First Contact (9 page)

“Can I offer you a tour of the White House?” Ralph asked.

“Thanks,” Ned said, “but honestly, if you’ve seen one government building you’ve seen them all.”

Ralph said, “So I take it you’ve done this a few times before.”

“You mean made first contact?”

“Yes.”

“About ninety times.”

“There are ninety inhabited planets in the universe?”

“Oh, there are a lot more than that. I have only visited ninety on business and a few more on vacation. My people know about several thousand more.”

“Several thousand?” Ralph was incredulous.

“And those are just the ones we have found. There are many, many more out there waiting to be discovered,” Ned said. “The universe is a big place. The more you see of it, the more you realize just how incomprehensibly immense it really is. It’s quite humbling.”

Ralph nodded. “Does making first contact ever get old?”

“Never,” Ned said. “Don’t confuse my lack of interest in a government building with disinterest in the people. People are infinitely fascinating. I have the most engaging job anyone could ever ask for. I get to travel all over the universe and meet all kinds of interesting people. The work feels important, and I have an amazing boss. It’s just the hours that stink.”

“I can relate to that,” Ralph said.

“What about you?” Ned asked. “What’s your position?”

“I am the attaché to the President.”

“I suppose that means you work a hundred hours a week and pick up the President’s lunch and dry cleaning?”

Ralph chuckled. “Yeah, that’s pretty much it.”

Ned smiled. “I’ve been there,” he said. “Do you like what you do? Do you like your boss?”

“He has his moments,” Ralph said. “Just like the job.”

“Well,” Ned said, “one public servant to another: Be patient. It’ll get better.”

“It already has,” Ralph said. Ned already felt like a friend.

“What about family?” Ned asked. “Are you married? Do you have—how do you say it—a significant other?”

“Funny you should ask,” Ralph said. “I just met someone. It has only been a couple of days, but I’m pretty sure she’s it. That sounds crazy, right?”

“No, not at all. When I met my wife, it was love at first sight. She was ahead of me on the ten-items-or-less line in the supermarket. There was this old lady in front of her at the checkout. She had a coupon for everything, taking forever. I was ready to scream, but Maude, my future wife, stood there and helped the woman sort through all of the coupons. And then the woman wanted to pay in our version of pennies, and Maude helped her count through all of those—eight dollars in pennies; she helped her count all eight hundred. I fell in love with her right then and there. We’ve been together ever since.”

“I guess there is nothing like being young and in love,” Ralph said.

“That’s true,” said Ned, “though I am not as young as you think.”

“How old are you?”

“I’m six hundred thirty-five.”

“Really?” Ralph asked, taking in another extraordinary fact on this extraordinary day. He smiled and looked at Ned. “You don’t look a day over thirty,” he said.

“Thank you. I have an excellent moisturizer,” Ned said, returning the smile.

“How long have you been married?”

“Twenty years.”

“So you didn’t get married until you were six hundred fifteen. Is that unusual?”

“Not really,” Ned said. “On Rigel-Rigel we have a saying: ‘Six hundred is the new five hundred.’”

H
EARING
N
ED’S STORY MAKES
me feel a bit better about my own situation. I am forty and not married, though I have a beautiful and loving girlfriend. My friends sometimes kid me about still being single, and I confess to feeling some pressure. On the other hand, it is not as if I have twiddled away the past forty years. Admittedly, I have twiddled away some of that time. I watched every episode of
Beverly Hills 90210
, which got pretty bad at the end, and seven years of
The X Files
, which never really resolved the central conflict. But I also ran a few marathons and wrote some books and developed a nice relationship with a pet parakeet. This may not be much to show for forty years, but it’s something, and besides, forty is the new thirty.

“S
O
I
GUESS WHAT
you’re saying is I still have time,” Ralph said.

“Well, we have another saying on Rigel-Rigel that is relevant.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s later than you think.”

“Catchy, but what does it mean?”

“I have been thinking about the saying a lot recently. It means different things to different people. I think it means we’re supposed to value every moment we get.”

“How does that translate into action?”

“I don’t know,” Ned said. “I wouldn’t trust anyone who offered a precise answer to that question. But I think the principle is sound.”

Ralph considered Ned’s words for a while. Finally, he asked, “May I ask you another question?”

“Shoot,” said Ned.

“Do they really have supermarkets in other galaxies? I would have imagined if you have the ability to travel from one planet to another you would have something more sophisticated than a supermarket. Like you would order by computer and the food would be teleported to your home or something like that?”

