Gate Crashers

by Patrick S. Tomlinson

  Allison flipped through the pages. The manual was printed in English, German, Spanish, French, Russian, Mandarin, and 13375p33k. For ease of use, AESA communications had to be sent in all the official languages of its member countries. This reduced the potential for miscommunication.

  With a page reader, however, messages were automatically displayed in whatever language had been set by the user. There must have been some software glitch in the printer when Jacqueline—

  From the recesses of Allison’s brain, an idea pounced on her so suddenly that she nearly dropped the manual. She gasped with excitement and ran toward the artifact, manual in hand. She shoved her way past Jacqueline and Mitchell, pushed aside the red-faced xenobiologist, and circumvented one of the out-of-shape researchers.

  Allison stood in front of the set of runes near the center of the artifact. She ran a finger down the etchings. She looked at them with fresh eyes, a key preconception eradicated. Everyone had been trying to translate the runes as one complete message. That was the reason no progress had been made.

  She looked at each character individually, then contrasted the characters against their neighbors. The symbols were definitely alien compared to any Earth language, but the styles of the symbols were also subtly different from each other. The more she stared at them, the more she felt like she was looking at Latin, Cyrillic, Greek, and Arabic. One seemed to be completely separate, like someone threw hieroglyphs into the mix.

  It wasn’t one message. It was the same message repeated six times, the same word repeated six times in six different languages before moving on to the second word, and so on.

  Then Allison remembered what Prescott had said about the signals in their briefing several days ago.

  “I gotta go!” Allison said. “I’ll be on the bridge.” She ran toward the airlock.

  “Captain!” shouted Jacqueline.

  “What, Jackie?”

  “I still need that.” She pointed at the maintenance manual still in Allison’s hands.

  “Oh, right. I’m sorry.” Allison hurried back and handed the book off to Jacqueline, who regarded her with suspicious eyes.

  “You are going to tell us what this is about, right, ma’am?”

  “Yes, later. For now, just get my shuttle moving.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Jacqueline saluted smartly.

  With that, Allison made her way back to the bridge. Ensign Wheeler heard the doors behind him slide open and turned his head just as Allison strode through.

  “Well, that was quick,” he said.

  “Prescott!” Allison found her seat. “You said there were different layers of data in the signals, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Would that be six layers, by any chance?”

  “That’s right, Captain. How did you know?”

  “Because starship captains are omniscient.”

  “Oh.”

  “If my guess is right, the six layers aren’t data compression; they’re the same signal being broadcast in six different languages,” Allison said. “Look here.” She brought up one of the holo-images of the runes. “We kept thinking it was one message, but it isn’t. Each word is repeated six times using a different alphabet before moving on. We’ve got them all jumbled together.”

  Transfixed, Prescott leaned closer to the display and inspected the columns with a fresh perspective. The symbols seemed to mutate before her eyes.

  “Impressive, Captain. I’ve been staring at these things for days without catching that. So have the people back on Earth.”

  “It was just a bit of serendipity, but still it looks like we’ve found our Rosetta stone.”

  “Let’s not jump ahead of ourselves,” said Prescott. “People could read Greek when the Rosetta stone was discovered. Since we don’t know any of these, all we’ve really learned is that we have half a dozen alien languages that need translation instead of one.”

  “True, but now you can cross-reference them. That should help, especially now that you have both written and spoken versions of each.”

  “It might speed things up, at the very least,” Prescott observed. “By the way, ma’am, Chief Billings called up here only a moment after you left. He asked you to call when you got back.”

  “Okay, put me through,” Allison replied.

  Prescott flicked through the first handful of crew icons until reaching the one for Billings, Steven Oscar, and keyed the intercom.

  A one-quarter-sized holo appeared of a fit man, naked from the waist up, soaking wet from a shower, sporting a mat of chest hair and a Texas A&M tattoo over his left pectoral muscle. “Hello, ma’am. Thanks fer returnin’ my call.”

  “Steven, could you please tip your camera up about twenty degrees, for the children?” Allison motioned to Wheeler and Prescott.

  “Of course. Wouldn’t want anyone left feelin’ inadequate.” Billings smirked.

  Wheeler snorted in mock indignation. Billings reached out, and the holo recentered on his head.

  “Thank you,” said Allison. “What’s up?”

  “Well, I’m sure our fuzzy spot ain’t a projector imbalance.”

  “How do you know that? I thought you said it would take a long time to get to the synchronizers to check them.”

  “Yup, at least two full days.”

  “So how did you check them so fast?”

  “I didn’t.”

  Allison stared at him blankly for a moment. “Well, that’s certainly a time-saver, but then how do you know the projectors aren’t responsible?”

  “Because we turned ’em off yesterday once we were done acceleratin’.”

  “Should have thought of that,” Allison said sheepishly. She caught a glimpse of Prescott starting to snicker. “Not a peep out of you.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it, Your Magnificence,” Prescott answered innocently.

  “Well, since it’s not the projectors, could it be faulty g-deck plating?” Allison asked.

  “No, ma’am,” answered Billings. “G-deck plating is a localized effect; the gravitons scatter randomly after the first couple of meters. The projectors are what actually focus the gravitons. It’s like shining light through an optical lens. Most of the light falls into one point, but spots can appear if the glass ain’t just perfect.”

