MAKING
CONTACT - by Tarot Barnes
00:00:00001 A.I.EYE2:
Maintenance Cycle Complete.
00:00:00004 A.I.EYE2:
Online; Beginning Search.
01:14:02343 A.I.EYE2:
False
01:14:03344 A.I.EYE2:
False
01:14:04345 A.I.EYE2:
False
01:14:05346 A.I.EYE2:
CANDIDATE!
01:14:06349 A.I.EYE2:
False
01:14:06350 A.I.EYE2:
CANDIDATE!
01:14:06351 A.I.EYE2:
CANDIDATE!
01:14:06352 A.I.EYE2:
CANDIDATE!
01:14:06353 A.I.EYE2 _
A.I.SUPEYE-ARRAY53:
Request Check, location:
I.S.C. 518,208. Reason: "CANDIDATE!"
01:14:06354
A.I.SUPEYE-ARRAY53 _ A.I.EYE2:
Working...
01:14:06355
A.I.SUPEYE-ARRAY53 _ A.I.EYE2:
Request Granted.
01:14:06356
A.I.SUPEYE-ARRAY53 _ LocalCHAN4:
Halt Order: Offaxis
Search: Check I.S.C. 518,208
01:14:08360
ARRAY4
A.I.EYE1: False
A.I.EYE2: CANDIDATE!
A.I.EYE3: False
A.I.EYE4:
Indeterminate: 48%
01:14:08361
A.I.SUPEYE-ARRAY53 _ GlobalCHAN53:
Halt Order: Offaxis
Search: Check I.S.C. 518,208
01:14:10365
ARRAY1
A.I.EYE1: False
A.I.EYE2: False
A.I.EYE3: False
A.I.EYE4: Indeterminate:
23%
ARRAY2
A.I.EYE1: False
A.I.EYE2: Indeterminate:
42%
A.I.EYE3: False
A.I.EYE4: False
ARRAY3
A.I.EYE1: False
A.I.EYE2: False
A.I.EYE3: False
A.I.EYE4: False
ARRAY4
A.I.EYE1: False
A.I.EYE2: CANDIDATE!
A.I.EYE3: False
A.I.EYE4: Indeterminate:
49%
01:14:10366
A.I.SUPEYE-ARRAY53 _ A.I.EYE2:
Request Report on I.S.C.
518,208
01:14:10367 A.I.EYE2 _
A.I.SUPEYE-ARRAY53:
Attached: I.S.C. 518,208
"Non-random EM chatter."
01:14:11368
A.I.SUPEYE-ARRAY53 _ I.S.C.-Central Intelligence.:
Request Check on
attached: "I.S.C. 518,208 'Non-random EM chatter.'"
01:14:11369
I.S.C.-Central A.I _ A.I.SUPEYE-ARRAY53:
Working...
01:14:11370
A.I.SUPEYE-ARRAY53 _ I.S.C.-Central Intelligence:
Request False. Nonrandom
EM chatter = Prev Identified: Object I.S.C. 518,208-e ("Planetary Gas
Giant").
01:14:11371
I.S.C.-Central A.I _ A.I.SUPEYE-ARRAY53:
Resume Normal Function.
01:14:11372
A.I.SUPEYE-ARRAY53 _ GlobalCHAN53:
Resume Normal Function.
***
8
Months later.
Imperial
S.E.T.I. Observatory: 18
Orbiting
I.S.C. 518499
They called the star
the Dustball, or the Lightbulb or -- when the days dragged particularly long --
the Ember. It also had another
name; Barnard's Star, though this was not known to them.
The Ember was ancient.
Having gained form in the surging million year ripples which followed the
creation of the universe, it had suckled hydrogen from the first turbulent
molecular clouds, fusing it into helium until the furnace at its core had
reached such intensity that the flare of light and heat was the birth scream of
the foetal galaxy. Reaching maturity 6 billion years before the current
population of stars had even been conceived, it slowed down, watching its
larger, hotter, siblings race through life, gorging their mass into exotic new
forms of matter like oxygen and carbon until they literally popped with the
effort.
One by one its family
departed, leaving a generation of population II stars which in turn vanished,
leaving hot young sparks; adolescents, but younglings with a remarkable new
talent. One which put even the exotic carbon to shame.
Or more accurately, put
it to use.
Ancient, but not close
to its senescence, the Ember had nonetheless developed some interesting
eccentricities; one was a rare but violent temper, another was a tendency to
wander.
But most of the time it
was quiet. Content to slumber as the sparks fizzed and gabbled.
It was the Ember's cool
fire which attracted the Empire. While its nephews and grand-nephews waged an
unceasing argument, flooding the universe with unending electromagnetic
chatter, the Ember burned softly. Almost as quiet as space could get, it was
the perfect place to anchor an interstellar observatory.
The observatory,
resembled an enormous pinecone with 30,000 flakes; each one an ear which
endlessly flicked from star to star to star, listening.
The work was some of
the most important in the Empire. Without it, there might not have been an
Empire, yet its endless boredom attracted few volunteers. The Functional
Intelligences that inhabited the equipment did 99.99% all the analysis and nine
days in ten, an operator might do nothing more demanding than log in.
On the tenth day,
however...
To the minuscule
Functional Intelligence, A.I.EYE2, the galaxy buzzed, literally. Its single
dish-shaped ear heard not sound, but the interstellar radio hum of solar
flares. In its tiny mind, each star was a song, every stellar cluster a chorus.
