Explorations: First Contact

by Isaac Hooke

  “Final displacement in three, two, one, …” The first officer, Commander Harriet Edmunds, ran through the countdown, wrist through one of the straps along the upper railings, boots planted firmly on the deck. She was wearing her navy blues, Canadian Space Agency crest on her chest under her rank bars, markings of the HMCS Halifax under those decorating her jacket. Crisp white shirt and black tie underneath, her grey hair wrapped in a tight bun at the back of her head, she turned and pointed to Lieutenant James Franklin, manning the helm. An array of displays and instruments floated around his station, indicating their destination.

  The main bridge display blinked. The stars realigned against the black backdrop of space. The on-deck non-commissioned officers and techs ran through their checklists with quiet competence, green lights appearing on the status board beneath the screen. After a moment of consulting his instruments, Lt. Franklin, himself dressed in the trousers and blue tactical shirt worn during everyday operations, reported, “Helms good. Last jump complete.” He paused for a moment, double-checking the navigation screen. “Navs report we are in position. Anchor is holding and steady.”

  Quiet applause around the bridge as Commander Edmunds exchanged a brief smile with the Captain of the HMCS Halifax, Angus Macdonald.

  The Captain afforded her the briefest of nods and leaned forward in his seat. “Helm, bring up the EM drive. Get us into a stable orbit. Tactical, launch our probes, please.” Like the rest of the crew, he’d been waiting for this day for twenty-one years. He hid it well.

  “Aye, sir. Spooling up EM drive,” Franklin reported.

  The lead contact negotiator and political representative, Doctor Justine Poitras, looked on impassively from her seat behind the Captain’s chair as the crew acknowledged their orders and went to work executing them. A deep rumble from somewhere in the ship announced the activation of the long-dormant EM drive that could push the great ship through normal space.

  “Let’s take a look,” Captain Macdonald suggested as he stood up from his chair with some effort, adjusting his jacket. He’d aged on this journey – they all had. It had taken them twenty-one years to cross the 454 parsecs in some twenty thousand displacements from Earth. That time was taking its toll on the senior staff. He wasn’t sure he’d live through the return, despite the medical staff’s life extension treatments. “Mister Daniels, what do your eyes see?”

  Lieutenant Kyle Daniels, surrounded by displays and colorful readouts at the science station, studied the instruments around him. “Nothing, sir.”

  Macdonald frowned and turned to the helm. “We are in the right place, are we not?”

  Franklin double-checked the panel in front of him. “Aye, sir. Navigation still confirms. We should be ten AU from Tabby’s Star. Relative angular velocity of sixteen kilometers per second, dropping into stable orbit.”

  The main display above and ahead of them showed the blackness of space, dotted with distant stars. Not their stars. The Sun was a tiny dot, invisible to unaided human eyes, some fourteen hundred light years behind them. The view spun, the red giant Deneb cutting a deep red slash across the display. The arm of the Milky Way galaxy bloomed across the sky as the screen settled on a black disc in space.

  “There it is!” Daniels pointed, zooming the view with increasing magnification. “No emissions of any kind. Total black body.” He managed to contain his exuberance with some effort as he studied the readouts in front of him.

  “It’s remarkable.” Commander Edmunds suppressed a shudder, feeling a chill run down her spine just looking at it. “Let’s get our telescopes on that thing and see if we can resolve any detail on the surface.”

  “Aye, ma’am.” Daniels spun the displays in front of him and brought up imaging control.

  “It’s not unexpected.”

  Captain Macdonald sat back down in his chair, ignoring the disembodied voice of the Advisor.

  “After all, we have been monitoring the construction for the past twenty-one years.”

  Commander Edmunds collected herself, masking the disappointment she felt. She studied her hands on the railing, the lines and wrinkles she’d gained during the crossing. She raised her eyes to the screen in front of her, the featureless black ball occluding the stationary stars. “I thought there might be something faint. Maybe a beacon, or a signal, if not a welcome mat.”

