Chapter Eight

Tabitha Wish heard the dinner bubbling and hissing in the kitchen, forcing her to abandon her tenacious viewing of the CNN channel. Her family, exasperated by her fixation on the spheres, must have conspired to be out of their tract-house to get her to vacate her chair.

“I know what you’re doing,” she shouted at no one, but possibly everyone outside the door of the newly bought home in Pearl, Mississippi. Her recent promotion didn’t pay well, but it upgraded them from an awful downtown apartment.

Before she left the living room, her nose involuntarily twitched at the aroma of roast chicken, and overdone steamed vegetables.

In the steam-filled kitchen she met three saucepans whose lids danced with uninhibited rage at being abandoned for so long. Peering into the condensation she discovered sweet potatoes gurgling at her in one pan, turnips boiling down to pot liquor in another, and a mysterious mishmash including Yellow Crookneck Squash and tomatoes plotting to escape.

“I’m turning it all off,” she yelled to her supposed conspirators. The first in the family to gain a degree, and still she was expected to be momma in everything about the home. The twins were only a week from being teens so they shouldn’t need their noses being wiped. Nor should her pop, who had taken on man-of-the-house duties since her rat-husband deserted after his Iraq duty. Not deserted from the army—that’d be understandable, but after he’d de-mobilised back in the States. Last seen in a New Orleans topless bar, she’d top him if he came near Jackson. No child support in money or any other kind. She might’ve understood if the medical report rabbited on about Gulf War syndrome, but she could visualize the testosterone-over-achiever making hay until money, health or suckers gave up on him.

Pulling a face at the lace-curtained window, in case any of the three playing hooky were peeping in, she sat back in her computer chair and logged onto SpheresWatch.com.

She clicked through the newly placed five webcams: Glastonbury, Uluru, Table Top, Huashan, and El Capitan. All floated thirty metres above their exit holes. Military presence surrounded them, too. From missile launchers to tanks, fire brigades with hoses at the ready in case the spheres or the landscape turned incendiary. Scaffolding was climbing towards them at Huashan and Glastonbury. She rapid read the scrolled text where scant details informed her of the need to probe the spheres, test their structures.

The El Capitan webcam had a friend; another variable camera that zoomed to the hole, and showed heavy-duty army vehicles. A third camera showed the progress of a remote camera and grabber descending into the chasm. The three kilometres deep shaft swallowed the clumsy, boxlike apparatus, but the floodlit image stayed constant.

Occasional streaks proved it was descending but the polished rock showed the same grey scene for forty minutes before the rough base was revealed. Sample drill bits telescoped out of the robot and started their work, while more photographs were snapped and X-ray and other emissions were sought.

With bloodshot eyes from zooming too close to the screen, Tabitha hardly dared blink. Her fascination would have bordered on insanity, but she was gathering data, too. Although plenty of front pages had blurted the unusual phenomenon to the populace, she, as a newly qualified journalist, searched for an angle. To make her breakthrough at The Clarion Ledger, and beyond, she needed to be the first to make a connection and get it out there. She strained to catch a slipped-out piece of information seemingly insignificant at one of the sphere sites, but paralleled at the others.

“Hey, Mom,” shouted Roma, “You’ve let the dinner go cold.”

“Sorry, daughter, you know how important it is for me to show those men at the office how we women are better than them?” She swivelled the chair and grabbed her daughter for a hug.

“It’s KFC again tonight then?”

Roma laughed as Tabitha tickled her. “No, it looked just about done. I’ll heat it up again in the microwave while I butter the bread. Ah, I see Charlie’s beaten me to it.”

“Sure I have,” said Roma’s twin, with his mouth full of peanut-jellied bread.

A walking stick came in horizontally through the front doorway, signalling the entry of Tabitha’s father.

“Hey, Pop, sorry to have left you with them, but—”

“I know, I know. Matters nothing to me. You get on with your studies, maybe you’ll pass them exams this time.”

“I’ve already passed them, Pop, it’s…oh, never mind.” She stood to belatedly sort the dinner when a Reuter’s tickertape item, scrolling across the task bar caught her eye, and then her breath.

“...Vatican spokesperson says the spheres are a warning to non-believers...”

Amazing, considering the Vatican works in centuries not in days. She hit her journalist’s link to Vatican statements, but that report wasn’t there yet. Good, that meant others wouldn’t find it either, increasing her chances of a scoop. She used her Press ID password to get into the innards of Reuters and found the source of the item.

She was curious how the Vatican would’ve thought the spheres favoured Catholics or Christians.

“Item # 3421DYS-39-Rome,Italy: 0910: 06:28: Sergio Califano, the Pope’s spokesperson, issued the following statement:

The phenomenon, known as the spheres, is a manifestation from God. They came from his Earth and symbolise a calling for non-believers to pay heed to the Church’s teachings. We must all pray for salvation. They are also a reminder to the faithful of His omnipotence. Earlier manifestations of the spheres occur in the bible as angels and balls of fire—this isn’t new. Nor are they aliens from outer space. We observe that all the spheres destroyed sites of heretical fringe religions, mostly from the ignorant past. No Christian site was violated giving us surety in the hand of God. They are the Light and Good.”

