Gardens of Destruction

Patterson strode down the echoing corridor with unwavering confidence, his sturdy gait echoing upon the stone pavement. He was keenly aware of the impending meeting looming ahead. The memory of his recent conversation with the professor danced in his mind. Now, as he traversed the familiar halls, the conference hall awaited—a space where senior officials and scientists convened to deliver presentations on multifarious projects and operations. What troubled him more than the impending meeting was the unexpected attendance of the President himself, along with the presence of the Secretary of State—a figure Patterson harbored a sincere distaste for. A sense of foreboding gnawed at him, for his premonitions, albeit infrequent, seldom erred in signaling when matters weren’t quite right.

Since arriving at work that morning, he had observed the peculiar behaviors of those around him—furtive glances directed his way, silent hopes that his typically stoic facade might betray a reaction. He understood why. Professor Bernstein’s early morning call had brought news that would challenge the convictions of any single-minded military man. Yet, Patterson summoned the strength to convene an internal meeting to quash burgeoning rumors. In times like these, he mused, honesty was the best recourse. Contacting the presidency had been a faint hope, but he hadn’t anticipated such a swift and vested interest.

Upon entering the meeting room, he seemingly ignored the probing gazes, striding purposefully toward the console where the nervous professor hovered. His measured footsteps were swallowed by the plush carpet, enveloping the room in a heavy silence.

Positioning himself behind the console, Patterson commenced without preamble, “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” his voice initially hushed, the microphone inactive. Nevertheless, a collective anticipation held the room captive. He activated the microphone with a decisive press of a red button and cleared his throat to speak.

“We’re convened to discuss something of profound interest. However, let me caution everyone in this room: any breach of confidentiality will face severe consequences, including the possibility of incarceration for the most verbose individual.”

A ripple of unease swept through the room, and eyes darted apprehensively.

“This is serious,” he reiterated firmly, “We’ve classified this operation with the utmost secrecy and won’t hesitate to take action against any loose lips. I’ve toiled alongside some of you for an extensive tenure, fostering mutual trust. I’m compelled to divulge this information promptly for a simple reason: everyone is to cease their current tasks and focus solely on one objective—gathering comprehensive information about the Object. Our esteemed Professor Bernstein will elaborate further. Professor, please assume the floor and share our current knowledge.”

The scientist stood up hesitantly, fiddling with his shirt collar, his voice somewhat hoarse as it ruptured the lingering silence.

“Colleagues, I... I find it challenging to commence. I’m greatly perturbed, but I’ll endeavor to present the situation impartially. Roughly a week ago, computer analysis from early warning satellites alerted us to a new celestial object. Initially dismissed due to its distance posing no immediate threat, subsequent checks revealed surprising revelations. Notably, the asteroid’s sudden appearance in space piqued our curiosity.”

“Could it have simply gone undetected until now?” queried a voice from the hall.

“It’s improbable that an asteroid spanning over one hundred miles in length had eluded detection by numerous astronomers worldwide, professionals and amateurs alike,” the professor shook his head.

As murmurs ebbed through the hall, the scientist, buoyed by newfound confidence, pressed on, undeterred.

“Moreover, it has a very intriguing shape, resembling a wedge. Our estimations put it at over one hundred miles in diameter, with a pointed front end measuring about ten miles, akin to the tip of a needle.” The professor displayed the satellite images for the assembled audience.

“Professor, what makes you assert that the sharp end is the front?” queried a voice from the shadowed recesses of the room.

“A fascinating inquiry, my dear colleague!” The professor’s thin lips contoured into a slight smile. “The answer is equally intriguing and simple. It moves with the sharp end leading the way!”

A weighty silence enveloped the room at this revelation.

“Yes, dear colleagues, there’s no mistake. This object isn’t orbiting anything and exhibits no rotational movement. Just as its shape, its trajectory is incredibly consistent. Moreover, there are no discernible surface traces, such as meteorite craters.”

“Are you positing that it’s definitively not an asteroid, Professor?” dared someone to voice the query lingering on everyone’s minds.

The scientist hesitated briefly before continuing. “Spectral analysis has also yielded intriguing results. We’ve detected an unusual concentration of quartz or a similar crystal structure.”

Removing his spectacles to wipe the glass, an awkward hush prevailed in the hall. After a brief pause, he resumed.

“And now, the most crucial piece of information regarding this Object. Firstly, it’s hurtling at an extraordinary speed, far surpassing any asteroid. Secondly… as for its trajectory, I’ll allow you to hazard a guess.”

A palpable hush settled as if a veil of silence had been drawn across the room.

“Towards Earth?” tentatively suggested a voice, not expecting an affirmative response.

“It’s not much of a stretch to deduce when put forth so directly,” the professor replied with an anxious countenance.

