by Alex Deva
Midway through Tiessler’s reading, Jessica Lawry had unconsciously started scratching the root of her nose with her left index finger. She now had a red spot right between her eyes. She caught her own motion and stopped, her hand trembling slightly.
Mark was looking at a fixed spot on the table in front of him. He felt as if he had been asked on stage by a particularly bad magician who was about to saw him in two with an actual saw.
“I don’t believe we can be of much help against something like that,“ he said, neutrally.
“Neither does miss Doina,“ said Tiessler.
“There must be something. They must have a weak point.“ Dahlberg’s voice was rusty.
“I’m sure they do, and I’m also sure that the resident intelligence in our guest starship knows it,“ said Tiessler.
Again, the implication that the starship’s ADM was holding back information.
“If it does, it’s irrelevant,“ said Mark. “We can’t do what we don’t know that we can do.“
“Yes. But perhaps if miss Doina might be persuaded…“
“No.“ Mark’s voice sounded as definitive as an executioner’s axe. The German did not finish his sentence.
For a while, nobody said anything. Then Souček spoke:
“All right. No military help from the crew of Starship Doi. How fortunate that our plan did not, in fact, revolve around that.“
His words had a powerful effect on the conference room. Dahlberg and Tiessler looked as if they had woken up. Lawry took a deep breath, and Mark looked at the Czech priest with puzzlement. The latter theatrically sipped some water, then began:
“Not long ago, the Vatican medical research branch developed new technologies which, together, could be applied to help locked-in patients escape the confines of their condition. Are you aware of the lock-in syndrome, mister Greene?“
“I’ve seen the video for ‘One’ by Metallica,“ said the Brit, not understanding what a medical condition had to do with planetary blackmail.
“I don’t think I have. Is it connected to what I was saying?“
“You were talking about locked-in patients. People who can’t receive any external stimuli whatsoever and can’t communicate in any way. Arguably the most miserable kind of life possible. Was that it?“
“That was it precisely. Not long ago, Vatican scientists created a brain interface that would help such a person interact with the world, by artificially replicating sensory inputs and by interpreting neural outputs. With certain modifications, the technology could be successfully applied to healthy people as well.“
“Which had absolutely nothing at all to do with remotely controlled robot soldiers,“ muttered Dahlberg.
Souček smiled thinly. “A conspiracy theory, nothing more and entirely false.“
The Norwegian spy said nothing. The priest turned back at Mark and continued:
“As I was saying. The applications were enormous. Of course we’ve had remote surgery for over a hundred years, but by incorporating the full array of human sense into it, or the telesentience as we call it, the success rate improved considerably. I’m sure you understand how, fuelled by religious hatred or by garden-variety paranoia, some people might have been misled into thinking that we… gave this new gift to the military.“
“Get to the point,“ said Dahlberg.
“The point, once again, is that we need the kind of help we don't even know where to find,“ said the other. “And there's a way in which your team, mister Greene, might be able to aid, without resorting to your military capabilities or involving the Builders.“
“And what would that be?“ asked Mark.
“We propose that we use your starship’s communications device to broadcast the schematics of our telesentience machine to alien civilisations, in the hope that such a civilisation would be interested in using this technology to make contact with us and that we could, through trade, diplomacy or I care not what, enlist their help against the Squares.“
Four sets of eyes turned towards Mark.
“W… What?“ said Lawry, who was also hearing the plan for the first time, forgetting that she wasn’t supposed to talk.
“Yes,“ joined Mark. “Why don’t you broadcast the plans yourselves?“
“Like they did in 1977 with Voyager? Or else how? By radio? Laser? It would take four years just to reach Proxima Centauri, if we even had that much power. And we don’t think there’s anyone there, anyway.“
“Your comms are faster than light,“ said Tiessler; Mark, of course, knew that. For all intents and purposes, Doi’s communications seemed to be real-time over any distance. How they actually worked was a secret that the ship’s artificial intelligence had not been willing to share… yet. All they had inferred was that it had something to do with gravity.
“But why telesentience?“ he asked.
“What else?“ answered Dahlberg. “Texts in English? Video recordings of the American and Eurasian leaders asking for help in sign language? Can we risk assuming that aliens would understand all that? By building a telesentience transceiver based on our specifications, we’ll automatically break the language barrier, because they would build their end to integrate in their world. All that’s missing is the transport layer.“
“Our gravitational wave modulation comms.“
“If that’s what they are. Yes. We can’t have lag, we can’t have delays, and we can’t waste time inventing a language. We need help from another civilisation, and we need it now.“
“How would you encode the technical schematics?“
“That’s already taken care of. We’ve had several attempts at contacting aliens in the past two-three hundred years. Our people can make a neat package that explains itself, notion by notion. All we need is someone to send it to.“
“And hope that they’re willing to chat with us.“
“Well. Yes.“
“And hope that they’re not on the wrong side,“ intervened Lawry.
Mark nodded. Nobody answered her.
“And that they won’t just find us and, like, eat us or something,“ she continued.
“That’s enough, lieutenant,“ said Tiessler from his screen.
