by Liu Cixin
On this day, however, Ye saw something odd when she glanced at the waveform display. Even experts had a hard time telling with the naked eye whether a waveform carried information. But Ye was so familiar with the noise of the universe that she could tell that the wave that now moved in front of her eyes had something extra. The thin curve, rising and falling, seemed to possess a soul. She was certain that the radio signal before her had been modulated by intelligence.
She rushed to another terminal and checked the computer’s rating of the signal’s recognizability: AAAAA. Before this, no radio signal received by Red Coast ever garnered a recognizability rating above C. An A rating meant the likelihood that the transmission contained intelligent information was greater than 90 percent. A rating of AAAAA was a special, extreme case: It meant the received transmission used the exact same coding language as Red Coast’s own outbound transmission.
Ye turned on the Red Coast deciphering system. The software attempted to decipher any signal whose recognizability rating was above B. During the entire time that the Red Coast Project had been running, it had never been invoked even once in real use. Based on test data, deciphering a transmission suspected of being a message might require a few days or even a few months of computing time, and the result would be failure more than half the time. But this time, as soon as the file containing the original transmission was submitted, the display showed that the deciphering was complete.
Ye opened the resulting document, and, for the first time, a human read a message from another world.
The content was not what anyone had imagined. It was a warning repeated three times.
Do not answer!
Do not answer!!
Do not answer!!!
Still caught up by the dizzying excitement and confusion, Ye deciphered a second message.
This world has received your message.
I am a pacifist in this world. It is the luck of your civilization that I am the first to receive your message. I am warning you: Do not answer! Do not answer!! Do not answer!!!
There are tens of millions of stars in your direction. As long as you do not answer, this world will not be able to ascertain the source of your transmission.
But if you do answer, the source will be located right away. Your planet will be invaded. Your world will be conquered!
Do not answer! Do not answer!! Do not answer!!!
As she read the flashing green text on the display, Ye was no longer capable of thinking clearly. Her mind, inhibited by shock and excitement, could only understand this: No more than nine years had passed since the time she had sent the message to the sun. Then the source of this transmission must be around four light-years away. It could only have come from the closest extra-solar stellar system: Alpha Centauri.34
The universe was not desolate. The universe was not empty. The universe was full of life! Humankind had cast their gaze to the end of the universe, but they had no idea that intelligent life already existed around the stars closest to them!
Ye stared at the waveform display: The signal continued to stream from the universe into the Red Coast antenna. She opened up another interface and began real-time deciphering. The messages began to show up immediately on the screen.
During the next four hours, Ye learned of the existence of Trisolaris, learned of the civilization that had been reborn again and again, and learned of their plan to migrate to the stars.
At four in the morning, the transmission from Alpha Centauri ended. The deciphering system continued to run uselessly and emitted an unceasing string of failure codes. The Red Coast monitoring system was once again only hearing the noise of the universe.
But Ye was certain that what she had just experienced was not a dream.
The sun really was an amplifying antenna. But why had her experiment eight years ago not received any echoes? Why had the waveforms of Jupiter’s radio outbursts not matched the later radiation from the sun? Later, Ye came up with many reasons. It was possible that the base communication office couldn’t receive radio waves at that frequency, or maybe the office did receive the echo but it sounded like noise and so the operator thought it was nothing. As for the waveforms, it was possible that when the sun amplified the radio waves, it also added another wave to it. It would likely be a periodic wave that could be easily filtered out by the alien deciphering system, but to her unaided eye, the waveform from Jupiter and from the sun would appear very different. Years later, after Ye had left Red Coast, she would manage to confirm her last guess: The sun had added a sine wave.
She looked around alertly. There were three others in the main computer room. Two of the three were chatting in a corner, while the last was napping before a terminal. In the data analysis section of the monitoring system, only the two terminals in front of her could view the recognizability rating of a signal and access the deciphering system.
Maintaining her composure, she worked quickly and moved all of the received messages to a multiply-encrypted, invisible subdirectory. Then she copied over a segment of noise received a year ago as a substitute for the transmission received during the last five hours.
Finally, from the terminal, she placed a short message into the Red Coast transmission buffer.
Ye got up and left the monitoring main control room. A chilly wind blew against her feverish face. Dawn had just brightened the eastern sky, and she followed the dimly lit pebble-paved path to the transmission main control room. Above her, the Red Coast antenna lay open, silently, like a giant palm toward the universe. The dawn turned the guard at the door into a silhouette, and as usual, he did not pay attention to Ye as she entered.
The transmission main control room was much dimmer than the monitoring main control room. Ye passed through rows of cabinets to stand in front of the control panel and flipped more than a dozen switches with practiced ease to warm up the transmission system. The two men on duty next to the control panel looked up at her with sleepy eyes, and one turned to glance at the clock. Then one of them went back to his nap while the other flipped through a well-thumbed newspaper. At the base, Ye had no political status, but she did have some freedom in technical matters. She often tested the equipment before a transmission. Although she was early today—the transmission wasn’t scheduled to occur until three hours later—warming up a bit early wasn’t that unusual.
