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“Can you see okay?” Sefanganjo reached a long slender arm past Lanjo to the control panel, turning a potentiometer with the sixth digit of his right hand. The image in front of them sharpened.
“Yes, but I think we need to increase the contrast. Using video transmissions from Earth to their Moon for the evaluation was a good idea,” Lanjo grimaced cheerfully. “And provided an excellent reason to go off-planet. I always wanted to visit this solar system.” He pushed a button on the panel and the contrast increased slightly. “There, that’s better. I think this will greatly enhance the evidence we need to present to the council. They are an interesting species. I didn’t expect that to happen. The human race is full of surprises.”
Sefanganjo grimaced in return. “They’re not so unlike us, I think. I hope the vote goes in their favor.”
“Me, too.”
“Prejudice exists, but humans also have the capacity to overcome prejudice. We need to make sure and include this in our report,” commented Lanjo.
“I’ve already written it up,” Sefanganjo replied. “It’s one of my favorite parts, their ability to change how they think. I wonder, is it a universal trait?”
“Theoretically, yes, but we don’t have enough empirical data,” Lanjo observed. “When we consolidate our findings, we will be able to determine how prevalent it is.”
“The only thing left to be examined is technical aptitude. If we can prove their technology has progressed to an acceptable level, we can present enough evidence to the council to initiate a First Contact.”
Lanjo sighed. “For that, we’ll have to wait and see if they manage to return to the Moon utilizing their current technology.”
“Maybe we’ll still be here if they succeed,” Sefanganjo replied hopefully. “I’m going to ask to be part of the First Contact, if it’s approved.”
“You’ll have to get in line,” Lanjo replied, grimacing. “As the humans would say, I’ve already called dibs.”
Inside Cycle Life Fitness, the stench of sweat and determination filled the air. The song “Danger Zone” blasted from the speakers. Tom put his head down and pedaled harder and faster, images from the movie Top Gun flitting through his mind. He envisioned himself flying an F-14 Tomcat fighter jet, his heart pounding in his chest. He glanced at the heart rate monitor on his smartwatch and noticed a text from his boss.
Without more capital, their nuclear fusion research would be shut down in a matter of weeks, leaving him, the chief scientist on the project, jobless. His boss was trying to get a meeting with the Secretary of Energy to request additional funding, but Tom didn’t want to think about that right now. He needed to train for his upcoming bike ride. The text could wait. He put his head back down and closed his eyes, zooming through the skies. Cycling helped him forget his work and marital troubles, at least for a little while.
Two songs later, Tom got off his bike and wiped it down. His breathing steadied to a more normal rate. Dabbing the sweat streaming down his forehead with his towel, he lifted a soaking wet wrist and pushed the button on his smartwatch. The text from Darryl read, Meeting in 2 hours. Be there. Conf. Room 5D.
“Yes!” Tom jumped up and pumped his fist, then froze, his mind whirling. Oh, crap.Conference Room 5D was on the Hill. His boss sent the text fifteen minutes ago. He’d barely have enough time to go by his house and change out of his sweaty T-shirt and shorts. He lifted his damp T-shirt up off his chest and sniffed. Yuck . . . He’d better get moving. Even if he cut it close, he could slip into the back and be there for technical questions.
Tom jogged through the fitness center parking lot. Squinting in the bright sunlight, he could see a bright red car next to his with its hood popped open. A brunette dressed in business casual was circling it. Her pace was short and jerky as she motioned with one hand and held her cell phone to her ear with the other. He glanced at his watch. He could offer to help, if he hurried.
The woman removed the cell phone from her ear, dropping it into the bag on her shoulder as he approached. She took in his sweaty disheveled appearance and her nose crinkled. She met his gaze with an unreadable expression.
He cleared his throat. “Uh, looks like you’re having some car trouble.”
She bit her lip and nodded. “I can’t get it to start.”
Salty sweat stung his eyes and pooled under his arms as the sun beat down on the asphalt parking lot. She wasn’t sweating at all. He surreptitiously rubbed his hands on his pants. “Would you like me to take a look?”
“Well . . . sure. That’d be great.”
He hastily stuck out his hand. “I’m Tom Whitaker.”
“Nice to meet you, Tom Whitaker.” Instead of grasping his hand, she reached into her bag and pulled out some papers. She offered them to Tom and he instinctively closed his hand around them.
“Tom Whitaker, you’ve been served.” She smiled sweetly. She turned back to her Toyota CR-V, closed the hood, got inside and started it up. She rolled the window down. “Sorry, Tom. It’s just the job. I got bills to pay.” She rolled the window back up, put the car in drive and pulled around him. He watched as her perfectly running car exited the parking lot.
Leaning against his car door and skimming the divorce papers, Tom’s jaw clenched. He was 0—2 in the relationship department. The infamous Hotter‘N Hell Hundred endurance bicycle ride he was training for was a metaphor for his life: A long, hard ride that could possibly incapacitate him physically and mentally. Yeah, perfect metaphor.
He folded the divorce papers and shoved them into his pocket. Opening his car door, he slid into the driver’s seat and turned the key in the ignition. Rarrrr-rarrrr-rarrr. He turned the key again, rarrrr-rarrrr-rarrr. “Uggghhhh!” Tom slammed his fists down on the steering wheel. He tried to crank the engine yet again and this time it didn’t even turn over. He would have to call an Uber and leave his car, if he were to have any hope of making it to the meeting on time. The quick shower and change of clothes he had hoped for was out of the question.
No transportation, a two-hour notice for a meeting that could dictate the future of their entire nuclear fusion program, and he just got kicked in the gut. On top of all that, he literally stank. Not exactly how he had thought his day would go when he got out of bed this morning. Yeah, the Hotter’N Hell . . .
Tom shook his head in an effort to clear his thoughts and focus on his current problem. He opened the Uber app on his cell phone and requested a ride. He wished he wasn’t so far away from the Hill. It was going to be close. He locked his car and leaned against the hood, scanning the parking lot for his ride to approach. “Come on, come on, come on,” he repeated under his breath.
No, it couldn’t be.
Tom pulled up the app. Red Toyota CR-V. Brunette driver. He checked the time—way too late to request another driver. The CR-V rolled up to the same spot it had exited a scant ten minutes ago. The woman in the driver’s seat rolled the window down and gave him another sweet smile. “Did you request an Uber, Tom?”
Tom’s legs were lead weights as he stood gaping at her.
“Come on, get in. I’m just a girl trying to make a living.” She handed him an old towel. “Do you mind putting that down on the seat first? I’d rather not get your sweat all over my backseat.”
Tom numbly spread the towel out, got into the back, and closed the door. She turned and looked at him over the seat. “It looks like you’re headed to D.C. Some of the streets have been closed for a visiting VIP. I’ll do my best, but no guarantees I can get you there by your requested time.”
Without waiting for a response, she sped out of the parking lot and onto the highway ramp. Tom sagged into the seat and wiped the sweat from his forehead with a shaky hand. He stared out the window, willing the car to make it to the meeting on time. Even if he wasn’t the one going up front, his boss would be mad at him for being late, especially if Darryl had managed to get a meeting with the Secretary of Energy and not just one of his subordinates. He settled deeper into the seat and closed his eyes, thankful the driver chose not to make any attempts at conversation.
He’d been wrong. The Hotter’N Hell would be a piece of cake compared to this.
