The Aleph Extraction

by Dan Moren

Halfway through raising his tea, al-Kitab froze. When he set the cup down, it rattled. He took a moment to compose himself, carefully aligning the mug once again. “Who are you?”

  “An interested party.”

  “It would be unethical for me to discuss the business of one of my clients.”

  Kovalic gave him a hard look. “Dr al-Kitab, your client is an arms dealer and criminal. We’re about twelve parsecs away from ethics.”

  “I am a scholar and an academic, Mr Godwin. My goal is the truth.”

  “Didn’t stop you from taking her money.”

  At that, the man’s shoulders sagged. “The truth doesn’t come cheap these days, I’m afraid.”

  “It never did.”

  Raising his tea, al-Kitab took a long, thoughtful sip. When he set it down again, he seemed calmer, fortified. “The Aleph Tablet is a singular artifact, that much is true. I’ve made extrasolar archaeology the focus of my career, much to the dismay of my many advisors and administrators, and I have never found substantiated proof of any other extrasolar artificial objects. The accepted conclusion is that humanity is alone in this corner of the cosmos.”

  “Accepted.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You said ‘accepted’ conclusion. Which I assume means that you continue to disagree with it.”

  A tight smile crossed the professor’s face. “The Aleph Tablet is an outlier, Mr Godwin. We know it exists, though nobody has ever conclusively proved whether it is actually the work of an alien intelligence or simply a random occurrence of nature.”

  “It’s had plenty of owners, from what I hear. Nobody ever studied it?”

  The smile transmuted into a scowl. “Those who have possessed it certainly never had scholarship as their design. It was, rather, a trophy to be possessed and whispered about, an indication of power and wealth. As such, it would regularly disappear and then resurface in the hands of a completely new owner.”

  That meshed with the general’s brief. The tablet never seemed to stay in one place long enough for anybody to get a proper look at it. Otherwise maybe this whole mess could have been avoided.

  “The fact that you’re here, though,” said Kovalic, “tells me that you believe in it.”

  Al-Kitab plucked at the sleeve of his coat. “It is the work of my lifetime, Mr Godwin. To get even a single moment’s chance to be in its presence would be the culmination of all that I have worked for and sacrificed.” His left thumb pressed against the base of his third finger, rubbing a faint band of lighter skin there.

  Kovalic let out a sigh. “Look, professor, I deal with the here and now. The kind of things you can see in front of you. I’m having trouble understanding what’s so important about a block of – I don’t even know what it’s made of. Metal? Stone?”

  “Most accounts suggest an incredibly dense metallic alloy, unlike any other we’ve discovered.”

  “OK, sure. Anyway, say you found it and studied it. What’s the big deal?”

  “The big deal? The big deal?” Al-Kitab’s fist came down in a muted thump on the bar, rattling the cups and earning them side-eyed glances from around the cafe. Out of the corner of his eye, Kovalic saw Taylor tense but he flashed a surreptitious “hold” hand sign in her direction.

  “Proof of other advanced civilizations would change everything, Mr Godwin. Who were they? Where did they go? Why isn’t there more evidence? Fields from biology to sociology to religion would be fundamentally altered forever. We would have to recontextualize our entire existence.” Al-Kitab turned his gaze back toward Kovalic, shining tears magnified by the lenses. “We thought we were alone, you see. But we weren’t, all along.”

  Kovalic didn’t say anything for a moment as the professor collected himself and took another sip of tea.

  “I understand,” said Kovalic finally. “But my concern is something a little more… tangible.”

  “Ah,” said al-Kitab with another sad chuckle. “You mean the secrets it’s said to hold. Well, in normal circumstances we might call that the sixty-four million credit question, but here it’s merely one among many.”

  “I take it there are theories.”

  “As many as there are stars in the sky. I’ve heard that it’s everything from the Aleph’s version of Voyager’s Golden Record, to schematics for their advanced technology, to a recipe for goulash.”

  “You have a favorite?”

  “I have to admit, I’ve always had a taste for goulash.” This time the professor’s smile was genuine. “But yes, I do.”

