Emprise

by Michael P. Kube-Mcdowell

  “Yes—and that the intelligence was nearby. Here on earth,” he said triumphantly. “Most probably in this room,” he added, looking toward Eddington, who was pouring himself a drink with unsteady hands. “After all, we know where the tape came from, don’t we?”

  Eddington realized what he was being accused of in mid-swallow and coughed violently as a portion of the brandy went astray.

  “Not necessarily,” said Aikens. “Earth is surrounded by an expanding halo of radio and television waves a hundred lightyears in diameter. We’ve been broadcasting to them for a long time—not deliberately, but broadcasting all the same. With the equipment we had before everything went crazy, we could have detected our own transmissions up to a distance of perhaps eighty light-years. Wouldn’t you agree that the majority of the most powerful broadcasts have been in English?”

  “Occam’s razor,” Winston said softly. “Fraud is a much simpler explanation. A practical joke, if I were inclined to be generous. A game to enliven the empty life of Crown House. Tell them, Larry. You’ve carried this far enough.”

  “There’s nothing to tell.”

  “I won’t let you make fools of them this way,” Winston said menacingly. ‘Tell them.”

  “Blow off,” snapped Eddington. Schmidt was holding up his hand and seemed to be struggling with his emotions. “Agatha, the first word of the message is not ‘greetings,’ ” he began when they grew quieter.

  “Ha!” said Winston nastily.

  “The first word, it seems, is ‘humans,”’ Schmidt continued. ‘To wit: ‘Humans of Earth, greetings. We have received your many transmissions—”’

  Overcome, he could go no further, but did not need to. In the noisy celebration that followed, Winston stormed out of the room, slamming the door. Anofi swept Agatha into her arms and hugged her with near-crushing fervor. Aikens, tears streaming down his cheeks and a silly grin on his face, thrust a clenched fist into the air repeatedly and cried, “Why? Why not? Bloody God, why not?” It was all quite understandable, Agatha thought, though a bit extreme for adults not sitting in a soccer stadium.

  The only thing Agatha could not figure out is why, as important as decoding the message had been to him, her father did not seem happy.

  Chapter 5

  * * *

  The Message

  Celestial coordinates: R.A. 1h 4.9m, Declination 54 deg 41 min north

  Date of observation: April 28, 2011

  Signal components:

  A: Frequency: 1445 megahertz

  B: Frequency: 1525 megahertz

  --8----13--1-----------6--5--1--------8 -----8--------1--6--2-----------5--7--- h u m a n s o f e a r t h --7-----5--5-----9-----7--------5-----1-----5 -----5--------7-----1-----6-10-----8-----9--- g r e e t i n g s w e h a v e -----5-----5--9-----5--4-------------13--1------ --5-----3--------9-------12--2--8--5--------1-12 r e c e i v e d y o u r m a n y --------1-------13--9--------9-----------9------------ --7--5-----1--6--------6--6-----2--1--6-----7-10-----6 t r a n s m i s s i o n s i t w a s --3-12--5--1--------8--1--------8--5--------5-----5--------- --------------5--7--------7--7-------12-10-----5-----1--2--7 c l e a r t h a t t h e y w e r e n o t --4--9-----5--3-----5--4-----------------9-----8 --------5--------7--------7--2--8--6-10-----7--- d i r e c t e d t o u s w i t h --4--9--6--6--9--3----12-----------5--8--1-----5 --------------------8-----7-12-10-----------9--- d i f f i c u l t y w e h a v e -------12-----5--4-------------12--1-----7-----1--7--5 --6--2-----9-------12--2--8--5--------1-----8--------- s o l v e d y o u r l a n g u a g e --1-12-12-12--9--6--5--9-----9-----8--1----10-----------9--- --------------------------6-----1--------5-----2--1-12-----1 a l l l i f e i s i n h a r m o n y i n --1--3--3--------4-----9-----8-----8--5 -----------2--5----10-----7-----7------ a c c o r d w i t h t h e --6-----------4--5--------3--8--1-----7--5-----5--8--1-----5 -----2--8--1--------5--6-----------5-------10-----------9--- f o u n d e r s c h a r g e w e h a v e --2--5--5--------5--1-----3--8--9-----7--6--------------- -----------1--6--------5-----------1--------2--5-12--2--8 b e e n s e a r c h i n g f o r y o u --6--------1-----5-------12--------7-----9-13--5--1-----4 -----2--5-----9-----5-12-----2--1-----7--------------1--- f o r a v e r y l o n g t i m e a n d -----------3--1--------------9-13--1--7--9-----5--------- -12--2--8--------1--1--2--7-----------------1-----2--8--5 y o u c a n n o t i m a g i n e o u r --4--5-12--9--7--8-----1-----8--1-----9-----7 --------------------7-----7--------9-----1--- d e l i g h t a t h a v i n g --6--9-----1-12-12----13--1--4--5-----8--9--- --------1----------12--------------7--------6 f i n a l l y m a d e t h i s --3-----------1--3-----------5-----1-----5--6------ -----2--1--7--------7--3--5-----3-----5--------2--5 c o n t a c t p r e p a r e f o r --------5--7--1-----8--5-----9-----7-----5--1-----5 --7--8-----------7--------5-----1----10--------5--- t h e g a t h e r i n g w e a r e --3----13--9-----7-------13--5--5------------ -----2--------1-----7--2-----------7-12--2--8 c o m i n g t o m e e t y o u --1--4--4--5--7--8--------------7--8 --------------------1--5--2--5------ a d d e g h n r o r g h

