AmEarth

(Monday, March 31)

Scott and Peter were having cheerios with fresh blueberries and milk at the kitchen counter. Peter was reading a large flexible wafer with the news on and Scott was texting Cate on his wafer. They seemed not to talk much during their morning routine, but Scott had an itch.

“Dad?”

“Yep?”

“When Trump announced the alien situation, it seems like the earth fell pretty quickly into compliance with AmEarth. Why weren’t there more countries like Bolivia?”

“Hmm. Where is this going?”

“No. It’s just history. I’m trying to understand for my final report in Mr. L’s class.”

“You’re not going to start some conspiracy theory like yesterday, are you?”

“Nothing to do with that. This is for Mr. Landon’s class.”

“Well, even before Trump confirmed the existence of other beings in the universe, the world was experiencing massive technological breakthroughs—one after another. It was a flood of technological capabilities that humanity could never have imagined. In retrospect, it feels like we should all have known that something was going on,” Peter began.

“That’s funny. Mom said the same thing about NASA yesterday. I asked her and she said, ‘We should have known.’ Who’s this ‘we’?” Scott asked.

“‘We’ is all of us. People in general. Well, smart people in general, that is,” Peter said.

“You mean common sense?”

“Yes. We should have seen it. Now we have the information and everything makes sense,” Peter finished with a sigh.

“I seem to be confused about so much of it. In class, Mr. L always talks about the Finnish example and Nokia. What’s the story with Nokia?” Scott asked.

He kept eating his Cheerios.

“Nokia, Google, Apple, Cisco—gosh, there are so many examples! Nokia, however, is probably the best one, which is why it’s used in school. In the early days of telephone communications, there was no way of even imagining that we would all have cellular phones, let alone these flexible wafers with GPS attached to our clothing. It was all wire and copper cables to send messages. Humans were still installing copper wires by dropping them from ships all across the oceans, followed by fiber optic cable, as late as the year 2000!”

Peter paused and ate a few bites, staring off into space and planning his next barrage of information.

“The communications between the US and the aliens started about sixty five50 oro years ago. The first reply from the aliens that aptured on a dish was rkia, Finland. This fact was kept from the world by an agreement between the Finnish and American governments known as the “Nokia Accord.”. In t, the technological exchange was supposed to have been kept secret. Well, after a few decadesyearsm this tiny country in the middle of nowhere, out comes the strongest cellular phone company in the wWorld It was ridiculous. Everyone had a Nokia phone; they were tiny and worked ten times better than anything the world had ever seen! They called them Nokia, which really pissed off the U.S., eause not only did they break the aAccor, but they even had the gall to call the company by the name of the city where the first contact was made!”

Scott could see that his father knew the history of AmEarth better than anyone else in his life.

“So the US was behind in its technology?” Scott queried.

“Exactly. So the government leaked secrets to US tech companies to see what they could do with the information. In a few years, Nokia was on its knees to the likes of Apple. We got Google and faster Wi-Fi, faster routers, faster everything. Even solar energy, which had been written off as a pipe dream, suddenly became profitable.”

“Amazing.”

“It’s nice talking to you about all this, but I have to go. It’s the last day of my Foreign Affairs job and the first day of my job with President Chen.”

“But you didn’t explain why the countries merged so easily.”

“Another day, Scott. I did digress, but it all ties in.”

“Thanks, Dad. Break a leg!”

“Thanks, son.”

Peter left his home and drove his new Audi-S8 toward the Saw Mill River Parkway and the perpetually slow West Side Highway. He arrived at his office building’s underground parking lot and used his reserved spot one level down. He went in the elevator and up to his office. It was his last day as Foreign Affairs deputy of the ACA. That thought resonated with him as each floor passed. His office was on the fifty-first floor of the building and faced the west skyline of Manhattan, providing a wonderful view between the tall buildings. He called in his assistants and all his staff. As soon as he saw the entire staff present, he began.

“Welcome, everyone. Thanks for taking the time to gather here. I wanted to announce that President Chen has offered me the position of minister of communications for alien affairs. I wanted to inform you all that I have accepted the position,” Peter stated.