  “Care to elaborate?”

  Al-Kitab drained the last of his tea and gathered up his tablet. “While this has been a most illuminating conversation, Mr Godwin, as I said, I must respect the wishes of my client. I’m afraid I can’t discuss these matters any further at present.” He paused. “However, if you are still interested in the subject, might I suggest you look up the recording of the lecture I gave at the Centauri City University? You’ll find it in their database: index number 7113. It’s a good overview on the subject – only… half an hour?” He rose and nodded to Kovalic. “I bid you and your colleague a good day.” And with that, he was gone, leaving only his empty cup behind.

  After a few moments, Nat sat down in the doctor’s recently vacated seat, and reached over to toy with the discarded tea cup. “So… was that what I think it was?”

  “I believe so,” said Kovalic, finishing the last of his coffee. “I have to say, for a professor, his spycraft isn’t too shabby. Shall we?”

  “After you.”

  Thirty minutes later, having assured they weren’t followed from the café, Kovalic knocked on the door to room 7113. He’d assumed that the professor’s mention of his colleague had been an implicit invitation for Nat to join them, which just as well: whatever al-Kitab had to tell them, he had a feeling she would have a much better chance of understanding it than he would.

  Al-Kitab opened the door, but was careful to stay well inside as he ushered them in. “Please, come in, quickly.”

  The professor scurried around the room, throwing a pile of clothes off one chair and dragging it to the middle of the room. His gesture to Nat was gentlemanly, and she looked amused at the formality, but smiled as she sat down. Kovalic leaned against one wall.

  “I apologize for the subterfuge,” said al-Kitab. “It was a bit theatrical, I must admit, but when your patron has a reputation for possessiveness, it’s best to be careful.”

  “Frankly, I’m surprised you’re willing to talk to us at all,” said Kovalic.

  “I do not believe in locking away knowledge, even for a fee,” said the professor, drawing himself up. He deflated slightly. “Though, I must admit, I have an ulterior motive.”

  “Oh?” said Nat. “And what’s that?”

  The professor cocked his head to one side. “I suspect your interest in the tablet is not purely hypothetical. Let us say merely that I am… preparing for all contingencies.”

  Kovalic rubbed his mouth to hide a smile, but merely dipped his head to al-Kitab. “Very practical.”

  “So,” said al-Kitab. “Where was I? Oh yes!” At a wave of his hand, a holoscreen appeared, showing a schematic of circles and lines instantly familiar to anybody over the age of seven, no matter where in the galaxy they lived, because it was where they lived.

  “The known galaxy,” said al-Kitab. “Systems where humans have discovered wormholes leading to other systems. Most – but not all – of which have contained planets suitable for human life.” Many of the rings glowed green.

  “I’ve heard this one,” said Kovalic. “The conspiracy theory that the Aleph supposedly terraformed all these planets to support human life.”

  “That is one theory. I’m not sure about the ‘conspiracy’ part, but, for my part, I would suggest that as an explanation, it does not go quite far enough.”

  Oh, great. Kovalic made sure he knew where the exits were. Al-Kitab didn’t seem like the kind of guy who bought red yarn in bulk, but sometimes you just
couldn’t tell.

  “If you’re going to posit that the Aleph actually created the wormholes between the systems, then we’ve heard that one too,” Nat added.

  Al-Kitab tilted his head towards her. “Indeed, I do believe that to be the case. But the bigger question is ‘why?’” With another flourish, a second image appeared, similar in composition to the previous one, but the circles were distributed much less randomly; one was all the way off on one side of the display. Three more were clustered very closely. “This is not as instantly recognizable, but perhaps you can figure it out.”

  Nat leaned forward, her brows knit in the expression that Kovalic knew meant she was unraveling a particularly thorny puzzle. “It’s the same thing, but in actual stellar geography.”

  “Very good,” said al-Kitab. He flicked a finger at the display and a conventional image of the galaxy appeared behind it. “You’ll notice that our commonly used schematic misrepresents the actual locations of these systems – Jericho and Badr, for example, are considered to be adjacent because of their wormhole connection, but in reality they are halfway across the galaxy from each other.”

