Just before noon, Henry called. “We’ve got another one,” he said.
“From Jupiter?”
“Yes.”
“What’s it say?”
“It’s bundled up in every language on the planet again. But it says: ‘I have no inclination to answer questions from several thousand sources. Appoint a representative and I will speak with him.’”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“Appoint a single representative to speak for everybody? Maybe he’d like to see some flying elephants while we’re at it.”
I wandered out, had lunch, and wondered why I wasn’t as excited as I would have expected. Probably it was because I didn’t believe it was a genuine alien contact. It had to be a hoax. Or maybe we were misinterpreting the data.
Or maybe having the first alien contact come with something that was inside the solar system and was familiar with every major terrestrial language seemed more like a bad SF show written by people with no imagination.
I had just gotten back to the Center and was getting out of my car when Henry called again. “There’s another one,” he said. “It says: ‘If you can’t agree on an issue this simple—’” Janie was standing at the front door. She was jumping up and down, looking frantic.
“Hold on a minute, Henry.” She came running out toward me. “What’s wrong, Janie?”
“The White House is calling, Pete. I think they said the Vice President wants to talk to you.” She handed me a phone while I stared at her.
Then I answered. “Hello? This is Dr. Marshak. Who’s this, please?”
A female voice replied: “Dr. Marshak, I’m calling for Vice President Hoover. He’ll be with you in a moment.” Terry Hoover, with that last name, had been something of a joke at the beginning of the last presidential campaign. But he’d played through it, even turned it to his advantage, and now showed up regularly as one of the most trusted people in the country. Probably because he stood in such contrast to his boss.
“Marshak?” It was his voice, quiet, cool, in charge.
“Yes, Mr. Vice President. What can I do for you?”
“You heard the last message? The one that just came in?”
“I haven’t, Mr. Vice President. I was just about to—”
“It says that if we can’t agree on so simple a matter, that there’s little chance of our long-term survival. It’s referring to its request that we appoint a single representative.”
“I’d say it has a point, sir.”
“In lieu of our inability to comply, it’s notified us who our representative should be.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not inclined to joke around on a matter of this importance, Doctor.”
I was waiting for him to ask me a technical opinion. Like, did I really believe there might be somebody out in the Jovian system. “So who did it ask for?” I said. “The President?”
“You, Dr. Marshak. It asked for you specifically. By name.”
It dawned on me that was a remarkably astute request. Why not talk with the people who’ve been looking for you for the last half-century? Instead of one of the politicians? But of course I didn’t say that. “Why me?” I asked, with all due innocence.
“It makes no sense to me either, Doctor. But in any case, we want to get started. We’re preparing a list of questions which we’ll send to you shortly.”
“How will it know it’s talking to me?”
“We suspect it knows your voice. You’ve been interviewed often enough— Anyway, thanks for doing this. We’ll be getting back to you in a few minutes.”
“Okay.”
“What we’d like you to do is to engage Java in a conversation, to the extent you can.”
“Java? Has it identified itself?”
“J for Jupiter, Doctor. That’s its code name. So you’re aware, we’re consulting with people around the world. The President’s idea is to get everybody on board.”
“Including China?”
“He’s still thinking about that.”
“Any terrorists?” I intended it as a joke, but he took me seriously.
“Not per se, but we’ll be in touch with a couple of Middle Eastern organizations. So they can say they’ve been part of it. But take it slow. We’ll just begin with a couple of questions. Try to start a conversation with this thing. Then we’ll go from there.”
“Okay. Mr. Vice President, you’re aware that Jupiter is a long way from here. That an exchange, from the time we ask a question until we receive an answer, will be almost an hour.”
“I’m aware of that. It’s just as well. Gives us a chance to think about what we’re doing. Keep in mind, though: The questions come from us. No free-lancing. Understood?”
“I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”
“We have no choice in the matter, Doctor Marshak. We don’t know what the dangers there may be. And one other thing, Pete— You don’t mind my using your first name?”
“Of course not.”
“One other thing: As far as the media are concerned, they’re your questions. Okay? I’m sure you understand why we have to play it this way.”
“All right, I understand.”
“Good. We’d like to get this started. If you will, assume you’ve just called the Jovian, and he picked up. Say hello and introduce yourself, and tell him how happy you are to meet him. Ask him how we can help him. We’re going to record it and send it on its way.”
A federal agent showed up later and escorted me to Travis Air Force Base, where I was taken to an office and turned over to a communication technician. He explained that the transmission had been sent and a response was expected, assuming one was actually coming, in about fifteen minutes. Margaret Commager joined us minutes later. Commager was a former beauty queen who now served as one of the President’s political advisors. “The whole world is listening, Dr. Marshak. Sorry about that. We’d have prevented it if we could, but unfortunately we had no way to do it.”
“It’s okay. No problem.”
