“Here’s the message from the Hrwang, sir. I’ve been recording everything.”
Lieutenant Commander Purcella, communications technician aboard the Beagle, flipped a couple of switches to play back the message for Stanley, and an alien voice filled the command cockpit. It sounded vaguely American.
“Vessel in orbit around the fourth planet. Vessel in orbit around the fourth planet. Please have your commander contact us on this band. Please have your commander contact us on this band. This message will repeat at regular intervals.”
“That’s the third message, sir. It’s been repeating every fifteen minutes.”
Why hadn’t the idiot told him sooner? Stanley thought. The incompetence of military personnel never ceased to amaze him. The Beagle would have been better served if it had been crewed solely by scientists and engineers.
“Let me listen one more time,” he said gruffly.
The lieutenant commander complied.
“I need pencil and paper.” Stanley felt the importance of what he was about to do. He was going to speak to aliens. He wanted to make sure he did everything correctly. These were beings of immense intelligence and importance. Stanley’s world, the Earth, had spent decades to establish two tiny bases on Mars, four residents in each, and these aliens had crossed interstellar space.
It was incomprehensible.
All the physics that had been postulated for crossing the void between stars turned out to be not possible. There were no wormholes, no warp fields, no way to bend the space-time continuum. Yet the Hrwang had found a way. He couldn’t wait to talk to them.
Lieutenant Commander Purcella returned hurriedly with pencil and paper. Commander Irina Samovitch followed him, in uniform, the silver oak leaf of her naval rank gleaming as if she had just shined it. Stanley’s military second-in-command knew how to irritate him like no other person could.
Stanley composed his message, read it, crossed some things out, added words, read it again, made a few more changes, read it a final time, then took a deep breath.
“I’m ready,” he said.
“When I point to you, sir, just speak into this microphone. The rest of us will keep quiet,” Purcella explained.
“Then what?”
“Then we wait, sir. It’ll take fifteen minutes for our message to get to them, then fifteen minutes for us to get a response.”
“Okay.” Stanley took another deep breath to calm himself. His hands were sweaty and shook a little.
The officer flipped several switches, then began counting down on his fingers. When he got to one, he flipped a final switch, turned a dial, and pointed to Stanley.
Stanley paused. He wondered why all the controls on the Beagle were physical, not touch screen. Radiation, he reminded himself.
He had to quit stalling. It was time to speak.
He read his notes.
“This is Captain Stanley Russell of the UN exploration vessel Beagle in orbit around the fourth planet of our solar system. We call it Mars. We are a scientific space ship and we are eager to...” Stanley shook his head at the next phrase. How could they exchange information with the Hrwang? Beings that could travel between stars could probably swat earthlings like bugs. He improvised.
“...to learn from you. We are eager to learn what you would share with us, both scientifically and culturally.” He went back to his script. “We await your further contact.” He made a cutting motion, his hand waving in front of his throat, and Purcella flipped a switch.
“Whew,” Stanley blew out loudly. “That’s done. I was so nervous.” He grinned at the two in the cockpit with him. Purcella offered a weak smile and Irina just glared. It reminded Stanley to be business-like. He stopped grinning.
They waited.
Six or seven minutes after Stanley’s broadcast, they heard a message start.
“That was quick,” Stanley said.
“Vessel in orbit around the fourth planet. Vessel in orbit around the fourth planet. Please have your commander contact us on this band. Please have your commander contact us on this band. This message will repeat at regular intervals.”
“I don’t understand,” Stanley said after the broadcast finished.
“They haven’t received your message yet, sir. They’re broadcasting every fifteen minutes. It might even be an automated signal,” Purcella explained.
“Right. Gotcha.”
Stanley felt a little foolish. Even with the grumpy Commander sitting next to him, he was excited. Too excited to think straight. He knew there was a thirty minute turnaround on messages with Earth. It’s why they never tried two way communication. The Beagle always bundled up its messages and sent them at once. Houston usually did the same. In fact, he remembered chiding his communications officer on not waiting for a response from Houston when they first lost contact with Earth. The memory made him embarrassed at his current behavior. He really was too excited.
Fifteen minutes later they received the automated message again.
“Does that mean they didn’t get my message?” Stanley asked.
“I don’t think so, sir. We need to wait fifteen more minutes.”
They waited. Stanley wished he could share his excitement with someone else. Aliens from another star system. Another world. Their culture and their science and their art would be so different, so unique. So alien. And he was going to talk to them. He grinned.
Fifteen more minutes came and went and there was nothing. They waited a couple of more minutes, and there was still nothing.
“They got it,” Stanley said. “What do you think, Commander?”
Irina still looked sour. “I think I want to know why we can’t contact Earth.”
He ignored her. Just a military Nervous Nellie.
“Message, sir.”
Lieutenant Commander Purcella sounded as nervous as Stanley’s second-in-command. He flipped a switch.
“This is the Lord Admiral of the Fleet of the People. You may designate me simply as ‘Lord Admiral’. How may I designate you?”
Stanley and his crew waited. There was no more.
“What’s he talking about?” Irina blurted.
“He wants to know what to call me?” Stanley asked. “And then we have to wait thirty more minutes for a response?”
“I believe so, sir,” Purcella said.
“Okay. Turn me on.”
Purcella flipped a switch and dialed a dial. He pointed at Stanley.
“Hi, um, Lord Admiral. This is Captain Stanley Russell. You can just call me Captain Russell, or Stanley, if you prefer.” He paused, then said, “Umm, looking forward to speaking with you, Lord Admiral. Captain Russell over.” He made the cutting motion and Purcella flipped another switch.
“Now we wait thirty minutes,” Stanley said in an authoritative voice. Purcella nodded and Irina looked out a port window.
She eventually grew visibly frustrated and left. Stanley watched her go. He didn’t want to leave. He wanted to be right there when the reply message came in. The commander returned almost half an hour later, just before the message did.
“This is the Lord Admiral. Captain, there are two designations that we have no translations for. What are the meanings of the words ‘Stanley’ and ‘Russell’?”
There was nothing else.
“That’s it? We waited thirty minutes for that?” Stanley was beside himself. “What is going on? What are they talking about?”
“Just tell them that’s your name,” Irina said. “Sir,” she added belatedly.
“Okay, fine. Whatever.”
Purcella readied for transmission and pointed at Stanley.
“Lord Admiral, this is Captain Stanley Russell. The word ‘Captain’ is my rank, my designation, as commander of the Beagle. ‘Stanley’ is my first name. Sometimes we call it a given name, since o
ur parents give them to us. ‘Russell’ is my last name, or family name. It’s my father’s name and I inherited it when I was born. What is your name, Lord Admiral?” He signaled to cut.
“I guess we wait again. I’m going to go get some water to drink. Let me know if another message arrives. Perhaps they won’t wait for a response.”
“Yes, sir,” Purcella said. Stanley bolted and made a beeline for the corridor to atmospheric chemistry.
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