  Allison pondered for a few moments. “But it still doesn’t seem like there’s anything actually there. Is there any record of a natural phenomenon causing this effect?”

  “Yeah, but not one that tracks perfectly alongside a ship movin’ at one-half c. I don’t know. Maybe it’s anchored onto us somehow, gravitationally, or magnetically. Beats me at this point. Alls I know is what it ain’t, and it ain’t comin’ from nothin’ wrong with Mags.”

  Everyone on the bridge looked at one another uneasily, not quite sure what to do or say next.

  Magellan stepped into the silence. “Captain, if I may make a suggestion?”

  “Of course, Maggie. What’s on your mind?”

  “We can conduct an experiment to determine if the anomaly is natural or artificial. If my course is adjusted, even minutely, we can observe the anomaly’s reaction. If it also changes course to match mine in unison, that would be strong evidence that it’s bound to us in some way. However, if there is any delay in its course change, or if it fails to change course, then that would confirm that it is piloted and therefore artificial.”

  “Simple. Straight to the point. I like it,” Allison said. “Navigation, alter course one arc minute starboard for thirty seconds, then bring us back to our original heading.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Wheeler. He quickly keyed in a few commands. “Beginning our turn … now.”

  Magellan slid gently sideways as the bridge crew anxiously monitored her sensor readouts. An all-too-familiar ranging sensor reported back to Magellan with an attitude that had grown to border on overconfidence. The fuzzy anomaly had changed course to very precisely match Magellan’s.

  But more important, there had been a d
elay of three seconds before it made the adjustment. They were being followed. The seconds ticked down to zero, and Wheeler altered their course again to point them back to Earth. Again, there was a delay in the reaction of the anomaly, although it was noticeably shorter the second time. Not only were they being followed, their unseen pursuer was a quick learner.

  If Magellan had any hair on her neck, or a neck, for that matter, it would have stood on end. Allison, on the other hand, had both. The hair on her neck was straight and stiff as cactus spines. Allison brought up all of Magellan’s different sensor feeds and linked them to the bridge’s main display, but the void jealously guarded its secrets.

  Uncertain of what to do next, but certain that doing nothing wasn’t right either, Allison reached down into a storage compartment beside her chair and pulled out the yellow-and-black book with the irreverent, condescending title. She surveyed the eyes of her fellows, daring one of them to make a wisecrack.

  When none of them took up the gauntlet, she opened the book to the rear to get her bearings. Jacqueline had previously instructed her in the use of the index, as Allison had never read a book without a search feature before. She found the proper page reference and flipped to it …

  SECTION 4: ENCOUNTERING E.T. IN SPACE

  Congratulations! You’ve discovered another space-faring race. Now, don’t panic. The fact you’re reading this means you haven’t been vaporized. This is good evidence the aliens aren’t mindlessly violent.

  That said, there are some steps you should take to mitigate the chances of catastrophe.

  STEP 1: Immediately purge any macho fantasies of outgunning or outrunning the alien vessel. Odds are that any aliens you find in deep space are many hundreds or thousands of years more advanced than mankind. So fighting them using any primitive weapons you have will probably be as fruitful as throwing rocks at a nuclear aircraft carrier. Likewise, running from them could make you look scared or guilty of something. Just act cool, like you belong there, which you don’t.

  STEP 2: Maintain the status quo. Do not take any actions that could be misinterpreted as hostile. Such actions include charging lasers, aiming missiles, opening weapons ports, using active sensors, deploying drones, launching fighters, or anything else that might give them an excuse to reduce your ship to its constituent molecules.

  STEP 3: In case things do go wrong at some point, it would be awfully nice to let Earth know what’s going on. That way if they don’t hear from you, they’ll have some idea what happened, giving humanity time to prepare for the invasion caused by whatever you did to offend the alien techno gods.

  While unlikely, it’s possible that a unidirectional signal, such as a laser, could be intercepted and used to establish Earth’s heading, leading hostile aliens to mankind’s doorstep. Instead of risking the entirety of the human race, use an omnidirectional signaling device, such as a radio.

  “How about a signal that doesn’t actually go in any direction?” said Allison aloud, addressing the long-dead author.

  “Ma’am?” asked Prescott.

  “Nothing. I need you to cut the research data feed from one of the QERs so we can send a message to Earth.”

  “Right away, Captain.” She set to work, grateful for the distraction. “The QER is ready and linked to your station, ma’am.”

  “Thank you.” Allison brought up a virtual keyboard and typed out a short message. She sent it. “All right, resume the data feed.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  Allison turned back to the book. Below step three was a light gray box with an icon of a person waving a finger. The individual resembled a slice of pepperoni pizza. It said:

  Tip: Further measures to protect Earth should include preparations to wipe your computer’s memory in case of a hostile boarding. If you’re thinking about fending off the alien boarding parties, refer back to Step 1. Don’t overlook dispersed forms of memory, such as data tablets, laptops, external hard drives, or separate mainframes on shuttles, probes, escape pods, and so on. If there isn’t time, refer to “Self-Destruct” in the index.