It observed them all, critiqued their electromagnetic voices and, usually,
passed impassive judgement on their mundane content.
A.I.EYE2, like its
30,000 siblings, sought not the song, but the dissonance. Panning space, the
intelligence listened for the tiny patterns in a star's voice that betrayed an
understudy.
To date, none of the
ten thousand stars A.I.EYE2 regularly judged had demonstrated anything more
interesting than the re-energised falsetto of a cannibal pulsar, but... there
had been some intriguing possibilities. Over the last several months, the star
centred almost directly in the middle of its arc had started to sound... odd,
as if its voice were cracking. So far A.I.EYE2's superior intelligences had
dismissed the dissonant notes, but A.I.EYE2 didn't understand failure, just the
search.
Slowly, A.I.EYE2 panned
its ear, hearing nothing but the usual harmonies. Panning back, it heard the
same and yet... something was wrong; someone was singing off key. Its tiny mind
could not think as such, but in referencing the base average it had compiled
over so many turns, it found an unidentifiable discrepancy. The quirk was not
far enough outside the norm to justify direct action, but on its next pass, it
paid more attention to the probable source and...
CANDIDATE!
The conclusion flashed
through A.I.EYE2's tiny mind with such force that it was forced to pause; a
hard wired reaction that allowed every flicker of power to focus on confirming,
checking and then referencing its findings.
There was no mistake.
On its own authority, A.I.EYE2 broke rank with its array, rapidly sweeping back
to where it detected the dissonance; star I.S.C. 518,208.
A.I.EYE2 rapidly
flicked through its logs, checking against the earlier disappointments. There
was a similarity and for a few tenths of a second the Intelligence considered
disregarding the find, until its logic tables demanded that the signal's
unparalleled coherence be investigated.
Immediately A.I.EYE2
shot a report off to the array's supervising intelligence, A.I.SUPEYE-ARRAY53.
The controlling intelligence checked the findings, referenced its logs, found
the same similarity but had no hesitation in ordering all four Ears in
A.I.EYE2's net to track the discordant star. All four confirmed the unique signal, prompting the array to
order every ear under its command to break formation and begin tracking. First
two, than three, and finally all four arrays reported a powerful candidate
signal from I.S.C. 518,208.
A.I.SUPEYE-ARRAY53 then
contacted its superior in the Imperial Stellar Cartographical mainframe,
attaching the array's findings. The mainframe took two whole seconds weighing
possibilities and then contacted three other supervising intelligences with
telescopes at equidistant positions to the first, instructing them to target
I.S.C. 518,208.
With 2,016 baselines
between the 64 ears spread over the observatory, the mainframe was able to
superposition the radio waves; artificially building up the ones it wanted to
hear while canceling out the others. Armed with past records it could tune out the star,
I.S.C. 518,208, and its two noisy gas giants, leaving nothing but faint yet
pure electromagnetic pulses which could have no natural origin.
The resolution was not
enough to determine where in the star's system the signal originated, but that
was unimportant; with an unambiguously artificial transmission, the mainframe's
priority was to record as much as possible for later analysis. Past experience
had taught its programmers how arbitrary the universe might be; a slight
undulation of the interstellar medium could drown out laser signals between
planets, let alone radio waves between stars.
A global command was
issued, ordering every ear and array capable of tracking the discordant star to
move. For long moments half of the pinecone observatory's surface appeared to
ripple like a pebble-struck pool as thousands upon thousands of convex ears
turned on the suddenly naked transmission.
Even before the first
telescope began to swing, the mainframe was conferencing with both of its
sibling computers and its own backup system, then negotiating a 10% power spike
from the station's reactor. At the same time, it was building a long list of
tasks and objectives, while also writing a report for its organic superiors.
Following its self-generated instructions, it dedicated an enormous fraction of
its processing power to coordinating with the Ear's master intelligence,
analysing each of the millions of streams of data and conducting the results
safely into the memory mainframe.
An equally large
fraction of itself was speaking with that enormous archive, requesting a
detailed history of I.S.C. 518,208 and a copy of all signals received from it.
By collating that information -- the mainframe added tags over the previous
alerts A.I.EYE2 and a half dozen other ears had generated - it would be
possible to expose any previous transmissions and approximately date when
broadcasting had begun.
Barely fifteen seconds
had passed between A.I.EYE2's first discovery and the enormous observatory-wide
movement.
Only two technicians,
one idly listening to random stellar voices, the other scratching out a report,
were on duty in the control centre when the signal was detected; that was less
than usual, but not by much. Undemanding work did not require much supervision.
Einn, the first to see
the alert could only blink in surprise at the massive telescope movement. Then,
as the implications sunk in, his hands began to move as he opened more and more
of the flood of records popping into view before him.
Irrationally, a surge
of embarrassment heated his neck when I.S.C. 518,208's location, and distance,
were highlighted.
6.01 light years. Not
even the third most distant star.
Of course there was no
shame in failing to spot evidence of intelligent life, even from so close a
neighbour. Mathematically, Einn knew the inverse square rule gave a significant
bias to stars within a hundred and twenty light years. Still... it was the
second closest sun. Surely they should have seen something if someone was
there?
In haste, he closed the
search and ran his fingers over his board. A forest of holographic history
undulated beneath his fingers. The system was "Average"; a hot,
midsized metallic star surrounded by a mixture of largely rocky planets which
followed a nearly mathematical curve in mass and distance. He briefly wondered
why it'd never been cited for more intense study. Life was the product of a
complex and demanding sum that, nonetheless, was as predictable as 2+2. It
required circumstances so exacting that the necessary arrangement of stars and
planets, gravity and gasses, might only occur naturally a few thousand times in
the galaxy, but when they did happen, life was guaranteed to appear.