  “Right,” said Nat. “Nobody’s ever discovered any pattern to their locations.”

  “There is not,” al-Kitab confirmed. “But let us take a step back in our assumptions. What if the Aleph did not terraform planets to support human life? What if, instead, they used the technology they did have – creating space-time disruptions to bridge disparate galactic locations – to connect systems which already had planets suitable for supporting human life? A similar hypothesis, to be sure, but one that changes the conversation a great deal, because then we have to ask a different question altogether.”

  Kovalic’s head was spinning a bit at this point. “I don’t get it. How would they know which systems had planets that could support human life?”

  Al-Kitab pointed a finger at Kovalic. “Yes. That is the question that we should be asking. Not why but how. If the Aleph were operating on a purely trial-and-error basis, we ought to be finding discarded wormhole cul-de-sacs to support this theory. But every single wormhole we have discovered has led us, eventually, to more human-habitable planets. That is a surprising degree of precision, unless…”

  “Unless they had a map,” said Nat slowly.

  “Unless they had a map,” al-Kitab echoed, his voice triumphant.

  Kovalic stared at the schematic. Something gnawed at his stomach like a hamster working at its straw. Humanity had discovered fewer than twenty systems: a lot, when you considered the diaspora of their species, and yet an infinitesimal fraction of the number of stars in the galaxy, much less the universe.

  Nat voiced the thought running through his own head. “This can’t be all of the habitable systems in the galaxy.”

  “The odds are certainly against it,” said the professor.

  “So we’ve only seen part of the map,” said Kovalic. The gnawing had intensified. Was this what an ulcer felt like?

  “That is my theory, yes.”

  “And the rest of the map?”

  Professor al-Kitab pushed his spectacles back up on his nose. “Mr Godwin, I believe this map was the most treasured information that the Aleph possessed. And I believe they deliberately left it behind on one of the planets they connected, for whatever life would come after them. In other words, I believe the complete map – a map that would show every star system in this galaxy, at least, where human life could be supported, as well as how to travel between them – is onboard this ship right now: the Aleph Tablet.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Access to the skiff bays was what the Illyrican navy would have considered “lax,” given that Eli and Tapper were able to walk right in behind a crew of maintenance techs coming on shift.

  In general, security on the crew levels seemed much less intrusive than on the passenger levels. Then again, during Eli’s time as a lowly maintenance tech on the frigid tundra of Sabaea, finding workarounds for annoying security protocols had practically been de rigueur: doors propped open, passwords written on sticky notes, even guards who’d wave you past after your tools set off the scanners. Everybody is just looking to make their job easier.

  The bay was dominated by the two skiffs moored there. Each was about half the size of the Cavalier; they were intended for short hops between ships, outboard work on the Queen Amina itself, or excursions of small groups of passengers to planetary surfaces. The perfect vessel for them to make their exit: not flashy, but they would do the job. Once they installed the data spike Taylor had given them, they’d be able to access and control it remotely, powering it up so they could make a quick getaway.

  One of the skiffs was being actively worked on, but the techs barely spared a glance for Tapper and Eli, and the drones rolling past, carrying tools and spare parts to the various workstations, didn’t give them any more notice.

  “All right,” said Tapper. “Let’s get this done.”

  They crossed the bay to the unattended skiff. Eli studied the underside as they went. From what he could tell, the ships were in good shape and well looked after. Not that I’d take them over the Cav, he thought with a slight tinge of guilt. He didn’t like leaving the ship behind, though the practical considerations had been undeniable. But that didn’t stop him from missing it.

  The entry ramp was, thankfully, down, making it the work of a moment for the two of them to stroll onboard. Eli had never been on this particular model before, but the layout was fairly standard, and he had no trouble locating the cockpit. He palmed the door control and it slid open.

  A startled yelp issued from the dark compartment, and Eli jumped back, nearly colliding with Tapper.