  Allison decided to skip the “Self-Destruct” section for the moment, but she could appreciate the logic behind taking a few simple precautions, even if the logic was born of a comical level of paranoia.

  “Helm, I want you to alter course for the moment. Move us four arc minutes off our present heading and hold that course until I tell you to resume.”

  “Aye-aye, ma’am,” responded Wheeler. An uneven tone betrayed his confusion, but he discharged her instructions without question or further comment.

  Allison smirked with satisfaction. “Maggie, I want you to create a temporary folder and move any files pertaining to Earth’s location, our colonies, astronomical references, and our navigational logs into it. Be ready to permanently delete the folder on my command.”

  “Yes, Captain; however, without that data, I cannot plot a bearing to Earth.”

  “That’s right, and neither can anyone or anything else,” said Allison.

  The rest of the bridge nodded in understanding.

  Allison could see her own anxiety reflected in the expressions of those around her. Yet despite the weight of their trepidation, or perhaps because of it, Allison’s people weren’t balking under the pressure. Just the opposite. They were as cool and collected as she’d ever seen them.

  “The folder has been created and filled as you requested, Captain.”

  “Thank you, Maggie.” Allison turned her eyes back to the book that had, against all probability, survived to become her impromptu checklist.

  She considered the odds against a book finding its way through three hundred years into the hands of the singular human being that would actually benefit from it. Allison saw the invisible hand of providence in the improbable circumstance, right until she remembered the author had obviously written the whole thing on a lark. Perhaps the fates were bored and in need of a laugh. She proceeded anyway.

  STEP 4: Now comes the hard part: striking up a conversation. Unless you’ve been whisked to some faraway galaxy through a wormhole or something, you’re probably still relatively close to Earth, at least in astronomical terms.

  Provided this is the case, you will still be inside the sphere of radio and TV signals we’ve been squawking out for decades to anyone who’ll listen like a bunch of overconfident idiots. Therefore, if the aliens have any notion of your origins, they will be expecting you to attempt communication using old-fashioned radio waves, and there is a fair chance they have studied one or more human languages.

  Do not use laser or any other directed-energy type of communications first, as this could be misinterpreted as an active scan or weapons range-finding.

  “Com,” Allison said, “how’s our RF transmitter?”

  “Practically new. Hasn’t been used since it was tested sixty years ago.”

  “Excellent. Dust it off and hail the anomaly.”

  Magellan’s radio was only a backup device. Within a star system, com lasers carried the mail because of the impressive bandwidth they could handle. Farther out, QERs did the work once the light speed delay made lasers impractical. Radios were reserved for distress signals, because you didn’t have to point them, and you never knew where help might come from.

  Prescott dug through command screens until she unearthed the link to the long-disused radio.

  “What frequency should I use?” asked Prescott.

  Allison paused. She hadn’t thought about that. “All of them. Cycle through the entire spectrum.”

  “Ready, ma’am.” She pressed a key in the air. “Hail sent.”

  CHAPTER 14

  If anyone on board Magellan could see it, the unknown ship trailing them would’ve resembled the most malicious, violent, nightmarish predator dredged from the coldest depths of the darkest ocean. The sort of seemingly impossible carnivore that’s all teeth and jaws, with a body thrown in as an afterthought.

  But they couldn’t see it.

  The reason they
couldn’t see it was because the ship was so evil and menacing in appearance that if a photon of light approached the ship on a sidewalk, it would cross the street, just to be safe.

  It took a few microseconds for Magellan’s hail to travel out on the right frequency across the twenty-seven kilometers of space that separated the vessels. But once it did, a very different crewman on a very different bridge picked up the signal. The being gazed at the sensor display through metallic eyes. A tiny muscular motor in the glowing red iris whirred as he leaned closer.

  “Vel Noric, apologies,” the creature hissed. “The human vessel is signaling us.”

  “Impossible,” answered the ship’s commander. “We’re sheathed; they can’t know we’re observing them.”

  “Of course, Vel. I hadn’t considered that. Forgive my incompetence,” said the sensor operator.

  Noric hadn’t bothered to learn this one’s name yet.

  Even among his crew, the Vel was an imposing figure. That was saying something for a species that resembled the end result of a drunken hookup between a Gila monster and a hyena.

  Noric stood nearly an entire crest above anyone else on board, and out-massed his closest competitor by 20 percent. This was not pure chance. Noric had cultivated many favors among the hierarchy tasked with personnel assignments. They were gracious enough to see that his first crew was on the small side.

  Noric figured it was a good survival strategy for an untested Vel in the Turemok military, and it had proven true. There had been one Pal’kuar dominance rite since he’d been appointed Vel, only one. The … finality of the outcome served as insurance that there would not be another on this tour.

  “Vel, would it please you to judge an observation?” asked his Hedfer-Vel, J’quol.

  Noric hesitated. He’d picked the youth as his Hedfer-Vel because he was deferential, lacked ambition, and was too slight of build to act on his ambition should he inadvertently come across any. These were time-honored criteria for picking one’s subordinate in a system that had little need of retirement benefits for former commanders, on account of all of them being dead.