His announcement was met by a round of applause. A chorus of congratulations followed.

“Bravo!”

“Well deserved.”

“Congratulations.”

Many approached him and shook his hand.

“I do not know if I can bring any of you along to my new post,” Peter added. “I am not even aware of the precise situation, but it is a ministerial position with high clearance level, so I expect that it’s an improvement, although I will miss this job immensely. Truly, it has been an absolute pleasure to work with you and I enjoyed every minute of our collaboration to make AmEarth whole. We all helped to deliver on a promise to the human race.”

Amid the applause from his staff two men in dark suits suddenly appeared and made their way forcibly through the ten or so people between Peter and the door.

“Mr. Peter Johansen?” one the Secret Service agents, a squat, serious-looking individual, asked.

“Yes. That’s me,” Peter responded.

“We’re here to escort you to your new office. Please follow us.”

“Nice to meet you; and you are?”

“That is not important.”

“It is to me.”

“Barnes, sir.”

“Well, Barnes, I do need to take some of my personal belongings. Can I have five minutes?”

Thrown off by Peter’s humanity, the Secret Service agent was confused as to how he should respond; in that pause, Peter began to pick up the framed photos off the desk. After he had placed a few more items in an empty cardboard file box, Peter looked up and noticed that Barnes was not happy. He looked at him with questioning eyes.

“You can send for the rest of it later. We need to go, sir,” Barnes insisted.

They took Peter down the elevator to the basement executive parking area and into a large black SUV. Agent Barnes and his assistant entered the van and Barnes told the driver to depart. Peter had been driving through this parking lot every day for years and did not expect them to go down the ramp, as opposed to going up and exiting to the outside. The van circled down five more flights before going straight to the end of the lowest parking level. There, it was dark and lonely; rarely did anyone park way down there, and the SUV signaled ahead. Peter was speechless. A great wall of steel began to slide open, revealing a dark tunnel. The car entered this tunnel and the concrete door immediately closed behind them.

“Where are we?” Peter asked.

“All in good time, sir,” Barnes responded coldly.

Only when the concrete door closed did the lights return and Peter was able to see the full length of the tunnel ahead. It was unbelievably long; in fact, the end was not visible because it ramped down for a long distance and obviously ramped up farther away. The SUV driver gunned the accelerator and they began traveling through the tunnel at high speed.

“We’re moving east, right?” Peter asked.

“You’re a genius.”

Barnes pointed to the rear view mirror that sported a red E in the LED display.

“Oh. I didn’t see that,” Peter mumbled, thoroughly confused.

They traveled under the East River in a private tunnel that must have cost tens of millions to build. Peter later discovered that it connected the former United Nations, now the ACA, to Brooklyn. He wondered when they had built it, and more importantly, why. From the car’s side window, he could see that the lighting and the concrete walls looked ageless and sterile.

At the end of the tunnel, they reached a wall that they signaled open once again with a sequence of flashing lights. The lights in the tunnel turned off and a matching steel door slid open onto another subterranean parking lot. The van went straight into this parking lot toward the area nearest the elevator.

“Go to the main floor. You will be greeted there,” Barnes declared, opening the door.

Peter grabbed his cardboard box, but Barnes stopped him.

“We’ll take that to your office, sir.” Barnes said.

“Thank you.”

Peter entered the stainless steel and marble elevator car and rode up to the L level. When the doors opened, he was blinded by sunlight streaming directly into his eyes. He could not see what was happening until he heard the recognizable voice of Supreme President Chen from directly in front of him. As his vision cleared, his first emotion was slight embarrassment. He hadn’t expected him to be so short. President Chen was dressed in an impeccable gray suit tailored to fit his small size, and he wore a white shirt and striped blue-and-red tie. He looked exactly as he always did—meticulous and presidential perfection.

“Peter, how are you?” President Chen said.

“President Chen! I’m a bit confused, to tell you the truth.”

“Welcome to the Shadow White House. It is in this building that most of the critical governing happens. I don’t mean to say that your job at the ACA is not important; it is—or was—but this is where the real decisions are made.”

