Girl on the Moon

by Burnett, Jack McDonald

  “It’s one of my mission parameters,” Daniels said. Conn could almost see him shrug underneath his pressure suit. “Get tech, and get it for everybody. Europe is on board, so I’m speaking for them, too. If it makes you feel better, I’m supposed to try and make sure nobody gets proprietary rights to anything, like Eyechart is trying to negotiate right now.”

  “Like I may be trying to negotiate soon. Fair enough, but I’m surprised Russia agreed to split costs with you if you were going to try and undermine them.”

  “I wouldn’t call it undermining. I would call it competing. And they definitely knew that was part of the deal.”

  “But you and Russia both win if you each get proprietary rights to tech. If everybody gets everything, Russia wasted its money getting here.”

  “And so did you.” Conn didn’t think that was the case, but she didn’t argue. “Conn, you’re assuming there’s a chance in hell these guys are going to give their tech away. I’m skeptical, and it would do you good to be a little skeptical yourself.” With that remark, it was Daniels’s turn to meet with the Basalites.

  Luan came over to thank Conn (in Basalese) for retrieving Cai Fang’s body. “It has been the worst day of my life. I don’t know how I can...negotiate with them after...”

  “You can do this,” Conn said. “Choose one thing. Insist. What does your country want? Stay on that. You will do well.” Luan smiled wanly, but by the time it was his turn to meet with the Basalites, he did not look at all convinced.

  Conn thought about what Daniels had said. He—the United States—was skeptical that the Basalites would give away their tech equally to all humankind. Well, of course not, she thought. They won’t give it away, they’ll bargain in exchange for...for what?

  If the Basalites wanted land in Russia, they had to get it from the Russians. If they wanted...whatever they wanted from China, they had to get it from the Chinese. If they wanted the moon—

  It was Conn’s turn. Persisting greeted her warmly. Resolutely said, “We are discussing with you. What you want from us. What do you want?”

  “I prefer to discuss. What you need from me.” In English, Conn said, “How many of you speak English?”

  The Basalites looked at one another.

  “Persisting,” Conn said. “You speak English.”

  In English, Persisting said, “Not enough.”

  “No? Then let’s do a reverse upload of language. Let’s speak English. Or else,” she said in Basalese, “teach me to use your language. All of it.”

  The Basalites still did nothing more than look at one another. Conn pressed on in Basalese. “You taught us your language. Vocabulary—not structure. Say and hear like child. Teach me more. Or we speak English.”

  “I speak passable English, Conn,” Persisting finally said. “I cannot learn more right now—it wouldn’t work, trying to upload, as you call it, to my avatar.”

  “English, then,” Conn said. “You’ve been very careful what you’ve said. You said if we have anything you need on Earth, you’ll pay for it. You don’t intend to pay humankind for use of the moon, do you?”

  “We only wish to acquire whatever rights we need to mine and otherwise exploit your moon’s resources,” Persisting said, carefully, “from whoever owns those rights.”

  “Yes. But you know this is the first time people from Earth have been to our moon in sixty years. You probably arranged to meet on the moon because you doubted we’d show up.”

  “If I understand what you’re saying—”

  “You understand perfectly what I’m saying. We’re not speaking toddler Basalese anymore. And I’m right.”

  Persisting said something to his cohorts that was difficult for Conn to understand. She recognized leader, obstacle, and silence, but couldn’t put it all together the right way in her mind.

  Persisting said, “You accuse us of what I think you call poor faith.”

  “Bad faith,” Conn said. “Pretending to negotiate for something when you never intended to pay is bad faith.”

  “Bad faith. But from what we have learned, we could have simply set up and started exploiting your moon without meeting with you first.”

  “Yes, you could,” Conn allowed. “But you need—or want—land on Earth. You plan to be here for a while, and you don’t want to be confined to your spacecraft or stuck using avatars.”

  “We could have asked the appropriate government for land on Earth,” Persisting said.

  “You could have. That was probably your plan if nobody showed up today. Calling a meeting on the moon is a low-risk way to say you tried to do right by us, but we declined to participate.” As Persisting began to speak, Conn said, “I just want to make sure we’re all being honest with one another.”

  “I accept that,” Persisting said.

  “Good. Now, there are other things you need in addition to land. My company has a space station with free parking and good repair facilities. Depending on the number of spacecraft you anticipate using, we can offer you the run of the station, and transportation to and from.”

  “We have one very large spacecraft, which we intend to orbit around the Earth. Spacecraft for transportation to and from our land on Earth. Several smaller craft we will use as shuttles between our flagship and our operations on the moon.” It wasn’t lost on Conn just how fluent Persisting really was in English. It made her wonder how he learned so much.

  “See, we have tons of satellites, space stations, and junk in Earth orbit. You need to work with us there.”

  “That is a concern,” Persisting admitted. “But we’re confident we will find an Earth orbit that works.”

  “Why not orbit the moon?”

  “For the same reason we don’t use one of your Lagrange points: too far from Earth,” Persisting said. “The spacecraft we will use for travel to and from the Earth’s surface don’t carry enough fuel.”

