The BBC had extended the news by fifteen minutes and the interview was going live to the whole of Britain and many European countries. The interviewer, some Irish guy that had a physics degree, was respectful but asked a lot of impossible questions about little green men and what did Blake think powered the craft; all of which Blake could not answer. He asked Jo how she felt about being married to the man who made first contact, but wasn't really interested in her reply. Then he asked Blake to to talk him through the video and stills that had been released, which he did, and the interview was over.
The interview was a chore, Blake thought, but Malcolm seemed pleased with the way it went. Monday was a blur of activity of packing and tying up loose ends, both family, friends and at Goonhilly Downs. As he had promised his leave had been organised, but it took several hours to do a hand-over to Blake's second in command. At four AM, on Tuesday morning, a BMW ten series pulled up outside their house; the driver dealt with all the luggage and suddenly they were on their way. When they arrived at Newquay, Cornwall International, they collected their tickets and were ushered out to the aircraft ahead of other passengers. Blake noticed several people pointing and telling others something about them as they crossed the terminal building, it was something he had never liked. Once on the aircraft no one bothered them, and an hour later they were on approach to 'the Heath'. A nice lady from American Airlines met them at the jet-way and escorted them to the first class lounge. At eight-thirty the same lady collected them, and, bypassing customs, they were again taken to the waiting aircraft and seated in the first-class cabin. The flight was a direct one, on the new super-sonic Boeing 790, flying at eight-hundred and seventy miles an hour the flight had been cut from just under eight hours to just over four hours. They seemingly had arrived in Washington at the same time as they had left Newquay. After landing a stewardess came and asked if they would wait until all other passengers had alighted the aircraft, a few minutes later they saw a car, an extended limo with NASA decals, drive up to the aircraft. The air- stewardess returned and asked Blake and Jo follow her, instead of using the jet-way they were taken down the crew steps to where Doug was waiting with an out-stretched hand.
“Welcome to Washington DC, and welcome home Blake,” he said.
“It's always good to come back for a while, let me introduce my wife, Joanne,” said Blake.
“Good to meet you Joanne,” said Doug as he shook hands.
“Just 'Jo' is fine Doug,” she said.
“Come on, your luggage is in the trunk and we have squared immigration and customs, so lets get you to your hotel and you can settle in,” they followed Doug into the car and the driver set off for the VIP gate and within thirty minutes, despite the rush hour traffic, they were on the George Washington Memorial Parkway. Another ten minutes they were pulling up outside of the Grand Hyatt Hotel. The driver hopped out to open the doors and an army of bell-boys descended on the car, taking the luggage in through the glass doors, another, more senior bell-hop took them to their suite in the express elevator. Their suite was on the tenth floor and Jo, never having been to Washington before ran to the nearest window, where she could see the top of the Washington Monument.
Doug, who had accompanied them to the room, said, “I hope this suit is to your liking.”
“It's wonderful,” answered Jo.
“Well then, I will see you around eight tonight, dinner down-stairs, OK?”
“Oh, right” said Blake, “we'll get settled in then, but I warn you, I may not be able to keep awake by eight o'clock tonight.”
“Just get some sleep this afternoon, and you'll be fine,” advised Doug, “I do it all the time; see you later then.” and Doug closed the door.
“I'm hungry,” said Blake, “let's go for another breakfast.”
Jo had insisted on taking a taxi-tour of Washington after breakfast, and satisfied that she had at least seen the White House, they returned to their hotel to follow Doug's advice, and get some rest. The twin beds were extra comfortable and they both fell into a deep sleep. It was six-thirty when their telephone rang softly and Blake awoke, it was Doug, “Thought I'd give you a heads-up, I'll meet you in the 'Cure Bar & Bistro' in ninety minutes.”
“OK, thanks Doug,” Blake said and roused Jo, “come on sleepy head, it's time to get ready for dinner.”
“Already,” Jo moaned as she sat up, “woo this bed is so comfy.”
They showered, had two cups of coffee and dressed and then took the elevator to ground floor, where they followed the signs for the Bistro. It was ten before eight and Doug was already there, waving from a private booth at the far end of the Bistro.
“Come my new friends, join me and order whatever you wish, can I I recommend the Rib-eye steak here, believe me, they are the best in Washington, the President gets these sent over occasionally, and all the vegetables they serve were still growing this morning.”
“Great, I'm starving, we seemed to have skipped lunch in favour of sleep,” Blake laughed.
Doug smiled, “Still an American at heart Blake, the car will collect you two at ten tomorrow, the meeting is scheduled for ten-thirty at HQ, the two reps from your ESA arrived this afternoon and went straight to their individual beds, not met them yet. Just to warn you, my Director, Atherton Bennet, who, with me are NASA reps by the way, says that the President will be joining us for a short time, during the afternoon.”
“What's he like,” asked Jo.
“He's an OK guy, puts you at ease, real casual,” said Doug. The remainder of the dinner was taken up with eating and Doug briefing them on the needs and format of the panel, which he thought, would be converted to a committee, quite soon and and get official status. At just after ten, the dinner ended and after a last brandy the three parted, thankfully, again, to their beds.