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Jake looked around the room. People seemed to understand the general idea.

A technician turned a video camera on McGraw as he walked over to a desk and sat down. “So now, I’d like to demonstrate it. It’s like photoshop on steroids but for video instead of still images.” As he spoke, Winston Churchill appeared on the large screen beside him. Churchill was sitting behind the desk at the oval office, and Seth’s words came out of Churchill’s mouth. The demo elicited immediate oohs and aahs.

McGraw-as-Churchill continued. “All we had to do was feed in video of Winston Churchill such as the video from Churchill’s speech, or should I say
my
speech, to Congress in 1942.” The video of Churchill saying these things was in perfect HD and of much better quality than the old black and white film from which it was derived.

“This works with any video.” Winston Churchill morphed into Michael Jackson. “As you can see, the resulting video even mimics the mannerisms of the speaker.” McGraw stood up and did some clumsy moonwalking. Jackson’s moonwalk was perfect.

He sat down again. “The sex doesn’t matter.” The speaker on the screen changed to Marylin Monroe. “And it works across species.” This last phrase was spoken by a Dalmatian dog that stood with his front paws on the desk. The speaker then changed to a largemouth bass, floating behind the desk. “It works even for species that are quite different from us.”

Finally, the speaker image changed to that of Desmond Llewelyn, the actor who played Q in James Bond movies from 1963 to 1999. A young Sean Connery, as James Bond, sat to his side watching and reacting. McGraw had a big smile on his face. “So as you can surmise,” he said, “this is the software application that Cronkite used for his broadcast from the sphere. Any questions?”

The president and his advisers gave McGraw a round of applause, and when McGraw gestured toward his software engineers, the group turned toward them with more clapping.

The president started off. “Why do you think Cronkite gave us these devices, and this one in particular?”

McGraw as Q answered. “That’s above my pay grade, but my speculation is that these are gifts. Trinkets to the natives, if you will.”

Chief of Staff Maddix Young whispered in the president’s ear, and Hallstrom said, “I’m sorry, but I have to get to a G8 videoconference. Can you tell me the status of the other devices?”

“Right. Those are much different from this video-photoshop application, and we’re having trouble even interpreting the instructions. Some of them almost seem like random numbers. There are at least four other devices, and we hope to be able to decipher things soon.”

“Well, thank you again, Seth. Nice work.” The president stood up.

On the screen, James Bond put his hands on the desk and said, “Glad to help. The name is McGraw, Seth McGraw.” Seth, and James Bond on the screen, blushed, apparently embarrassed by his little joke. However, because of the perfect delivery by James Bond, the joke worked well.

* * *

August 14, 2018

Jake was a bit buzzed at the weekly after-hours get-together in the White House Treaty Room. A stein of Maddix Young’s home-brewed beer sat on the table beside him.

He slouched back on his chair and spoke with his eyes closed. “Why doesn’t Cronkite just say ‘Here’s a plan for an automatic nose hair trimmer’? Cronkite’s obviously been monitoring our communications and broadcasts. He speaks our language. Why be so enigmatic?”

Seth McGraw was playing chess with Alex while Martin evaluated the game. Without looking up, McGraw said, “Because he’s an asshole.”

Alex moved a pawn. “Maybe it’s an intelligence test.”

Jake shrugged. “Then why not just say, ‘Hi, guys. Here’s an intelligence test. Get out your number two pencils. You have sixty minutes to complete it’?”

“Maybe he’s worried we’ll have test anxiety. He’s so considerate.” Charli didn’t look up from her crossword puzzle.

Hallstrom sat on a decidedly unpresidential low couch nursing a whiskey. “Maybe we should bring in a consultant on testing. I always hated tests—not my strong point.”

Martin said, “The president doesn’t test well. Let’s hope that doesn’t get out.”

Everyone laughed. Some saw Martin and Alex as interchangeable parts, and they’d sometimes refer to one of them as “Martalex,” as in “Martalex said this,” or “Have you seen Martalex?” It wasn’t long before that morphed into “smart aleck,” and they were soon referred to as the “smart aleck twins.” It fit. The twins weren’t shy about whom they mocked.