So, the technician
wondered, why when presented with a system that had every hallmark of balancing
the equation, had no one thought to take a closer look?
Then his eyes flicked
down the text and found the heading, 'Previous Contact.'
I.S.C. 518,208 had been
studied. Seven centuries before, the warship, Empress Seor 2181, had used the
system as a transition point and the captain, recognising the planetary
equation, had had her crew log a preliminary report.
Einn was disappointed,
but unsurprised, by the account's sketchiness; no one could do a proper survey
with a warship's sensors, but the few concise paragraphs were enough to explain
why no one had bothered with a follow up investigation.
I.S.C. 518,208 was a
text book case, from its warm sun out to an asteroid deflecting mid-system
giant. Even its cometary hydrology
was perfect. Nurtured in the tranquil locus of the equation, life had taken
root exactly where the mathematics said it should; a beautiful blue green
planet in the sun's hot zone. Einn's eyebrows rose briefly when he read a
footnote suggesting that the lifeforms might actually have evolved there, which
was novel to say the least in a galaxy which relied on panspermia to propagate
organisms.
But, while the world's
surprising diversity of life was interesting, non-sapient organisms weren't
important, and the Empire had consigned I.S.C. 518,208 to the depths of the
database.
Over the succeeding
seven hundred years, the system's file had been reopened less than dozen times;
the life bearing third planet would have made the perfect site for a colony...
but the Empire had efficient methods for controlling its population and never
needed breathing space. The system might also have been acquired for the
hydrocarbon reserves which were likely to be rich and deep, but it existed
uncomfortably close to the caul of the Dark Stars -- perhaps within just a few
weeks of the Fallen Capital itself, and no amount of plastic was worth the
fallout of a confrontation with that evil culture.
But while the Empire
hadn't found the planet worthy of attention, someone else had, and it seemed
they liked the place enough to take up residence...
Not turning away from
the still live signal, Einn snapped his fingers to call his friend back from
the world of data points and discarded commas.
Skekund, who had been
warring with a S.E.T.I. officer's recurring nemesis - explaining, with correct
jargon, why a good candidate signal was nothing of the sort - started to growl
at the distraction, only to let her jaw drop. Coming back to the world with a
shock, she clipped her hip trying to vault the desk's corner.
"It's
confirmed?" She slapped him gleefully on the back, staring with
undisguised longing at the delicate tracery of the wave. "Last month we
had that crazy Steffan..."
"The F.I.'s
already confirm the source as outside the system," her friend shook his
head, placing his finger above the stark white dot of I.S.C. 518,208.
"6.015 light years."
"Studly?"
"Still tracking
in," Einn answered, "it was looking at I.S.C. 108961; two hundred by
one fifty degrees off bearing."
Studly was an array
telescope, similar to the radio dishes, except that it wasn't attached to the
station; 220,000 kilometres away, flying in a pattern so precise they required
lasers to maintain formation, the sixteen reflector spacecraft flew around
their receiver at the L2 lagrange point behind an artificial black body the
Empire had installed for the observatory. Unlike the observatory, Studly was an
optical telescope with the ability to search well into the sub millimetre band;
it being a scientific irony that a telescope designed to observe the miniscule
wavelengths of light required an order of magnitude more distance between each
component than arrays looking for radio waves of many kilometres in length.
"EToP?"
"Seven hundred
seconds."
Sliding into the
secondary station and eagerly entering her own command string, Skekund's
fingers jumped back and forth across the holographic controls like a pair of
energetic ballet dancers. When the results of her inquiry materialised, she
studied them and then nodded, "Pattern is regular, but I don't see any
repetition; whoever it is they're not going out of their way to get our
attention. Are the F.I.'s sure this is real?"
"Look at the
modus; it doesn't repeat but there is a pattern."
"Are you thinking
of a singularity?"
"Would have to be;
the planet can't have been inhabited more than seven hundred years."
"Not a lot of time
to go from the bronze age to mechanisation," the Skekund agreed, tapping
her teeth, "of course, it could just be an S.O.S." One of the ironies
of their work was that on the rare occasions when a signal was detected, it
usually came from an intelligent source which had already been discovered and
come under attack. The need to
distinguish between a genuinely alien signal, and Pel's leaky reactor was the
reason their work wasn't entirely handled by Functional Intelligences.
"My first
thought," Einn answered, trying to level his voice in contrast to his
partner's growing excitement, "but it's not in any format I'm familiar
with."
Skekund continued to
squint at her display, her grin faltering slightly as she admitted,
"...And it's weak; do we have a seismic report for eighty two oh eight? If
that's a standard Grunzwei star then it looks like we're in the upper middle of
its cycle and I don't like the look of those coronal magnetic fields."
"It's no star
quake," Einn shook his head, "not unless this one is setting the
record for consistent massive mass ejections; the probable source is between...
one forty eight and one fifty two from the primary."
The two worked for
several minutes, steadily eliminating every single possibility that the signal
was either a natural source - sheer random chance meant that even stars would
start to count in primes given enough time - or an artificial, but known one.
Only once they had
exhausted every possibility on the tablet - and a few more they concocted on
the spot - did they allow themselves to look each other in the face, and grin.
"It's alien,"
Einn breathed.