  “I don’t think anybody going to the trouble of encasing a star is going to put a radio on it, or allow any leaks,” Macdonald grumbled. The soft red leather on the arm of his chair was worn, and he idly picked at a piece of stitching. He’d have to get one of the service techs from accommodations up here to repair it when they had time.

  Doctor Poitras stood up, black pant suit and tie in stark contrast with her silver hair. She addressed the Captain. “We should begin the contact protocol.”

  The Captain regarded her, considering the request. He fingered his X ring.

  “Captain, should we begin broadcasting?” Sub-Lieutenant Annick Bouchard asked in her light French accent as she turned around in her seat at the comm station. “Payload is ready, but I need to warm up the transmitters and run a check.”

  “No, not yet,” the Captain replied, scratching his grey beard. “I think we should just observe for now. See if we can see anything.”

  The Advisor spoke over the speakers, with a conciliatory tone. “I think that’s a wise course of action, for now.”

  SLt. Bouchard nodded once. “Aye, sir.” She returned her attention to her comm station, scanning for signals. She hid her disappointment well.

  “Captain Macdonald, UEF protocol dictates that we are to announce our presence as soon as we are established in the alien system,” Dr. Poitras informed him.

  “Established and safe.” Emphasis on this last word. “I’m well-aware of the protocols, Doctor, but I am still in command of this ship. I want to see what we’re dealing with first.”

  Dr. Poitras sat back down, a pinched expression on her face.

  “Make sure your systems are ready, sub-lieutenant. Run a full suite of diagnostics,” Edmunds ordered, walking over to Bouchard’s station and inspecting the screens hanging in the air around her.

  “Aye, ma’am.”

  “That goes for the rest of you. Full work-ups.” She turned on her heel and walked back to engine control. “And that goes double for you, Franklin. I want our displacement engine ready to go in an instant. If we see any sign of trouble, we jump out on my order, understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Aye, ma’am. Fallback jump point is coded and ready.” Franklin busied himself at his station, reading the screens and confirming that their anchor was secure.

  The Captain grunted, satisfied his crew was under control. “Commander Edmunds, I leave the bridge in your capable hands.” He stood up and strode to his ready room.

  ***

  “Halifax is provisioned with a detailed, heuristical challenge/response communications bundle to be deployed upon arrival at Tabby’s Star. The team of scientists, linguists and analysts who’d studied the data from the Sphere ship had spent the ten years’ construction time putting together this contact program. The ship’s computers were equipped with weapons-grade, quantum decryption software for interpreting any returning signals they might receive. The theory was, an alien intelligence could respond to this protocol and be brought up to speed fairly quickly on our language and communications, and we on theirs.

  “The crew was selected through an extensive recruitment and training process. Halifax’s complement consists of eighteen senior bridge personnel, twelve government officials appointed by Parliament, twenty-four junior officers, ninety-six engineers and ops trades of various specialties, and ninety support staff: medical and science members, many of whom are family of other crew. There have been fourteen children born during the transit to Tabby’s Star. I am sad to report that there were also two deaths. Despite the extensive training and background checks, life extension treatment and excellent medical facilities, sometimes people die.
It is unfortunate.

  “The senior crew were all selected from Canadian science and military programs. Most of them were in their thirties or forties when the program began, and promoted up to their current ranks. Junior personnel were recruited similarly, based on potential, but much younger. Some of the cadets were in their teens when they joined the program, with permission from—or accompaniment by—their parents. With an expected forty-odd-year round trip, the senior staff would be octogenarians by the time they arrived home. Plenty of time to train up the junior crew members to officer level for command of the return journey.

  “We set out from Earth on January 1st, 2157. I’ll skip the journey through our solar system and nearby space as it was largely routine, though it did leave quite an impression back on Earth. Some of the other ship’s crews were somewhat jealous when the full details of the Halifax’s complements were unveiled at the orbital gala. There were several requests for transfer from other outfits. All declined, with thanks, of course.