Jake took another drink from his beer and froze. “Wait. Dane, say that again.”

“What, ‘I hated tests’? It’s an embarrassing admission for the president of the United States, but it doesn’t necessarily mean—”

“No, before that.”

Hallstrom swirled the ice in his glass. “Ah … sorry, don’t remember.”

Charli looked up. “He said we should bring in a consultant on testing.”

“Yes, that’s it.” Jake stood up quickly, spilled a little beer, and reached down to wipe it up with a napkin. “That’s the idea that’s been in the back of my head. A consultant. Cronkite is bringing in a consultant.”

Charli put her crossword down. “You mean DJ1?”

“No. Us.” Jake put his beer on the side table. “We’re the consultants. Cronkite doesn’t have a clue what the plans are. He found them or stole them or someone gave them to him, but he can’t decipher them. So he gives them to us saying ‘Here’s a present,’ then he waits for us to figure them out for him.”

Charli nodded. “Ooo nice. Yes, that’s nice. That’s important.” The others looked at her. “What? No, I’m serious. If true, that’s an incredibly useful thing to know.”

“But he built the sphere,” Guccio said.

“How do you know that?” Jake walked to the window and looked out.

Guccio shrugged. “Well, I guess I don’t.”

Jake turned back to the room. “Right. He stole the sphere or won it in a poker game or something. Are you ready for my grand theory?”

“Ready,” Hallstrom said.

“Still speculation. Just thinking out loud here, but I like it.” Jake paused. “DJ1 is an unmanned probe that travels to different star systems searching for new civilizations.”

McGraw shook his head. “That would be too slow.”

Jake paced. “Okay, yes, but perhaps the alien species is patient, and DJ1 is very fast when going interstellar.”

McGraw was still frowning. “But it could be hundreds or thousands of years between star systems.”

“Sure. But maybe the aliens live a million years, so, as I say, they’re patient. So, when DJ1 detects something, and it might be related to the sneeze slash pain thing, it sends a signal to the other ETs. A faster-than-light signal. We’ve concluded that maybe it has that capability. So it broadcasts this FTL signal, and guess who happens to be in the neighborhood?”

“Mr. Rogers?” Alex had his smart-aleck face on.

“Cronkite,” Charli said.

“Exactly. Or maybe Cronkite has been following DJ1 around. But when he gets the signal, he pops over to take a look.” Jake stopped pacing. “And what did he do when he found us?”

“He flew around then gave the SNL broadcast,” Charli said.

“No, after that.”

Now McGraw stared at nothing. “He flew out to DJ1 and tried to destroy it.”

“What do you mean?” Hallstrom said.

“We saw him head out toward DJ1, and then we saw a tremendous release of energy.” McGraw paused. “We assumed they were together, but maybe they’re not.”

“Right,” Jake said. “Maybe Cronkite headed out there to destroy DJ1.”

“But he was unsuccessful. DJ1 is still there,” McGraw said.

“Why did he try to destroy DJ1?” Guccio jutted his jaw out and tapped on it with his finger.

“Because he wants us for himself. He doesn’t want to share. Maybe he knows what DJ1 has in store for us, and whatever that is will interfere with his plans.”

Alex asked, “So, what does he want us for?”

“Well,” Jake said, “I’d guess either pets or subjects. He either wants to amuse himself, or he wants to be king.” He looked over at Charli. “Oops, sorry, that’s so chauvinistic. I meant he or she wants to be king or queen.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

August 15, 2018

Walking to the White House conference room, Jake was limping a bit from the hardware in his ankle.
I guess a rainstorm’s coming.
He stopped to stretch it, and Charli walked right into him. He winked at her. “Texting while walking, huh? Isn’t that illegal in DC?”

She continued walking and typing. “You should have stayed out of the fast lane. The breakdown lane is over there.” She pointed to a chair by the wall and then continued texting.

“You can get that fixed, you know.”