“No, she’s right,“ said Mark. “This is the very definition of a shot in the dark, and we may easily be shooting ourselves in the back.“
“Or we might end up friends with someone who would share with us the secrets of the Universe,“ said the priest.
The Brit nodded noncommittally, and continued:
“Just to make sure I understand. You want us to broadcast some data and wait for an answer which could never come, or which could in fact make things worse.“
“And then provide the backbone on which we would run a telesentience session, if someone answers.“
“But how would they answer?“
“We’ll have our own transceiver ready and waiting, around the clock,“ said Dahlberg. “That’s being arranged as we speak. All that’s missing is your comms. Once there’s a link, we’ll simply… send someone over.“
“Who?“
“Me,“ said Souček and Dahlberg at the same time.
“We haven’t decided yet,“ said Tiessler dryly.
“Not a Catholic priest,“ said Dahlberg. “I am quite capable to exercise the statute of Earth ambassador. Religion can wait.“
“You’re a paranoid bureaucrat,“ said Souček. “You are not trained to deal with first encounters.“
“And you are?“
“I am as close as…“
“People.“ Jessica Lawry spoke again, and this time Tiessler didn’t even bother to stop her. “People,“ she repeated. “Please, just let me get this straight, and for the record, if there is a record of this meeting.“
“Oh, there is,“ said Dahlberg, her eyes shooting arrows at Souček’s screen.
“Good. We are going to broadcast a message explaining how our telesentience works, using the magic radio that we don’t understand, if Mark and his crew agree.�
��
“Thank you for pointing out that last bit,“ said the Brit softly.
“You’re welcome. Then, we wait hoping that some alien in a good mood will build a TS transceiver, just for the hell of it, at which point — if we ain't all icicles by then — we’ll send someone over on their planet and beg for help. And, God willing and the creek don't rise, the alien will be so inclined to help us survive as a species.“
Nobody commented.
Well, shit, she thought. Out loudly, she only said:
“Thank you.“
XI.
Mark was back on board the starship, and Ileana Toma had just left, shooting worried glances over her shoulder. Watching her float out of the airlock in her dark blue space suit, the Brit felt a distinct urge to search the place for bugs. He shook off the thought, remembering that the starship was perfectly capable of blocking any kind of radiation; even if such a device had been left on board, it would’ve been rendered blind, deaf and mute.
“Nah, I trust her,“ said Aram, reading his mind.
He smiled.
“I don’t doubt that.“
Aram coughed. “I know what you mean, and there’s no rule against me liking other women. Even if I’m two thousand years older than her. But I really think she wouldn’t fuck us over.“
“Yeah. Interesting choice of words there, my friend,“ Mark kept on smiling. “Someone has to talk to you about a guy named Freud.“
The Dacian shrugged. “I’m only saying…“
“I know. We both know. Otherwise we would have never left her alone with Doina, would we?“
“No. We wouldn’t.“
I’ll never repeat that mistake, thought each of the two men.
They turned their backs to the starship’s central airlock and walked through one of its three spokes towards the torus. As they followed the gentle curve of the inner wall of the spoke, memories came back to them of glass flechettes zipping through the air, crushing against the walls into millions of tiny shards. When the American SEALS soldiers had attacked them, Aram had got shot in the first second. He’d never even seen a gun before; he’d been warned by Mark about them, and obviously he’d known about the Firebark, but the flechette guns were nothing like the fire throwing bracelet he knew from the Shelter. That one went on his forearm and threw white bolts of heat with a barking sound, hence its name. But the flechette guns were handles with a pipe at front that spat sharp bits of glass, even faster than a Firebark. The American soldiers carried them attached to their chests, and they didn’t just work within the confines of a Shelter. They could be fired anywhere as long as they had a power left in their… what was it? Right: batteries.
Something in Aram’s artificially acquired English told him that a battery meant many things in English. And many of them had to do with guns and violence. Aram didn’t waste much time considering semantics, but he felt a bit annoyed that two thousand years later, people just kept inventing more and more words to do with hurting each other.
He had asked Doina — once! — if Doi-the-ship could build a small, portable version of the cannon Effo used, the one which he had half-affectionately, half-humorously named The Offender. The girl had flat out refused. He had expected that, because Doina would go out of her way to avoid any kind of violence. She had watched him — no, Mark and him both, at the same time, in different rooms of the starship — having their asses handed over to them by the SEALS, and could only bring herself to help once she found a reasonably non-violent way to do it.
And when talk came about interrogating the captured soldiers, she’d been downright horrified by the idea. Lucky that Mark knew how to ask the right questions and say the right things without needing to hurt them more.
The only time she hadn’t stopped a fight had been when they’d saved her from Gaines. The bastard had been choking her to death, and Mark and Aram had arrived almost too late. They’d beaten the American officer methodically and ruthlessly, while Doina was sobbing a couple of steps away, huddled down, her small hands trying to cover her eyes and ears at the same time. But she hadn’t stopped them.