  Chapter 6

  * * *

  “A Minute of Your Time…”

  The morning after, Eddington sent his daughter back to Maggie. No explanation was offered, either to her or to himself. Compartmented inside him was a resentment, a jealousy, a blind anger that he knew he should not feel and did anyway—and the sight of Agatha, at breakfast, curled up in an alcove reading or walking in the gardens, unlocked the door to that compartment and threatened to let those feelings rush out and overwhelm him.

  The feelings touched emotions he had felt before—at Milliard in the old days and during the first meeting of the committee—but were far stronger and therefore more frightening. So Eddington sealed them off in a recess of his mind, removed the disturbing presence—and still was not at peace.

  That, Eddington blamed on Schmidt. Schmidt, the guest who had begun acting like the host. Schmidt, who had sent the others home the night before saying, “Let us each savor this in his own way, separately. Tomorrow is soon enough to plan the next step. Go home tonight and come back at ten tomorrow.” Schmidt had risen early, but remained in his room.

  Avoiding me, Eddington thought. He knows what he did. So like a German to try and take over.

  When the others began arriving, it was immediately obvious that sobriety had replaced the giddy triumph of the previous eve. The lone exception was Anofi, who cornered Aikens and began chattering excitedly about cobbling together an answer beacon. But overall, there was an indecisiveness, a tentative quality, a solemn song that was new to their gatherings.

  Schmidt put words to it for them. “I doubt that any of us, at any time, looked past last night, saw beyond the immediate goal. For my own part, I must admit I never quite saw even up to last night.”

  He drummed his fingers on the table. “This is not a formal group. We came together, but we are not bound together. We are each free to take whatever course he chooses, and to do with this information what we will. It belongs to us severally, and not to the group as a whole. But it strikes me that we must act in concert to be effective, and before we can act, we must decide what we should do.”

  Anofi leaned forward over the table and smiled. “Answer, of course.”

  “Oh, by all means, let’s ring them,” Eddington said sarcastically, waving his hand in the direction of the telephone. “Who has a pound for the toll?”

  His tone took Anofi by surprise, and she stared at him questioningly. In the momentary silence, Aikens stepped in to defend her cause.

  “Her point is well taken. In its day, the Arecibo telescope could have communicated with another like it anywhere in the galaxy. Since the message implies that its senders have detected our commercial radio communications, they cannot be more than forty-three light-years away. A beacon is not only possible, but obvious. One might even say mandatory.”

  “As I think Laurence meant to imply, that goes beyond our immediate resources,” Schmidt said gently.

  “Don’t speak for me,” Eddington muttered.

  Anof
i had recovered. “Shouldn’t it, at this point? You didn’t think we should keep this to ourselves, I hope.”

  “Hardly! But neither do I think we should contemplate an international effort. Our standing to make such requests is a bit poor—”

  “What do you mean?” Anofi demanded. “Right at this table are four doctorates in astronomy or physics—”

  “Three,” Aikens amended. “Larry never completed his.” He missed the look Eddington shot his way.

