Super-State

by By Brian Aldiss

  ‘But aliens? That’s quite a different kettle of fish. The argument for the existence of aliens is merely a statistical one. It goes like this. Our galaxy contains some 1012 stars. Many or most of them may support planetary systems, as does our sun. Most or some of those planets may support life of some kind. Some at least of that life may have acquired consciousness and intelligence. Therefore, even by a strict accounting, the galaxy might be — must be — teeming with intelligent life.

  ‘It’s a popular line of argument. However, as yet, no other planet has been discovered which is at all likely to support life, certainly not life comparable with bipedal us. This includes Mars and the other planets of our own system of nine planets.

  ‘When we start looking at our own chequered evolutionary path, other reservations emerge. It is by blind chance that we are here, in our present shape, reading Origin of Species andAlso Sprach Zarathrustra. A whole number of chances. The Earth just happens to move in a Zone of Comfort at a fortunate distance from the Sun -Venus is too near, Mars too far.

  ‘I don’t want to lecture but—’ He laughed.

  ‘There’s the curious fact that the solid state of water—ice—is lighter than its liquid state, contradicting what seems to be natural law; were it otherwise, the oceans would be covered by ice, filling up from the bottom. There’s the curious accident whereby the eukaryotic cell was formed, the cell of which most plants and animals are built. Among external factors, as my friend Paulus Stromeyer has pointed out to me, is the development of grass. Grass grows from roots under ground, not from the tip of the blade. So it can be cropped and still grow; sheep may safely graze — until eaten by mankind. Without sheep, no meat, no clothes, no civilisations . . . Make the connections.

  ‘Then there’s that long painful pause between single-celled and multicellular life. Those cells had to conspire into bones and organs — and brains. Consciousness had a tardy dawn.

  ‘We are still drunk, it seems, with its first glimmerings.

  ‘It may be this intoxication which has unleashed the multiplicity of aliens upon us. They’re fine as fiction; but — as reality? The fact remains that there is as yet no proof of any other life anywhere in the galaxy. [The traditional shots of the galactic wilderness of fire and space.]

  ‘So what, then, if humanity is alone? What if this Earth, with all its teeming phyla, happens by some cosmic accident to be the sole refuge of life and consciousness? We seem, in that case, to have got ourselves elected as the consciousness of the galaxy, maybe of the universe. It is a devastating honour for a species that believes in fairies!

  [Potts squared up to the camera for his peroration.]

  ‘Our solitary state—if indeed we are alone—is an infinitely more challenging prospect than its opposite, a galaxy already boiling over with aliens, with ancient wisdoms of which we may know nothing. What a responsibility it imposes! It certainly means that we have to improve our behaviour. Quantitively and qualitatively. Look what a mess we have made of this planet!

  ‘Otherwise, I suggest, we are unfit to set foot on any other planet. Better to stay at home and create havoc here.’

  He gave a benevolent smile as the film closed. The real Potts, however, sat in darkness, too miserable to cry, bitterly regretting the death of the daughter he had rejected long ago.

  * * * *

 
  It was by chance rather than by any great wisdom that total destruction was avoided. ‘Better Dead Than Red’ was one well-known slogan of the time.

  Here we have a clear example of the suicidal peril into which the projection of our intrapsychic conflicts have led us. Now we find ourselves struggling with the ruination of our world through so-called ‘natural causes’. They are not natural but man-made. Global warming is brought about by mankind’s greed and destructiveness—and by the psychotic’s lack of emotional tone which permits such disasters to happen.

  Our world is already largely impoverished. Many species of animal, insect and plant are now extinct. Why do you think that could be?>

  ‘Clymedia says: Think Araneus diadematus—the common orb-web spider! Its silk combines flexibility with strength and is five times stronger than an equivalent filament of steel. In terms of speed per unit of weight it withstands the impact of a jet fighter plane every time it ensnares a fly.

  ‘Clymedia’s Condoms are made like that.

  ‘Think jet fighter planes. Think Clymedia’s Condoms for those intimate moments.’

  ‘Hi! Alexy Stromeyer from Europa. Right now we are witnessing a fantastic low-altitude auroral display! More importantly, we met up with a hitch. The drill apparatus would not lower. But we fixed it. Rick and I have drilled through the ice floe. Here’s the news the world has been waiting for. Hold your breath! Hear this!

  ‘Life! We have found life! A steel-mesh net was lowered through our borehole in the ice. On our third attempt, we caught a living creature in nine metres of water It was hauled to the surface and examined. It is definitely an animal, not a plant. Friends, we are not alone in the universe! More data in our following call. Must now return to the ship. Out.’

  * * * *

  The great Gabbo and his randroid friend Obbagi had their own means of travel. They appeared one morning before Daniel Potts. Potts had left the shelter of his son’s home and was living in a rented room in Budapest. There was little in the room apart from a bed, a box full of learned medioids, and a skull. The skull sat on a table beside an unwashed soup-mug.

