"OK, I get most of that. So, what do you see in this text?"
Greg pointed at the screen. "Eight characters in a group. If you looked at an English dictionary, it would start with 'a' and then continue building up words from there."
"In other words, our ordering is actually pretty obvious."
"Right, it would not take an intelligent alien very long to break down the order of the 26 letters and assorted symbols and other junk we use in English to understand what they were seeing, even if they couldn't actually read it."
"But this?"
"No clue yet. If you look at the left side, there are characters everywhere. No spaces to make words or periods or paragraph breaks. But it's likely that those ideas are there somehow. We'll just need to fuss the separators out, whatever they turn out to be. I suspect when we get a large enough dataset, we can look at symbol frequency and begin to guess at what they are."
"Guess? I thought this was a science."
Greg smiled. "Well, there's always a little art involved."
They continued the photographing process, Greg turning pages and Marcia triggering the camera. They chatted about their homes — Greg from Phoenix and Marcia from southern California — and their shared taste for southwest Tex-Mex, the hotter, the better.
"How sure are you that this is a dictionary?" she asked after a longish break in the conversation about thirty pages in.
"Fairly sure, but there are other possibilities."
"Such as?"
"Honestly, it could be anything. It's big, and it was in a prominent location on the shelf. That tells me it's an object of some significance. There's a personal inscription, which might imply that the book is important in a cultural sense. Back home, a parent or grandparent might give a Bible or some other book to a grandchild on their baptism or graduation or whatever. This may be a similar kind of thing."
"OK, so..."
"So, I think it's a dictionary based on size and the first few pages. It just kinda looks like one to me. But, truthfully, it could be a book of their moral or religious code."
"Or a chemistry text."
That made Greg laugh. "Yes, I suppose it could be a description of the elements. But, then, I think it's kinda long for that."
They worked steadily, quietly, and after fifty pages Greg stood up, stretched his back, and went to his tablet. His translation process was accumulating data, and he asked it for a list of unique characters.
As she looked at the list with him, he asked her, "What do you suppose is the most frequent character in a block of English text?"
"I dunno. T maybe? E?"
Cordero smiled and shook his head. "Nope. It's a space."
"A space is not a character!"
"Uh, yes, Marcia, it is."
"It isn't."
"OK, fine, go over to your workstation and type a sentence but don't touch the space bar."
"I can't, I need a... shit. I need a space after every word."
"Correct. It's punctuation, just like a period or a comma. We don't speak it, but it's a necessary part of the language."
Greg paused a few seconds to study the display.
"So, looking at the list, this slash-looking thing is the most frequent, and it's the most by a lot, it's seventeen percent of the total. So..." He switched screens and told his translation process that the pseudo-slash character might be a word separator. In a few seconds it popped up a list of words, showing him that if slash was right, there were about five thousand unique words in the data so far.
"And the most common word in English is, what?" Marcia asked.
"'The', followed by other boring words like 'to', 'and', 'a', 'of', and the like."
"So, do you guess that the most common word corresponds to 'the'?"
"I could try that, but I would be assuming there is an equivalent concept in their language. Not all human languages do that, so they may have no need of a 'the' — the idea of specification may be by inflection or just context. Or, just left out."
"What about the Inori? What is their language like?"
Greg leaned back, his hands on each side of his head framing the grimace on his face. "Oh, God, it's like Navajo and Inuit had a baby. Long, long words, some cobbled together like in German but far, far more complex. There are no regular verbs and all of it mostly unpronounceable by humans." He paused, shaking his head, then continued more thoughtfully. "The shadings of sounds are so subtle. I saw a presentation once where the linguist had them say five different words, with wildly different meanings, and I could not tell any two apart. It's a nightmare."
"I'm glad this is your job and not mine."
Cordero smiled. "Yeah. Warrant Officer Long said much the same thing as she left to go run a nuclear reactor. It's not really a confidence-building comment, you know?"
"You know her story?" Marcia asked as they continued scanning pages.
"I had a conversation with her at breakfast on the way out, maybe a week ago. I've said hello a couple times since. She seems like a nice person. Something unusual there?"
"She was in Inoria when it was hit. Her guides and two shipmates were killed right beside her."
"My God that's awful."
"Yeah, it was bad. But she recovered well enough and wanted to stay with the rest of that group when Michael got Antares, so here she is."
Greg paused to study the current page, then asked, "There are what, sixteen Inor vets on board?"
"Yes. There were just twenty-six survivors to begin with. Some got other assignments, others decided they were done with the Fleet."
"Understandable."
"Absolutely. I don't know how I would react myself, what with people being ripped open all around me."
"I have zero military experience, but I suppose like a lot of things we all handle it as best we can."
"Yeah, maybe. Still, a shocking experience. Word is that there was a young ensign, a friend of Hansen's, that was kinda interested in her."
"And?"
"KIA in Inoria. Ugly."
"KIA?"
"Killed In Action."
"Ugh, that is heartbreaking."
They kept up a quiet conversation, then after a hundred pages, Greg stood up again and checked the translation's progress.