At this juncture, General Patterson rose, taking charge to quell the burgeoning panic among the gathered crowd.

“Let’s not get carried away! There’s no need for alarm. I require your attention and efforts to gather more intel on the object. This is vital in determining our next course of action.”

“Professor, when is this object expected to reach Earth?” ventured the president, who had thus far stood in the room’s shadows, shrouded in darkness.

“It’s difficult to ascertain, Sir. From our observations, it appears to decelerate in intermittent thrusts—nonlinearly, as if by happenstance. But we haven’t deciphered any consistent pattern. My estimation gives us no more than a week until the rendezvous.”

The gravity of his response dismayed all present. Until then, no one had dared to articulate the question that had everyone’s nerves on edge.

“A rendezvous, Professor Bernstein? Explain, please, without too many scientific jargons!” demanded the slightly irked President.

“I... I’m at a loss, Sir,” the professor’s eyes darted guiltily toward General Patterson, seeking salvation from the torrent of inquiries. “My hypothesis is that this isn’t of natural origin, Sir. Every indicator suggests its artificial construction, and it appears to be heading directly toward us.”

Without a word, the president departed with heavy steps, flanked by his retinue of bodyguards.

“I’m adjourning this meeting, ladies and gentlemen!” General Patterson swiftly rose to his feet. “Let’s resume our duties, and remember—this task is of the utmost secrecy. I expect unwavering commitment from each of you… Professor, follow me to my office!” His tone brooked no argument.

As they traversed the corridors toward the General’s office, a palpable silence enveloped them, each step swallowed by the lush, specially crafted carpets meant for the president’s quarters. The atmosphere hung heavy between them, akin to the acrid scent of burning rubber—oppressive and choking. Neither dared to meet the other’s gaze, both consumed by the weight of the situation pressing upon them.

They reached the General’s office, finding the President already present, his impatience evident.

“I sought privacy, Professor,” the Head of State began promptly. “I want your candid opinion on the gravity of this situation. Spare me the scientific jargon; after all, I’m a politician. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“Absolutely not, Mr. President!” The scientist retorted, aghast. “Everything we know was disclosed in that meeting!”

The Head of State paused, assuming a posture reminiscent of an ancient Greek statue.

As they stood facing each other in the General’s office, a weighty silence lingered between them. The President’s probing gaze bore into Bernstein’s concerned eyes.

“If your belief is that this object is of artificial origin, could we then infer that it comes from extraterrestrial intelligence?” the President inquired, his voice edged with urgency.

“If you’re asking whether this pseudo-asteroid is of natural origin, my answer is ‘no.’ But I suspect you’re after something more,” the scientist replied, shifting his gaze to the carpet beneath their feet.

“Yes, and I insist on a direct response, Professor.”

“Mr. President, a discovery of such magnitude... I’ve been waiting for this moment my entire life. Do you comprehend what it means for an astrophysicist? It’s akin to winning the lottery twice in a row,” the professor conveyed passionately, his voice resonant with fervor.

“I understand,” nodded the Head of State.

“No, you don’t,” the professor shook his head. “This is a once-in-a-millennium event! An encounter between two civilizations—a milestone in human history.”

“So, in essence, you believe that within this Object resides members of an alien civilization?” the president spoke, inadvertently biting his lips, his confident demeanor from the election long gone.

“Let me reframe it. Imagine building a spaceship the size of New York. Would you send only instruments and robots?” The question hung in the air, deliberately rhetorical. The president remained silent, his lips still caught between his teeth, while the professor gestured animatedly with his hands.

“My belief is that if a civilization could construct such a facility, it likely sent a crew aboard,” the professor continued. “The age of the Object could reveal more—how long it’s traveled. Perhaps there’s no one left alive on board after thousands or millions of years. The possibilities are infinite, Mr. President. Science cannot yet answer these questions. But I know what you’re wondering—whether they pose a threat, whether we should welcome or destroy them. I won’t advise you. But consider this: do you want history to remember you as the man who botched humanity’s first contact?”

The president appeared to waver, losing his composure momentarily.

“I’m contemplating many questions,” the president admitted. After a brief pause, he added, “I understand your passion, but from my standpoint... what choice should I make? Permit further study or issue an order for immediate destruction? You say I can be the first president to make contact, but what if I’m the last? Did you factor that in? Can billions be sacrificed for scientific curiosity?”

“I’m at a loss, Mr. President, but as a scientist, my duty is to avoid hasty actions and violence against an unknown intelligence,” Bernstein replied firmly.

The President, agitated, stood in silence for a moment, grappling with the weight of his decision.

“For now, we’ll keep this under wraps but monitor closely,” the President declared abruptly, rising to leave the General’s office.