What happened next was the longest half hour of her life. During this time, Ye adjusted the transmission frequency to the optimal frequency for amplification by the solar energy mirror, and increased the transmission power to maximum. Then, putting her eyes to the eyepiece of the optical positioning system, she watched the sun rise above the horizon, activated the positioning system for the antenna, and slowly aligned it with the sun. As the gigantic antenna turned, the rumbling noise shook the main control room. One of the men on duty looked at Ye again, but said nothing.
The sun was now completely above the horizon. The crosshair of the Red Coast positioning system was aimed at its upper edge to account for the time it would take for the radio wave to travel to the sun. The transmission system was ready.
The Transmit button was a long rectangle—very similar to the Space key on a computer keyboard, except that it was red.
Ye’s hand hovered two centimeters above it.
The fate of the entire human race was now tied to these slender fingers.
Without hesitation, Ye pressed the button.
“What are you doing?” one of the men on duty asked, still sleepy.
Ye smiled at him and said nothing. She pressed a yellow button to stop the transmission. Then she moved the control stick until the antenna was pointed elsewhere. She left the control panel and walked away.
The man looked at his watch. It was time to get off work. He picked up the diary and thought about recording Ye’s operation of the transmission system. It was, after all, out of the ordinary. But then he looked at the paper tape and saw that she had transmitted for no more than three seconds. He tossed the diary ba
ck, yawned, put on his army cap, and left.
The message that was winging its way to the sun said, Come here! I will help you conquer this world. Our civilization is no longer capable of solving its own problems. We need your force to intervene.
The newly risen sun dazzled Ye Wenjie. Not too far from the door of the main control room, she collapsed onto the lawn in a faint.
When she woke up, she found herself in the base clinic. Next to her bed sat Yang, watching her with concern, like that time many years ago on the helicopter. The doctor told Ye to be careful and get plenty of rest.
“You are pregnant,” he said.
24
Rebellion
After Ye Wenjie finished recounting the history of her first contact with Trisolaris, the abandoned cafeteria remained silent. Many present were apparently just hearing the complete story for the first time. Wang was deeply absorbed by the narrative and temporarily forgot about the danger and terror he faced. Unable to stop himself, he asked, “How did the ETO then develop to its present scale?”
Ye replied, “I’d have to start with how I got to know Evans.… But every comrade here already knows that part of history, so we shouldn’t waste time on it now. I can tell you later. However, whether we’ll have such an opportunity depends on you.… Xiao Wang, let’s talk about your nanomaterial.”
“This … Lord that you talk about. Why is it so afraid of nanomaterial?”
“Because it can allow humans to escape gravity and engage in space construction at a much larger scale.”
“The space elevator?” Wang suddenly understood.
“Yes. If ultrastrong nanomaterials could be mass produced, then that would lay the technical foundation for building a space elevator from the ground up to a geostationary point in space. For our Lord, this is but a tiny invention; but for humans on Earth, its meaning would be significant. With this technology, humans could easily enter near-Earth space and build up large-scale defensive structures. Thus, this technology must be extinguished.”
“What is at the end of the countdown?” Wang asked the question that frightened him the most.
Ye smiled. “I don’t know.”
“But trying to stop me is useless! This is not basic research. Based on what we’ve already found out, someone else can figure out the rest.” Wang’s voice was loud but anxious.
“Yes, it is rather useless. It’s far more effective to confuse the researchers’ minds. But, like you point out, we didn’t stop the progress in time. After all, what you do is applied research. Our technique is far more effective against basic research.…”
“Speaking of basic research, how did your daughter die?”
The question silenced Ye for a few seconds. Wang noticed that her eyes dimmed almost imperceptibly. But she then resumed the conversation. “Indeed, compared to our Lord, who possesses peerless strength, everything we do is meaningless. We’re just doing whatever we can.”
Just as she finished speaking, several loud booms rang out and the doors to the cafeteria broke open. A team of soldiers holding submachine guns rushed in. Wang realized that they were not armed police, but the real army. Noiselessly they proceeded along the walls and soon surrounded the rebels of the ETO. Shi Qiang was the last to enter. His jacket was open, and he held the barrel of a pistol so that the grip was like the head of a hammer.
Da Shi looked around arrogantly, then suddenly dashed forward. His hand flashed and there was the dull thud of metal striking against a skull. An ETO rebel fell to the ground, and the gun that he was trying to draw tumbled to fall some distance away. Several soldiers began to shoot at the ceiling, and dust and debris fell. Someone grabbed Wang Miao and pulled him away from the ETO ranks until he was safe behind a row of soldiers.
“Drop all your weapons onto the table! I swear I’m going to kill the next son of a bitch who tries anything.” Da Shi pointed at the submachine guns arrayed behind him. “I know that none of you is afraid to die, but we’re not afraid either. I’m going to say this up front: Normal police procedures and laws don’t apply to you. Even the human laws of warfare no longer apply to you. Since you’ve decided to treat the entire human race as your enemy, there’s no longer anything we wouldn’t do to you.”
