Godship



  Godship

  by Peter J. Ponzo

  CHAPTER ONE

  Part 1.1

  It was my standard ritual: clobber the alarm until it stops ringing, fall ungracefully out of bed and stagger to the window, drag the drapes to either side and open the sliding door to the balcony. It was still early and the sky was packed with gray clouds, but it was still there–after four years.

  I stepped out onto the balcony and leaned heavily against the railing. Seventeen stories below, the morning traffic was strung along Lakeshore Road, the joggers were out in full force and stores were opening for the early morning coffee and doughnut crowd. Nothing had really changed for months. Even the lake seemed complacent, unchanged, tranquil. Everyone seemed to have accepted the presence of the colossal, ellipsoidal vessel that hovered over the city.

  After a quick coffee, black, no sugar, I jogged down the seventeen flights of stairs. That would be my only exercise today, almost. I'd be in a meeting all morning and a series of meetings all afternoon. The concern expressed at the last meeting of the local Space Council suggested that today's discussion would be witless and naïve. I was convinced that the Godship (the name we eventually gave to the massive ship) was definitely not menacing. It hadn't fired unwelcome weapons nor had it uttered unkind words or even so much as moved from its fixed position. Whatever alien intelligence contrived the vehicle, it was far beyond our capabilities and, were it intent upon our destruction, could probably have done so years ago. Yet the Space Council discussions continued to revolve about eliminating a perceived threat. I say 'continued' because they never tired of discussing the vessel and imputing its malevolent intent.

  I arrived at Brant Towers a few minutes late, still breathing heavily from the climb to the third floor. That would definitely be my last exercise for the day.

  I was a junior member of the Council: Gordon Blend, secretary, Space Council.

  Halfway through the twenty first century, Space Councils had sprung up everywhere. Some Nobel Prize winner had suggested that we'd better be prepared for alien visitations and poof: Space Councils. The curious thing? This guy had won a Nobel Prize in economics. However, he was quoted in the media until it became mandatory to establish Councils in all major countries. All, except China. I had actually admired the Chinese for ignoring the rush to establish Councils. They weren't giving in to public pressure. However, soon after the Godships arrived, China began a Council and was now among the most diligent analyzers of Godship behavior. In fact, the old SETI project, which had dwindled due to lack of funding, arose again with renewed vigor. The search for extraterrestrial intelligence had been alive and well in the last century but, until recently, was pretty well comatose.

  Since college days my career has concentrated on electronics and communications, but I've always been fascinated by astronomy and things cosmological...and I read a lot, mostly science fiction. I think I graduated near the bottom of my class–I normally forget such things–and it wasn't easy to find a job after graduation. However, I didn't need much. Frugal was my middle name. I rented the cheapest apartment on the Lake and furnished it with flea market and garage sale items: an ugly purple couch which I painted brown, a kitchen table with Formica surface, a bed with springs that had a mind of their own and a really small TV. I didn't have costly habits, like an expensive car or an expensive girlfriend. In fact, my last girlfriend, Barbara, was when I was twelve or maybe thirteen. After a bunch of us kids had a picnic on Toronto Island I got a phone call from one of the other girls. I hardly ever get phone calls, so this was special. She phoned every night for two weeks and I looked forward to her calls. I eventually admitted that I wasn't that fond of Barbara. That's when this mysterious caller confessed that she was, in fact, Barbara. That ended the relationship with my one and only girlfriend.

  My current job didn't require much skill or cerebral prowess, so when an ad appeared which requested applications for council secretary, it was the name 'space council' that appealed to me–so I applied. Then, I assumed discussions would be cerebral. Today, I realize that discussions were mostly fatuous with a touch of tedium.

  The Council meeting had begun without me. Eleven guys and two gals sat about the huge table, all in casual dress. The chief Pooh-Bah was Harry Clemens: short, bald and annoying. He was partially standing, his hands resting on the mahogany and his oversized gut hanging beyond the confines of his belt.

  "It's imperative," he groaned, "that we either communicate with them...or eliminate them."

  How often have I heard that? Harry was a mental midget. He began every meeting with that haggard phrase.

  George, the associate chairman said, "Harry, we've tried communicating before, without success. And eliminate them? C'mon Harry. How do you propose...?"

  And so it went–so it always went. I was beginning to think that the Council had nothing better to do and called pointless meetings to justify their existence and small stipend. Each of the members had other jobs. Being a council member was a status symbol or so it seemed. I noticed that Beverly, sitting at the end of the table, was falling asleep. She was, in her other life, a real estate saleswoman, a good one, I understand. Harry, the chairman, was the owner of Clemens Autos, a used car lot on the corner of Grant and Fairview. I always wondered why he ran for council. He was more a parasite than a paragon. The only other council member of import was George Falcon. George was bright, balding and beautiful. I mean beautiful in a good way; well-pressed suit at all times, bowtie, crisp white shirt and cuff links. I'd never seen him in jeans or a colored shirt. Even his fingernails were manicured. He was some senior chief of a local steel mill and seemed to enjoy the convivial discussion. I always felt that George was a lonely fellow.