"There's definite
sidereal motion," Skekund beamed, "too soon to say if there's an
orbit there but..." she used one elegant nail to tap a holographic window,
then drag it so it was superimposed on top of another, "I'd say that it's
a pretty close match for the third planet."
"Well, don't get
excited; might still just be a curious third party. I'm not so keen to get out
of this tour that I want to jump into a penal battalion." Einn murmured, referring to the early
history of S.E.T.I. when an overeager officer named Pel killed more than a
thousand people.
Ironically, had her
enthusiasm been warranted Pel would actually have been rewarded; even with the
loss of life, a forsaken colony might number up to a billion people and the
Empire would sacrifice a fleet for their salvation.
But the diverted
warship had found no colony, no life-bearing planets, no system except a single
solitary ball of iron orbiting its parent star. Their entire journey had been a
monumental waste of time. Had Pel
conducted even the most basic investigation, she would have realised that a
system lacking both a meteor shield and a significant planet-satellite pair was
incredibly unlikely to shelter any kind of life.
The candidate signal
had been nothing more than a Scalantran freighter using the planet as an anchor
while its crew unsheathed and repaired their reactor, 26 years before.
Still, Pel might have
survived; even a thousand years later, it was still common for signals to be
misidentified. But the warship her report had diverted had been designated as head
of convoy DD-165, on route through a feral sector of the empire's perimeter.
Subsequent investigation determined that the loss of an intersystem liner and
its thousand passengers were directly attributable to the destroyer's absence,
and her negligence.
"It would get you back into action,
though," his friend pointed out with a delicate chuckle.
"Hmmph, if I want
to commit suicide, I'll walk into Her Highness's quarters and ask for a
quickie; it'd add up to the same thing."
No one knew exactly
what had happened to Pel, or her commanding officer. Legend said they were ordered to charge a Planetary
Protector without even the negligible defence of their swords, while their
Houses were fined the entire cost of the liner.
"Some of the
humans I've met say it's good to die in bed," Skekund quipped,
"...but not like that." Female Primes were universally idolised by
their male Betan subordinates, but their outstanding beauty was offset by their
sheer lethality. Any Betan who displeased a female Prime was likely to end up
as a non-cohesive mass, approximately one-half centimetre thick and up to three
meters in diameter.
"What makes you
think I'd ever make it to the bed?"
"Depends how much
you splattered," Skekund grinned, about to say more when the control
room's computer interrupted with a chirp, announcing in eloquently accented
Arion, "Studly has reached position and is receiving images, would you
like to view the data now?"
The equivalent of
trying to read a book through a hair thick fibre optic wire, Studly's sole
advantage was that while the observatory's ears were incapable of resolving
anything as small as a continent, it could resolve individual rivers in true
colour.
In normal operation,
the telescope scanned individual planets, looking for bursts of light which
might signify cities or other signs of industry which signify occupation. It
was a slow process, requiring many seconds of analysis per planet, but much
more accurate than radio interferometry and had the added bonus of being
invaluable when the former revealed a possible candidate. Pel might not have
made her disastrous report if she'd had access to even the most primitive of
Studly's ancestors.
"Yes, thank
you," Einn nodded, holding his palms flat to the console and wiping to
clean the board. "There is more than one accent in that voice suite you
know."
"Her Majesty is
from the capital," Skekund shrugged primly, "she can't help it if she
prefers a little 'refinement.'" Then she ordered, "Dim lights
30%."
Einn took the barb with
a wounded grin, but turned his attention on the large two-dimensional hologram.
"Pretty,"
Skekund leaned forward on her elbows, "if you like it green."
"Not everyone
likes sand in their socks," Einn chuckled. "What's the
resolution?" Six light years was by no means the limit of Studly's range
and the image was still amazingly clear; he and Skekund might have been looking
at something from their own system.
"14.07 kilometres
to the centimetre; we could take the arrays further apart... but I don't fancy
spending the next week looking for them if they lose synchronisation."
"Me neither,"
Einn shook his head, "not without Her Majesty's authorisation."
"Shame we can only
see the daylight side," Skekund chewed her lip, "I'd have liked to
see if they have any cities; get an idea of their population size and
advancement."
"If someone's
there, they've got to have at least one."
"Not always,"
she disagreed, "there was Dezrezpid... Petyem, oh and Toltna; all totally
dispersed societies."
Einn just grunted,
"We can guesstimate their population; Seor 2181 visited seven hundred
years ago, so they can't have been there any longer than that." He rolled
his eyes, calculating, "if they had a Bronze Age starting tech base,
they'll have about five, six hundred million... maybe a billion people if they've
discovered antibiotics and follow the usual population patterns."
"Speaking of
which; there's not much land," Skekund murmured, consulting the original
report, "only a hundred and fifty million square kilometres; almost 50% of
it outside tolerance ranges. That's not a lot of space to support a large
population unless the biosphere's unusually fecund." She hmm'd, and then
ordered, "Studly; narrow wavelength. Let's look at the mid-infrared
spectrum and cycle upwards from... 1.4 micrometers."
Instantly the picture
changed, the true colours of visible light bleeding out into a false spectrum
of yellows, greens and blues, each slowly swirling as the dispersed array of
satellites expanded through steadily longer wavelengths.
"That's a lot of
CO2," Einn blinked in surprise.
"And monoxide;
methane... sulphur dioxide," Skekund echoed, equally shocked as the image
rotated back through her original specification, "could be a volcano I
guess, maybe grass or forest fire... but I doubt it. The dispersion is all wrong.
