Beyond the Event Horizon - Episode Two

by Albert Sartison

  Steve imagined the situation room and the tables set out as islands lit in various colours, different for each group of scientists. He ran through them in his mind, remembering the people sitting at them.

  “The historians have a few. The biologists are almost all women... And there are one or two among the doctors.”

  “Are there many young ones?”

  “As far as I know, only one. Most of the scientists working on the project are already eminent in their fields; there are hardly any young people.”

  “She’s the one they’ll send then, if she agrees.”

  “Well, that will be fine.”

  Kimble looked at the clock.

  “It’s time to weigh anchor.”

  6

  “Permit me to remind you that during our first contact with the incomers, one of our weapons fired on their ship. We have to consider what position we are going to take on this... er... misunderstanding before we begin communicating again,” said Shelby, addressing those taking part in the teleconference.

  “Please remind us of the official conclusion of the investigation commission,” said one of the historians, addressing the request to MacQueen, whose department conducted the investigation.

  “There are two official versions. The first is sabotage, most likely by the alien race. The second is technical faults. Both versions have their weak points,” MacQueen replied.

  “Towards which version do you yourself incline?” asked Shelby, although he knew the general’s position. He had followed the course of the investigation, and, after it was completed, had discussed its conclusions with MacQueen.

  “Sabotage,” replied MacQueen instantly.

  “And what is the weak side of that theory?” It was the historian again.

  “Technical details. Specialists in undercover activities have worked through different versions, but have not found a single scenario realistic enough to show that such an operation by the aliens could succeed.”

  “But considering their advanced technology, we can assume that there are no limits to what they can do. From our point of view, naturally.”

  “That is the only way I can imagine that sabotage could be possible. I don’t like this scenario very much, but the other is even less credible. I propose we do not develop this theme. It’s a complex matter, and there is no sense in discussing my personal opinion in greater detail. I think it was sabotage. That’s it,” snapped the general, and signalled to Shelby to continue.

  “All right. Let’s accept the sabotage theory. Should we attribute it to the aliens, or should we pretend we don’t know the reason?”

  “But it’s not pretence, we really don’t know the reason!” objected one of the mathematicians.

  “That’s true, we don’t know with mathematical certainty, if you like, but that is our private opinion. We don’t have to put all our cards on the table. After all, the aliens are not being sincere with us either, they are trying to play some sort of strategic game.”

  “If we pretend we don’t know the reason for the failure, we automatically assume part of the guilt. It was our weapon after all; we are guilty by default, as it were. Continuing the chain of logic, our actions will then have to include a certain element of remorse,” commented one of the historians.

  “So you think this would mean surrendering our positions in advance?” asked Shelby.

  “Admission of guilt means that as some sort of apology for what happened, we would have to concede something. That is, we would be laying the foundations for weakening our own position in the negotiations in advance.”

  Shelby nodded.

  “I agree.”

  “But on the other hand, we are closing this question, and demonstrating our goodwill and willingness to take part in constructive negotiations.”

  “...at the cost of automatically casting ourselves in the role of weaklings,” interjected MacQueen.

  “Quite true.”

  “What about admitting nothing?” asked the general, demonstratively looking at his watch.

  “In that case, we are making it plain to the incomers that we know they were involved in what happened,” said Sullivan, entering the discussion.

  “Which they will deny, of course,” objected one of the biologists.

  “Yes, but that would be our position. We have the right to any opinion, even if the other party to the negotiations doesn’t like it.”

  “Any further objections or arguments?” asked Shelby. “No? Then we’ll vote on it. Ten seconds.”

  In the subsequent silence, the scientists were busy voting. Half the time would have been enough for all of them.

  “Result of the vote,” proclaimed Shelby. “We deny we had any part in it, indirectly accusing the aliens. I wish to make it clear that we are acting as diplomats for the human race. Therefore I request strict observance of collective responsibility. No disagreements in the public domain. Not all of you may like our official position, but this is not a subject for discussion outside the Academic Council.”

  He paused for possible objections, but there were none.

  “Excellent. Then let’s get down to business,” said Shelby, rubbing his hands in anticipation of resumption of contact with the incomers. Then he gave a sign to the operator. All the conference participants saw an open window for the live exchange of messages on their screens.

  CONNECTING...

  Signals from bunkers scattered all over the planet ran along cables laid deep underground to a central computer. From here they were relayed to a communication satellite, which in turn sent them on to the antennae of the ship patrolling closest to the aliens’ cloud.

  The silence of anticipation was broken by Professor Sullivan.

  “I’ve had a sudden thought,” he said. “If the aliens are enclosed in a cloud impenetrable by electromagnetic radiation, how do we intend to communicate with them?”

  “Captain?” MacQueen turned to one of the officers apparently responsible for ELINT. They had not taken an active part in the discussion, but to all appearances were connected up to the conference and had heard everything the scientists had said.