  I volunteered to be Council secretary about two years ago. My normal job was tech support at a local electronic supply store. Among all my passions, electronics was my primary passion. I often spent hours in a corner of my apartment with a soldering iron and microcircuits, building some useless thing that turned lights on and off or adjusted their brightness depending upon the time of day. I had built a short wave microstrip antenna that sat on my balcony and scanned the lake: pointless, but fun. I was easily bored, so I did the secretarial thing for amusement and, as I've noted, the word 'space' in the letterhead. Alas, it was the most wearisome and uninteresting activity imaginable.

  The meeting went on for over an hour. It was difficult to remain silent, however my job was to take notes, summarize and distribute a report befitting the grandeur of the clowns who comprised the Council. Well, I guess most members aren't clowns but are good and interesting folk. I'm not sure why I mentally paint every member with the brush I usually reserved for Harry, the chairman.

  There had been many attempts to eliminate the Godship. That was soon after it arrived. Missiles veered off course and there was concern that they would land somewhere uncomfortably close to human habitation. No one understood how the space craft managed this redirection, but eventually the bombardment of our vessel was discontinued. I say 'our' vessel because similar hostile acts were being conducted at all the Godship sites across the globe.

  Communication? We had no idea how to do that. Every frequency was used, every language, every mathematical formula, every graphic image...and, as every teenager knows, sequences of prime numbers would be immediately recognized by any self respecting alien. No response. Nothing. Nada. Niente. Nichts.

  There had been a couple of years when scientists of every stripe gathered beneath the crafts in order to determine how they managed to hover with no sign of propulsion, gaseous exhaust or movement. It was determined that the gravity field directly below each vessel was about 1% weaker than elsewhere. The craft evidently managed to manipulate gravity. An interesting feature of this effect was the exodus of but
chers and grocers from areas beneath the vessels. Food was sold by the kilogram and if it weighed less, customers insisted upon paying less. I thought that was hilarious. Indeed, I often went to a butcher directly under our local Godship to buy my top sirloin–just to hear the debate between Jake the butcher and his customers who wanted a small reduction in price.

  In my mind, the biggest problem with the Godship was not any hostile act on the part of the alien ship, but rather the effect their presence had upon the population.

  As I recall, it was Autumn, about four years ago, that the Global Space Council first noticed the approaching vessels. If memory serves me, there were about three hundred of them and they were within the orbit of Saturn. In fact, GSC first thought the horde was nothing more than a separation of some of Saturn's rings. Now, in retrospect, that seems ridiculous (as many astronomers were fond of pointing out). But I must remember that Space Councils everywhere were mostly populated by ordinary people with little or no scientific training. They represented 'the people' and that meant they were simple folk unadorned by advanced degrees. They are selected sort of like a jury of one's peers is selected, from voter registrations, driver license renewals and suggestions from the public at large. It's been said that in no other body of such social significance do we settle for such haphazard membership with no requirement of experience. Sometimes it showed.

  When the spacecraft were first identified there was no attempt at warning the citizenry for fear of global panic. It'd be 1930-something all over again when some radio broadcast concerning a war of the worlds initiated mass hysteria, more than a century ago. I remember reading about that broadcast and thought it was a good idea to keep things quiet since the general public is easily spooked. However, when the gaggle of ships was visible to the human eye and especially when they parked themselves near major world centers, it launched an unprecedented state of panic. That was when the first ineffectual attempts were made to "eliminate" the ships. As if to emphasize the public's need to hyperbolize, it was generally believed that the spacecraft actually grew in size as they approached planet Earth. Scientists around the globe quickly pointed out that it was an optical illusion, just as the sun and moon appear to be larger when they're on the horizon. No way a metal ship could change size or shape.

  When two years had passed and the vessels had remained stationary and non-threatening, they became objects of curiosity. They were discussed in social clubs, government offices, bars and especially in church meetings. Initial thinking was, perhaps, predictable. If there is an intelligence so much greater than ours, then what was God thinking when He created Adam and Eve? And why are we so arrogant as to imagine ourselves created in God's image? And why are we so gullible as to accept the teaching of the bible without question or reservation? Adam and Eve? Are we kidding ourselves? And if we are God's children and our God is omnipotent, then why did He allow these creatures to invade our space? After baseball and soccer, it was the world's most talked about subject. It was also the subject of almost every evening news hour and Hollywood lost no time in generating Godship movies with sequels ad nauseam.

  What was most alarming was the eventual reaction of the church-going public. The church elders began a concerted effort to rationalize the existence of the ships and clarify God's plan. However, by the third year, church attendance had dropped dramatically and cults formed which worshiped the aliens. That was when the word "Godship" arose as an identifier. Once the word had been adopted and used in everyday conversation and insinuated into the national lexicon it was just a matter of time before the vessels became God, Allah, Yahweh, Jehovah...all of them, everywhere, different components of the same God. There were no Godships–just Godship. One ubiquitous, omniscient entity whose components extended across the planet.

