Contact Us by Al Macy

is speaking to us from the Ruby Mountain bunker, where he has been working closely with the president in the four days since the sphere reached our planet.”
    Charli got up and walked two doors down to the media room where McGraw sat in front of the camera. The red light was on over the door, but she snuck in quietly and leaned against the back wall.
    “Thank you for talking with us today, Dr. McGraw.”
    “Happy to be here … or to be talking with you.” McGraw licked his lips. Charli gave him a thumbs up and a wink even though he probably couldn’t see her. Most of the room was dark, with cables running along the cement floor.
    “Dr. McGraw, what’s inside that sphere?”
    “We, ah, don’t know, of course, but there are two possibilities that I can think of. First, it’s totally mechanical—that is, it’s a drone, with no biological beings inside it. NASA discovered a while ago that it’s a lot easier and cheaper to send a mechanical device to another planet than it is to send people. So this sphere could be analogous to one of our Mars rover units.” McGraw’s speech smoothed out once he began talking about his passion.
    “There are few creatures on Earth that could survive the kinds of decelerations we’ve observed. But of course, if there is a biological being in there, it will be unlike any creature on Earth.” He paused here, as if picturing a totally alien being.
    “In addition, since we know the craft is far more advanced than anything humans have created, perhaps it has properties that eliminate the G forces on the inside. My scientists tell me that’s impossible, but the craft did travel at Mach twenty without generating any sonic booms.” Another pause, this time to take a sip of water. “Could there be one or more sentient beings inside that craft? Yes, all right, it’s entirely possible, but I see it as the less-likely alternative.”
    At this point Kendel Cole put his finger to his earpiece in the international I’m-getting-a-message gesture, and said “Dr. McGraw I’m going to have to interrupt you here, because apparently something is happening. We have a television signal being broadcast from the sphere itself. If we can—”
    Charli pushed off from the wall and motioned to McGraw, who pulled off his microphone and made his way through the maze of lights, microphones, and monitors. They hurried back to the situation room just as Hallstrom and Young arrived. Guccio wasn’t far behind. Charli dropped into a blue-fabric swivel chair while keeping her eyes on the screen. Most of the room was antiseptic-gray, but the ribbon mahogany conference table would have been at home in any high-end office suite.
    A 1950s-style test pattern, the one with the Indian chief on it, abruptly replaced Cole on the monitors. This happened for all stations around the world, and most of the inhabitants of Earth were now glued to their sets, anticipating what was sure to be humans’ first contact with an extraterrestrial civilization.
    When the test pattern disappeared, replaced by the set for the CBS Evening News, Charli turned to Hallstrom and said, “Well, so much for that, I guess there was no transmission after all.” But when she looked back to the screen, Walter Cronkite was sitting at the anchor desk. What?
    The real Walter Cronkite, the one who anchored the CBS news for nineteen years, the one known as the most trusted man in America, had died in 2009. This Walter Cronkite, whether it was a hologram, an illusion, or something else, sat calmly looking over his papers and adjusting his earpiece. He wore the same heavy-framed glasses seen at the announcement of the death of President Kennedy. He wore not a business suit, but a faded I-Heart-NY T-shirt with a name tag that read “Hello my name is” with “Walter” written in with blue marker pen.
    Guccio said, to no one, “What’s wrong with this picture?”
    Charli looked at him then back to the screen.
    Cronkite put the papers down, took off