  “After their appearance, the aliens used a laser channel for communication with our ships. After deploying the cloud, they went over to the conventional radio wave metre band. We assume they have put a transmitting antenna outside the cloud. We haven’t yet discovered how they maintain communication between the antenna and their ships.”

  “That’s a very interesting question,” remarked Sullivan, as if thinking aloud. “If communication between the antenna and the aliens is via some form of radiation, it must be capable of penetrating the protective cloud. This could give us a clue, and a chance of finding out how we can see the alien ships in it.”

  “We are considering this possibility. We have several drones in position around the cloud, some way from it, tracking changes in all the wavebands known to us. Unfortunately, so far without results. There is a suspicion that they may be communicating by cable. In that case, all our attempts at interception will be in vain.”

  “Cable? That’s a bit of an anachronism, isn’t it?” snorted one of the historians.

  “Perhaps it is. But you must admit it’s extremely simple and effective.”

  Shelby glanced at the time. The distance to the alien ship was ten light minutes, so it would take twice that long to restore communication. That would be time enough to discuss the appointment of the delegation with MacQueen.

  Switching off the sound, he requested a private conference with the general.

  “Yes, professor,” replied MacQueen almost at once.

  “Can we discuss something eyeball to eyeball?”

  “Certainly, you can begin. The sound is switched off on all my conference channels.”

  “Excellent. I believe it’s time to think about the delegation that will have to meet the incomers face to face.”

  “I have on the line the secret service officer who dealt with the question of the reliability
of our candidates. He will join us in a few seconds. By the way, you must have made the offer to them by now. Have they given their agreement?”

  “One candidate has agreed, the other one’s response will come in during the day, I believe. Unfortunately, the second candidate is a long way beyond the bounds of the Solar System. Therefore I have had to speak to him through an intermediary.”

  MacQueen nodded and made notes on his tablet.

  “Professor Shelby, Captain Collins is with us.”

  “Good day, professor. Collins, secret service,” rang out a voice from the loudspeakers. The picture was not available.

  “Hello. Do you have good news for us?” asked Shelby in a welcoming voice.

  “I certainly do. The female candidate has a stable psyche, well developed logical thinking, a high degree of responsibility, and is capable of reflection. The male candidate is also mentally stable and demonstrates a high capacity for thinking outside the box. His level of responsibility is average, but sufficient within the framework of the mission. He is inclined towards impulsive behaviour in out-of-the-ordinary situations and slightly undisciplined, particularly as regards persons in authority. The psychological compatibility of the candidates is Level Four...”

  “Pardon the interruption, but what does that mean?” asked Shelby.

  The secret service officer coughed slightly.

  “Psychological compatibility is assessed on a discrete five-point scale. The greater the compatibility of two individuals, the higher the rating. Level Four is an assessment of ‘good’, which means the individuals are capable of prolonged interaction, in conditions of medium-intensity stress, without long-lasting and insoluble contradictions between them,” rapped out Collins.

  “Interesting. And what is the limit of their psychological compatibility?” asked Shelby.

  “The candidates are compatible enough to withstand an expedition inside a spaceship lasting a year without developing an antipathy to each other. Difficulties may arise in the event of severe psychological shocks, for example in attempting an evacuation in a cramped lifeboat capsule. The effect of severe stress in a subjectively hopeless or dangerous situation could trigger a negative process in their relations. It would be risky to use them in tandem for carrying out complex missions, and this is not recommended,” explained Collins.

  “In this case it is important that Level Four compatibility is sufficient for the successful completion of their live contact mission,” interjected MacQueen. “What have you got on the remaining aspects?”

  “The candidates’ contacts and acquaintances don’t present any problems. No deviant behaviour noted. There are no worries about using them within the framework of the mission.”

  “Thank you, captain,” said MacQueen. Switching off the secret service officer, he was left alone with Shelby in virtual isolation.

  “I hope your subordinate will accept. How do you yourself rate the chance of a positive response?” asked MacQueen.

  “I think he will say ‘Yes’ to our proposition,” replied Shelby. “General, how do you envisage the meeting with the aliens?”

  “The alien ships are closer to Mars than to Earth. We are preparing the ship that will take them to the cloud. After that, it will all depend on the aliens. Is something worrying you, professor?” asked MacQueen, noticing the sceptical expression on Shelby’s face.

  “I don’t think the aliens will withdraw the protective cloud...”

  MacQueen nodded.

  “I don’t think so either. It would not be sensible from a military point of view.”

  “That means our people will somehow have to be immersed in the cloud and be outside our cover.”

  “That won’t happen.”

  “Why not?”

  “We don’t know what will become of them when they are concealed from sight and the radio link is broken. They might be subjected to surgical operations, or be acted on in some other way. They are ‘Dawn’ members and know our secrets, therefore we cannot take the risk.”

  “How do you imagine their visit, then?”

  “Nowhere but in space, under our intensive observation. No going on board the alien ship by our people.”

  CONNECTION ESTABLISHED

  “OK, we can discuss the details later. Now we have to begin the dialogue,” said Shelby, seeing the changed message on the screen.