As he was stretching out the kinks in his back, Marcia asked "How long is this thing?"
"Don't know, maybe four hundred pages? I'd guess we're a quarter done. You getting bored?"
"No, just wondering."
It took several hours of tedious work, but by the end of the morning, the entire book had been scanned. All along the translation process was accumulating data, examining the characters, and looking for patterns. Do the same characters appear at the beginning or end of words? Are there variations in words that might indicate families of related words as in Semitic languages? Were there context hints at the end of sentences as in Asian languages like Mandarin? Were there even sentences, or paragraphs, or were those a uniquely human invention?
Greg spent the afternoon scanning the picture book while Marcia worked on small projects for the other team and checked her cultures. He put in more hours that evening, going back over the data and experimenting with different theories about the structure of the language. He had an enormous amount of data to work with, and he knew it was on him to turn that wealth into results. These people seemed so familiar, so, relatable, that he felt that he should be able to crack the language. But, on the other hand, they were alien, unrelated to him in any way, and their mode of thought might be so disjunct from his own that he would never be able to understand it.
That would be a serious disappointment.
Antares
Big Blue
Sunday, October 9, 2078, 0800 UTC
It was the first daily planning session after a full day on Big Blue. The two-shift concept was working well, but the teams were already tired. They would have to be careful to not let fatigue lead to serious errors. Ron Harris sat at the head of the wardroom table, Kathy Stewa
rt on his left and Terri Michael on his right. There was a lot of chatter as the groups coalesced and took their places.
"Let's begin with the battlefield. Doctor Bowles?"
"Yes, Admiral, as we briefed you yesterday, we do believe that the real point of the defense at the battlefield was not the shelter in the original images, but rather an escape facility located under the trees to the south."
"Do you have any idea where that went?"
"Other than to the sea, no, we don't."
Harris looked across at the battlefield team. "But if you believe that's an escape route, they must have gone somewhere."
"Indeed, sir, they must," Carol answered. "We're considering what we have on board that we could use to explore the submerged portion of the tunnel. We know it's connected to the sea, but we don't know how or how far out, or what else might be in there."
"I don't suppose there's any scuba gear on board?"
"Uh, no, sir. And given what we know is living in the water, we're not inclined to try that."
"Anything else, Doctor Bowles?"
"Not as yet, sir. We brought back some bone samples that Doctor Soto is processing for us." He turned to Wayne Barnes. "Captain Barnes, can you talk about the weapon?"
"Yes. Well, we've all kept Dr. Soto pretty busy, as she also did an x-ray of the rifle we brought back."
"What did you find?"
"The stock is different from ours, but not as much as I originally thought. These people are a little wider than us, and the stock works for them if you hold it more across your body than at the shoulder."
"There didn't seem to be a trigger from what I recall."
"But there is. It's a metal plate under the palm. You basically squeeze the stock to fire the weapon. It's a single-shot, loaded from above. We found plenty of expended ammo casings, but we're not sure yet what they're made of. It looks like gunpowder inside, but until we get it home for a complete analysis, we can't be sure."
"So, what's the plan for today?"
"The weapon has been fully processed and sterilized, so we're going to try to disassemble it. I don't know how that's going to go, sir, as I'm not yet sure how it's held together."
"And what have you learned about the enemy's weapons?"
Carol spoke for the group. "We're looking into that, sir. They're using some kind of hot weapon that doesn't leave a slug behind."
"Plasma? Laser?" Harris asked.
"We think some kind of hot mass, so some kind of plasma is a plausible theory, sir, but we're working on quantifying the power based on the impacts on the structures. It sure looks like it can melt this masonry the aliens used."
"One more thing, sir," Wayne Barnes added, "that Doctor Bowles pointed out. The dead mostly took one kill shot. There's not much evidence of people being wounded and surviving. Whatever their ground force is, we really need to take it seriously."
"OK. Doctor Cordero?"
Greg Cordero called up a sequence of images from the books he had scanned the previous day. There was general agreement that the picture book seemed the most promising lead.
"We scanned what we have been calling a dictionary and the picture book yesterday. I've been running some scenarios in the translation processor."
"Find anything?"
"Yes, quite a bit, actually. There is a word separator, and I believe I have found a sentence marker."
"So, in a day we've isolated the space and the period?" Kathy Steward asked, her tone something between cynical and humorous.
"Well, yes, but it is an alien space and period," he responded with mock defensiveness. "So far, there is nothing that looks like a paragraph mark, but that may be an artifact of the source material."
"What about the picture book?"
"That is interesting but difficult to interpret. There is an image, almost a cartoon, of a person with a caption beneath it every few pages. So, is that 'teacher' or 'parent' or 'next lesson' or what? I can't tell yet."
"Any correlation between the entries in the dictionary and the picture book?"
"I will be working on that today. Admiral, along with scanning the other volumes we brought back. It's a good question."
"Good. Doctor Este?"