  “You’re in luck,” Conn said. “Like I said, we have a space station. Existing repair infrastructure, for when you need it. Low Earth orbit. We can even take you to and from, when you want to go. Park your shuttles there, orbit your flagship around the moon. It’s safer there.”

  “We would have to think about this. In the event of any backlash from our activities, our spacecraft at your station would be vulnerable to retaliation.”

  “You speak English just fine, don’t you?”

  “I muddle through,” Persisting said.

  “We have security. We can get more, if we need it. And that brings me to the other thing you need from my company. Public relations.”

  “I am not familiar with this concept.”

  “Clearly. Public relations means we ensure you are perceived favorably by humankind. There will always be those who fear difference, but we can work to make sure those capable of making up their minds do so in your favor. We have the expertise to help you with that.”

  “And for use of your space station, security, and public relations, what would you want in return?”

  “Oh,” Conn said, “nothing you can’t afford.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  Laid to Rest

  September 2–5, 2034

  Luan had evidently come to his meeting with the Basalites guns blazing—asking about every type of advanced technology he (or more likely, his superiors) could think of. ‘Choose one thing,’ I told him, Conn thought. Persisting said that the Basalites preferred to have a more targeted discussion, and that they were reluctant to indulge in Conn’s speculation about what kinds of things they might or might not be able to do. That threw Conn off, and she had to think on the fly, but when it came time to negotiate, she had a list.

  Beginning with the “pressure field” technology Persisting had used to protect her bare hand in the vacuum of the moon. Aspiring fleshed out what it did (Persisting translating into English): using a small local fuel cell that lasted upward of eight hours and was solar-rechargeable, the field enveloped the body it was attached to, read its ambient temperature and PSI when acti
vated, and maintained that ambient temperature and pressure no matter the outside environment. Humans could spacewalk or moonwalk in street clothes, although Aspiring didn’t advise it: objects in space were cold enough to maim human flesh. But in a jump suit with appropriate boots and gloves, absolutely. Oh, and an O2 tank—the field didn’t provide oxygen.

  The field would also keep most radiation at bay, and protect the wearer from small projectiles. A bullet would get through, but not micrometeorites and cosmic rays (which, Conn knew, were really particles).

  Conn understood that such tech would have wide application. Not just to space and deep sea explorers, either. Providing the protection to firefighters alone would save countless lives. So, in exchange for use of Gasoline Alley, transportation, security, and public relations, Conn asked first that the pressure field technology be delivered to all of planet Earth.

  She took the same tack with avatars. She wanted to know how to create and control them, because they too had the potential to save lives. Avatars could be exposed to dangerous conditions instead of first responders, miners, construction workers, steelworkers—who knew how many other dangerous occupations could benefit? Workers in space—Conn envisioned avatars in pressure fields working on vehicles at Gasoline Alley, controlled safely from inside. She wanted that technology made available to everyone as well.

  Persisting wondered whether Conn was like Daniels, only interested in tech that could benefit humankind as a whole.

  “Nope,” Conn said. “Pressure fields and avatars will make it easier and cheaper to work in space, which means more people will do it, which means my company will have more customers. We get what we want.”

  Besides, she wasn’t done. She wanted faster than light travel—for Dyna-Tech alone.

  # # #

  Persisting had told her that their journey from Basal, 41.83 light years distant, had taken them all of 875 days. It was a matter of accessing fifth-dimensional space and traveling along it (not through it, Persisting was clear) to the destination. The technology and fuel to accomplish the actual travel were relatively simple and abundant.

  Here was the rub: there were many routes between two points along fifth-dimensional space, no one knew how many. It took technology and brainpower currently beyond human capabilities to develop a computer that could plot out any one such navigable route. It took even more tech and brainpower to develop a computer that could calculate a fifth-dimensional route in a reasonable time, working anywhere from hours to days.

  And the first proposed route wasn’t always the best. If the goal was to go from Point A to a Point B 41.83 light years away, a Basalite computer might take six days to calculate a fifth-dimensional route, and that route might be one that would take thirty years to complete. If a thirty-year journey was unacceptable, there would be a second attempt, another route calculated, hoping for something shorter. Maybe the second attempt came out to 11.5 years from Point A to Point B. Another attempt. Thirty-eight years. (The “ceiling” for long journeys, star to star, was the time it took light to make the trip in three-dimensional space. Persisting’s trip from Basal was guaranteed to be quicker than 41.83 years, in other words. Shorter trips had a “ceiling,” too, but it seemed to coincide with how long it would take a living being to make the journey, not light.) Persisting’s 875-day route had come from their thirteenth try.

  “But once a route is calculated, it can be used again. Right?”

  “No. If your second trip starts at a different time, everything will have moved—you are aware that all star systems revolve around the galactic center?”

  “Sure, but—”

  “All this is academic in a sense, Conn. The programming and hardware required to find a reasonably short fifth-dimensional route between two points is well beyond your current capabilities. Exponentially beyond. We can’t simply teach you what you don’t know, it would take a year and you wouldn’t understand it the way you would if you made each milestone discovery yourself over time.”