  “Just so. You have the floor, professor!”

  7

  Having returned to his compartment, Steve gradually began to realise how serious the proposal was. The more he thought about it, the more uneasy he felt. His brain kept sketching situations which brought him out in a cold sweat. As a distraction, he went into the bathroom.

  In such situations, it usually helps to think less. Steve splashed his face with cold water, trying to repel gloomy thoughts. The wet coolness ran down his face. Raising his head, he looked at his image in the mirror, watching the water running down his cheeks and dripping off his chin into the basin.

  Due to the water-repellent material the wash-bowl was made of, the droplets turned into little balls, looking more like spilt mercury than water. If you looked carefully, you could see that they were quivering very slightly. A barely noticeable shudder ran over their surfaces.

  The roar of the reactor could not be heard in the living quarters, but when it was taken up to full power, a slight shudder could be felt throughout the ship. Although the reactor was not creating audible sound, the vibration was still there. Such low-frequency vibrations obviously filled the interior of the ship with ultrasound. Perhaps this was the explanation for the incomprehensible feeling of alarm that had overcome Steve after the captain’s proposal he should be included in the first delegation to the aliens.

  He didn’t give a clear reply to Kimble’s question, and the captain did not insist on one. Possibly he had not expected one anyway, and was giving Steve the opportunity to contact Shelby himself to report his decision.

  Although he had not yet reached a conclusion, Steve felt in his heart that he would agree. He had no fear of the aliens. It was absurd, ridiculous, to think that they would behave as in third-rate horror films, trying to eat his brain or something even worse. Any participant in ‘Dawn’, the first contact project that had observed the dialogue between civilisations, could have no doubt that the space visitors represented a highly developed civilisation which understood progressive humanism.

  No, what frightened Steve was that he might do something wrong. Having only just graduated from university, he was not ready to undertake responsibility for the entire human race, as much as he might have liked to think he was. No-one would permit him personally or even as one of a group to take decisions or sign contracts. And it looked as if Kimble was right about stupid whippersnapper heroes being easier to manipulate and then use for one’s own ends. His visit would be purely symbolic. Rather like dressing up aborigines in their traditional costumes to dance for foreign guests, shake their hands, and offer folk-craft gifts, various beads and the like...

  Steve went back and flopped on the bed. Running his eyes around the room, his tablet, lying on the bedside table, came into his field of vision. Only now did he notice the slowly winking red light denoting unread mail.

  “Have they made the offer to you yet? They have to me. I’ve given my agreement,” read the email from Maggie.

  So she would be in the delegation too. Kimble had not been wrong about the age of the delegates. If Steve were to refuse, who would they send in his place? Why, Clive, of course! No, he couldn’t permit such a thing! After that, Clive’s ego, which was not exactly compact anyway, would inflate to such a size that the whole Universe would scarcely be able to contain it. He would become quite unbearable to work with.

  Steve hit the ‘Reply’ button on Maggie’s email.

  “So we’ll be flying together,” was the brief text he composed, preferring text to recording a video. After writing it, he hesitated for a few moments with his finger poised over the ‘Send’ button.<
br />
  There was a knock at the door, and Steve put the tablet aside. Toshi stood in the doorway. It seemed as if he had been reading Steve’s thoughts while he was waiting.

  “Are you ready for the big adventure?” he asked jokingly.

  “Yes, I’m ready. Where are we going?” Steve played along, but wasn’t sure he understood the joke.

  “To Mars.”

  “Mars?” Steve’s face fell. Memories of their adventures were still fresh in his mind. Mars? He couldn’t stand the place.

  “Skip told me that we are making a brief diversion to that planet, letting you off there and then returning to the previous course.”

  “What do you mean, letting me off there?” said Steve in surprise.

  Toshi said nothing but looked at him, not understanding. It seemed like this guy was slow on the uptake, lack of sleep probably. The joking expression left his face.

  “Skip told me to get one of our drones ready for you. The ones we unpacked, remember?”

  “Of course I remember!”

  “Well then, let’s go, and I’ll show you how to control it.”

  Steve turned and looked at the tablet he had thrown on the bed. The message still hadn’t been sent. Never mind, he’d do it later. He went out into the corridor and closed the door behind him. Toshi pointed towards the gravity lock.

  “They’re quite easy to control on the whole; they can be piloted in automatic mode. That’s in case the crew’s unconscious or something. All military drones can be used as lifeboat capsules. But they shake you up a bit when they enter the atmosphere.

  “Automatic mode is set for entry at an acute angle, you know. But you can adjust it a little. I’ll show you how. Have you ever piloted a ship yourself?”

  Toshi was chattering on incessantly, as if he just couldn’t manage to close his mouth today. Steve usually found such people irritating, but he liked Toshi tremendously. Since Kimble had told him of Toshi’s experiences with pirates, he had come to like him even more.

  “Look, it’s like this.” Toshi used his arms to mime a ship entering a planet’s atmosphere. “Passenger ships usually enter this way,” he said, lowering one arm slowly.