"Yes, Admiral, I have a few preliminary conclusions. First, this is a more literate society than we would have thought a priori. After we found the library in the portrait house, I had our Marines check a few houses in the area. All had rooms more or less like the one we found. Some had portraits, some not, but all had libraries of comparable size."
"I heard about the common toilet," Kathy said with no small amount of disgust.
"Yes, that was another surprise for me. Again, the Marine team checked a few blocks north and south, and the pattern was the same. A common toilet in the middle of each residential block. So, elimination seems to not have the same social taboos and controls as in human societies." She folded her hands in front of her. "But I am still puzzled by several things, Admiral. There are no beds in any of the houses. I am not sure what to make of that. There is also no kitchen to speak of, no food storage."
"But there's a cooking area in the courtyard?"
"Yes, but I don't know what they cooked and where it came from."
"No beds? What is in the houses, then?"
"The libraries, then other sitting areas."
"Are there blankets or clothing? Closets?"
"Not that we saw."
"Radio, Television?"
"Not that we saw, but I'm planning to go back for a fuller investigation of the house. I'd like to poke around a little more and see what else I can find there."
"That's fine."
Greg leaned back into the conversation. "I would also like to go back, Admiral. I'd like some time to go through the books in the library and see what else might be of interest. I am hoping there are scientific texts where we can match up words or symbols with our own knowledge."
"I think that's a very good idea, Greg."
Capital City
Big Blue
Sunday, October 9, 2078, 2200 UTC
For the second day on Big Blue, Captain Wayne Barnes picked a dozen Marines that had not yet been on the surface and took them into Capital City. Hearing this, Gabrielle jumped at the chance to see the largest city on the planet and invited herself along. Barnes could hardly refuse, but in truth, he was happy to have her along. An expert to give his informal, ad hoc exploration some direction would certainly be helpful.
Jayvon Dean drew the shuttle pilot assignment for this morning, this time a 'drop and return' mission. He would not be remaining on the surface, which relieved him from the necessity of suiting up. He left them at the south end of a large boulevard, lined on both sides with tall buildings. Four stories seemed to be the limit for this city, and construction was similar to what they had seen in the residences: smooth masonry over a framework that they had not yet identified. But, having failed to include an architect in the crew, their exo-architecture study would have to wait for a later visit.
Once off the shuttle, the team moved up both sides of the street, looking into the windows in the front of each structure, then walking around the back. Gabrielle and Barnes kept pace from the middle of the street.
"So strange, Doctor Este."
"Gabe."
"OK, Gabe. Still strange."
"Yes, it looks so much like home in a lot of ways: the streets, the buildings, even the trees are starting to look normal."
"But, there's no one here."
"No one alive, anyhow," she said as they walked around an RFG crater, its bottom slowly filling in with wind-blown sand and dirt. After about two hundred meters, they encountered two skeletons lying on the steps of a building. The bones were cut, typical of the same kind of anti-personnel darts they had seen at Inor.
"Gawd-awful stuff," Gabe commented quietly.
"Yes, terrible."
They continued the walk, avoiding remains and craters as necessary. The buildings gradually got larger as they approac
hed the center of the city, which was actually fairly small by human standards. The Marines tried a few doors as they went along without success.
Two Marines called for Doctor Este from the left side of the boulevard. Through the windows they showed her numerous shelves of books.
"Looks like a library, Captain," the young PFC said with excitement. Gabrielle clicked open her communication line.
"Antares, this is Este. I need Cordero."
"Roger that, Doctor Este, stand by."
Greg Cordero was scanning another volume into the translation process. When the Comm Officer called him, he left the sickbay and jogged up to the Intel office, pulling Jack Ballard into the workroom with him.
"OK, Gabe, I'm here." Este enabled the camera on her helmet so Cordero could see what she was seeing.
"Ohhh, nice find you guys. Can you get inside?"
"We haven't had much success with doors today, Greg. Should we break in?"
"No, definitely not. We can't expose the books to the elements." As Gabrielle stood looking at the door, something near the bottom caught her eye.
"Captain Barnes, is that a handhold?" she asked, pointing to six holes in the bottom of the door.
Barnes shrugged, "Maybe. What are you thinking?"
"Up, not over." The PFC that found the library stepped over to the door and pulled up on it using the finger-holes. Given a strong push, it opened.
"Wow, Gabrielle. You're a genius!"
"You just figuring that out, Cordero?" she responded, laughing.
They went inside cautiously, the Marines circling the interior, as always looking for any threat. Gabe carried her virtual Cordero towards the center of the room.
"What are you looking for, Gabe?"
"Librarian's desk. Maybe a computer. We haven't seen much tech here, but we know they have it."
Barnes looked around. "Yeah, I've been wondering about that myself. But, if you think of this as mid-twentieth-century tech, homes and libraries didn't have computers. They had the Encyclopedia Britannica at home and a card catalog in the library."
"So, what you're saying is that I should be looking for a card catalog?"
Cordero laughed. "Well, in a perfect world, yeah. But the Captain is right. If there is such a thing as an inventory system, it's likely going to be physical, not digital."
Silver Search Page 17
