Forgotten Songs...Inclusive

But just then the BMW pulled into the station -- and right up behind Sherman's Ferrari.

The door opened and Debra Sorensen stepped out and stretched, then went over and began filling up her car. Sherman shrugged to Dana who then went ahead and filled the Ferrari's tank.

And then Sorensen walked up to him.

"There's a tracking device in your car," she said, and Sherman nodded.

"Your father?"

She nodded. "He's a part owner in the dealership. They've been watching you for a while."

"They?"

Sorensen shrugged. "You'd better ditch the car, unless you're looking for a confrontation."

"Or...I could...?"

"Ride with me? What a brilliant idea, Professor Sherman. There are probably only about a dozen tracking devices in this car, so...?"

"Okay, Miss Sorensen. Your move. What's it going to be?"

"It's supposed to appear in seven hours, right?"

"What are you talking about?"

Debra shook her head. "Don't be so...coy, okay?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Then you don't need me. But, oh, I do know where you're going, Professor," she added.

"Oh? Do you?"

"Yes, of course. The signal. You'll need the 20 inch to see it, right?"

Sherman hesitated. If Sorensen had figured it out...how many others had, as well?

When he'd been climbing in Switzerland -- that faraway summer now more than twenty years distant -- and when that mysterious object in Sagittarius had begun beating out irregular pulses of light, Sherman had watched and watched. Then it hit him...

The pulses weren't random.

They, in fact, constituted an enormous data stream of binary information.

And the implications were staggering. Not only was there an intelligence "out there" -- they were communicating. With us. From at least ten thousand light years away. And it wasn't just that. As he'd sat outside at the mountain hut after their first practice climb above Zermatt, he'd started decoding the stream.

And once he had it all, according to the data stream an object was going to appear in our sky. The data indicated the date when the object would appear, and it also gave a right ascension and declination in the sky, all of which indicated the senders knew one hell of a lot about us in the here and now. And nothing of the sort was possible. It just couldn't be.

Or, was it?

They -- whoever the hell they were -- had apparently sent the message something like ten thousand years ago and it had arrived here on earth only twenty years ago, so they'd -- apparently -- wanted to give us plenty of time to get in place to make the observation, but they were also familiar with our Gregorian calendar and our system of orienting on the planet's surface using the coordinate system of latitudes and longitudes, which had to mean they'd been here before, and recently. Since the 1500s, anyway. Staggering. He'd been speechless and preoccupied ever since, and of course he'd been waiting for this night.

Which had led him to an even more interesting question. How many other observatories had decoded the message? And why was everyone keeping the information secret?

And Deb Sorensen, this spoiled, money addled princess who he'd first run across while he was at MIT, had finally enrolled and taken his intro class at Loyola Marymount. And she'd done well, even with the heavy math involved. And then he'd finally watched her recordings of the event, the ones she'd made from the roof of her home in Beverly Hills. He'd asked for a copy of the files and then analyzed the spectra and then a deeper mystery was revealed. Whoever sent the message had apparently used a massive battery of laser cannon to send the pulsed message. But then he realized if that was true then the light had to have been focused along an extremely narrow path. And that meant the message had been either aimed at where Earth would be in ten thousand years, or at another planet along the beam. But the Gregorian data and lat/lon datums ruled that out, which was, in a way, really-really-frightening.

But he'd also realized Debra Sorensen wasn't the lightweight he'd always assumed, or that she often pretended to be. If she'd decoded the stream on her own, and he realized it was possible she had help, then she was worth keeping along. If nothing else, she might prove useful when they got to the observatory.

"Yes, I'm assuming the 20 inch will do, but it's a safe bet that every telescope on the mountain will be trained on those coordinates."

"And there's nothing there now?"

"Perhaps a faint star, at least as of last night."

Debra looked at her watch. "Well, we'd better get going," she said, looking at Dana in her skintight CatWoman suit and rolling her eyes. "Would you like to ride with me for a while?"

"No, I'm fine. Enjoying the night air and my new car..."

"Please? I'd really enjoy the company," Deb pleaded.

He looked at Dana and she nodded. "I'll follow you," Dana said.

"Alright. For a while then, anyway." He walked around and got behind the wheel and buckled in, and he watched Debra's and Dana's astonished look and he grinned. Deb got in the car and looked at his leg: "I thought you couldn't drive," she sighed.