This is the... lesser continental division, isn't it?"
Einn glanced back at
the minute globe on his desk and nodded, "Yes; the greater division is
just coming over the horizon on the right."
"I wish we could
see more," Skekund sighed, "if there're going to be population
concentrations anywhere, there's more breathing room on the larger
continent."
"Assuming they got
dropped there."
"True," the
Seeding race wasn't particularly careful when it chose to create a colony, and
seemed as likely to deposit its abductees on volcanic plateaus, or feverish
swamps as fertile pasture.
"Wait, computer
freeze!" Einn ordered suddenly, then apologised for the outburst,
"sorry, but look; haloalkanes and chlorofluorocarbons! There's no way they
are natural."
"Skietra, you've got
good eyes," Skekund peered closer, making a rough size estimate with her
thumb, "it's small; I'd guess they haven't been making them long, maybe
fifty years?"
"Just as well
really," Einn replied. "...Computer; please enhance this area and
switch back to visible."
The computer did so,
detaching and expanding the tiny square until it was one quarter the size of
the original image. Though blurred slightly, it was possible to make out the
elongated, 190 kilometre island next to its continental neighbour.
"I don't see
anything," Skekund shook her head, grunting, "There's too much
greenery; if it was a nice sensible desert..."
"Computer, look in
the... Cindiclair band for this window?" Einn ventured. His proficiency
was communications, not sensor analysis. "See it now; that brown smudge,
right where the island touches the continent?"
"Mono-nitrogen
oxides," Skekund said excitedly, "maybe VOC's or some other
photochemical reaction. That's wonderful! Good work; I would never have seen
that."
"I just got
lucky," Einn grinned, "we can make a more detailed list later;
there's a lot more pollutants than I'd have expected for a planet at this stage
of development."
"Maybe they're
late to radio?" Skekund ventured. "There's no rule that says everyone
has to discover everything in the same order."
"No, but there is
a ladder of precedence and radio is a keystone development; once a population
gets to the size where it can truly mechanise, as we can see this one
has," he tapped the holographic haloalkane graph, "it also needs some
form of mass communication. Telegraphy is ok for a few thousand end users but
when you're talking about millions of educated workers," the product of a
civilisation with universal education, both officers took it as a given that
other nations would provide something similar, "then you need something
more efficient than a cable newstheatre."
"Either way, there
is most definitely someone there," Skekund crossed her arms contentedly,
"and have been for quite a while."
Einn frowned and
grunted, "Yes, eight months at least; did you see this?" he flicked
A.I.EYE2's very first log report over to his partner, "the mainframe
should never have discounted that."
"I did,"
Skekund was only too happy to agree, "but look at the system," she
made a wiping motion to clear her display, then sprinkled the target system
over the matt black console. "The primary is coming into the peak of its
activity for this cycle and the two planetary gas giants are intense
transmitters." She cupped the mid-system blobs, playing the stop motion
footage captured by the ancient warship. The larger of the two was one endless
red storm, compressed into stressed bands wider than most worlds. The other was
even more uninviting, its surface a uniform carbon dioxide white, struck only
by the vast shadows of a vast dusty disk. "That big one has its own
micro-system of ferrous rocks transversing its magnetic field, and I'd be
amazed if it doesn't have rivers of trapped ions driving metallic hydrogen
between the poles. Those are perfect conditions for Thiefda waves, and we're
perpendicular to the system's horizontal plane; as far as the intelligences
were concerned, half of those candidates were just the planets lining up."
Einn rolled his eyes at
her entirely reasonable, explanation, "Oh come on."
She shrugged, "I'm
just saying if I was an F.I. and I saw a gigawatt radio source coming from
those giants, I might have thought twice as well."
"So you would have
discounted them?" He raised an incredulous eyebrow.
"Of course
not," she frowned reprovingly, "but then I have acuity greater than
one arc degree, and more than 500k of dedicated memory."
He clucked
disapprovingly, unwilling to let go, "Still, I've been telling you for a
year that someone needs to update for the identi-clar protocols. Nagas Lrac was
a visionary, but these aren't the 2500's any more; we need to
recalibrate," He shrugged and added, "It's not like there's many more
colonies left to find."
The older woman smiled
at the old argument, "If you have a suggestion for the Imperial Cartographical
Company, please submit it to them along the proper channels; their rejection
will take no longer than five to six years."
Einn laughed heartily,
"They'll have to listen now; if we had modern detection thresholds, we
would have found that planet eight months ago. Fuck, we might even have a ship
in orbit by now. Which," he added slyly, "would make your bank
balance very happy indeed."
"Oh, you know I do
this purely for the betterment of the Empire," she coughed, "...
although a slice of that planetary bonus would be nice; I'm in the market for a
new sword now the 1796 pattern is finally reaching us."
"I'd just be glad
to be out of here," Einn muttered. It was an unwritten, but strong, rule
that the war office would reward any officer who detected an unknown Extra
Territorial Intelligence with a transfer to a warship of their choice.
"Got any
preferences?"
"A cruiser maybe?
The Empress Klev's are supposed to have this great suite; full spectrum radomes
with super conducting colloidal gel so there's no harmonic interference? Or
perhaps a long range destroyer; it'd be nice to visit some of the universe, not
just watch it." He gestured to the holographic world.
Skekund just snorted,
"If you're bored here, your brain will rot on a deep space mission; four
out of five never do anything except go from planet to planet to planet."