“We’d like you to take it slow. One or two questions at a time.” She provided me with several pages of questions I should ask. Was I speaking with someone who lived in the Jovian system? Had he ever been to Earth? How did it happen he knows so much about us? Basically, Doctor, we want to see how this plays out so we don’t blunder into anything.”
The news media were already filled with people suggesting questions to be put to the Voice. The most common one: Are you God? Others included: Are you planning an invasion? What do you look like? How long have you been watching us? Where are you from?
We’d been there about a half hour before the comm tech signaled me about an incoming call. From Jupiter. He couldn’t resist smiling.
“Okay, Pete,” she said. “Take it.” We were on first name terms by then.
The bass voice spoke in English: “It is a pleasure to talk to you, Dr. Marshak,” it said. “I am what you would call an artificial intelligence. And yes, I am speaking to you from one of the moons of Jupiter. I believe the one you call Ganymede, though I have no way of confirming that.
“As to what I wish you can do for me, I would have thought that would be obvious. Stop the wars. Stop the killing. Learn to cooperate. Live by the Sixth Commandment.”
There was some disagreement about which was the sixth commandment. But it seemed unlikely the AI would be concerned about adultery. Thou shalt not commit murder.
“Goodbye, Dr. Marshak. It was good to speak with you.”
And that was it. No explanation of how an AI had gotten to Jupiter. Or what its intentions were. Or why it was intervening in human affairs. Or what it might do if shooting broke out on a large scale.
Commager’s forehead was creased. “Not very helpful, was it?”
“We’ll have to think more carefully about how we proceed.” I was checking off questions I thought we should be asking. Where are you from? Can we do anything for you? Why are you here?
>
Her frown deepened.
“What’s wrong?” I said.
“We need to find out whether it poses a threat.”
“Exactly what we need to ask it.”
The frown morphed into a sad smile. “You don’t have much experience in politics, do you, Peter?”
I understood the desire of the White House to control the situation. It was irritating, but it made sense. They had no trouble deciding they needed a follow-up call. But they spent an hour deciding on the next question: “Are you alone?”
“Is that the best they can do?” I asked Commager.
“Just ask it, please. Save the editorializing.”
I complied.
I didn’t know how things were going in the situation room, if that’s where the President was, but Janie called to tell me everybody at SETI had suggestions. Ask it if it’s going to come for a visit. Make sure it knows we’d love to have it drop by the Center.
The response needed almost two and a half hours to come in. “Yes, Dr. Marshak.”
It was alone. We looked at each other. And waited for elaboration. But we got only static.
“Well,” Commager said, “This guy, whoever he is, isn’t one to waste words, is he?”
It’s alone. What else was there to say?
The world breathed a sigh of relief, although political strategist Ray Conner, who’d been pushing for hitting China before they could strike the U.S., went on the Charlie Walker Show to warn that it was probably a Chinese trick. “Don’t know how they’re managing it, but it’s the only thing that makes sense.”
The next question they passed me was “Are you God?”
I hesitated. Squirmed. “Margaret,” I said, “this is crazy. Whoever that is out there will think we’re deranged.”
“Just go along with it,” she said. “It’s a question a lot of people are asking.”
“It’s pure politics,” I said. Hawkins was forever talking about the Bible and God. It was how he’d gotten elected. “He’s playing to the voters.”
“Ask the question, please.”
I gritted my teeth. “Are you God?”
It had already called us nitwits. I wondered what it would think now.
We went over to the Officers’ Club for dinner. Then we had a couple of drinks before going back to the office. Eventually the answer came in: “No.”
I wondered whether the President’s backers were relieved or disappointed.
More questions arrived: “Do you intend to intervene if we engage in more military action? If so, whose side will you be on?”
“That’s more nonsense,” I told Commager. “The first one will get another simple yes or no, and I suspect it will claim to be on the side of humanity. “
Commager gave me the smile that, thirty years earlier, had won her the Miss Iowa crown. “They’re not asking our opinion, Pete.”
“Damn it, Margaret, he asked to talk to me, not to a bunch of politicians at the White House.” I sat down in front of the microphone and signaled the commtech to make the connection. When he looked confused and frowned at Margaret I told him to do it.
“I hope,” she said, “you’re not going to say what I think you are.”
“Sit tight, kid,” I said.
“Pete, I’m not a kid. And they won’t be happy—” She nodded to the commtech. He looked unhappy but he made the connection.
I started: “Do you have respect for freedom-loving nations?” I asked. Then I looked at Commager. “That’s it, Margaret. I’ve got it from here.”
“Pete, don’t—”
“Sir, I was just kidding with that question. Ignore it. Can you tell me your name? And what you want from us?”
The door opened and two marshals, a man and a woman, moved in. Both were tall, and both wore stern expressions. Like teachers dealing with a recalcitrant child.
The male, an African-American, seized the microphone. The woman, a Latino, looked at me, sighed, and began talking to her sleeve. “We’ve got him, Mac. Situation’s under control.”