"Obviously not true," he said as he peeled out of the station and roared down the on-ramp onto the 101.

"What other little surprises do you have up your sleeve, Father Sherman?"

Sherman shrugged as he passed a string of truck campers struggling up a long grade. "So, who had William Taylor killed?"

"Excuse me, but how fast are you going?"

"Looks like one-ten to me," he grinned. "Always wanted to drive one of these things."

"That's forty miles an hour over the limit, Father! Slow down, please! Now!"

He pressed on the accelerator and the BMW easily sped up to a hundred and forty miles per hour. "Feels pretty stable," he said -- as he took his hands off the steering wheel.

"It won't when the CHP pulls you over," she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest.

He took his left foot off the accelerator and let the Beemer slow down, and Dana pulled up alongside and looked at him. He flashed a grin and a 'thumb's up' and she tucked in behind him, and Deb began breathing easier.

"So," he began again, "who killed Taylor?"

"I'm pretty sure my father did."

"Because of your earlier relationship?"

"You know about that..."

"Father Kerrigan and I were friends for twenty years, Debra. We had few secrets between us."

"Had? So you figured that out, too."

"It was obvious. Nevertheless, I hate to lose a friend. Will they kill him, do you think?"

"I doubt it," Sorensen said. "How did you figure out my father was looking for you?"

Sherman ignored the question and looked away. "Nice car. Yours?"

She ignored his infuriating banalities: "So? Who's the hooker?"

"The hooker? Oh, you mean Dana. No, she's a physician, actually, and she's been helping me out at the clinic for a few days."

"Yeah...she sure looks like a doctor."

"Do I?"

"Do you what?"

"Look like a physician?"

"No, not really, but you do remind me of a guy I used to know."

"Used to? What happened?"

"Things fall apart."

"And The Center Cannot Hold. Yes, yes, and are you referring to the boy your father had killed?"

"No. Someone else."

"And...? What happened to him?"

"I loved him, but he couldn't get past a few things."

"Your father, perhaps?"

"No. About me. He couldn't see me for what I am, only what he needed me to be."

"That's cryptic enough."

"Sorry."

"Are you still living on that boat? Down at the marina?"

"No."

"And?"

"I've been staying at my father's."

"Not by choice, I take it?"

"Not by choice."

"So, the people after me? They'll kill me, right?"

She nodded.

"What about you?"

She nodded again.

"Well, well. So...we're in this together. I didn't see that coming."

He was aware that she was staring at him and he turned and looked at her, too. "See anything you like?" he asked, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

"You put up a good front, Father Sherman, but you're scared. And you're also hiding something. Something about that woman?"

"Yes, and I'm also a Leo who enjoys bicycling and taking long walks in the park while listening to Sibelius."

She laughed -- a little. "I see emotions, Father."

"Oh...? How nice for you. I see dead pixels."

She chuckled at the reference then turned serious. "My genetic information has been edited. I know it sounds ridiculous, but neurologists in London confirmed that the editing resulted in modifications to the structure of my visual cortex."

He looked at her then shook his head. "Funny, but you don't look schizophrenic."

"I'm not."

"Okay, so that means what, exactly? A modified visual cortex?"

"Technically, I'm no longer human. Secondarily, with some people I can, well, I can see their thoughts."

"I see. Said the blind man."

"It's like a chemical stream constantly being emitted. How the brain goes about transcribing our interpretation of physical reality into something we can actually understand is a neurochemical process, and apparently, as this transmission emits energy I can pick up those signals, and from what I can gather the process is similar to the way orcas and dolphins process echolocation signals. In effect, I can process and interpret these signals in the same way I can interpret my own thoughts and experiences..."

"And you expect me to believe all this, I take it?"

"You've been thinking about your son, and...his illness."

Sherman gripped the steering wheel and turned to look at her, jerking the wheel so abruptly the BMW almost left its lane. He regained his composure -- but Debra wasn't through with him yet.

"And you've been thinking about your mother. That you should have spent more time with her near then end. And...Mrs. Robinson. You were singing that earlier...thinking about me, and my father..."

"Okay, you can stop now."

"It's how I know my father was behind William's murder, Father." She held up her left hand and placed it inches from Sherman's face and her head tilted a little as she concentrated on something far away yet closer than forever. "You were reloading film in your camera when the gust hit, and then you tried to reach out for..."