"Hmm," Einn
thought about that, then shrugged, "what about you? Near Planetary
Commands are always desperate for senior specialists."
But Skekund shook her
head, "I actually like it here; there's not much chance for glory, and the
paperwork sometimes makes me want to mutiny but... it's important." She
shrugged, "Society needs everyone to do their part and at least this is
interesting. Though... it would be nice to be posted a little closer to
civilisation; I hate only being able to go shopping every hundred and fifty
days." She sighed and tapped her teeth again, looking at the delicate
transmission wave, "I do wonder what they're saying,"
"'Testing,
testing, one, two, three; is this thing on?'" Einn quipped in a strangled
falsetto.
"Ha ha,"
Skekund laughed dryly, "well, if it is their first broadcast, maybe they
are... though," She nodded at the still wavering signal, "I suspect
they might have moved on to something else now."
"Like, 'why does
no one answer?'" Einn asked, instigating another round of laughter.
Of course, even if they
had modern equipment, used standard communications protocols and spoke in
fluent Arion, it would be impossible to determine what the third planet was
actually saying. The averaging of radiated energy over interstellar distances
reduced the information content to random noise in less than a light year. The
idea of being able to beam messages from one system to another, except as a
very slow pulsed code, had been discredited even before Pel's time. Indeed long
wave interferometry might have been dropped as a means of detecting extra
territorial intelligence if someone hadn't realised that even if it was
impossible to read the message, the carrier signal was as distinct as a
fingerprint; it was just a matter of knowing how to find its coherence in the
static of a star's chatter.
Skekund shrugged,
"Anyway, shall I wake Her Majesty, or," she nudged him, "would
you rather visit her quarters?"
Einn cleared his throat
to cover his embarrassment, "I would not dream of denying the senior
officer the honour of announcing our find."
"Coward," she
chuckled, nudging the planetary hologram aside so she could tap the link to the
Commissioner's quarters. To her surprise, the observatory Commissioner was
already awake, dressed in a light camisole which did little to hide her figure.
Like all Primes, she had little body modesty and showed no shame in appearing
before her subordinates with just a single layer of silk over her skin.
"My lady,"
Skekund faltered, more by the speed of her superior's response, than her
nightwear, "I apologise for disturbing you."
"You haven't; I
couldn't sleep," the Commissioner answered succinctly, "What's
happening?"
"We have a
candidate signal, My Lady. Both Einn and I have analysed it and we believe it
to be true."
The Commissioner
allowed a rare flicker of surprise to raise her jet eyebrows. "You're sure?"
"Yes, My Lady,
both of us."
"I shall be right
there. Please have the relevant documents on display; I shall wish to review
them as you talk," the Commissioner acknowledged, waving the link shut.
Both technicians stared
at the blank console for a moment, then began arranging their displays for
presentation to their superior. Pulling up the Seor 2181's initial contact
report, Einn chuckled and murmured, "You know; this is where we realise
we've been tracking a barge of radioactive waste."
"Better now than
when the Empire bills our Houses." Skekund joked, flicking away the last
superfluous screens.
"I have no
intention of allowing the Empire to seek compensation from your Houses,"
the Commissioner's melodious voice made them both jerk to attention in their
seats. Moving with the efficient
grace of her kind, her sword in its scabbard batted softly against her thigh,
the Prime had donned a light tunic to cover her camisole, though this was more
a concession to military formality than modesty. "Of course, if this does
turn out to be someone's garbage, I will make drink from our free alpha
slush." Her tone was light, but like all Betans, the pair knew better than
to assume she was joking.
"My lady,"
Einn indicated the world, and then the signal, "if you will observe?"
"The signal was
first detected eleven minutes ago," Skekund took over, allowing Einn to
manipulate the presentation, "since then it has been continuous, random,
but with a modal repetition which suggested an artificial source; we have
determined that it originates from the third planet in system 518,208. Further
investigation with Studly shows evidence of heavy industry, perhaps - and this
is speculation - even to the extent of mechanisation."
The Commissioner
nodded, absorbing everything, "A shame we will not see their night side
for three months." She observed, looking at the optical images. "Is that
the only continent?"
"No, My
Lady," Skekund shook her head as Einn rotated the holographic globe,
"there is another landmass here."
"Curious
displacement," the Commissioner noted. "How long have they been
broadcasting?"
"We are
uncertain... but there is evidence that the first signals reached us eight
months ago."
"And why was it
not detected then?" her voice was not accusing, just curious.
"The system is
unusually active, My Lady," Skekund nodded to Einn, who highlighted the
gas giants, "in addition of the sun's coronal period, these two planets
are..." The Commissioner held up a hand, studying the images with dark
eyes.
"Gigawatt
transmitters, likely boosted by an electron torus in the larger..." She
shook her head, "The local geography is less than ideal but I will call
especial attention to it in our report; perhaps the I.S.C. will even take note
this time. I assume I can rely on the both of you to co-sign it?" Again,
her voice was pleasant, but then it didn't need to be anything else. As a Prime,
even her questions could be orders.
"Of course, My
Lady," both Betans answered at once.
"In fact,"
the Commissioner looked directly at Einn, "you will be sending a letter,
in addition to our report?"
"Uh," Einn
froze, pierced like an insect by her electric blue eyes, "...My
Lady?"
The Prime relaxed her
expression slightly, "You have mentioned over the last eight months how
dated our detection protocols are. Now, I trust, you will take the opportunity
to gloat?" She smiled, the expression of a cat contemplating a mouse.