  “Sorry sorry sorry,” said a voice. “I know I’m not supposed to be here, I just fell asl… Wait…. Bishop?”

  Eli opened his mouth to automatically correct the misapprehension, his mind still on the job in front of him, until he remembered that was the name he’d given the other night at the bar. A slim, familiar figure stepped into the dim light of the corridor, brushing the dark hair out of their eyes.

  “Maldonado? What the hell are you doing in here?”

  “Uh… well, I was checking the results of a test I was running – faulty O2 sensor reading, you know – and I just sat down for a minute, I swear, then I must have drifted…” The tech frowned as their brain evidently caught up with their mouth. “Wait, What are you doing here? I thought you were assigned to the forward skiff bay.”

  “Logistics got reports that parts were going missing across the ship,” Tapper broke in, before Eli could even open his mouth. “Doing a quick inventory during downtime to see if we can figure out what’s going on. I asked Bishop here to help me check out the skiffs, because he knows them so well.”

  Mal’s brow creased. “But I thought you just came onboard.”

  “Generally,” said Eli hastily. “I know skiffs in general. Trevelyan here is just a support guy, you know. Doesn’t know his pitch from his yaw, if you get my drift. So if you don’t mind, we actually just need to pop in there for a sec…” Eli started to move past Mal, who quickly shifted to block his view, leaning against the doorframe with a studiously casual expression that Eli recognized all too well from having seen it on his own face.

  They really do not want me looking in the cockpit.

  “Maybe a little later?” said Mal. “I’m kind of just in the middle of something.”

  “Didn’t you say you were asleep?” said Eli.

  “Er, yes! But that’s because I was waiting for this report to finish running, and I–”

  Tapper huffed an angry sigh that signaled the end of his patience and strong-armed his way past both of them into the cockpit, where he suddenly pulled up short.

  He glanced back at the tech, eyebrows raised. “Are you living here, kid?”

  Mal’s face fell and Eli followed Tapper into the compartment.

  A rumpled blanket sat in the chair for the navigational station; on the console beside it
was a takeout container full of noodles. A satchel was shoved into one corner, clothes peeking out from underneath its flap, and hanging from a handle on the piloting computer interface was a toiletry bag.

  “Well, er, that is,” Mal started, looking desperately like they wanted to bolt through the nearest wormhole. “There was a problem with my berth and it hasn’t been fixed, but the quartermaster keeps telling me ‘soon,’ and…”

  Tapper had taken on the look of a parent disappointed in his kid’s math grade. “You’re a stowaway, aren’t you?”

  “What? No, I… I’m totally supposed to be here.” Mal slid possessively in front of the toiletry bag, as though Eli and Tapper might try to steal their toothbrush.

  Oh, kid. You want to live in between the cracks, you’re going to need to be a lot better at lying.

  With a sigh, Tapper glanced at Eli, then stepped over to the console and slotted in the data spike.

  Eli held Mal’s attention, but the tech had started to fold in on themself, arms encircling their body as though they were cold. “Look, I just needed a job. Any job. Anything was better than where I was. But they were full up on ship techs here… so I just called myself an assistant and, well, nobody’s bothered me about it yet. I’ve been trying to pull my weight! Fixing things that need fixing, you know. Hoping somebody might take me on as a legit assistant at some point.” A glance between the two of them. “You’re not going to turn me in, are you?”

  Eli shot a look at Tapper, but the sergeant was studiously examining the progress of the data spike at the console. And, technically, as he loves to remind me when it comes to making the difficult decisions, I outrank him. “No,” said Eli. “We’re not going to turn you in.”

  He thought he saw Tapper nod to himself out of the corner of his eye, but he was too wrapped up in the relief that washed over Mal’s face.

  “I really appreciate it,” Mal was saying. “I owe you guys one. Anything you need, anything I can help you with, let me know. I’ve had to work around a bunch of systems – food vouchers from the crew commissary, laundry stations, empty crew berths when I could find them. Not a system I don’t know at this point.” If the kid had any regrets about scamming the ship’s resources, it wasn’t evident.