*
The designated diplomats did not fare nearly so well. “Where are the rest? Why have we been separated?” Mathew asked of no one in particular. Like the others, he was feeling a range of emotions: disquiet, fear, apprehension, annoyance and bewilderment. Having allocated rooms to themselves they were all jammed into the biggest room, which they had decided to use as a lounge.
“He clearly doesn’t know what to do,” muttered one.
“Neither do I,” muttered another with feeling. “There’s no portholes, no communication, no sounds. I keep expecting to be contacted by the aliens.”
After hours of no contact Mathew, although very worried and flustered, said, “We need to plan how we are going to deal with contact, what trade we can organise and how we will handle diplomacy.”
“We are scientists, biologists, astronomers, not traders,” protested one.
“Trade was what I had intended to concentrate on, leaving First Contact more to Sarah and SETI.” Mathew consulted his notebook, reading out the plan his PA had devised. “I have some prepared samples, photos and descriptions of art, music, seeds, spices, designs and architecture, jewellery, sculptures, textiles, exotic pets, literature, poetry, games and electronics, and knowledge. In return, I wanted technology, medical knowledge, military equipment, art, music, space technology, and knowledge. But what will ET want? We have so little to go on. In fact, we have nothing to go on. The only thing I know is that Sarah paid for SETI’s seats with seeds—flowers, vegetables, trees, shrubs and climbers. But what are the wants and needs of the aliens where we are going? We have no idea who has invited us. What do they want? What are they like? What are their intentions towards humans? What are their tastes?”
Mathew was frustrated and his PA’s plan had not allowed for his team being separated from SETI. He had expected Sarah to do the work while he used her skills. He had ordered his team to prepare huge databases in their chosen specialties while they were on the plane and download them once they reached Christchurch. Mathew’s team, however, found him difficult to work for. He did not lead, he pushed and his attitude was hard to take.
Mathew’s annoying air of superiority covered a floundering, bewildered child. To be in a situation like this, that he could neither understand nor handle, was a common problem for him, fanatically hidden. Of below average intelligence, he had been privately tutored from day one. He achieved graduation, a tribute to his well paid, cunning, realistic and remarkably talented tutors.
Mathew had been taught to have a good memory and he learned by rote. He often did not understand what he memorized. Cautious to keep their highly paid and cushy jobs, the tutors told Mathew few students understood all they learned and once he graduated, he would never again need most of it. While there is much truth in that, they avoided telling him that the whole point of school is not what you learn but to learn how to learn. Mathew did not understand all the steps. He was ill equipped for this job and his usual advisers were not here.
But Mathew was not stupid. He had realised he probably could not find the solutions but thought Sarah probably could. After all, this was her job and he understood she had spent over a decade preparing for just this circumstance. He knew what she had achieved with SETI. That was one bit of research he had downloaded just before he left Earth, prepared for him by one of his researchers while he was en route. He was impressed by what she had accomplished but this was both a gift and a problem. In Sarah, even from the little he had learnt of her, he saw her obvious abilities as a threat to his own ambitions. His original intention had been to delegate the job to her but keep the credit for himself. His usual tactic was to take over once he finally understood the problem and its solution and get the credit.
Mathew yearned to do something for himself. To achieve recognition, preferably for something he did. If need be, to take the credit for someone else’s achievement. Hopeless at sport, mediocre at music, too concrete to act and lacking imagination for the other arts, Mathew had never excelled at anything despite all the help that a bottomless wallet could provide.
Now nearly 50, Mathew thought this might be his last chance to do something significant with his life. And he so yearned to be known for some real achievement. Mathew’s was a high-functioning family and the expectations on them were high. Mathew’s accomplishments had fallen well short and he knew it.
He had leapt at this chance and he and his PA had put his team together in less than two hours via phone. While the politicians were still arguing he was organized and already leaving with his team of yes-men of both sexes. His PA had had the forethought to contact Christchurch airport and had organised and paid for a pack each. And his was the only diplomatic team that made the deadline. Most arrived after the ship had left. He had intended to use Sarah’s knowledge and the knowledge of her team to work out what to do next. He assumed she would help. But they were caught unawares by being separated on the spaceship and isolated from each other. His team did try to work out some plans and protocols. After all, they had nothing else to do. He looked in frustration at the food being served to him; cold reconstituted muck or fatty canned corned beef. Everything cold, boring, most of it dehydrated. However he had to admit it had been well planned to cope with present conditions and it seemed as if someone had put a lot of thought into the choosing of it it except for taste! Out of his depth, he continued to worry.