"Oh, yes My Lady,
of course. We were talking about something similar before we contacted
you." Skekund nodded quickly in agreement.
"Good." The
Commissioner dipped her head. "When circumstances prove you correct, you
should capitalise on them."
"Yes My Lady, I
will."
"Please, continue,
Skekund," The Prime asked, listening to the younger woman speak as she
read, occasionally gesturing for Einn to bring up more information until she
snapped her head up sharply, "Wait!"
"My Lady?"
Skekund nearly jolted out of her seat by the outburst.
But her superior was
looking coldly past her, at Studly's hologram, "This world should be in
the middle of an ice age."
"...My Lady?"
Einn ventured after a moment, directing an anxious glance at Skekund who could
only spread her hands helplessly. "The world is in an ice age."
"The tail end of
one," The Commissioner agreed, "but the planet the Empress Seor 2181
investigated was in the middle." she pointed at one single phrase in the
middle of the page.
Einn and Skekund both
followed her point, read the phrase, then looked at the hologram. Finally,
Skekund tapped her teeth and opined, "Rapid vulcanisation within fifty
years of the ship's departure?"
"Awfully
convenient," Einn answered. "They're industrialised... so perhaps they've
been intentionally creating pollution with an attenuating effect on infrared
radiation? We already noticed the unusual CO2."
"Unusual, but not
sufficient for climate change of that magnitude," the Commissioner shook
her long black hair.
"We could be
seeing the conclusion of a concentrated climate shifting policy?" Skekund
suggested. "I wouldn't want to live in an ice age."
"Neither would
I," agreed the Prime, someone that could tolerate walking barefoot on an
ice moon. "But there has been no mass communication until now."
"Unless it was
muted," Einn thought aloud, "enough carbon to affect climate change
would have markedly increased the moisture content of their atmosphere. If it
was severe enough, it would absorb electromagnetic radiation."
"If it was that
severe, the humans would either suffocate or drown," The Prime answered
with deadly certainty, then shook her head, "Assuming they could live with
the storms such a climate shift would entail. No, it is a curiosity, but of no
real consequence. Ours ships will have to explain it when they visit,"
that appeared to remind her of something, "and when will that be?"
"I'm not sure, My
Lady," Skekund answered, "there are two fleet bases in the vicinity;
Picket 21-181, and Silavant Station." She paused, consulting her console,
"...I'm not sure which is closer to us." It was far from an easy
question to answer, though the star I.S.C. 518,208 was a mere six light years
away that was an impossible distance in a universe which had so far failed to
allow anything approaching a useful faster than light drive.
Without it, the Empire,
and every other nation, was forced to putt between stars using a decrepit
network of wormholes so utterly ancient that its age could only be described in
galactic rotations.
Nor was any route
particularly intuitive; while the wormhole builders might have laid out a
logical network originally, the endless percolation of stars over eons had
utterly eroded it. Moreover more than two thirds of the wormholes were so badly
degraded that they were unusable, suffered weird temporal paradoxes, or could
only be traversed at extreme risk.
The Commissioner
glanced at the spidery diagram of wormholes and stars and cocked her head,
"I believe the picket force is closest."
Skekund winced, her
finger already on the search key. Before her the computer was radiating fibrous
lines away from the Ember's single junction, into the core of the Empire's
vastly convoluted segment of the network.
Like free potassium
skittering on water, the sparks bounced back and forth from one end of the
network to the other, seemingly at random until they finally homed in on one of
the fleet bases.
The wrong one.
Skekund licked her
lips, "...It would appear Silavant Station is slightly closer, my lady.
But only by two weeks." She added quickly.
To her great relief,
the Commissioner merely shrugged, "Silavant it is. When can we expect
their ship to reach orbit?"
"Approximately six
months, My Lady," Skekund allowed herself to relax, glad she'd already
asked the computer to estimate travel time. "The Station is only three
weeks from Fifty one, eighty two oh eight, but it is some distance from us and
we must assume delays in execution."
"Of course,"
The Commissioner nodded. Like all Imperial offices, S.E.T.I. had considerable
discretion, if only because to route a movement request all the way back to
Aria would double, if not treble the actual arrival time
However, while the
Commissioner had the authority to request a ship be despatched to any system,
the Commander of that distant station had equal authority to ignore her if they
judged their ships were better used elsewhere, or even if they simply disagreed
with her interpretation of the signal. Space was simply too vast, and
communication too slow, for true central authority.
"Perhaps we will
get lucky," the Commissioner mused, sweeping cobalt eyes over Silavant's
probable ship roster, "and they will have a Klav'stevan on station."
"If they do, it
could knock almost a week off their arrival time, My Lady," Skekund
echoed, smiling inwardly.
"That would be
most... efficient."
With a fifty person
crew and just enough consumables to get from one destination to the next,
Klav'stevans were among the smallest vessels in the navy. The only reason they
could even be called warships were the dozen standoff missiles in their
magazine.
But what they couldn't
fight, they could outrun. Out of the entire Galaxy, only Couriers and FTL
communications drones were faster than a Klav'stevan once it got up to speed.
However their speed was not what the Commissioner had been referring too; a
planetary bonus was awarded to everyone involved in a colony's discovery. No
one could know how large a bonus would be until after the assessors has gauged
how much the colony would enrich the Empire, but however many billions of
Sovereigns it might be, the head of the observatory could expect a generous
share.
