“No. But it would be a pity. You are a great fit. I like seeing you together.”
May 30, 2074, the Yacht
The ship was huge. It felt as though it was out of this world, and if the instruments were right, that was correct, at least partially. The black outer shell of the alien ship oscillated between this universe and something different, a few thousand times per second. After every switch the hull was a few degrees colder, a perfect cooling technology.
“Isn’t it detrimental to have the thing painted in black?”
“That’s hard to tell, Artem. Black absorbs light particularly well, but it also releases energy particularly well. Which effect predominates depends on the conditions. This oscillation could emit more energy on the other side than it absorbs here, for example.”
“You are correct, Computer, they will have a reason for it.”
“Concerning the invitation…”
“Yes?” Artem sat up and looked at the display as though the AI resided there.
“Communication is difficult. We don’t have a common language yet. I have tried to transmit your requirements, lots of oxygen, no carbon monoxide, no sulfuric acid in the air…”
“Did it work out?”
“I don’t know. They just keep repeating the invitation. I couldn’t help noticing that you are pretty fragile as creatures go. There are thousands of substances that shouldn’t be in your breathing air.”
“Yes, humans are imperfect. But I could transit over in a spacesuit if necessary.”
“We will see if there even is a transit. Maybe the entire structure is a huge computer that is inhabited by advanced AIs.”
“I see… Every intelligence creates gods in its own image.”
“How do you mean that, Artem? I do not have any gods. The concept is something I do not understand.”
“No matter. Just bring us in and everything will work out.”
A tiny ship in the shape of a plump bullet moved before a black wall. Artem tried passing time by imagining himself being outside in space and watching his yacht approach their destination. He felt minuscule already. What were 20 meters compared to the kilometer-high wall right next to them? But if he moved out—in his imagination—a few thousand kilometers, even that alien ship appeared but a dwarf. The sun dominated everything in this corner of the universe. But that, too, was just a matter of perspective. Compared to the center of our galaxy, the solar system was a dwarf itself, and comparing the Milky Way to the Perseus cluster would shrink it to a mite of dust. Where was the end of this? Inside his head—in his mind—he could travel instantly and without the limitations of physics, and return instantly to his chair. There, he was the greatest being of all… for Sobachka, anyway. She jumped on his lap as though she had known all about his incredible mind-trip.
“You should take a look at this,” the AI said.
“What do you have?”
“We are at the level of the tips of the two space station cones, where they are touching in the middle.”
The AI activated the display in Artem’s seat. Artem was looking at two dark-curved cones against a very bright background.
“Just a moment. I’ll compensate for the sun,” said the AI.
The picture changed. The cones now looked like two looming shadows in black space. There did not seem to be much space between them.
“Try zooming now,” suggested the AI.
Artem enlarged the space between the cones to see fine fibers that shimmered in golden hues, as though a space spider had built a nest there.
“What is that?”
“I can’t tell you. The spectrum of the golden luminescence is changing all the time.”
“And how big is it?”
“The two cones are about 300 meters apart. The round channel has a diameter of about 80 meters.”
“That is bigger than the yacht.”
“Yes, we would fit through there. Should I try doing that?”
“You can’t be serious, Computer, are you? We should be careful not to destroy anything we don’t have a clue about.”
“I see that the same way you do. I was just checking how you would react.”
“It would be nice if you would stop playing such games.”
“Of course, as you wish. Sorry about that.”
Artem observed the mesh of filaments that connected the cones. It looked natural in an odd way, not like a planned construction, but rather like something that had developed over time. He was almost waiting for a huge spider to pop up from somewhere with golden droplets dripping from its spinning glands. But he probably was thinking far too human-centric once again.
“What function could that channel have?” he asked the AI.
“That is hard to say. Maybe it holds the channel together.”
“Or it transmits information from one part to the other.”
“It could be a bridge, too,” speculated the AI.
“Or decoration,” said Artem. “Or a mixture of all of that. When will we be arriving?”
“I am estimating about 90 minutes.”
“Can’t we go faster?”
“Accelerating would have a detrimental effect on our orbit. We need to accept the low relative velocity, or else we are stuck with even less fuel in the end.”
Artem held on to the armrests. The yacht was braking with quite a bit more than one g to sync with the orbit of the alien ship. The display showed a ghastly scene. Ahead of the tip of the yacht there was a huge black surface without any visible structure. It simply was there like a pool of black ink in a dead calm. The yacht, slowing down, approached the eerie surface meter by meter.
“Are you sure this is right?” asked Artem.
“If I understand the invitation correctly, then this is the way in.”
“I thought there was no common language.”
“Parts of the message have been interpreted as pictograms.”
“That sounds a bit vague.”
“The calculated probability that our interpretation is correct is at 59 percent.”
“That is barely above random!” Artem raised his voice unintentionally.
“It is the highest level of any of our possible results.”
“Which interpretation came second?”
“You don’t want to know that, Artem.”
“I would not have asked otherwise.”