“No,” said Ned. “I think you’ll find life is pretty much the same everywhere. Supermarkets, dry cleaners, bait-and-tackle shops—they’re all out there. The traffic is just worse.”

H
EARING THIS REPARTEE ABOUT
it being later than we think now makes me feel uncomfortable about my situation. While I feel pretty satisfied with the amount of television I have watched, there is lots
more I would like to do. I would like to write a few more books. I would like to get a dog, preferably a beagle. I would like to catch up on the back issues of
The New Yorker
I started saving in 1998. And I would like to go spelunking at least once. I have no special desire to crawl around in caves, but I really like the word and want to use it in conversation. I do a lot of things just to use words I like.

Generally speaking I would like to squeeze all of the juice out of life. I want to write a story of my own life that people will look back on in the end and say, “This was a guy who was happy and productive and really liked words with the letter
k
in them.” The rub is that doing this requires a great deal of planning, which is hard to find time to do when one is engaged in the business of actually living one’s own life. All of this makes me feel intense pressure, which I can only relieve by telling myself there’s still plenty of time. And now here’s a reputable source saying it’s later than I think, and, as if things could be worse, the traffic situation is never going to improve.

R
ALPH ESCORTED
N
ED INTO
a conference room, offered him a seat and a drink, which Ned declined with a wave of his hand.

“Is your wife okay?” Ralph asked. “You told the agent your wife was in a car accident. How is she?”

“She’s fine,” Ned said. “Not so much as a scratch. She lost her license, though, as you know, and it looks like we’re going to get sued.”

“That’s no fun.”

“No, she’s quite upset about it. I am feeling pretty guilty about being away from home.”

“My dad used to work a lot.”

“So you understand,” Ned said. “I’m away from my family for months at a time. On top of everything else, my son has been having problems in school. Saying I am feeling guilty is the understatement of the year.”

“I guess things really are pretty much the same everywhere.”

“It’s true,” Ned said. “Wherever you are, whoever you meet, life is always just a question of tradeoffs and priorities.”

As Ralph absorbed Ned’s words, he had, for at least the third time that day, a feeling of deep affection for Ned and a powerful sense he had much to learn from him and his people.

Apprehensively, Ralph changed the subject to business. “I’m
supposed to feel you out about certain details for the visit from your ambassador,” he said. “The White House staff is beginning to make preparations.”

“You mean things like what color tie my boss should wear and who should sit on the left or the right at dinner?”

“Yes, that kind of thing. If you tell me whatever concerns you have, we can discuss them, and I’ll do my best to make sure they get addressed.”

Ned put up his hand. “That isn’t necessary,” he said.

Ralph said, “I understand. You don’t think it’s appropriate to have this conversation with someone as junior as me. I think it’s strange too. But the President was nice to give me this opportunity, and I just felt so comfortable with you I went ahead and asked. I’ll set up a time for you to meet with the chief of staff later.”

Ned laughed. “I don’t mean it’s unnecessary to have the conversation with you. That’s not the case at all. My people don’t stand on ceremony. I mean it is literally unnecessary.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Whatever you guys want is fine.”

“What about seating arrangements for the dinner?”

“Whatever you say is fine.”

“How many people will be coming?”

“Two. My boss and I.”

“Is there any song you’d like played when you arrive?

“Maybe
Day Tripper
? We both really like the Beatles.” Ned smiled. “Or perhaps some Rush?”

“No planetary anthem?”

“No.”

“What about a banner for us to display?”

“Don’t have one.”

“Any sort of flag?”

“No.”

“How will you arrive?”

“We’ll probably take a cab.”

“We can arrange a motorcade.”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Ned.

“You’ll need to get into the White House.”

“Is it fine if we come in through the gate you and I just walked through?”

“I suppose.”

“Well, that’s what we’ll do then.”

“Any suggestions for the menu? Any dietary restrictions?”

“No, whatever you guys put out will be fine. The Ambassador and I have been served just about everything you could imagine. If we don’t like it, we’ll just grab a sandwich or something later. It’s not a big deal.”

“So, nothing?” Ralph asked incredulously.

“Nope,” Ned said. “Nothing at all. In fact, unless you have something you need from us, I’ll let you get back to your job. I’m sure you have plenty to keep you busy.”

Ralph hesitated to ask his next question.

“So you don’t keep kosher?”

“No,” Ned said. He laughed heartily. “My boss would love that, though.”

Ralph nodded.

R
ALPH AND
N
ED WALKED
together across the White House front lawn back to the West Gate.