  “Then we’ll take five of your computers,” Conn said, knowing Peo would work her people 24/7 until they had reverse-engineered the fifth one, “and the specs for a spacecraft to use them in.”

  It was a deal.

  # # #

  The Basalites decided to use Russian land in Siberia for their temporary home and Earth base. Conn wondered if that meant Luan was going home empty-handed. And she couldn’t resist telling the Basalites about the cultural significance of Siberia—that since the mid-twentieth century and the ascendancy of the Soviet Union, getting “sent to Siberia” was an analogy for being exiled, banished, as punishment.

  “Don’t worry,” she promised. “We can use that in our public relations efforts. There’s nothing to fear, they can’t harm us, they’re already in Siberia.” Persisting seemed unconvinced.

  “Conn,” Persisting said, “we’ve bargained for the right to exploit your moon.” And Conn still didn’t know for what purpose—the Basalites had refused to be specific. “That some may believe otherwise doesn’t change that.”

  “You don’t have to worry about me, Persisting,” Conn assured him. “Accusing you of taking our moon essentially by force would be bad PR.”

  “What we will give the human race is exceptionally valuable.”

  “It’s also something you can afford. You’re not exactly going to have to take out a mortgage to tell us how to make avatars, or pressure fields. Or even how to travel along the fifth dimension. That part costs you all of five computers. Big deal.”

  “I know the representative from Russia will report that he’s struck an excellent bargain with us. With China, talks are...ongoing.” Conn wondered what the Chinese had to bargain with. “I believe the NASA representative will not have a favorable report to make about us. My concern is you, and you have eloquently illustrated the basis for it. If you report that we have given up all of five computers and acquired no legal right to exploit your moon because none of you has that to offer us, our efforts to bring you here will be undermined.”

  “But what I’m trying to say is, you have bargained from me my promise to say wonderful things about you, and about our new partnership. You give me five computers, I give your activities here and on Earth a positive spin.”

  “I believe we are in, I think you say, good shape, until you build your first faster-than-light spacecraft. Then you’ll have what you want, and will be free to turn on us.”

  Conn said, “You said to me once, ‘Forgive me for saying, your people deceive often.’ I don’t do that. The owner of my company does not do that. We honor the agreements we make.”

  “I hope so,” Persisting said.

  # # #

  The Basalites took their leave, promising to receive any world leader who wished to visit them, and to entertain invitations to visit in return. The aliens reiterated, though, that they would not be teaching anyone else their language—for security reasons. So these supposed visits, Conn mused, weren’t likely to be very productive—unless all the Basalites spoke Earth languages as well as Persisting spoke English.

  Conn stipulated one more term: she needed to know the full Basalite language, usage, structure and all. Only then could her company effectively provide the agreed-upon services. She was frustrated by Persisting’s reluctance. “There is no single language,” he said. “Like you, we have many languages.”

  “I need to be able to speak with your people living on Earth and working on the moon,” Conn said. In Basalese: “It is required.”

  The Basalites arranged to keep in contact with Earth via the four of them, and asked their permission to “chip” them—a marker that would allow the Basalites to find them wherever they were. Eyechart and Luan agreed. Conn compromised, and gave the aliens the frequency of the GPS locater in her Wear. Daniels refused. Persisting and his friends responded to that cheerfully enough, but Conn could tell they weren’t keen on Daniels not being chipped.

  Conn rode with Persisting and the other Basalites to the fourth sled
they had left by the canyon. When the four aliens were all on sleds and ready to depart, she shook the avatars’ hands and thanked them again for their help with Cai Fang’s body. It was a moment that seemed like it should require a ceremony, the start of an era of cooperation between two civilizations, but a handshake seemed like a good punctuation in lieu of that.

  Everybody dispersed back to their respective landers. But as Conn returned to hers, she saw Luan working outside, on one knee, whacking the lunar surface with a hand tool. He was behind schedule, and trying to complete by himself all the experiments assigned to him and Cai Fang by his government. Conn offered to help, in their rudimentary Basalese. Luan looked at her distractedly and blurted, “My government wants me to bury him. Cai Fang—they do not want his body back.”

  Conn thought that was probably a good idea, practically speaking. She imagined what it would be like to travel two and a half days back home with a dead body, especially in such tight quarters. But Luan seemed distressed, so she said, “I am sorry. We can bury now. I will help you.”

  The lunar surface was rock, but they did their best. They crouched and used the small trowels meant to dig out geological samples. They could only manage a small trench, six feet by three feet by a couple inches deep. The Apollo 11 American flag had only been planted about six inches deep, Conn knew. Conn only noticed while they were working that Luan had already stripped the pressure suit off his comrade. She didn’t envy him what he was having to do.

  When they were satisfied that they had done the best they could, Luan led her to Cai’s body. They carried Cai to the trench and laid him in it. They filled the grave with the rock they had dug out of it, then gathered larger rocks to pile on top as a cairn. As they were finishing, Eyechart and Daniels arrived. Daniels gave the grave an impatient look and exhorted Conn to help them get started with their collaborative experiments.