by Yuri Csapo
IN THE BEGINNING
By
Yuri Csapo
In the Beginning
Copyright 2012 Yuri Csapo
Table of Contents
In the Beginning
About the Author
IN THE BEGINNING
“And scattered about it, some in their overturned war-machines, some in the now rigid handling-machines, and a dozen of them stark and silent and laid in a row, were the Martians--dead! slain by the putrefactive and disease bacteria against which their systems were unprepared; slain as the red weed was being slain; slain, after all man's devices had failed, by the humblest things that God, in his wisdom, has put upon this earth.”
“Yet another one?”
Immersed as he was in the words of H. G. Wells, Claudia’s voice made Bellarmino jump so high that he almost fell off the armchair where he spent the last couple of hours. He managed to steady himself but his desklet was not so lucky. Despite the adrenaline rush--or at least in part because of it--Bellarmino was laughing as he picked it up from the floor.
“Well, this is the last one. I mean, it’s actually the first one, the one that started the whole thing.”
“You mean you’re done? No more First Contact books, movies, feelies, nothing?”
“Aw, c’mon, it wasn’t that bad.”
As an elected leader, Roberto Bellarmino considered it his duty to learn everything he could about the subject. Since the first message from the Ambassadors, he had consulted every expert, philosopher, anthropologist, sociologist, and biologist who had ever written even a sidebar about First Contact between civilizations. Especially when there was a significant technology gap.
When he ran out of experts, or at least those that his small nation’s budget could afford, he turned to books. He read about Cortez and the Aztecs, Pizarro and the Incas, Polo in Asia, the Bandeirantes in South America, almost everybody in Africa. Apart from some very rare episodes, these historical accounts did not do much for his peace of mind.
The Ambassadors had asked that the leaders of Earth spend a few years in preparation before the first actual meeting. At the beginning of the last year of that grace period, Bellarmino found himself reading more and more fiction. Some very smart people had obviously thought hard about this, and at least in fiction some of the accounts had non-horrendous endings.
Bellarmino had followed this stream to its earliest identifiable source and was just about finished with the very first recognizable First Contact story. He could hardly believe it had been published in the 19th century!
“You know, the Meeting is tomorrow. If you’re not ready now, you’ll never be ready,” Claudia said picking the desklet from his hands and replacing it with the caipirinha she had just prepared. Bellarmino smiled. Of course she was right. But still...
As usual, Claudia could read him like her own desklet. “All right,” she said, “out with it. What’s bothering you?”
Bellarmino took a sip of the cool, sweet drink. It was hard to put it in words, especially when he was distracted by the sight of Claudia, just out of the shower and wearing nothing but a towel. Almost ten years into their marriage and she still had the power to make him speechless.
“Let me see,” he started. “I think... well, I think the problem is, why now? I mean, in all these stories, there is always a reason. This book I’m finishing for instance, the Martians invade Earth because their planet is dying...”
“Martians invade Earth!” Claudia replied, barely suppressing her smile. She knew how sensitive he could be when it came to one of his pet theories.
“Bear with me, Claudia. Call them Martians or Spaniards, it doesn’t matter. What I mean is that there always seems to be a powerful reason behind first contact. So Mars was dying or the Spanish needed more slaves and more gold, it’s all the same. We know the Ambassadors have been watching us for millennia. They said so themselves. So why now? What is so special about this particular moment in time?”
“I see,” said Claudia. She drank from her own glass. Almost in spite of herself, Claudia felt her brain warming up to the debate. Aloud she said, “how come nobody has asked this question after all this time?”
“Well, I think most people ask what the Ambassadors want. And you know the standard answer.”
“To welcome us into the local community of intelligent species. Yeah, that does not tell us much. No wonder some people are scared.”
“Not surprising. Still, maybe that in itself may provide part of the answer. Only a couple of centuries ago, people would have been terrified. Maybe we’ve become too trusting, too docile to ask why.”
“Or maybe you’re the only human who reads 19th century sci-fi on an empty stomach,” she replied.
“You have a point. I’m starving. What do you think will be on the menu this time?
