The Transport

Chapter Ten - CHARLES

"Tell me one thing," the President asked. He had stood up and paced the floor for a few rounds around the table, contemplating. "The ship came down during Truman's term and he set things up to protect the secret. Why was Kennedy involved?"

"Someone had proposed to open up TINCAN with a nuclear bomb," Charles explained and quickly added, "Kennedy denied the request."

"Yeah, that sounds what Cold War generals would come up with," the President rolled his eyes and turned serious again. "We have our collider up and running, ready to crack the egg. So, transport the Object to HEPCOL and do it."

Charles was quiet for a beat. "That is the path of planning, yes."

The President stared at Charles for a long time, swallowed, thinking, realization dawning on him. Quietly, very slowly, he said, "But should we really do it?" Then a small mirthless smile on his face turned into a single giggle. Then another one. He burst out into loud laughs, doubled over, sat down again and held his head, giggles turning into hick-ups. Patel left and came back with water-filled paper cup. The President thanked her and drank with small sips.

He turned back to Charles. "Let me guess, your play here is a cover-your-ass thing, so that future historians can decide that it was President Garrison Earhardt who screwed up the alien situation?"

"Maybe we can stage a photo-op where you swing a fist at an alien, Will Smith-style?" Charles suggested, referring to the famous Independence Day movie scene. He saw the no-nonsense stare of his President and shut up.

Patel had been quiet for a long time and had to clear her throat before speaking. "Are there any other meaningful risks apart from the usual crap like aliens inside the ship waiting for us, deadly viruses released when opening the tin can, a huge explosion flattening everything from here to the Rockies. Any other dangers?"

Charles went through the risk assessment he had memorized. "No, ma'am. Apart from the mentioned risks being quite real, there are only slight variations from those you mentioned."

The President sat down again and tapped on the table, looked between Patel and Charles. "Advise me. Should we go ahead with this mad idea to open the spaceship? Noona?"

"Can I print new business cards? Stellar Security Advisor, my new title?" the National Security Advisor wagged her head. "But seriously. My role is to advise you regarding the safety of our nation. We have enough conflicts here among us humans, why risk an encounter with aliens or the sicknesses they might bring along? I recall reading that the first settler's flu viruses killed almost 50% of the pre-colonial American natives. At best, the Object gives us an insight into advanced technologies. And I say this: whoever flew this ship to planet Earth has technology capabilities far, far, far ahead of ours. We are like Egyptians three thousand years ago, able to build stone pyramids and read the stars, but unable to understand the inside and meaning of an iPhone. Or a nuclear bomb."

"Anything in favor, in your eyes?"

"Of course, understanding this thing and its technology would give us an opportunity of unbelievable progress in so many areas. New energy sources, indestructible materials, interstellar space travel, whatnot." Patel added.

"Your take, Doctor Nauman? You want to continue the research that your predecessors gave up on?" the President asked.

Charles shrugged. "You are asking the wrong guy. I am sworn to secrecy, only emerging when someone needs to decide on the direction or clear the path. I'd love to know what is inside the Object. But is it worth it? I can't tell. I am the desk guy."

"Doc, I understand your position," the President said. "But this time I am ordering you to form an opinion and tell me. I am your President and I ask for your advice. You might not have the senior level of Noona, but I value your insight, all the same. If someone knows the Object, it's you. So speak up."

Charles swallowed and considered his opinion. "You know, I am a historian, and I see it from a different perspective, Mr. President. Human nature always seeks what's behind the horizon. We discover new physical or chemical effects, get insights into biology and transform it into technology. Sometimes slower, sometimes faster. Sometimes through systematic research, sometimes by sheer luck. Humans are a curious species, even if it kills us, occasionally. Despite setbacks, it is our nature to discover and explain the unknown. You say no today, it means no for today. Not a no forever. TINCAN will be patient. It lay dormant for so many years, it will lie dormant for another hundred. The inevitable is just delayed by some generations. But at a certain point another leader will face the same decision as you do and will decide differently. So why not act today instead? Proceed with the plan, Mr. President."

"Is it possible that after almost seventy years, there is anyone alive inside? I mean not a virus or micro-stuff, but real aliens?" The President looked at his advisor.

No answer came back.

"What is my decision power here, Charles? You are the Gatekeeper, outside of any oversight. Is my decision even binding?"

"Sir, you overstate my role. I keep the secret safe and the compartments intact, that's it. I am a single person working as a facilitator, not a state within the state. If you told me to shelve the project for another fifty years, I would do it. If you told me to brief the Washington Post, I would do that, too. My task is to pass the secret along to the next generation of presidents and scientists."

"And if I told you to destroy any material, bury the Object in a big hole and put soil on it? You would do it?"

"Sure. You are the commander-in-chief."

"Could I order you to be the last Gatekeeper? Not to pass on the secret? Have it stopped with you?"

"On your word, the Gatekeeper role and the project as a whole would stop with me," Charles confirmed.

"Little mercies. Apart from the fact that we don't know your peers. In case there are more." The President stood up again and once more stared out of the window to think. He was a dried-out alcoholic, sober for eleven years and counting. But there were times where he wished for a stiff drink.

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How will the President decide? Call off the transport?