"Stop it! Just stop! Now! Get out of my head!"

"I'm sorry. I needed you to believe me," she cried. "I'd hoped I wouldn't have to do that."

"Sweet Jesus...you're serious, aren't you?"

"I'm not crazy, Father Sherman. They changed me!"

There was a little town just ahead and Sherman saw a sign for an A&W Root Beer stand so he flipped on the blinker and exited. It took a minute, but he found the drive-in restaurant and pulled into a parking space; Dana pulled in and parked the red Ferrari beside the BMW and every teenager in town started drooling -- until Dana crawled out of the Ferrari in her flaming red Catsuit. Jaws dropped then, and pheromone levels spiked all over the known universe...

Sherman walked over to a picnic table and a carhop came over and asked what they wanted; Sherman ordered cheeseburgers and root beer floats all around, "and onion rings!" he added. "Lots of onion rings!"

Dana saw that Sherman's hands were shaking even more than usual -- so she looked at Debra, tried to read her aura.

"Do I know you?" Debra asked sardonically when she couldn't take the staring any longer.

"You should, but you don't," Dana said.

Deb tried to read her aura -- but Dana was closed to her. She tried to see into the younger girl's thoughts -- but that too was closed to her. This had happened before, but it had not happen all that often, and now she tried to ignore the uncertainty she felt as Dana's response hit home. "I should what? Know you?"

"Can you feel us? You and the core of my being, fused together?" Dana asked.

Debra turned and walked closer, then she looked into Dana's eyes, placed her hands on either side of her face. And it didn't take long -- moments later Deb dropped her hands and ran back to her car, and now Sherman looked on helplessly as Deb started to cry. Gently at first, but he saw her looking through the glass at Dana -- and he could see that something was profoundly wrong.

"What did you do to her?" he asked.

Dana turned and looked at Gene Sherman and she smiled. "She was my mother, once. I thought she should know."

+++++

"Don't you ever get tired?" Sherman asked Dana.

"No. Not really."

The Ferrari was approaching San Jose and he looked at his Apple Watch and the countdown timer marching along to zero. "Two hours and twenty minutes to go," he sighed. He turned and saw Deb Sorensen was still on their six, still about a quarter mile behind, then he looked at Dana again, not understanding who or what she really was. Was she human? She appeared to be. But then how did you account for her 'birth' -- if that's really what it was? On some kind of colossal ship located at a Lagrange Point? A ship too huge to hide from even rudimentary radar scans of the asteroid belt, but which had, nevertheless, remained completely undiscovered for decades? It was too ludicrous to consider, yet here she was. And all the skills Debra had mentioned, the ability to see auras or to read thoughts as easily as a radio picked up modulated electromagnetic waves, Dana could do as well -- yet with an even deeper understanding resulting. And Dana also seemed to have doctoral levels of understandings of chemistry, physics, biology and medicine and who knew what else. She might have been human once, at least on one level, but not on a level Sherman understood.

The GPS on the central display chirped and advised they'd need to exit in two miles, onto eastbound Interstate 680; Dana flipped on her signal and moved to the right lane leaving Sherman to check and see if Debra followed. She did, and a mile after they got on the 680 they exited once again, onto State Highway 130, the road that would take them up to the observatory.

"There are now two more vehicles following us," Dana said, her steely voice cool, calm, and collected. "Two black Suburbans, I believe."

"Do you see the occupants?"

"Yes. They are heavily armed."

"Damn. I wish we had some means of taking care of that problem."

"Would you like them eliminated?"

He looked at her, careful not to answer her question -- yet. "Can you do that?"

"Of course."

"Without hurting the occupants?"

"Certainly."

"Fine. Do it. But wait until we're off the main highway and up on the mountain."

"Okay."

Soon they were driving through suburban residential sprawl and then Highway 130 made a hard right, turning into Mount Hamilton Road and they started to climb seriously now. Houses spread far apart soon gave way to farms and vineyards, and Dana looked at him again: "Will this do?"

"Sure. Go ahead."

He turned and saw the SUVs about a half mile back, then he saw a translucent blue sphere hovering several hundred feet above them...then the sphere divided and two smaller spheres descended rapidly, and then in an instant enveloping the SUVs -- and then they were simply...gone.