  “Ten or a hundred wouldn’t be enough,” said Schmidt. “Our curricula vitae are quite impressive, I’m sure, but the reality is that they are written in a currency that’s no longer honored. Have you closed your eyes so thoroughly to what’s happened? Your own Prime Minister boasted during the elections that he had avoided the taint of science throughout his education. What do you hope to achieve in the face of that?”

  “The infamous Prussian realism,” said Anofi. “Are you saying we shouldn’t try?”

  “I’d like to try for something a bit more modest. A monitoring program, for instance. This may be just one of several messages being sent on a rotating schedule or on several frequencies. Perhaps reopening and restoring Jodrell Bank or Mullard would be feasible,” he suggested.

  “Not that I suspect Laurence of any trickery,” he added quickly. “I’d simply like to know more about what we’re dealing with. See if there are any energies at other wavelengths. Try to ascertain if there’s a visible source. Clean up the coordinates. Map the intensity and get some idea of their broadcast technique. Calculate the angular size and if possible the distance—we’ll need six months or another station for the last, of course. It would be good to know if the source were as close as, say, Jupiter.” He smiled sheepishly. “Ami I’d like to hear it live.”

  “I agree there’s a great deal of work to be done—” Anofi began. “Can we go to your government and convince them to aid us without having done at least some of it?”

  “Can we do any of it without their aid?” she asked pointedly.

  “Perhaps there’s a third alternative,” suggested Aikens. “The college facilities are relatively intact, and the administration there may be more sympathetic to us than anyone else would have cause to be.”

  Eddington sighed. “Shall we take that as your whole contribution, Larry?” asked Anofi.

  “No,” he said, pulling a copy of the translation toward him. “ ‘Prepare for the gathering—we are coming to meet you.’ Seems to me we’ve been overlooking what that really says.”

  “It seems rather plain, on the face of it,” said Aikens. “We can look forward to more than mere messages.”

  “Yes! And that’s the most important thing they say here. You seem to be overlooking that.”

  “Not at all,” said Schmidt. “Our problem is bringing it to the attention of the larger world.”

  “And what will we tell them when they ask us, ‘When are they coming?’ ”

  “The message doesn’t say.”

  “There’s hardly any rush on that,” put in Anofi. “Forty light-years would be a journey of at least one hundred and fifty years. We have time enough.”

  “I don’t share your confidence. And this sequence at the end of the message: addeghn-rorgh. Why should all but one small portion of the message be translatable? I’m very uncomfortable with that little mystery,” Eddington said.

  “It has to be their name for themselves,” said Anofi.

  “Why? Because we sign our names at the end of a letter?”

  “It may just be something they garbled. Or their equivalent of RSVP,” she said. “Or a Scottish curse,” Aikens said lightly. Eddington scowled. “Think a minute. They know a great deal more about us than we do about them. And I can’t help but wonder what sort of picture they’ve constructed out of what we sent them.”

  “They’ll be in for some surprises, I warrant,” Anofi observed.

  Eddington looked at her critically. “Will they?”

  “Forgive me,” interjected Schmidt, “but if there’s a common thread to your last few comments, I’ve failed to catch it. Will you enlighten me? Or are you merely making objections at random?”

  Eddington stood, ignoring the jibe, and walked toward the window. “They would know enough about us to realize our curiosity—and would want to give us something to satisfy it. But at the same time, they would be disturbed by our violent nature, as well as all the other lesser and greater faults we’ve so freely admitted to them. But, being advanced, they wouldn’t want to prejudge us.” He turned to face them. “I’ll tell you why that message doesn’t say when they’re coming—because it’s a test.”

  “One we’ve passed, thanks to Agatha,” said Aikens.

  “No! That message contains more information. We’ve only broken it on one level—the simplest one, the child’s level. That final sequence, addeghn-rorgh, is likely the key to the next level—an interlocking code. The information in each level of the code would change the way we answer them. That’s why we have to put all our efforts into breaking the rest of the message. We’ve only passed first form. If we answer them now, they may not come at all. Or they may come with a different purpose entirely.”