“The pictogram in question could also be interpreted as a warning not to approach the black surface. However, the probability for this result is only at 54 percent.”
“So only five percent between recommendation and warning?” Artem’s hands started perspiring.
“Look at it this way. Starting from a random level of 50 percent, the probability of having an entrance in front of us is more than twice as high as the probability of approaching something dangerous.”
“Thank you, that is very reassuring.”
“Do you want to see the original data?” asked the computer.
“Not necessary, thanks.”
“Another fifty meters,” said the AI.
Artem’s fingers hurt from gripping the armrests. He let go and shook his hands. Where was his usual, devil-may-care attitude? This was a new side of his personality that he had not met before. The display showed a looming black surface, nothing else. From time to time circular waves progressed across it. The scanners had detected them, even though they were too small to be visible on the display. It was like somebody throwing stones in a pond.
“Thirty meters.”
The stones, assumed the AI, would be bits of matter that shared the orbit. Artem had immediately associated a huge whale that orbited the sun and consumed everything that came its way: Plasma, miniature asteroids, or small-to-medium-sized spaceships. Would they be flying into the throat of a huge, predatory fish?
“Maybe the whole construction is just to attract us so that thing can eat us.”
“You have a very creative imagination, Artem. But it doesn’t make any sense. Whoever has
this technical ability has other possibilities. And the trap would only work once—everybody would keep out after that.”
That makes sense. I’ve probably seen too many bad science fiction videos, he thought.
“Ten meters.”
At zero, the yacht’s instruments registered an incredible blast of energy that should have destroyed the ship instantly. Artem suddenly was not there anymore. He stood high up on a cliff, at the shore of the Black Sea which was truly black today. His mother had been holding his hand a moment ago. But he had torn away, the call of the sea being too strong, and had run and jumped in.
Artem jerked awake. What happened? He was soaking wet but it wasn’t sea water, it was sweat.
“Computer, are we in?”
He did not get an answer.
“Computer? What is going on?”
The AI did not respond. That’s just great! Artem pulled the screen toward himself. The systems worked correctly. The drive was deactivated. The tanks were about twenty percent full. That was not anywhere near enough for a return. The outside cameras were off—or was it so dark outside that they could not show anything? He checked the sensors. The outside temperature no longer showed 5,000 degrees, it showed 35 degrees! That was one welcome change. And there was an atmosphere. The pressure was equivalent to 3,000 meters altitude on Earth, and there was enough oxygen for human beings. That was a true surprise. Apparently they had been expected after all.
“Sobachka?”
The dog wagged her tail. Apparently she hadn’t been affected by the adventure a moment ago. Sometimes he wished he were a dog himself. Living in the moment could be liberating at times. But now he had lost all fear of what might come—he would die anyway.
“I think we’ll go outside. Let’s take a walk!” he said.
Sobachka barked with pleasure and jumped up and down in front of him.
Artem looked around and considered what to take along. He packed a small backpack. Food and water, a few tools, medicine, a flashlight—just like going on a hike. Then he went to the airlock. The lights warning about vacuum were off, and the analog instruments showed pressure, too. So there was air out there. The instruments worked on a purely mechanical basis to ensure accuracy even after a power failure. Of course the atmosphere might be poisonous for him, but why would they want to trick him this way? They could have killed him long ago if they wanted to. Apparently the AI, wherever it might be right now, had been successful in justifying their presence.
He turned the wheel that held the inner airlock door shut. He entered the lock, shutting the inner door and then opening the outer hatch. Pushing it open, the first thing he smelled was garlic. Which gas was it that smelled of garlic? He didn’t know. The AI would have known. But either way it would not kill him.
Beyond the hatch it was black, pure blackness. He fetched a small screwdriver out of his backpack and threw it into the dark while illuminating it with a flashlight. The tool flew straight until he could not see it anymore. Artem waited a few minutes but nothing happened. Sitting around would not change anything.
He attached a lifeline to his belt and one to Sobachka’s collar, then they left the airlock. It was like descending into a tomb—the silence made him hear noises in his ears. He shone the lamp back to the ship. Hadn’t it just been closer? He turned around and looked back again. Indeed, the distance was increasing. Sobachka and he were drifting away from the ship. Suddenly the lifeline pulled taut. That was his connection to the ship, the only possibility of finding the way back. Artem pulled Sobachka to himself and detached her first, then himself.
Bye-bye, yacht. When will we see each other again? Artem shone the lamp in its direction but soon he couldn’t make it out anymore. He was alone in the dark. No, he had Sobachka, his trusty companion. Artem was very grateful for her. If he shut his eyes everything went bright. When he opened them, darkness once again reigned.
They drifted for an undetermined amount of time. His timepiece indicated it was just 45 minutes. To him it seemed more like two or three days. He touched his face. Hadn’t his beard grown significantly? His face was wet, especially his cheeks. Had he been crying? He could not remember. He wasn’t hungry, though. Sobachka hadn’t clamored for food either. So the watch had to be correct.