Tabitha saved the statement, but knew she had to find quotes from other religions before rushing off an article. This could be big, but also explosive if not handled appropriately. Her family weren’t Catholic like that Sergio Califano, but they were Baptist and she wouldn’t be at all surprised if they agreed with him. On the other hand, many Baptists she knew liked to believe in UFOs and aliens. But because this raises too many difficult questions with their religion, they conveniently don’t bring the two issues together.

“Whaddya think, Pop? Could aliens have the same God as us?”

“Damn Mexicans say they do.”

“No, outer space aliens.” Tabitha stifled a laugh.

“Sure, though they’d have to have descended from Adam and Eve.”

“So, any aliens out there, or here, according to the bible, must have originated from humans.”

Her father shuffled in his seat, looking for a forbidden cigarette. “Or they might be angels or demons, unless God made other Earths besides this one. I reckon not ‘cos it doesn’t say so in the good book.”

“It doesn’t say He didn’t, either. I wonder what the Koran says about it. I’ll go and get my copy.”

“Hey, girl, you saying you got a copy of the Koran in my house?” He mocked shock—Tabitha knew he was only a Baptist by tradition.

Part of her journalism course was on multicultural and multi-religion familiarisation. She couldn’t absorb it all, but she excelled at taking notes. She found a list of contacts, and sent an E-mail to a PA of the Grand Ayatollah in Saudi Arabia.

The trouble with E-mails was that they took seconds to reach their destination but hours or days for people to consider them. She started the article; left it to wash pots from the partly consumed dinner; did research into aliens in other religions; badgered the kids into baths and bed; and then bit fingernails waiting for a reply. Only then did she realise Saudi Arabia would have been past midnight and asleep.

Tutting to herself, she knocked off a so-so article on how the spheres were panicking people—using a riot in Alice Springs where thousands of aborigines wailed at the despoliation of Uluru. She leant towards the ‘fear of the unknown’ angle but, like many journalists, presented problems rather than solutions. Another riot had erupted in China but, although it was sightseers fighting to get a good look at the Huashan sphere, she supposed they did so to convince themselves of its existence, and therefore something tangible to panic about.

She couldn’t find any evidence of rioting or panic crowds at El Capitan. The army had sealed off Yosemite, just as the British had at Glastonbury. The latter had what appeared to be hedonistic rock festivals instead of woeful mass prayers. She dug up a few worried forum threads on the Web, but maybe because no one had died, general disbelief, and the holiday season on people’s minds, there was too little meat to feed her article. It seemed over-cooked with unnecessary gnashing of teeth. Her finger hovered over the Send button, feeling guilty for writing such nonsense, although most of it was kinda true. A light pinged on in her good-idea brain cell.

“Hello Minister? Sorry to trouble you late evening.”

“Who is it?” said the Baptist minister, sounding like this call was one too many.

“Sorry, I’m Tabitha Wish, my family has just moved to Pearl, but we did come the last two Sundays.”

“I remember, twins and your father. Do you have a problem that can’t wait, Mrs.

Wish?”

Tabitha had to think quickly. She was going to ask if he’d heard of people being worried about the spheres; people hoarding food and candles; more praying than usual.

But he sounded like he’d fob her off crying tiredness. She needed a problem not a mere journalist’s interview question.

“I’m really worried, Minister. I can’t sleep over it, and I’m afraid God is punishing us, which means my kids will suffer.”

He sounded tired. “What’s upsetting you, Tabitha?”

Once again, guilt gnawed at her conscience, which helped to make her voice quiver.

“It’s those spheres. I heard that they are a manifestation from God to remind us of our sins. But, worse than that, I’m scared to death I’m the only one that’s worried about them.”

“Nonsense, woman, many people are worried about them—well, concerned might be a better word.”

“Really? So others are panicking more than me?”

“You are not alone, Tabitha. But there’s no need to feel afraid. I’m sure the Lord is looking out for us. Come round tomorrow if you want to talk.”

“Minister, how many people have phoned you about them?”

“Why would you want to know that, Tabitha? What is this really all about?”

She’d detected a hint of suspicion in his voice. Surely he’d not know she was a journalist, although a few pieces in the Ledger had her name in the by-line.

“It’s me being silly. Thanks for your comforting words, Minister. I’ll let you go.

Bye.” She amended her article to include: “Panic grows as congregations flock to seek salvation from the spheres.”

Once again her right index finger lightly dusted the Send button, but a musical ping announced an incoming E-mail.

“To: Tabitha Wish of the Washington Post”

To:TabithaWishoftheWashingtonPost

She blushed at her audacity.

“Your request for an Islamic view of the spheres prompted the Grand Ayatollah Idries Taqizi to issue the following statement to the news agencies. He will use this statement on a TV broadcast to all believers in Allah.

With no doubt whatsoever the spheres are Jinn. Allah’s Garden of Bliss is filled with Angels and Jinn. In the Qur’an, the Prophet (salAllahu alayhi wasalam) has confirmed ‘The Angels were created from light and the Jinn from smokeless fire’. But, although Jinn are normally not visible to mortals, there are circumstances when evil has to be driven out. We note that all the spheres have emerged from non-Muslim countries and so conclude it is the evil in them that has driven the Jinn away. Their visibility indicates Allah’s displeasure, and his demands that those countries follow the true faith.