They walked through the modern concrete, marble, and glass lobby of the building. President Chen escorted Peter alone, with no security detail in sight. Peter followed him outside through the main revolving doors so that he could appreciate where they were. The building was a skyscraper, facing Manhattan without any obstruction. The exterior was magnificent, made of glass and wood colored marble that looked solid, yet light. Architecturally, it had a single feature that made it ultra-modern—it was twisted in the middle. It was similar to a long rectangular block of Play-Doh that had been twisted right in the middle. It created an amazing effect. Those offices in the shrunken middle would surely have some tangled and interesting-looking windows. Peter had seen and loved this building before; it was beautiful. He wondered if his office would have a view of the UN building.

“Architecture Parlant,” President Chen said with a perfect French accent.

“Excuse me?” Peter asked.

“The building, Peter—the building is saying what it is. The simplest example of Architecture Parlant would be a hamburger shop that looks like a hamburger.”

“I see. I get it. But how is this skyscraper doing that?”

“AmEarth is strong, yet flexible; you see?”

“Ah…very nice. Very nice, indeed.”

Peter contemplated the beauty of the architecture, but doubted that many would see this meaning as plainly as President Chen did.

“Who was the architect?” Peter asked.

“This was the last creation of I.M. Pei. It was found in his notebook as he was contemplating an idea for AmEarth. He was 103 when he conceptualized it,” President Chen said proudly.

“He was Chinese?”

“Chinese-American, a little like myself.”

“Interesting.”

“In my case, being half-Chinese was useful. It helped ease the entry of the largest economy in the world to AmEarth.”

Neil Chen changed his facial expression.

“Excuse me, Peter,” he said. Then he touched his right ear delicately. “What is it, Rosemary?”

He looked away from Peter and talked into a minuscule headset that coiled automatically from behind his right ear to his mouth.

“Set up a meeting of the Joint Chiefs as soon as possible. We will begin the operation. Thanks, Rosemary.”

President Chen hung up and the coiled microphone retreated behind his ear.

“Follow me, Peter.”

President Chen led Peter to his office on the building’s ninety-seventh story. In the elevator, he pushed a code into a pad, and then pressed his thumb on the glass panel. The elevator opened to reveal that the entire floor was the executive office. he few walls and pillars were veneered in book-matched marble slabs. The marble gave the space an ultra-elegant and executive feel. The doors were glass and the partitions were floor-to-ceiling glass, so everyone could share the exceptional view. President Chen’s office was in the corner, facing the U. to the west and south toward Staten Island. When he sat in his office, everyone in the floor could see him through the glass walls. As he motioned to Peter to sit, he pushed a button on his desk and all the walls of glass, as well as the glass door, changed to a dark wood color. There was a nano gas in the vacuum between the glass panels that changed depending on the frequency the user chose. President Chen liked this wood-like brown and privacy was immediately established in the office.

“Peter, we are going to clear you to level five. At this level, you will know everything there is to know about the true nature of AmEarth. You will be cleared to learn about alien events and information not anywhere in the public domain. You cannot share any of this, even with your spouse or children. I know you have sworn to this type of secrecy in the past, but you will need to do so again,” he explained.

“Of course,” Peter said.

President Chen handed Peter a glass wafer that was lit with a circle in the middle.

“Do you solemnly swear to uphold and defend AmEarth, as well as its rules and regulations, so help you God?” President Chen said.

“I do.”

Peter placed his thumb on the glass, effectively registering his print for the new clearance level.

“You are entering the highest structural level of AmEarth, and you will need to be loyal. As you are aware, treason is unacceptable and remains the only crime punishable by death in AmEarth. You understand this?” President Chen said.

“Yes, sir!”

“All you will see and learn here must be used to serve the greater good, and we must trust AmEarth to place the best interests of the world as its highest priority. The survival of our species depends on the next and last phase of the World Protection Project. We are close to closing all the gaps.”

Peter remained quiet, sensing that at this point, he should answer, not ask.

“I hired you because of your skill in communications. No one had cracked Peru, Costa Rica, and Bolivia, but you did it! Now, let me ask you, if you knew that the Keplerian species was going to send a nuclear bomb our way, what would you do?”

Peter was shocked. Here was the president of AmEarth, asking him for advice on a potential doomsday scenario.