“So it’s eight o’clock in the evening, day after tomorrow, right?”

“Right.”

“Perfect,” Ned said, and offered Ralph his hand. “I look forward to seeing you again. It was a great pleasure to meet you.”

Ralph accepted Ned’s hand with trepidation, trepidation Ned could sense.

“Relax, Ralph,” Ned said. “How do you say it here? It’s all good. We just want to get to know you and tell you a little bit about the universe. It’ll be totally low-key. You and I have real things to worry about. Women, love, family—these are the things that matter. This is nothing.”

“It isn’t you I’m worried about,” Ralph said. “It’s us.”

Ned nodded, and Ralph felt confident that, somehow, Ned understood.

“Look,” Ned said. “People will surprise you. They are often much more than they appear to be.”

“Or less?”

“Sometimes,” said Ned, “but this is something only time can sort out.”

With this, Ned shook Ralph’s hand again and exited through
the gate back onto Pennsylvania Avenue. Ralph watched as he receded into the distance. When he disappeared, Ralph turned away from the first meeting between a human and an extraterrestrial feeling a closer association with the alien than with his own people.

Slowly, he walked into the West Wing and then into Joe Quimble’s office. There, in response to Quimble’s how-did-it-go look, he said, “I think we may be about to commit the biggest screwup in the history of the universe.”

A
T THE SAME TIME
Ralph was meeting Ned Anat-Denarian, Jessica Love was attending Professor Renier Crabtree’s class on torts at the Georgetown Law Center. The class was discussing the very important matter of
Smith v. Rapid Transit, Inc.
, a 1945 case decided by the Supreme Court of Massachusetts. On Earth, law professors often call on students to present the facts of a case under discussion and proceed to ask the student a series of confusing questions until the student has a headache. This is referred to as the Socratic method, in honor of the Greek philosopher Socrates.

S
OCRATES EMPLOYED THE
S
OCRATIC
method himself. He used it to answer the big questions. What is knowledge? Must one worship God to be holy? Do poets create through skill or divine intervention? That kind of thing. Socrates did not refer to this as the Socratic method. This would have been an act of
hubris
, which is the Greek word for “egoism.” Socrates called it
elenchos
, which is the Greek word for “asking questions.”

P
ROFESSOR
C
RABTREE RELIED HEAVILY
upon the Socratic method, and called on students randomly by referring to a seating chart. He referred to the questioning of a student as “getting the benefit of the method.” The students called it getting tagged. As luck would have it, that morning Jessica got tagged.

Jessica’s mind was elsewhere. She was love-struck and thinking about Ralph’s meeting with the extraterrestrial, but she was a good student and had prepared for class. She knew all about poor Mrs. Smith and her unfortunate case.

W
HAT HAPPENED TO
M
RS
.
Smith is this: At one o’clock in the morning on February 6, 1941, she was driving on Main Street in Winthrop, Massachusetts, when a bus ran her off the road. Mrs. Smith was an old lady and suffered serious injuries, so she sued the Rapid Transit Bus Company for damages. Trouble was, Mrs. Smith did not see the name on the side of the bus and could not identify any of its distinguishing characteristics. She described it simply as a “great big, long, wide affair,” which is really just another way of saying she got hit by a bus.

It was eminently understandable that Mrs. Smith did not see the name on the side of the bus since it was one o’clock in the morning when the bus drove her off the road. The lights of the bus would have blinded her. What’s more, there were only two bus companies that operated in Winthrop, Massachusetts, and only one of these two—Rapid Transit, Inc.—operated a route on Main Street. What’s more still, Rapid Transit’s schedule had a bus leaving Winthrop Highlands for Maverick Square at 12:45
A.M
. This would have had it going down Main Street around, surprise, one o’clock.

So basically, it had to have been a Rapid Transit bus that hit Mrs. Smith unless she was lying about the whole thing, which seemed quite unlikely given her age and the damage to her car. Nevertheless, the judge refused to let Mrs. Smith’s case go to the jury. The judge said it was not enough that “mathematically the chances somewhat favor the proposition that a bus of the defendant caused the accident.” He said the evidence had to be stronger.

The Massachusetts Supreme Court agreed. The issue in class that day was whether the court had been right.

I
TEACH LAW MYSELF
and have taught the
Smith
case many times. The students always think the bus company should have compensated Mrs. Smith. Pretty much everyone else with whom I have ever discussed the case thinks the same thing. Only law professors disagree. They are a curious lot.

“S
HOULD THERE HAVE BEEN
liability?” asked Professor Crabtree.