  “The trials went well. The tests of the displacement engine and essential ship components all worked marvelously. The Canadian government is to be commended for their efforts. Really top-notch. They decided to go big. They wanted to show the rest of the world they were a serious player, and spared no expense.

  “The crew section alone is a marvel of engineering and a wonderful habitat for everyone on board. Rather than the more expensive and difficult anti-grav technology employed by various military organizations and private enterprises, the ship-builders consulted with aerospace and transport conglomerate Canadian International, and commissioned a maglev loop around the spherical displacement drive section amidships. The loop and train cars were built by Canadian Aerospace with support by Bombardier who, regrettably, had some difficulty making their deliverables. The assembled maglev cars are encased in a solid ring and are travelling continuously at a respectable 350 kilometers per hour, producing a steady 0.85G, more than enough to support a healthy human frame. The appointments and accommodations were all designed by renowned architect Jackson Thompson, who took cues from early Twentieth Century luxury rail cars operated across the country at that time.

  “Crew comfort was deemed to be of paramount importance for the long journey.

  “Getting in and out of the train is accomplished via an ingenious airlock ‘caboose’. Leaving is accomplished by entering the lock car, which is dropped from the train, decelerated and shunted from the loop to an external docking area. The cars can then re-enter the track and get picked up by the train. There is one at either end and each can accommodate sixteen people at a time.

  “In case of emergency, the entire train can be decelerated to stationary, and each car, when sealed off, can be ejected into space. Crew cars are configured to be operative as lifeboats until rescue.

  “A secondary backup bridge is forward along the forecastle…”

  Throats clearing, uncomfortable shifting in seats.

  “Can we skip to the debriefing, please?”

  “Of course, Admiral.

  “I think it worth mentioning that during the transit, we were able to see the construction of the sphere around Tabby’s Star complete in an accelerated fashion. At 1400 light years from Earth, we saw the beginning phases of the project in the early 2000s, progressing at 2% coverage year-after-year over nearly 200 years.

  “As we travelled further from Earth, taking longer and longer jumps as the displacement drive tunneled us further into interstellar space, we watched the coverage complete faster and faster, like watching a time-lapse video. By the time we arrived in-system, Tabby’s Star had been encased for over seven hundred years.

  “There were no external signals or indications there was anyone inside it.”

  ***

  Begin VR playback, Dining-1 : 2178-10-09 19:37:23

  “Would you care for some fresh pepper?” François leaned over the Captain’s shoulder, the meter-long bubinga-and-copper pepper mill in his hands, hovering over the plate.

  “Yes, please.” Captain Macdonald leaned back, his Caesar salad resting in front of him, glasses and cutlery tinkling in the dining car around them. Exposed Edison bulbs hung from the ceiling, illuminating the tables in soft, yellow light.

  Tonight, they sat at the Captain’s table, as they did every evening. Captain Macdonald at the head. His executive officer, Commander Edmunds to his right. Their political emissary, Doctor Poitras, on his left. The rest of the Captain’s table occupied by the usual senior staff from the bridge: Franklin, Daniels, Taggert and Bouchard.

  Three other tables for the rest of the bridge crew and support staff, going over the results of the day’s work. Images in the frames along the wood-paneled walls showed diagrams and imagery from the ship’s sensor arrays and remote sensing equipment scattered throughout the system.

  “And for you, Madame?” François made his way around the table, peppering Commander Edmunds’ salad.

  The Captain ignored the proceedings and forked up a romaine leaf and mushroom covered in Ontario mustard and garlic dressing and parmesan cheese, engulfing it in his mouth, crunching noisily. A fleck of parmesan cheese landed in his beard and he put down the antique silverware and wiped it off on his napkin. Doctor Poitras regarded him impassively as she demurely ate a lightly-dressed endive leaf. She couldn’t tolerate the garlic-heavy Caesar the Captain preferred.

  “Captain. We need to begin the contact protocols. We can’t pretend we’re not in this system any longer.” The political emissary brought this up at every opportunity. She was uncomfortable with the delay, but conceded the ultimate decision to the Captain.