  And did the absence of alien interaction bother the Godship worshippers? Not at all. It was much like the old biblical God. You prayed and hoped for the best. In fact, many were convinced that the vanishing of a cancerous growth, the regained ability to walk or hear or see–these miracles were all due to the presence of the Godship. Indeed, when rain fell on parched earth, people cried real tears and lifted their hands in thanks to the nearest vessel. Over time, meteorologists became convinced that the alien vessels had control of Earth's weather. Television weather reports often ended with the phrase: 'Godship approved', whatever that meant.

  No one expected what would happen by the fourth year.

  Part 1.2

  I had finished the latest periodic report of the local Space Council. I had distributed it to all members as well as to members of the Global Space Council. My council duties were over for the week. There wouldn't be another meeting until responses arrived from the Global Council. It seemed unlikely that there would be any worthwhile response. Our report reiterated the concern of local members but had no reasonable suggestion concerning a procedure for eliminating the perceived threat. It had been like this for years. For some reason, our local council felt it necessary to send a report to the Global Council after each meeting, presumably to apprise them of our continued existence.

  I spent much of the week bringing my notes up to date. Note taking was clearly my forte and I enjoyed keeping track of the daily activity reported in the news, revolving about the Godship. That's when I ran across a news item on page nineteen about an old guy who said he had been taken aboard our personal Godship, the one that hovered over Burlington. It was curious that our Godship had chosen Burlington. Ours was not a large city, but it was near a large metropolis, Toronto. It seemed that the space vessels were mostly stationed near, but not directly above, large cities. They were also near large bodies of water. No one could understand why.

  I read and reread the article about the abduction. There were always stories about alien abduction, but this seemed different. The old guy vanished after telling his story to the Burlington Times. Although there was a concerted effort, after a couple of weeks the police gave up the search. They had gone over his apartment with a fine toothcomb. It had worn and broken furniture, bent pots and pans, an empty fridge and a telescope that stood by the window. The telescope was pointed in the general direction of our Godship. However, the photos in his apartment were revealing. They seemed to show a plan view of our city as would be seen from our Godship.

  Since I was reading yesterday's paper, I decided I needed to read the latest issue just in case there were new details. This time I took the elevator. I'd get my daily exercise some other time. I went out the front door into a driving rain. Rather than returning to pick up a raincoat, I crawled along the building wall, beneath the overhang, and slipped into Susan's Grill next door. Susan was surprised to see me.

  "Same ol' same ol'?" she asked.

  I wasn't really hungry but nodded and sat at my usual booth by the window.

  When she returned with the pork hamburger, fries and chocolate shake she sat across from me. She was thirtyish, not beautiful but very pretty with dark hair and even darker eyes and one front tooth was slightly longer than the other. I never tired of watching her smile, watching her eyes and mouth as she spoke.

  "You look tired," she said.

  "No, just frustrated," I said.

  "Harry Clemens, right?"

  "Yes, he's such an ass."

  I guess I talk too much, but Susan was such a good listener and she seemed to soak up everything I've said in the past, my problems at work, the childish rituals at the weekly meetings, the nonsensical suggestions regarding our Godship.

  "However," I said, "there's an interesting story in the Times about a guy who says he's been on the Godship. In fact, there are even photos he took, apparently from inside the ship."

  "And that's why you're out in the rain," she said, smiling. "Well, finish your snack and get the paper. I know you won't be happy until you read today's issue."

  "What's curious," I said, "is the fact that whoever is flying that contraption seems to ignore our efforts at communication, year after year. You'd think they'd at least
give us some indication of their motives for being here."

  "Have you tried screaming?" Susan almost giggled. "Everybody at once, shout! The whole city..."

  I raised my hand, my palm asking for a moment of silence. Susan stopped talking.

  "The Global Consciousness Project," I said. "Susan, that might work. You're a genius!"

  Why hadn’t I thought of that before? I rose to rush out without even starting on my hamburger. Susan started to complain so I stopped just long enough to explain:

  "Computers across the globe can be influenced by a common, synchronized global feeling...when Princess Diana died, when the twin towers went down in New York, when Kristof Richter, the U.N. chief was assassinated...maybe that's what we need to do...everyone on the planet...gotta go. See ya."

  I grabbed two fries and stuffed them in my mouth then left. I hadn't paid, but Susan would just put it on my tab and I'd pay at week's end as I usually did. It was still raining but I didn't notice. I ran across the street and grabbed today's Times then back to my apartment, soaked. News these days came on rather small laminates filled with electrostatically charged particles and electronic ink. Rain didn't bother them. That was good, because the so-called 'paper' was dripping wet.

  I phoned Harry Clemens and explained my idea on how we might communicate with the Godship. When I had finished there was silence on the other end.

  "Harry?" I said. "Are you still there?"

  "Uh...yes. Call a meeting for this Friday."

  Then he hung up.

  On Friday I was determined to be there early, but Harry had already begun.

  "… some 70 nodes worldwide," he was saying. "The random number generators at each site have statistically significant deviations from expected randomness as a consequence of some global event."

  Harry had evidently been googling. He was reciting what he had read.

  "Data is stored on a server at Princeton. Now, in an effort to communicate with our Godship, I thought we could..."

  The associate chairman, George, interrupted.

  "You're not suggesting that the whole world get together and say something to attract the attention of the aliens."