“Oh, Pete,” said Commager, “how could you do that?”
“Because the White House wants to dance around this thing. It’s time to find out who we’re dealing with.”
Had they been able, I think they’d have dragged me away to, as politicians like to say, an undisclosed location. While the male stood guard over me, the woman instructed the commtech to leave.
He filed out slowly, giving me a look that suggested I was going to get exactly what I deserved.
Commager appeared to be in pain. “My fault,” she said. “Pete, I thought you were smarter than that. “
“Margaret, this is a moment people will remember forever. We needed to get it right.”
“I thought we had it right.” She was listening to her cell. “Hold on. The Vice President wants to talk to you.”
“Pete,” he said, “what’s going on?”
“I thought it was time to get to the heart of this business.”
“That’s not your call, Pete. Listen, I know how you feel, but the President is the man in charge.”
“Okay. But he’ll have to do it without me.”
“Pete, we don’t believe that thing would respond to anybody else. Listen, for all we know it may be a threat to the entire planet. You have a patriotic duty to do what you can—”
“Why don’t you let me suggest the questions? Margaret can pass it to you, and you can exercise a veto, if necessary.”
“Pete, I don’t understand what your problem is.”
“This is an historic moment, Mr. Vice President. First contact. No offense, but you’re playing politics, and you may think that’s harmless. But we have a visitor out there who sees us as a world filled with nitwits. We’re supplying evidence to support that conclusion. And now it knows one of the nitwits by name. So no, I’m done with this.”
Hoover’s face hardened. “Pete, I’m afraid I’ll have to insist. I don’t want to resort to threats, but believe me when I tell you that SETI will have a difficult time if you don’t cooperate on the one occasion when your country seriously needs you. When the entire planet does.”
“Do what you want, Mr. Vice President. I’m done.”
The marshals made no effort to stop me when I walked out of the office. They stayed behind me, though, both whispering into their phones. I came out the front door, suddenly aware I had no car. The male marshal came up beside me. “You need transportation, sir?”
When I arrived at the SETI Intitute, it was surrounded by a contingent of reporters and cameramen and curiosity seekers. People were yelling questions in my direction. Where was I going? What would I have done had it been God? Why the question about freedom?
I got through the crowd and made it back to my office. But it was obvious I couldn’t go home. There’d be no peace there. I called Susan, my occasional girlfriend. A few months later she’d be my wife. “You been watching?” I said.
“Yes, Pete. Are you all right?”
“I need a place to hide out.”
“I’m not home yet. Won’t be for an hour or so.” She was a technician at the Stanford University Medical Center. “I’ll get there as soon as I’m able.”
I got out through a back door, grabbed a cab, and settled in at one of the local watering holes where I got to watch myself lauded on TV for asking exactly what Americans wanted to hear, although the pundits were annoyed that I’d disappeared from the SETI Center. Amy Stockdale, a stiff-looking blonde former congresswoman who had the smile of a crocodile, suggested that the communications hadn’t ended. The Administration simply wanted to get me to a more private place. “There’ll be more,” she assured everyone. “It’s just starting.” I hid at the end of the bar, trying to look as innocuous as possible. Nobody recognized me.
On the way to Susan’s place, I heard the next development on my car radio: The Voice had responded to my last question: Do you have respect for freedom-loving nations?
“With whom have I been spe
aking? To you, Peter? Or to the President of the United States?”
It ignored my request that it identify itself.
I don’t know how they knew where I was going, but the marshals were waiting for me when I got to Susan’s cottage. One of them handed me a cell. The Vice President. “Okay, Dr. Marshak,” he said. “It’s your game. But please be careful what you say.”
Susan hugged me. She looked scared. “Is everything going to be all right, Pete?”
“Of course. It’s okay, babe.”
The cell was connected with Jupiter. And I started by answering the question: “You are talking to me now. My friends call me Pete. I’d be grateful if you told me your name. And if you’d explain how you come to be on Ganymede?”
I put the phone down, and told her that we’d have to wait until about eight o’clock for a response. She smiled and looked at the marshals. “You know, Pete,” she said, “I think you hold the record for the longest cell phone transmission ever.”
She was entranced to have an historic event of this magnitude happening in her cottage. I’d been trying for several months to get a commitment from her, but she insisted that her career took too much of her time and, to be honest, she wasn’t sure she was ready for a lifetime commitment. She liked me, and so on, but I was spending my life chasing UFO’s. Or something. But after that night, our relationship was never the same.
Since we were looking at a long delay before a reply came in, the formality between us and the marshals broke down. The male was Oswald Grant; his partner, Constanza Jones. They quickly became Ozzie and Connie.
Fox reported that the Chinese had suggested the possibility of talks in hope of avoiding war. There was no explanation, and certainly no suggestion that it had anything to do with the transmissions from Jupiter. But the commentators on the various channels and across the internet were having a field day.
A Voice in the Night Page 12