  Captain Macdonald regarded her over another mouthful of salad and took a sip of his Okanagan Chardonnay to wash it down. “In due time, Doctor. We haven’t received data from our furthest probes yet. We still don’t know if there’s anything else in this system.” More crunching of lettuce and croutons.

  “There’s literally nothing here except the sphere.” The Captain turned his head towards Lt. Daniels, further down the table. Daniels had his tablet on the table in front of him, to Cdr. Edmunds’ visible displeasure. “I’d have expected debris – maybe a stray planetoid or two. But nothing?” He flipped screens on his tablet. “We’ve scoured everything out to 400AU and can’t find a damned thing. Not a trace! Barely even particulate hydrogen. It’s like they’ve hoovered-up the whole system.”

  The Advisor cleared his non-existent throat, announcing his attendance. “Probably more than just one system to create a sphere of that size. Calculations indicate for that much surface area with a reasonable thickness…”

  The Captain muted Pierre.

  SLt. Bouchard fidgeted with her napkin, her salad untouched. She glanced around the table before picking up her fork and moving a piece of bacon around on her plate.

  Commander Edmunds regarded her for a moment. “Annick? Everything all right?”

  She kept her eyes on her plate. “Oui, madame.”

  Daniels leaned over to Lieutenant Franklin and whispered, a little too loudly, “She speaks French in bed too.” The two men started giggling, Franklin nodding and winking at a mortified Sub-lieutenant Bouchard around a mouthful of salad.

  The Commander put her utensils down and was about to start tearing strips out of them for bad manners, but the Captain held up a hand. The heads at the table turned to him. “If you want to behave like children, you can join them at their table. Daniels, Franklin, you’re excused.”

  Daniels put his fork down, about to protest, but saw the looks on the Captain’s and Commander’s faces. He placed his plate on his tablet, picked them up in one hand, his glass in the other and awkwardly walked them over to the junior officers’ table before he received further disciplinary action. Franklin grimaced and followed. They didn’t notice Taggert wink at them as they sulked away.

  Bouchard’s face turned red and she resumed moving parts of her salad around on her plate. She’d heard what Daniels had said.

  Doctor Poitras tut
ted and cleaned the remaining bits of salad off her plate. “You need to discipline the men, Captain. They are getting unruly.”

  The Captain ignored her, as he usually did, and wiped his mouth on his napkin again.

  Three waiters emerged from the kitchen with trolleys and began removing the salad course from the tables, stowing plates and cutlery on the carts before whisking them away. A young woman crumbed the table cloth with a knife and plate. She appeared nervous, but went about her duties in silence.

  Captain Macdonald leaned over to his first officer when his place had been cleared. “Keep an eye on them, Harriet. I realize everyone’s on edge out here, but I won’t have them harassing my junior officers or the crew.”

  The Commander nodded. She’d been having to resort to more disciplinary action in the last month than she had in the twenty years it took them to get here. Sure, there were minor incidents, but they were bordering on insubordination now. She scratched her chin. “I’m not sure what’s gotten into them, but the men have been… difficult.”

  Captain Macdonald grunted. He’d seen it too. A palpable change in the mood aboard his ship, and he couldn’t account for it. He’d been irritable himself, but then again, he was usually annoyed with something.

  The three waiters re-emerged with their trolleys and proceeded to deliver the carts to each table. Covered plates appeared in front of the diners and when they’d all been placed, the lids were lifted and removed.

  François quietly appeared beside the Captain, his pepper mill in hand. “Hot smoked wild Atlantic salmon, with a lemon caper sauce, rapini, and Yukon gold potato pavé.”

  “Wonderful, as always, François.”

  “Fresh pepper, sir?”

  “Yes, please.” The Captain always took pepper. He leaned over as François obligingly ground his seasoning for him. “Cut back on the wine at the other tables.”

  “Of course, sir.” François moved to the Commander. “Fresh pepper, Madame?”