“Of course,” Jessica said.

“Why do you say that so matter-of-factly, Ms. Love?”

“Well, an old lady was injured and we’re better than ninety-nine percent certain a Rapid Transit bus caused her injuries.”

“Is ninety-nine percent enough?”

“I think so.”

“What if we were only ninety percent sure? Would ninety percent be enough?”

This is what law professors call taking the student down the “slippery slope.” The professor gets the student to commit to a position and then changes the facts little by little to make the student’s position seem more extreme. Like most law students, Jessica hated the slippery slope.

“I don’t know if ninety percent is enough,” Jessica said. “Or eighty or seventy or whatever you’ll ask me next. But Mrs. Smith’s case is no different than any other. There is always some uncertainty. We put people in prison every day even though we know many of them are not really guilty.”

“So you’re saying it’s okay to convict innocent people.” Sometimes Professor Crabtree would be purposefully obtuse.

“No,” Jessica said calmly, “I’m just saying it’s not fair to deny Mrs. Smith damages just because she can’t say for sure what kind of bus hit her. If we are willing to lock up criminals even though we have doubt as to their guilt, then we should also be willing to compensate victims even though we may have some doubt. That she couldn’t identify the bus shouldn’t make any difference. Even if she said she was sure, we wouldn’t know if she was right. The fact is we are never sure about a verdict. Only God knows the truth. Judges and juries are just making educated guesses. We’re never sure about anything, really, but we still have to live life.”

“And what would it do for people’s confidence in the legal system to know judges and juries were just making educated guesses?” It
was clear from the frowning manner in which Professor Crabtree asked this question that he was not being
purely Socratic
, as they say, but that he actually believed it would be very damaging for people to believe that juries merely made guesses.

Professor Crabtree had been an economist before he became a lawyer. Generally speaking, he believed the law existed to create incentives for people to act in a desirable manner. For example, if he supported paying damages to Mrs. Smith, which he did not, he would say the reason to do so was to create incentives for bus drivers to be more careful, not to help out an injured old lady. He referred to this as “bracketing” considerations of fairness. Crabtree thought it was bad for people to think that judges and juries made guesses. As he waited for Jessica’s answer, he conveyed this sentiment to the class by making a face not dissimilar to Lois Dundersinger’s sourpuss.

“Well,” Jessica said, “it might make people think lawyers were more honest.”

The class laughed at this.

“But it wouldn’t do much to reduce bus accidents, now would it?”

Crabtree always had a comeback ready for even the wittiest and most spontaneous of student comebacks. At this point, the tagged student would generally concede defeat and squirm in his or her chair while Crabtree gloated, generally by rolling his head back and nodding vigorously, until he turned his attention to someone else.

S
OME OF THE STUDENTS
referred to this as the modified Socratic method, suggesting the vanquishing of a student was not itself part of Socrates’ plan. In reality, Socrates was not above the kind of thing that Crabtree did, as evidenced, for example, by his behavior with Euthyphro, a noted religious expert in ancient Athens, whom Socrates nearly reduced to tears. In fact Socrates could be quite arrogant. He also had questionable hygiene. He walked around barefoot, wore the same cloak every day, and rarely took a bath. If you were favorably inclined to Socrates you might characterize his behavior as part of the
noble search for truth
. The reality, though, is that Socrates could be a jerk.

N
OW, NORMALLY
J
ESSICA WOULD
have abided Crabtree’s conduct like all his other victims, but on this day Jessica wanted no part of it. Perhaps this was because she was love-struck, perhaps because aliens
had arrived on Earth, or perhaps just because it was a really nice day outside. No one could say. But something snapped. Crabtree had finished gloating and was about to torture another student when Jessica, emboldened by love, current events, or the weather, interrupted.

“May I ask you a question, Professor Crabtree?”

“Of course,” he said, ever the gracious victor.

“In your view of the case, does it make any difference whether the driver of the bus struck Mrs. Smith by accident or whether he did it on purpose?”

“No,” said Crabtree.

“Does it make any difference whether Mrs. Smith was rich or whether she was some poor old lady who couldn’t afford to pay her medical bills?”

“No,” Crabtree said again. “I have learned to bracket these irrelevant considerations that tug at our heartstrings. You will too someday.”

Right then and there, Jessica Love decided she did not want to be an attorney. She closed her laptop and collected her books, and walked out of the classroom, never to return.

As she left, Crabtree called to her, “Where are you going?”

“Outside,” Jessica said simply. “It’s a beautiful day.”