  Into this rather depressing scene came Gabbo and the huge randroid: black, oblique, its faceless head almost touching the ceiling. In ordinary circumstances, Gabbo would have dominated any company; yet he seemed reduced and silenced by his gigantic electronic companion.

  Potts was looking thin and meagre, in grubby trousers and an old blouson shirt, with a scarf wound round his neck. He had not shaved for a day or two.

  ‘Would you like some coffee?’ Potts asked. He rested a hand on the yellowed skull for reassurance. The room had become darker from the newcomers’ presence.

  ‘We have come to speak regarding your recent broadcast,’ rumbled Obbagi. He stood massively, more statue than man. Gabbo remained just behind him, arms folded, appearing to enjoy himself — which is to say that he was slyly smiling, as if aware of the chill that his electronic friend struck into the heart of all whom he confronted.

  ‘Oh yes, my—my broadcast,’ said Potts.

  ‘We wish to clear your mind of a misapprehension,’ said Obbagi, entirely uninterested in any language that might issue from Daniel Potts’s mouth at this time. ‘Your deductions regarding the skulls and bones you have excavated are ingenious but entirely false.

  ‘You stated that almost everyone believes there is alien life on other planets. That is so, but your reasons for that state of mind are false.’

  ‘How can you—’

  ‘You speak of many imaginary beings, but your reasoning is false. You speak of the number of stars in our galaxy, but your reasoning about the numbers of planetary bodies housing intelligent life forms is false. You speak of the difficulty intelligence had in establishing itself on this planet, but your understanding of the implications is false.’

  ‘Look, it’s all very well—’

  ‘Why not listen?’ It was Gabbo who spoke. ‘We are here to enlighten you. Our intentions are not hostile. We merely know better than you.’

  ‘But, sir, I’m the expert who—’

&nbs
p; ‘Finally, you conclude,’ continued the deep voice of Obbagi, ’that it is the inhabitants of this planet who have been selected to become “the consciousness of the galaxy”.’ Here he emitted a great rumbling which could have been interpreted as scornful laughter.

  ‘It was merely a speculation which I—’

  ‘It was the arrogance of the human species speaking. Do you really imagine such a faulty collection of shortlived bipedal mortals could ever serve the grand purpose you propose? Of course you have no conception of how the galaxy is run, or of the superb consciousnesses which advise in the process.’

  Daniel Potts at last gathered his courage together. ‘All right, I have heard enough. My researches certainly involve some deductive powers, which you may dismiss as guesswork, but 1 work with facts. What evidence have you that there are other races in the galaxy? None. Absolutely none.’

  His gaze flitted from Gabbo to Obbagi like that of a hunted animal.

  The grim randroid replied slowly and grandly, ‘My companion Gabbo’s laboratories invented the universal ambient, the American bio-electronic network. With that instrument, my friend is able to survey those surveyors who guard this waterlogged little planet.’

  ‘I don’t understand you. You are talking rubbish. Who are these surveyors of which you speak?’

  Without directly answering the question, the great machine ploughed remorselessly on. ‘The surveyors are displeased at present because three of the men imprisoned on Earth have escaped. They will not get far, but there is annoyance that prison rules have been broken.’

  The reflection dawned on Potts that these two beings, the metal monster who seemed to speak and the fat man who was possibly a ventriloquist, were insane. He thought of the messages from the Insanatics group and said to himself, Those messages are true — these two personages are certainly mad. They probably plan to kill me. I don’t want my miserable life to end yet. I want to see what’s going to happen.

  He spoke. ‘You have no evidence to back your pretence that there are other races in the galaxy. You are victims of the very delusion of which I spoke in my lecture. Whereas I have evidence of the difficult evolutionary path the human species has pursued.’ He patted the skull on his table as if were a sleeping dog. ‘This kind of tangible evidence.’

  Again the rumble of Obbagi’s laughter like distant thunder. Gabbo himself shook like a jelly with a bad wheeze. ’The bones and skulls of which you are so proud were sown in the ground by the surveyors some centuries ago,’ said Obbagi. ‘Just to keep you busybodies busy, to make you believe you are an autochthonous species. How could consciousness ever have evolved on an unstable world like Earth?

  ‘Have you thought about that? You yourself know that this poky little planet is frequently bombarded by debris from space, that there have been five great mass extinctions and many lesser ones in a comparatively short space of time. No one in their right minds would wish to live here.’

  ‘But evolutionary theory shows—’

  The great still being made a slight movement, so that all its dark surfaces seemed to shimmer, as if betraying traces of impatience. ‘Evolutionary theory is just one more bit of human mind-junk, like the belief in a benevolent god. You must understand this, Potts — the planet Earth is a prison planet.’