  “There are too many assumptions in that for my taste, even though I do find the whole scheme somewhat elegant in its subtlety,” said Schmidt. “I can offer a simpler reason why the message contains no date of arrival—they don’t know it. Even were they to be as close as Proxima Centuri, crossing space with living beings and a ship is a bit more tricky than merely beaming a radio signal into the void. They haven’t left yet, is my guess—or at least, not when that was sent. They very well might not leave until we answer.”

  “Whether you’re capable of believing it or not, that message has more secrets,” Eddington said angrily. “I think you simply need to believe that to salvage your wounded ego,” Aikens said bluntly. Eddington’s gaze swept across their faces like a cold wind. “Is that what the rest of you think?”

  Schmidt shrugged. “We know so little—everything is so tentative. I’m not ready to judge. But as I said at the beginning, you are free to shape your own path, and I wish you success.”

  “Oh, no,” Eddington said threateningly. “You can’t push me aside like that.”

  “He didn’t mean it that way. No one is denying you your right to a place in this,” Anofi said soothingly. “No? Who’ll go out and make the contacts? I know who ranks here—and it isn’t me.”

  “We’ll all go,” Anofi said gently, looking to the others for confirmation. “But we’ll need a spokesman. You, probably,” Eddington said, jabbing a finger toward Schmidt.

  “I’m inclined to think that we’ll have the opportunity to take turns,” Schmidt said dryly. “Come now, Laurence—isn’t it obvious to you that it’s time this stopped being an intellectual exercise for a clique of old codgers? We can explore the wheels-within-wheels once we’ve brought this to the attention of the people who have the power to act on it. Don’t create a false dilemma. It’s not one or the other. The question is, what do we do today?”

  Eddington’s gaze flicked upward and across their faces. “I work on the code. You knock on doors, if you must.”

  “I think we must,” Aikens said, standing. “Straight away, with or without Larry.”

  “There is one more matter to be settled,” said Schmidt. “Winston.”

  “What about him?” Anofi said scornfully. “He made his choice last night.”

  “Is that how you all feel?” Schmidt asked, surveying the room. “Very well, then.”

  As they filed out of the room, Anofi stopped by Eddington and grasped his elbow. “Where is Agatha today? I wanted to talk to her.”

  Eddington’s features grew rigid. “She’s not here,” he mumbled. Pulling his arm free, he turned his back on her and stared out the window at the grounds.

  When they were gone, the cold rage he had been fighting overtook him, and Eddington quite methodically and with no small satisfaction turned the hun
dred-year-old furnishings of Agatha’s much loved Garden Room into kindling and trash.

  The doors of Cambridge were open, but the minds of those they sought to enlist were not. The refusals and rebuffs were polite for the most part, but as the trio moved from the offices of the Queen’s College to Corpus Christi to St. John’s, Aikens began to suspect that the politeness was grudging, a mere remnant of goodwill. When he spotted the university’s vice-chancellor bearing down on them as they stood in the court of Trinity College, he knew that that goodwill had been exhausted.

  “Aikens! Hold right there.” The vice-chancellor joined them, wheezing from the pursuit. “You and your friends have been making general pests of yourselves, interfering with the work of my faculty and filling the air with foolishness to boot. I insist you leave them alone.”

  “Certainly. I’d rather have been talking with you or the chancellor anyway,” Aikens said calmly. “Shall we go to your office?”

  “What makes you think I would be any more interested in your foolishness than the others?” the vice-chancellor demanded.

  “This is important work that needs doing. I can hardly believe that the Cambridge which gave the world Rutherford and Cavendish would choose to look the other way,” Aikens said reasonably.

  “What you and your kind believe is of no interest to me,” the vice-chancellor said coldly. “Especially your current brand of fiction, concocted by parasitical frauds who have tired of real labor. If you insist on trying to finance your fantasies, I suggest you open up a shop on Sheep’s Green with the rest of the astrologers. And if you do not wish to be arrested as peddlers and trespassers, you’ll leave the campus before the constables I’ve sent for find you!” That said, he turned and strode away.

  For a moment Aikens stared in disbelief at the retreating figure. “That simple-minded popinjay!” he sputtered at last. “How dare he talk to me that way? What a bloody fool!”

  Anofi took his arm and turned him toward the river Cam. “More fools we,” she said as they walked. “Little did we realize that we’re not only the only ones who know, we’re the only ones who care.”