End of statement.”

Tabitha clapped her hands. She had two contradictory views, just what the tutors at university urged them to have in all good articles. In one, the Christians have the spheres as manifestations of goodness, and destroyed heretic sites. The Islam view is that they are the evil spirits in Jinn, and appeared in Christian and other non-Muslim countries. She knew this wasn’t quite an accurate representation of the two statements but that way made better copy.

This time she pressed Send.

* * *

Tabitha walked into the busy office of The Clarion Ledger the next afternoon expecting applause. Her report hit the front page of the paper, and by lunchtime had been broadcast nationwide, then globally. Having started her job there only three weeks before, she had yet to bond with the staff, but the hostile looks were totally unexpected. Were they envious of her coup? Never mind, she was destined to go on to greater things than their parochial existence.

An uncanny silence filled the room. Even the aircon forgot to emit its headache racket. The editor’s door opened. Roger de Griffe, a sweaty, middle-aged white man with extraordinary thick grey hair glared at her.

“Wish, in here, now.”

She sat on a padded chair facing his polished mahogany desk; an anachronism in that otherwise glass and aluminium office. Stale tobacco haunted the room from pre-no-smoking days. Or was he a secret cigar man? She wanted to pre-empt his attack by pointing out the success of her article spreading around the networks, but decided to let him bluster first.

“How dare you display such unprofessionalism in our name?”

“I thought you’d be pleased. What did I do wrong?”

“First, you hadn’t checked your sources. Second you distributed the article under our banner to CNN. Third, we do not engage in hysterical hype.”

Tabitha’s stomach tightened as she battled with responses. “I used the sources—well, my interpretation of them.”

“You should’ve passed your sources to me. I assumed you got it right, but the Vatican is now denying their spokesperson said anything like you wrote.”

“It’s substantially what he said—the spheres are a sign from God.”

“Yes, and the Grand Ayatollah said remarkably much the same thing, except you chose to emphasise the differences. Instead of promoting harmony, and inducing calmness, you’ve created panic where there was very little before.”

He pointed a remote control at a huge flat TV. CNN showed the waving hands of the president urging people to not panic. He said the spheres had not demonstrated any harm, his best experts were on the case, and they were most likely to be a hitherto unseen natural phenomenon. Further shots showed supermarkets whose shelves were emptying as fast as panic-buyers wheel loaded trolleys out. He switched it off. Tabitha felt nauseous as her crime sank in.

“Mrs. Wish. You have children, don’t you?”

“Sure, Mr. de Griffe, Roger. Twins.”

“D’you want them to grow up in a world like that?” He pointed at the now lifeless screen. “Where people are convinced the spheres are evil and about to kill us all.

Where emptying stores is just the beginning. People will stop going to work, wanting to spend their last moments with family and friends. No work means no power, no fresh water, no medics—need I go on?”

“You can’t lay all that on me. There was already some panic, my minister told me.”

“Oh, you mean your Baptist Minister, Mr. Michael Davis? He tells me he in no way recognises your reporting of his ‘phone conversation with you. Oh sure, some people were worried about the spheres. They are one weird sack of potatoes, but only a handful saw them as evil devils ready to strike. You put it about that if you were a Christian you’d better become a Muslim and vice versa. A neat trick!”

“Aren’t you blowing this out of proportion, Sir? Somebody was going to use the Vatican statement and the Ayatollah’s, sooner than later. I beat them to it. I don’t think I exaggerated by as much as you said.”

“What do I hear? D’ya think I’m making a scapegoat outta you? Well maybe you’re right and panic was on its way. But the chairman of the board found out you said you were from the Washington Post to get that Islam statement. Another time he’d give you a raise for your initiative, but in this case, he’s letting you go. In fact he said to tell you go get a job at the Washington Post.”

Tears filled her eyes. She tried to will them back but couldn’t. Sacked so soon.

Her father would be mortified. Perhaps she’d gone too far, but wasn’t that what go-getting journalists were supposed to do? Her frustration boiled over. She half-remembered a rumour about the chairman having several affairs.

“You can tell the chairman he wouldn’t know a good journalist from a lap dancer, or would that be below the belt?”

“In his case you could kick him below the belt and he wouldn’t notice. Listen Tabitha, I’m supposed to sack you, but take a week off instead. If this debacle blows over, come back. If it worsens, I don’t know, I might still want you back.”

Surprised, Tabitha finally accepted a paper tissue from his outstretched hand, and mopped up tears. “Why so generous?”

“Luckily, most of the intelligentsia ignored your comments, and the extremes of the Muslim and Christian statements. Others are in dissent or denial, because they’re convinced the spheres are alien artefacts. Sadly, it leaves the masses in disarray, but many seem to like it that way. Your stupidity and boldness reminds me of me when I was wet. Keep an eye on the spheres for anything others haven’t spotted, but let me know first, yes?”