Suddenly the dog barked. Artem looked around. There was a golden light in the distance. He was not religious, but the light had an odd, elevating effect on him. Perhaps that was the same for anybody who had to suffer perfect darkness for an extended period of time. The golden spot grew into an oval shape. Soon a circular entrance became visible. He was approaching from the side, and the perspective was what turned it into an oval. The entrance was very large, he estimated more than 50 meters in diameter. Hadn’t he seen something like that before? Then he remembered—the golden filaments, the tunnel that connected the two pyramids. The closer he came, the more the similarity became evident.
Then he sensed a pull from one direction. From below, he decided. It had to be gravity. What is going on? His world had a sense of direction again. He twisted to put his feet below himself. The slow motion that had brought him here deposited him at the entry of the tunnel. Sobachka, on her feet already and at his side, barked once. He stroked her head and she licked his hand.
It was pretty evident what was expected of him. He was to cross through the tunnel. Maybe the two halves were independent and he was required in the other half.
Artem looked at the path ahead. An old story, Peter in Magicland, popped into his head. Little Peter was invited by the moon to ascend to the sky on his silver rays. The rays Artem was seeing here were golden but they, too, seemed be pure light. A few micrometers below his feet was the vacuum of space, 5,000 degrees hot here in the photosphere of the sun. Artem carefully set one foot in front of the other. The first step made it clear that he was not standing on a firm substance. His sole sank slightly into the surface. When he set the other foot down a bit harder, it sank in a bit farther. It was like walking on a soft fabric, maybe a silk scarf, to cross a deep ravine.
Don’t look down, Artem, he told himself. He did so anyway. Instantly, disorientation threw him off-balance and jumbled up his directions. The sun was not below him, so it had to be above him. That meant he was walking feet up across a ravine. Listen to what you told yourself, Artem, he reminded himself, just look straight ahead. There were only a couple hundred meters to go.
And then he had made it. He stood at the end of the bridge, breathless and with Sobachka dancing around his feet as though she had something to celebrate. She has to be crazy, he thought, but so am I. He laughed out loud to express his relief.
They stood in a shining circle, a platform of golden rays ahead, the same golden rays that the bridge was made of. The platform was about 200 meters wide. Artem took a few steps. Darkness towered above him. He could not see where the space ended. He tried to recall the shape of the alien spaceship. The cone tip, where he now was, had looked rather slim. His flashlight beam still did not go all the way across. In the middle of the platform was something that resembled an armchair. But first he had to do something that had not been possible for a long time. He pulled another screwdriver out of the backpack, threw it as far as he could, and yelled, “Get it.” Sobachka remembered the game and was already racing to retrieve the tool.
He held the retrieved screwdriver in one hand and they approached the… armchair? Yes. His first impression had not deceived him. Seat, backrest, armrests—the object really seemed to be intended for sitting on. However it was quite a bit larger than his seat on the yacht. The builders of this ship were themselves taller than two meters, or they had left the chair here for such bipeds.
What will happen if I sit down on the chair? Artem threw the improvised stick a few more times for Sobachka while pondering the question. He would never find out if he didn’t try sitting on it. And why else had he come here, anyway? Maybe it was just a piece of furniture so he could rest from his journey. That would be a nice surprise for once. The RB G
roup forced me into this situation and I come back with an alien armchair. He smiled to himself. Then he took a closer look. He’d have trouble taking the seat with him. There didn’t seem to be any way to separate it from the floor.
“Should I?” he asked Sobachka as he pocketed the screwdriver. Did she really nod? Well, in that case… Artem clambered onto the oversized armchair. The material felt hard and cold. The seat was so large that his legs would not dangle down if he sat all the way back. It was uncomfortable. He would not be able to stay that way for a long time. He placed both arms on the armrests. If you have a trick up your sleeves, dear hosts, now would be the time for it, he mused.
Then he suddenly took off. What a trick they had! The armchair shot him straight into space. He was the center of the universe. The entire world revolved around him! Artem took a moment to notice that it had to be a 360-degree projection, because he could still breathe despite being in vacuum.
The impression was realistic to the extreme. The seat even transmitted acceleration so he felt like he was on a roller coaster. Artem moved forward a bit and noticed openings in the armrests. Nothing is without function here, that is for sure. He put his hands inside and noticed six keys. He assumed the constructors of the ship had six fingered hands. He tried the keys, systematically starting to press them from the outside one on the right side. When he pressed that key the scene flipped.
He quickly figured out how to manipulate his trip through space, or more precisely, the trip through the image of space from the database of this ship. He noticed that he was not navigating the present when he first approached Earth in the armchair. The many satellites were missing, and so was the Ark. The database seemed to have stopped updating a long while ago. That became even more evident as he looked at the Earth’s surface. The continents that he knew did not exist. There just was one big continent that dominated the entire planet. And Mars was completely different from the present, too. Two large oceans covered it, and the land mass was green, not a rusty red. He flew back a bit. Dense clouds did not cover Venus yet. She seemed to hold life, too.
Silent Sun: Hard Science Fiction Page 17