“First, I would need to be certain that the threat was real, but how could we confirm it? I don’t know if we could until it was too late. Second, I would dedicate all resources to finishing the WPP, so the honeycomb could stop the device from entering our atmosphere. Third, I would keep the information bottled up, as mass chaos and hysteria would ensue if people knew.” Peter answered as rapidly as the thoughts came to his mind.

“Bravo, Peter. I knew you were the right man for this job,” President Chen said with a hint of pride.

He pressed a button and his assistant entered with a tray of small sandwiches, scones, and a tea set.

“Please, Peter, let me offer you some tea. This is really the only English pleasure I enjoy,” President Chen joked.

He motioned to Peter as he moved to the large living room on the other side of the office.

“Thank you,” Peter said.

Peter sat and was served tea. President Chen remained silent until the assistant left and closed the door. Then he took a small sip of tea and continued.

“Peter, nothing we discuss can be communicated unless we decide to do so, which is why I need to pick your brain. We have knowledge of the potential threat that I just mentioned,” President Chen continued.

Peter gulped and choked on a scone. He had not been prepared for such a serious hypothetical situation becoming a reality in the space of a second. He went white and felt the blood rush to his head. He struggled, but remained cool.

“We know this not because we can see a spaceship coming with a bomb, no…It is something awful that happened in our past. And as you know, we can’t undo our past,” President Chen said.

There was a silence, which Peter used to imagine wildly what President Chen was hinting at. President Chen seemed calm, but wreathed in mystery. A lightbulb went off over Peter’s head.

“Preemptive measures? Was that our preemptive measure?” Peter trailed off, his confidence from moments earlier somewhat dissipating.

Peter suddenly looked pale, and expressively revealed his disappointment in humanity.

“I’m afraid so. Yes,” President Chen confirmed.

“Who?”

“Reagan.”

The fortieth president of the United States. Of course. Peter knew of the man. Peter wondered why he was being thrown into the path of fate at this particular moment. President Chen had some Reagan-like qualities about him and Peter remembered the famous quote.

“Trust, but verify,” Peter said softly, almost inaudibly.

“Did you say, ‘Trust, but verify’?” President Chen asked.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to say it out loud, it just sort of popped into my mind. You know it was a famous Reagan quote.”

“Yes, of course I know. It is just that we can’t trust—not with this situation.”

“Exactly. So what will we say?”

“That is exactly why you just became my new minister of communications. AmEarth needs a fresh face, a fresh language, and some modicum of trust. You have all that, which makes you the man for the job. We want to communicate and inform so that people react with trust.”

“But how can we verify the threat?”

“Like I said, we cannot. So we must assume that it exists. You understand?”

“Yes, sir. You can count on me.”

“Here is your brief. I expect the text of your announcement by tomorrow.”

President Chen handed Peter a file and clicked the button that turned his office into an instant fishbowl. They could now see all the personnel working busily at their different stations and offices.

“Thank you for this opportunity, sir,” Peter said.

Chen nodded and smiled. “Get to work.”

President Chen’s secretary, Rosemary, escorted Peter to his new office. It was on the northwest corner of the forty-eighth floor and had windows wrapping around at an angle, like draperies in the wind. This level was in the “flexible” part of the Shadow White House skyscraper and the corner was rounded, making his office the shape of a baseball field. This office was also in an area of the building that overhung the footprint of the square below, so close to a window that the view was vertigo-inducing as there was no continuity below. Peter realized that the building was as large as one of the twin towers destroyed in the infamous 9-11 tragedy. Those towers had been enormous, just like this one, and even had their own zip codes. Here, in a single building, all of the top personnel of the government Stuld be in a meeting with the pPrsident at the push of an elevator button. It was brilliant and efficient. He wondered why this had never been done in the past. After all, skyscrapers had been around for centuries.

In his office, he found all his papers and personal effects from his prior position, as well as his cardboard box with his family portraits. He pulled out a frame with all four of them smiling in front of the lake and mountain background of a trip to Jackson Hole. A familiar voice greeted him.

“Mr. Johansen,” Mary said.