By his own standards, or by normal Dacian standards, Aram wasn’t a violent man. He had mostly lived his life herding sheep, hunting and helping his old uncle. But he had certainly seen enough violence. The nomads always made sure of that. Only the Dacians up in Kogainon could boast somewhat peaceful lives. For the ones who lived down in the hills and the plains, the days and nights were always filled with risks and threats.
“Welcome back, Mark,“ said Doina smiling, as they entered One, the starship’s command and control room.
Aram punched the smaller Brit good-naturedly in the back, and said:
“Yeah mate, welcome back. How was the meeting?“
“Good to be back,“ said Mark, and meant it. In his previous life, he had long stopped feeling good about returning anywhere. Even Hereford — once the focus of all his energies, now a distant place linked to burning memories he was mostly trying to quench — had become a nearly indifferent return destination while he was still in the SAS. To think that it had taken all of an alien starship to recover his sense of home…!
“It was interesting,“ he started. “I’ve…“
“How’s Earth?“ asked Doina impatiently.
“I’ve… not seen much of Earth, to be honest. I saw a little through the window after reentry. I didn’t think it was all that different.“
“It might’ve been, to us,“ said the girl.
“Of course. I’m sure you’ll see it soon for yourselves.“
“I, for one, am doing quite well up here,“ said the Dacian. “I don’t miss that old rock all that much.“
Doina stabbed him jokingly with her finger.
“Quit it, Aram. I know you’re only saying that to make me feel better about that fact that I’m not allowed to go there yet.“
“Of course you’re allowed,“ said Mark.
“I’m not. It wouldn’t be safe for us. Either for Doi-the-ship or for me.“
How many twelve-year-olds would put a starship before themselves? wondered Mark.
“And that’s the same as not being allowed,“ she said.
“I’m sure you’ll have your chance,“ said Aram. “Don’t worry about it.“
“Oh, but I do worry about it,“ she said, becoming more serious. “If the Eight have their way, Earth will never be the same again.“
“What do you think of the plan?“ asked Mark.
“Doi-the-ship has no problem with it, and I don’t, either.“
“Really? Wouldn’t the ADM construe this as cheating? After all, it’s made by the Builders.“
“The Automated Decision Maker isn’t a separate part of Doi,“ she said. “But go ahead, ask.“
Mark walked to the nearest wall and, remembering the awe which he felt doing it for the first time, touched it. As always, black circles erupted from under his palm on the gently lit surface, and arranged themselves around it, each with a yellow symbol inside.
He touched the one he knew would summon the ship’s artificial intelligence. Or perhaps simply invite it to speak, as the ADM was always aware of what was going on inside the starship, and who knew how far around it.
“Hello, Mark,“ said the androgynous voice. “Welcome back on board.“
“Thank you,“ he said. “I’d like to ask you a few things.“
“Of course.“
“What do you think about the… humans’ plans to broadcast the schematics of a telesentience device in the hope of achieving alien contact?“
“I think it’s a really good plan,“ said the ADM.
“It wouldn’t bother you if the aliens we’d contact were unfriendly towards the Builders?“
“No, it wouldn’t.“
Smoothly, Mark continued:
“Is that because you would not allow the signal to reach such a world? Or because you would make sure it arrives at the place of your choosing?“
“Would you like me to choose
a destination for you?“
The Brit hesitated. He had never trusted the ADM completely. It had been withholding too much from them.
“Answer the question, please,“ he said, evenly.
“I can direct the signal, of course. But I won’t if you don’t want me to.“
“Why?“
“Are you asking why I won’t interfere with your plan?“
“Yes.“
“Because it’s not a part of my programming. That is not a decision I’m meant to take.“
“And you could be lying about that.“
“Mark,“ began the girl.
“Hello, ship-mistress. Mark is right: I could be lying, but it happens that I am not.“
Mark sighed.
“This isn’t getting us anywhere,“ mumbled Aram. “I don’t know what you expected.“
The Brit chewed his lip, pensively. “Me neither,“ he said eventually. “I suppose I thought that asking was better than not asking.“
“Yeah. Sometimes the asking is best left for after the doing,“ remarked the Dacian.
“Fine.“ Mark looked at Aram and Doina, smiled, and nodded.
“Fine,“ he said again. “Let’s do it then. Let’s fly to Oz and ask the wizard for help.“
XII.
“Are you sure?“ asked Dahlberg.
“Of course he’s sure,“ interjected Tiessler. “He’s a special forces soldier.“
“Was,“ repeated Mark for the hundredth time.
They were talking via the tab that Tiessler had left with them at their very first meeting. Dahlberg, Souček and Tiessler occupied one third of the screen each. Mark, Doina and Aram were sitting at one side of a table, and the tab was propped in the middle of it.
“Well, assuming we do get an answer, who should then go with mr. Greene?“ asked the Czech.
“I can’t go,“ said Doina. “I can’t leave Doi-the-ship. I don’t trust any of you that far.“
Nobody made any comment to that.
“I can go, sure,“ said Aram. “I mean I’m not really sure how going is involved in all of this, but I can, erm, telesentiencise myself or whatever you call it. You’re saying that my body stays here, but I get to see another planet? I think that’s pretty cool.“