  Gabbo took a step forward. He had come to a decision to speak again. ‘As an adolescent, I happened on an old book. Its title was Asylum. There the truth was revealed — that this was a planet to which galactic criminals and madmen were sent, to serve out their lives. That book was regarded as science fiction. It is nothing less than the truth.’

  ‘Yes, this planet is a criminal prison,’ confirmed Obbagi. ‘We hate your arrogance, Daniel Potts. So we have come to tell you the truth—even if it wrecks your career! The wicked and the deluded of the galaxy are segregated here. You are one of them.’

  The duo turned and departed in silence. The wooden stairs shook and creaked under the weight of the randroid’s tread.

  Potts remained where he was, face drained of colour. He sank slowly back down into his chair, bony head hanging back, arms dangling limply by his side.

  * * * *

  ‘But first on the Wee Small Hours Show, here’s the Reverend Angus Lesscock to make us think, in “A Parson Speaks”.’

  ‘Thank you, Flossie, and good evening, or should I say good morning? The news that life has been found elsewhere in God’s universe must make us think profoundly. We must pray all the harder—particularly those of you who have lost the habit. Because we have to ask ourselves, are these new life forms on Europa good or evil?

  ‘Did Christ visit them?

  ‘Are they what we might callreal life? We may be sure that Jesus was crucified on a real cross. Probably it was made of shittim wood. Not three-ply or reconstituted wood or plastic, or any cheap modern substitute for the real thing. Now the same question confronts us again. We all need the shittim wood of real life.

  ‘I know that if God the Father asked his Son what sort of wood he would like for his cross, Christ’s reply would have been “Shittim”.’

  ‘Today’s “A Parson Speaks” was presented by the Reverend Angus Lesscock.

  ‘Over now to Lisa Fort on the streets of the capital. Are you there, Lisa?’

  ‘Hello, Flossie, and yes, I am here on the Avenue Chateaubriand. It’s very busy, although it’s two in the morning. People are celebrating the discovery of life on Europa. Hello, sir, would you like to tell us how you feel about it?’

  ‘It’s terrific news. I’m ever so pleased. Really. I’m hoping that some of these life forms will come back to Belgium and enjoy our city and our lifestyle. They will certainly find it much warmer here than on their place, wherever it is.’

  ‘You don’t feel hostile to them?’

  ‘Not at all. Not at all. They sound friendly as far as I can make out. I haven’t really taken it all in yet. I’m just out cruising, trying to pick up a nice friend.’

  ‘You, sir, I see you’re in a wheelchair. You have learning difficulties, do you?’

  ‘Certainly not, and I keep abreast of current affairs. I’m very concerned about the plight of these refugees from the coast. We don’t know when another meteor is going to hit us. These missiles the Tebarese are supposed to have dispatched against us — I mean, I don’t believe they were missiles at all, I think they were probably meteors. Space is full of the things. It would be insane to declare war on Tebarou, to my mind.’

  ‘But on the subject of life on Europa—

  ‘Contrary to what the last speaker was saying, we don’t want them here. As I understand it, they are some sort of fish. Well, that’s no good, is it? Like the parson said, if Christ was going to visit them he’d have to go as a fish. It’s nothing to get excited about, to my mind.’

  ‘Thank you. That’s certainly one point of view. Hello, ma’am, you’re out late with your little girl. Are you pleased about finding life on Europa?’

  ‘Yes, I’m quite pleased, I suppose. I mean to say, it is a great technological achievement, isn’t it? But I don’t really see how it affects our lives, do you?’

  ‘It means we are not alone in the universe.’

  ‘Yes, but. What does that mean? I’ve got two kids to bring up, and a dog, and a goldfish. I don’t feel alone in the universe. And then the expense. It’s a bit of a waste of money, quite honestly.’

  ‘So you wouldn’t say you were excited?’

  ‘Oh yes, I’m a bit excited, I suppose. I used to know Rick O’Brien. He’s one of the astronauts, isn’t he? What he thinks he’s doing out there, I don’t know!’

  ‘Thank you. Excuse me, ladies, but how do you two feel about the news that life has been found on Europa?’

  ‘Oh, you’re Lisa Fort, aren’t you? You’re smaller than I imagined.’

  ‘We love your hairdo.’

  ‘We always watch your show.’

  ‘Except now, of course.’

  ‘We’re really very excited about the success of th
e Roddenberry expedition. That’s why we’ve been having a few drinks, to celebrate.’

  ‘I think they’ve been through such hardships. Over a year in space, run short of food and all that. They deserve every drop of their success.’

  ‘It’s just a pity that they haven’t found something a bit more interesting than this sort of fish thing. Like polar bears!’

  Both women were chuckling. They began naming other creatures.

  ‘Penguins.’