Diablo Mesa(12)
The landscape had a Zen-like emptiness that Nora, too, found enchanting.
“They call this Diablo Mesa; nobody knows why. In Spanish days there was a watchtower on this mesa, where they kept a lookout for Comanches heading west to raid along the Rio Grande. That vast area beyond is called the Plains of Atalaya, and the white area in the middle is Dead Lake. Those distant peaks are called the Horse Heaven Hills. The buttes beyond are Los Gigantes, the giants, and the mountains on the horizon are Los Fuertos: the stronghold.”
“Horse Heaven Hills—what a picturesque name.”
“I looked into the history—in Spanish times, those hills were El Cielo de Caballos. I’ve always been intrigued by place-names. Someday I’m going to explore them and see just what horse heaven looks like. Lots of grass, I imagine.” Tappan guided her toward a particularly long, gleaming RV. “Nora, may I invite you to my trailer for a few minutes? So we can talk?”
She nodded.
It was a huge Prevost conversion coach with its sides extended. He opened the door and led the way into an elegant but understated living room, with leather sofas and wing chairs arranged around an antique coffee table. Against the back wall were a wet bar and a media center. The floor was covered with Persian rugs and the walls were paneled in cherrywood, decorated with prints by Piranesi. A spectacular arrangement of star lilies and other fresh flowers dominated the table.
“Welcome to my dorm room,” he said. “Please, have a seat.”
Nora did so, trying not to be impressed. It looked more like the salon of a manor house than an RV. She had a sense he was now going to press her again about accepting the job. She wondered what to do. If it were just her, she’d probably still decline…but the truth was, she worried about Skip. The night before, she had Googled Lucas Tappan and was not fully reassured by what she’d found. To his credit, Icarus was involved in a number of green-energy projects—wind and solar—but there had also been NIMBY disputes, and Tappan tended to roll over the opposition. He was currently embroiled in a controversial wind-turbine project in the ocean off the coast of Maine. Despite his relaxed fa?ade, he didn’t suffer fools gladly and demanded a lot from his subordinates. He also had a history of abruptly firing people. How long would Skip survive in that kind of environment?
“Can I offer you a drink?” he asked, bringing her thoughts back. “I note the sun is below the yardarm, which means it’s time for my martini.” He went over to the bar. “I allow myself just one in the evening. What can I get you? We have everything from beer and wine to liquor, or kombucha, Pellegrino—whatever’s your pleasure.”
“A Pellegrino would be fine.” Nora felt awkward; it was almost like a date. She had never met a billionaire before, let alone one her own age, and the novelty was still sinking in.
Tappan came back with a straight-up martini in one hand and mineral water in the other, and took a seat in the wing chair adjacent to her. “Nora, do you have any questions—I mean, before we return to the heart of the matter?”
“Can I speak freely?”
“Nothing’s stopped you so far.”
“Okay.” She paused to glance around again. “I just wonder: Why this? There are so many things you could be doing with your money. Why UFOs?”
“Meaning, it seems eccentric to you?”
“Frankly, yes.”
“Fair enough.” He took a sip of his drink. “Tell me: What’s the greatest discovery we human beings could make? Even greater, say, than finding a lost civilization? Greater than the discovery of fire, or the wheel?” He paused dramatically. “It would be to learn that we’re not alone. To learn there are other intelligent species out there.”
“But…it’s so far-fetched.”
“I respectfully disagree. In the past decade, astronomers have learned there are at least fifty billion Earth-like planets orbiting the habitable star zones in just our galaxy. You don’t have to be a mathematician to realize that the odds of other intelligent species being out there are incredibly high. And here’s another thing to consider: Our star is young. It’s only five billion years old. Meanwhile, there are countless stars in our galaxy twice as old. There may be civilizations that are millions or even billions of years older than ours. Just think what technological heights they have achieved!”
“If they didn’t destroy themselves first.”
“You mean the so-called Great Filter? That’s a common argument, but I don’t buy it. We’ve had the means to destroy ourselves for seventy-five years and we haven’t done it. Nobody else came along to blow us up, either.” He paused. “Imagine: fifty billion planets. And there are a trillion other galaxies beyond. That makes sextillion planets where intelligent life could have developed. The fact is, mathematics requires that our universe be teeming with intelligent life. So, no: it’s not far-fetched at all.”
All this tumbled out of Tappan in a rush of enthusiastic words. Nora couldn’t help but find his eagerness charming and boyish—and genuine. Tappan was like the kid who never grew up and now had the money to make his childhood dreams come true.
Tappan paused and chuckled, abruptly self-conscious. “I do get on my hobbyhorse from time to time. Sorry. But here’s the crux of the matter: If there are thousands, if not millions, of alien civilizations in our galaxy—are any of them aware of us? Have they ever stopped to take a look? I think they have. The proof of it is right here. And we’re going to find it.”