L
IKE
J
ESSICA
, I
TOO
decided I did not want to be an attorney anymore, though my story is less dramatic than hers. One day I was representing a banker who was testifying at a deposition and he lied. He told the other lawyer the opposite of something he had told me. Since he told me this contradictory statement in confidence, no one else would have known his testimony was false. Still, it didn’t seem right—my mother always told me it’s wrong to lie. At the next break, I called a partner at the law firm where I worked out of a meeting, saying it was an emergency, and explained what had happened. With conspicuous irritation he said, “Don’t ever call me out of a meeting again,” and hung up the phone. After that, I didn’t really want to be a lawyer. So I got a job teaching college and started writing books.

Also like Jessica, I enjoy nice weather and make an effort to get outside whenever I can.

A
FTER LEAVING CLASS
, J
ESSICA
spent the day walking in Rock Creek Park, which is quite a beautiful spot, particularly in the fall. In her
walk through the woods she spotted many birds in the trees, including a colorful one that appeared to be a parrot but could not possibly have been since parrots do not naturally occur in North America. The walk left her feeling refreshed and self-possessed and more confident of her decision than before. She experienced not even a moment of regret.

Later in the afternoon she telephoned Ralph and asked whether they could meet that evening. Ralph, of course, said yes. Chinese food had sort of become their first tradition, so they went to Chinatown and walked up and down H Street looking for a place to eat.

They considered and rejected Golden Palace, Jade Palace, Hunam Garden, Hunan Garden, Szechuan Garden, New Big Wong, Mr. Yung’s, and the Great Wall Seafood Restaurant. What made the decision so difficult was that each of the restaurants had pretty much the same food. Even the Great Wall Seafood Restaurant, which sounded like it might be distinctive, had the same menu. After thirty minutes of deliberations, they finally settled upon a place on the Potomac side of the street called Eat Here Now. Eat Here Now was the same as all the other restaurants, just a little bit cheaper.

As they walked into the restaurant, Jessica said, “It’s funny how the hardest decisions in life are sometimes easy and the easiest decisions are sometimes hard.”

Ralph nodded. Life was giving him a lot to ponder that day.

T
HE SERVICE WAS QUICK
at Eat Here Now. As soon as they sat down, they had a feast of noodles, duck sauce, and hot tea placed before them. Had they eaten at Golden Palace, Jade Palace, Hunam Garden, Hunan Garden, Szechuan Garden, New Big Wong, Mr. Yung’s, or the Great Wall Seafood Restaurant they would have been offered the same Chinese noodles and hot tea. In this sense, the choice of restaurant was not a decision of any great moment. When the waiter came over less than a minute later, Ralph ordered vegetable wonton soup, scallion pancakes, and vegetable chow mein, which are the same things he and Jessica would have ordered in any of the other restaurants. One could conclude from this that the universe was steering them in the direction of this meal.

R
ALPH AND
J
ESSICA SAT
in silence for a moment. Ralph looked at Jessica. He thought she looked particularly beautiful that evening,
even more beautiful than she looked at the Blimpway and in the Oval Office, and he had thought she looked quite beautiful on those occasions. Contentedly, he snacked on a Chinese noodle while Jessica sipped on her tea.

She asked him about the meeting, and Ralph described the events of the day—how Ralph did not recognize Ned, the churlish Secret Service agent, his and Ned’s friendly conversation, Ned’s exquisite taste in music, Ralph’s sense of excitement over meeting Ned and his trepidation about how the government was reacting to the aliens. Jessica listened intently, nodding and asking several questions of her own. When Ralph finished, Jessica said, “I have some big news myself.”

“What is it?”

“I left law school,” she said.

Ralph smiled. “Bad day?” he asked.

“I’m serious,” Jessica said. “I left for good.”

Ralph put down his noodle.

“Why?” he asked. “What happened?”

“Nothing that dramatic,” she said. “It just didn’t seem important anymore.”

T
HE WAITER ARRIVED WITH
the wonton soup, which he set down somewhat recklessly, spilling some broth in the process. The service at Eat Here Now was all in all a bit slapdash. The soup was good, though. It wasn’t great, but even average wonton soup is generally pretty good. It is very much like pizza in this regard.

The wonton soup was the only thing Nixon enjoyed during his dinner with Zhou Enlai. He tried everything, including the scary monkey dish, because that’s the deal at these state dinners. You have to try everything, even if that means just waving the fork or spoon past your mouth. In the limousine, on their way home from dinner, Nixon had someone call ahead for room service.