The operative word was
'share'. Everyone involved in discovery was rewarded; if that included
Klav'stevan's crew, then each share would be worth a fortune, but if a
destroyer - or worse a cruiser - was dispatched, their thousands of crewmembers
would drain each share down to a mere substantial sum.
"I know how much
you want that '96 pattern blade," the Prime answered, smoothly, her
fingers drumming lightly on the ornate, chitinous material of her scabbard.
"As always, I bow
to your experience in such matters, My Lady."
"Although,"
her superior continued, "if you wish to switch to a Betan weapon; I have
heard very good things said of the '95 pattern."
"I thank you for
your advice, My Lady," Skekund dipped her head at the very mild
disapproval in the Commissioners tone, "but my sword was a gift from the
head of my House, and I have found I'm more comfortable with a Primal grip; the
slashing motions are very effective at keeping an opponent at a distance and I
don't think I would have won either of my duels with a rapier."
The Commissioner
paused, unable to disagree with the fact the gently curving, single handed
Primal swords were designed to keep enemies outside the lethal cutting circle.
Nor could she advise a Betan to easily replace the gift of another Prime,
especially one who was the head of her House. "You make a good
point," she finally replied, "I hope you never insult someone who can
do likewise."
"As do I, My Lady,"
Skekund allowed herself to laugh in time with her Superior.
"Of course,"
the Prime laid a hand lightly on Einn's shoulder, who stiffened minutely,
"I believe that a Klav'stevan would only hasten your departure. Have you
decided on where you wish to serve next, Einn?"
"Not yet, My
Lady..." Einn shook his head, trying with every muscle not to show how
much he enjoyed the caress of the Prime's strong fingers, "I haven't had
much time to consider my options. And of course, it will take a year, if not
longer for news to return to us so it makes sense to wait and see what shape
the galaxy is in at that time."
The Prime nodded,
patting then releasing his shoulder, "A wise strategy, though I hope that
you give at least some thought to staying with us. You would be missed."
Einn blushed, "You
are too kind, My Lady... but as much as it pleases me to hear that, and with
the uttermost respect, I would like to serve somewhere that sees... a little
more action."
"Understandable,"
the Prime nodded, "I have a cousin who is captain of the Empress Santhe
23. If you are still interested when news arrives, I would be happy to
recommend you to his communications department."
"You honour me, My
Lady," Einn breathed.
"Good work should
be rewarded." The Commissioner answered simply.
Riding high on the
double rush of endorphins, Einn felt inspired to ask, "And you, My Lady.
If I may be so bold, will you stay, or move on?"
The Prime's face, never
very emotive, suddenly became utterly unreadable. She sucked in a breath, held
it and breathed out. "Some of us have seen too much action." Her fist
twitched, then without looking at the communications orbits she barked,
"We have two hours and thirteen minutes before the next drone returns to
Geodesic space. I will get changed, and then we have a lot of work to do. Wake
third shift and tell them to start counting particulate elements in that
atmosphere with particular attention to those VOC's. Skekund, consult with
Studly for high resolution images; inspect them for any macro-scale architecture;
even with daylight, farms and suburban areas might be visible. Einn, while we
still have you, please go back to the original signal; if we can estimate its
broadcast power we might have a better idea of their level of technology."
"Yes, My
Lady," both technicians answered at once.
"Good... and good
work, both of you." The Commissioner graced them with a final piercing
glance, and turned out of the room.
Only when she was gone
and the sealed doors ensured their privacy did Skekund elbow Einn hard in the
ribs, "idiot! I thought you were joking when you talked about asking her
to kill you."
"Hey, hey!"
he warded off a second blow, "she didn't take offence."
"I can tell that
from the way your head isn't bouncing along the floor" she hissed,
"you're lucky she's fond of you."
Pause.
"You think she's
fond of me?"
"Men! You're still
breathing aren't you? Skietra must have forgotten something when it came to
your family; even someone from the provinces must know you never ask a Prime a
personal question unless she wants you to!" She forced herself to breathe
normally, spat something under her breath and pointed at the board, "Get
back to work; if she comes back and you don't have some kind of answer for her,
your head will roll!"
Chastised, and feeling
all the worse for coming down off his endorphin high, Einn took his friend's
advice and returned to his console.
The transmission...
whatever it was, was still broadcasting strong and steady. That was good; it'd
be easier to estimate power if he could experiment with a live signal than
relying on recordings. Once again Einn wondered what it contained, who was
sending it, what they were saying. Was, or rather, had some technician six
years ago scratched his head, looked up at the sky and wondered if this time
someone might answer? Or had it been a megalomaniac dictator ushering in a new
era with revolutionary new technology?
If it was, then they
were right. Just not in the way they expected.
Einn was suddenly
struck by the urge to answer, nothing outlandish, just a simple text string by
way of thanks... or maybe just proof of receipt. It was a bizarre impulse; the
interstellar averaging rule applied to him as well, and even with all their
equipment, it'd been little more than luck that the observatory had detected anything.
Still... the urge
wouldn't leave. Einn chuckled self consciously and derided himself; what could
he send anyway? Standard Letterhead: "ISCSETI18 to Unknown, Message
Received, 18:36h 18/10/2946; statement of intentions please?", or
something more fanciful like "I'm sorry, no one is at the console right
now, but if you leave a message we will provide salvation as soon as is
practical". But no... that wasn't right either, the technician shook his
head looking for inspiration; it needed more... apt.
And then it came.
Simple, concise, perfect.
His fingers hesitated
briefly over the console. Then with predatory speed they tapped out,
"Found You."