“Mary! Hello! I’m so glad you agreed to move with me,” Peter said to his long-time secretary.

“Rob and Sandra are already here.”

“Good. I could only keep you three. This will be a fresh start for all of us. I don’t want things to move exactly like before.”

“Okay.”

“Can you get me a cup of coffee?”

Peter sank into his chair with the full weight of the information that had just been given to him. Ronald Reagan had taken preemptive measures that would only reach their destination well after his death. How selfish and stupid that had been? However, in his defense, what if the aliens were aggressive and had attacked first? Wasn’t offense the best defense? Weighing these kinds of scenarios was a pastime of Peter’s, but now that it was really happening, he realized that the outcome was bad in both cases. The only solution would have been a truce with a standing threat, like the Cold War and its mutually assured destruction. Only then would the two parties survive. How could this be stopped from happening? If only he could communicate in real time with them; why did they have to be so far away? Twenty-three point five light years was more than his mind could even comprehend.

He looked around and found that the bent window wall was beautiful, despite its unsettling view. His office had a small living room in it, with one nice wall where he could hang a painting. He considered bringing his old rusted steel sign that read Franklin St., which was holed up somewhere in his garage. It would look amazing and would blend the memory of Benjamin Franklin with his love for the subway station near his New York City apartment. Now, he hoped that Mary would be bringing him as good a cup of coffee as she usually had in the old Foreign Affairs office.

“Your coffee, Mr. Johansen,” Mary announced.

“Thanks. It smells delicious.”

“You have a call on line one. It’s President Chen.”

“Thanks Mary; give me some privacy. Hold all my calls.”

“Of course.”

Mary left and closed the door behind her.

“Mr. President?” Peter said.

“Peter?”

“Speaking.”

“Before I forget, I want you to bring your family to the White House Correspondents’ Dinner. I think they would really enjoy it.”

“They certainly would. I appreciate it, Mr. President.”

“I will send the invitations to your home.”

“Thank you.”

“Have you read the brief?”

“Sir? I’m sorry, but I just sat down in my office.”

“Read it. Don’t wait any longer.”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

Peter heard the click of President Chen hanging up. He immediately opened the brief envelope and found the first document stamped boldly with the title: TOP SECRET. He took a sip of Mary’s perfect coffee as his eyes fell on the first lines. The brew was even better than the ones at Foreign Affairs.

TOP SECRET

Problem: President Ronald Reagan, during his tenure from 1981 to 1989, began a campaign of hostility toward the aliens in Kepler 3763, despite there being no evidence of any hostility from them toward us. The first alien communications, representing a response to our friendly contact, were received by Earth once Reagan turned on the policies of his predecessors and sent faster rockets with more aggressive payloads. The Freedom of Information Act of the United States kept this Reagan Era information locked up for nearly twenty-five years. To the best of our knowledge, the Reagan Administration used NASA to deliver biological viruses and electronic computer viruses in the hopes of eliminating the alien society. The payload of those rockets was not capable of sending nuclear weapons.

Solution: Communications campaign to be launched, informing the public that NASA will finish the WPP honeycomb to prevent the passage of any hostile rockets launched by the aliens. Also, an information campaign is to be initiated with the aliens to discredit Reagan and distance AmEarth from the policies he began. Unfortunately, this campaign will not reach them for 23.5 years. We hope this campaign with the aliens will eventually repair the relationship and allow us to revert to a more peaceful interaction with them.

Potential Issue #1: Alien attack or attacks come to earth. We have no way of knowing what kind of threat this will be.

Potential Issue #2: WPP fails to provide adequate protection for Earth.

Conclusion: Inform the public as to the alien threat; prevent panic by using the WPP honeycomb structure as a safety net, and by stating that the threat is not known to exist as a fact.

Peter was practically hyperventilating; the information that had just been handed to him represented his wife’s fears to a T. The channels and personalities that preached hatred and fear would all be proven right. How could he make people feel safe while revealing this threat? That was the challenge he was now tasked with solving. He took another sip of his coffee and looked out of the angled window. It was an impossible one-of-a-kind situation he had been thrown into and it was oddly fitting to be staring out of those skewed windows at the twisted gravity of the world.