There was some commotion among the ETO members, but no one panicked. Ye’s face remained impassive. Three people suddenly rushed out of the crowd, including the young woman who had twisted Pan Han’s neck. They ran toward the three-body sculpture, and each grabbed one of the spheres and held it in front of his or her chest.
The young woman raised the bright metal sphere before her with both hands, as though she were getting ready to start a gymnastics routine. Smiling, she said, “Officers, we hold in our hands three nuclear bombs, each with a yield of about one point five kilotons. Not too big, since we like small toys. This is the detonator.”
Everyone in the cafeteria froze. The only one who moved was Shi Qiang. He put his gun back into the holster under his left arm and placed his hands together calmly.
“Our demand is simple: Let the commander go,” the young woman said. “Then we can play whatever game you want.” Her tone suggested that she wasn’t afraid of Shi Qiang and the soldiers at all.
“I stay with my comrades,” Ye said, calmly.
“Can you confirm her claim?” Da Shi asked an officer next to him, an explosives expert.
The officer threw a bag in front of the three ETO members holding the spheres. One of the ETO fighters picked up the bag and took out a spring scale, a bigger version of the ones some customers brought to street markets to verify the portions measured by vendors. He placed his metal sphere into the bag, attached it to the spring scale, and held it aloft. The gauge extended about halfway and stopped.
The young woman chuckled. The explosives expert also laughed, contemptuously.
The ETO member took out the sphere and tossed it on the ground. Another ETO fighter picked up the scale and the bag and repeated the procedure with his sphere, and ended up also tossing the sphere to the ground.
The young woman laughed once more and picked up the bag herself. She loaded her sphere into the bag, hung it on the hook of the scale, and the gauge immediately dropped to its bottom, the spring in the scale having been fully extended.
The smile on the explosives expert’s face froze. He whispered to Da Shi, “Damn! They really do have one.”
Da Shi remained impassive.
The explosives expert said, “We can at least confirm that there are heavy elements—fissile material—inside. We don’t know if the detonation mechanism works.”
The flashlights attached to the soldiers’ guns focused on the young woman holding the nuclear bomb. While she held the destructive power of 1.5 kilotons of TNT in her hands, she smiled brightly, as though enjoying applause and praise on a spotlit stage.
“I have an idea: Shoot the sphere,” the explosives expert whispered to Da Shi.
“Won’t that set off the bomb?”
“The conventional explosives around the outside will go off, but the explosion will be scattered. It won’t lead to the kind of precise compression of the fissile material in the center necessary for a nuclear explosion.”
Da Shi stared at the nuclear woman, saying nothing.
“How about snipers?”
Almost imperceptibly, Da Shi shook his head. “There’s no good position. She’s sharp as a tack. As soon as she’s targeted by a sniper scope, she’ll know.”
Da Shi strode forward. He pushed the crowd apart and stood in the middle of the empty space.
“Stop,” the young woman warned Da Shi, staring at him intently. Her right thumb was poised over the detonator. Her face was no longer smiling in the flashlight beams.
“Calm down,” Da Shi said, standing about seven or eight meters from her. He took an envelope from his pocket. “I have some information you’ll definitely want to know. Your mother has been found.”
The young woman’s feverish eyes dimmed. At that moment her eyes were
truly windows to her soul.
Da Shi took two steps forward. He was now no more than five meters from her. She raised the bomb and warned him with her eyes, but she was already distracted. One of the two ETO members who had tossed away fake bombs strode toward Da Shi to take the envelope from him. As the man blocked the woman’s view of Da Shi, he drew his gun with a lightning-fast motion. The woman only saw a flash by the ear of the man trying to take the letter from Da Shi before the bomb in her hands exploded.
After hearing the muffled explosion, Wang saw nothing before his eyes but darkness. Someone dragged him out of the cafeteria. Thick, yellow smoke poured out of the door, and a cacophony of shouting and gunshots came from inside. From time to time, people rushed through the smoke and out of the cafeteria.
Wang got up and tried to go back into the cafeteria, but the explosives expert grabbed him around the waist and stopped him.
“Careful. Radiation!”
The chaos eventually subsided. More than a dozen ETO fighters were killed in the gunfight. The rest—more than two hundred, including Ye Wenjie—were arrested. The explosion had turned the nuclear woman into a bloody mess, but she was the only casualty of the aborted bomb. The man who had tried to take the letter from Da Shi was severely injured, but since his body had shielded Da Shi, his wounds were light. However, like everyone else who remained in the cafeteria after the explosion, Shi suffered severe radiation contamination.
Through the small window of an ambulance, Wang stared at Da Shi, who was lying inside. A wound on Da Shi’s head continued to ooze blood. The nurse who was dressing the wound wore transparent protective gear. Da Shi and Wang could only talk through their mobile phones.