"Where are they?" Sherman asked.

"Their vehicles have been placed outside of the Los Angeles Police Department's central jail facility."

"So, you do have a sense of humor...?"

"It seemed...efficient," she replied.

"Tell me...can Debra do that little trick?"

"She has the facility, not the necessary working knowledge."

"So, you're the only one who can do things like this?"

"No. I am not the only one."

"Are you...human?"

"Me? Yes, certainly."

"Why are you here?"

"To procreate. To reproduce."

"Oh? So, who's the lucky fella?"

"I came to procreate with you."

Sherman said not one word. Not a single syllable. He concentrated on the road ahead, then he looked at the countdown timer. "We're going to be cutting it close?" he sighed a few minutes later.

"We'll be there in time."

"And how do you know that?"

"I think if I told you -- you might become upset."

"Upset?" he cried. "You tell me you came her to screw me and you're worried I might become upset? I got a newsflash for you, kid, but the last time I got laid was about the same time Bill Clinton hosed down a little blue dress! You get my drift?"

"Drift? Oh, yes, I understand."

"Look, you are certainly cute -- despite the poor choice of wardrobe items..."

"You don't find this...sexy?"

"I might have, once, like maybe when I was fourteen?"

She put her hand up beside his head and scanned his thoughts, then she looked at him after she took a very sharp curve at speed.

"Oh...I could do that," she grinned.

"Do what?"

"What you were thinking of a moment ago."

"Look...would you get out of my head?"

Her eyes went wide then: "Wow! I am not sure what this has to do with procreation, but it looks interesting!"

He started solving quadratic equations in his mind, but it was hopeless -- and they both knew it.

"Really?" she cried a few seconds later. "You've actually done that!"

"Yes, goddamnit!"

"I can't wait!"

Sherman groaned and looked out the window, and he could see Altair and Vega setting now.

"Don't worry," she said, "we're almost there."

"I don't even need to talk, do I?"

"Only if you want, but actually, I enjoy the sensation."

"What? Of talking?"

"Yes. I can see the vibrations, the energy released as you speak. It is comforting to me, a lovely feeling, really..."

The main dome, the largest that held the 35 inch refractor, came into view and he could already see that there were dozens of local amateur astronomers milling about in the parking lot just beyond the main cluster of domes -- and when he saw that they'd all set up their 'scopes, right then he knew this was going to be an event with global repercussions, a real psychosocial phenomenon of the highest disruptive order, because if the word had spread among the amateur astronomers here around the Bay Area then it was almost impossible that other astro communities hadn't set up too. But then again, why all the secrecy? Why hadn't the news media been splashing this all over the airwaves -- and they should have, because they'd had almost two decades to shape the message?

Maybe someone somewhere had shut down the flow of information because the message proved, and conclusively so, that we weren't alone in the universe?

Doubtful.

Any potential audience had been primed by sci-fi movies for decades to accept this information, yet even so powerful clerical forces might have moved to end such speculation.

But what if existing power structures determined that they might not be able to contain the fallout from such a revelation? Did they fear that civilization as they defined it might collapse?

"Maybe, but doubtful," he said aloud.

And Dana ignored him as she pulled into the observatory's main driveway. A guard blocked their way, yet he didn't seem taken aback by Dana in her catsuit.

"Can I help you?" he asked, his eyes taking in her ample cleavage before looking at Sherman.

"Yes," Sherman sighed as he waved a hand, "these aren't the droids you're looking for."

"What's that? Oh...sure, I get it. Your name?"

"I'm Sherman. I should be on the list."

The guard pulled out his flashlight and looked at the list on his clipboard for a moment. "Sherman? Gene Sherman, from LMU?"

"Yup, that's me. And the BMW behind us is with me."

"Okay. Far side of the main building, and turn off your headlights from here on in."

They drove around and yes, as expected, there was The Owl. Deborah Eisenstadt and that Harvard undergrad friend of hers, too. And a lean, almost a gaunt man...and Sherman saw that he too had an artificial leg.

Dana parked next to an old blue Range Rover and Deb slid into the vacant space to their left, then Sherman got out and walked over to Eisenstadt. "Glad you could make it," Sherman said as he gave Eisenstadt a gentle hug, then he turned to the other woman.