She finished her message, tapped Send, and looked up at him. “Get what fixed?”

“That blushing thing.” Jake smiled. “See, there it is again. The docs go in and snip a nerve somewhere, and your troubles are all behind you.”

She stuck her tongue out at him and blushed even more deeply.

Jake raised his eyebrows and nodded at her.
See what I mean?

They stepped into the conference room and Jake watched Charli take her seat. He waited until everyone was quiet. “Okay, folks. Looks like I’m leading the meeting today, but I’m just going to turn things over to the smart aleck twins, who have something truly momentous for show-and-tell today. All I know is that it’s something they’ve been working on together with a Russian team of scientists.”

Alex popped right up, obviously unfazed by Jake’s ribbing, and Jake went to sit next to Charli. She didn’t glance at him. Jake enjoyed looking at her.

“Okay, folks.” Alex echoed Jake’s words. “We’ve been working on figuring out what this first device is, and now we know. It’s a …”

Martin did a drumroll with his index fingers on the conference table.

“A 3D printer. Yay! The crowd goes wild.” Alex triggered the first Powerpoint slide.

Hallstrom, sitting near the back with Guccio and Young, said, “Can you bring me up to speed on what a 3D printer is. I know in general, but …”

Martin jumped up. “Well, do you know what a regular printer is? A 2D printer?”

Jake rolled his eyes and whispered in Charli’s ear. “Someone’s going to get audited.”

“A 3D printer is just like that, but instead of laying down a pattern of ink in two dimensions, it works in three dimensions by layering material on top of itself.” Martin put one hand on top of the other and then pulled the lower hand out and put it on top.

“But how can you print in the air?” Hallstrom asked.

“Well, you can’t, of course.” Alex took over the lecture. “Each layer is supported by the one below it. You can only make one layer at a time and only one object at a time. But the neat thing is …”

Martin did the drumroll thing again. Jake smiled.
Do they work this routine out ahead of time?

“What we have is a series of 3D printers.” Alex brought up a slide that showed three printers, each one more complex than the previous one. “Once we make the first one, we can use that to make the next, and so on. It’s kind of like bootstrapping ourselves up. By the way, this is really important because the 3D printer will allow us to make the other devices, some of which may be … weapons.” He said the last word with a low, ominous tone.

Jake looked around. Everyone got the concepts.

Alex continued. “The first one is the most difficult. The plans assume that we can already do 3D printing, which we can, but it’s not clear that our printers have the necessary sophistication. We’ve brought some aerospace engineers into this, and I’m finding that we’ve advanced further than I’d realized.”

Jake asked, “Where do we stand?”

“They’ve got the first printer almost done out at Edwards Air Force Base in California. Martin and I are going to commute between our lab, here, and that one.”

Jake stood up. “So, bottom line?”

“We should have the third generation 3D printer working in a month.”

“Just a month?” Charli raised her eyebrows.

“
No hay problema
,” the twins said in unison.

* * *

August 25, 2018

At 2:22 a.m., Dr. McGraw’s lab was dark except for light shining over a central table. Alex, Martin, and McGraw were hunched over a schematic. Alex stabbed his finger at the center of the diagram. “No. This is what we have to change.”
Why don’t they believe me?
His argument was going nowhere when a technician burst in and announced, “We’re getting a signal.”

Alex and the others looked at him blankly.

The tech waved for them to accompany him. “From DJ1.”

As if jolted with electricity, the three of them straightened up, hustled down the hall, and popped into the DJ1 room. The five technicians gathered around the monitors were all talking at once.

“What have we got, Vera?” McGraw asked.

Vera Kozma looked back at him. “This signal is a dream come true.” Pushing seventy, with thin gray hair to her waist, she’d been active in signal-processing research for over forty years. “It seems to be designed so that any dummy could interpret it. Look here.” She pointed at the screen. “Here is the raw signal. It’s essentially a BFSK scheme, if you’re familiar with that. In any case, this is ‘on’ here is ‘off’ and here is a pause.” She typed for a few seconds. “Here’s the start of the signal, and—”