Joe Haldeman - Marsbound

by Marsbound (v1. 0) [lit]

  "I see what you're driving at. We're the mayflies."

  He grabbed his head again. “You gave away the ending. But suppose you did have to communicate with these intelligent mayflies. To them, you are slow as Sequoias. How do you get them to realize that you are also an intelligent form of life?"

  "Build a machine? One that moves as fast as they do?"

  "Yes, but not in one step. What the Others did was build a machine, a carbon-based biological one, that lived somewhat faster than they did—and which had the ability to build a machine faster than itself. And so on down the line."

  "Until you had one that could talk to mayflies. Humans, in this case."

  He nodded. “That's what we are. We Martians."

  "Your only function is to communicate with us?

  "I would say ‘destiny’ rather than function. We do have a life, a culture, independent of you. But humans are our reason for being."

  "So why,” I whispered, waving my hand at the music, “why all the secrecy?"

  "Because I'm not supposed to be explaining this to you. To anybody."

  "We're supposed to decode the message ourselves?"

  "I don't think you could. I don't think even a Martian could, no matter how brilliant, unless he spent all his youth studying my language."

  "Maybe not even then,” I said. “Oz says your brain is immensely more complex than other Martians'. But why do the Others want to keep it secret?"

  "I don't know the details yet. But they're afraid of you; of what you may become. Millions of years ago, they had trouble with a planet in a nearby system, somewhat like the Earth. Water-carbon-oxygen life. They're frightened by how fast you act. How fast you evolve."

  "What kind of trouble did they have with this planet? A war?"

  "I don't think that would be possible. I think it was what you would call a pre-emptive strike."

  "So ... they destroyed them?"

  Red nodded slowly. “After the young planet started sending out interstellar probes. The Others’ world was relatively near—their sun was maybe a hundred times the distance from here to Neptune—what we would call a wide double-star system—so of course the Others were their first interstellar destination."

  "The young world was going to invade at that distance?"

  "The Others didn't know. But there were wars on the oxygen planet, worldwide wars, for years before they had space travel, and the Others could observe them indirectly. As we, and they, have done with you."

  "So the Others suddenly developed space travel themselves, and went off to do this ‘preemptive strike'?"

  "Oh, no. They'd been exploring other planets with probes for many thousands of years. They'd been to this solar system, and others, with complex autonomous robots to gather information, deliver it, and self-destruct."

  His voice grew even lower. “As we have observed, they have considerable talent, power, for manipulating things at great distances. The tools for the pre-emptive strike were in place long before they decided they had to be used."

  "My god. Are they in place here on Earth, too?"

  "That wasn't clear. Sometimes the message was allusive, metaphorical ... it was sort of ‘if it's true, it's too late for the humans to do anything about it; if not, nothing needs to be done.’”

  "We might feel differently. We humans."

  "It also said that for the humans’ sake, the threat ought to be kept secret. Not for its own protection, it emphasized. For your sake—I think so it wouldn't have to take action prematurely. Though my sense is the ‘action’ wouldn't be anything like an invasion or even a launched missile. It would be a small act, like turning on the laser beacon.

  My heart was hammering. “Could it destroy the Earth just like that? So casually?"

  "I doubt it. And it wouldn't want to, literally, destroy the Earth. It said that we could have the planet if you proved unsuitable. We Martians."

  "Now that would go down really well on Earth."

  "Don't worry. Who needs the gravity? The Others are aquatic, or whatever you call something that lives in liquid nitrogen. They don't think about gravity any more than fish do. They just float there."

  I felt he was telling the truth. “You're on our side."

  He nodded. “It can't see that. Even if I was not in beghnim with you, I would feel closer to you, to all humans, than to them. The Others may be our creators, but in terms of simple existence, we are much closer to you.

  "They hardly live at all, on our time scale ... and technically, they never die."

  "Never? How do they manage that?"

  "An individual will stop moving, stop metabolizing, for a thousand years or more. Dead except for the information structures that make up its individuality. When it's needed again, it's kind of ... jump-started."

  "I don't know that term."

  "I was afraid you wouldn't. Basically, some other individual decides it's time and applies enough energy to get it metabolizing again. A process that might take ares.

  "So in a sense, it's never really been dead. Though for a thousand ares or so, it's been no more alive than data stored in a machine."

  "How many of them are out there, alive, at any given time?"

  "It could be three or three trillion, I don't know. The only one we have to worry about is the speeded-up one on Triton. The others are thirty ares away from affecting us in response to anything we do. And it would take them ages to respond."

  "If some people, a lot of people, knew what you've told me, they'd be declaring war on Triton. Which would do a lot of good, I know."

  "A lot of expense for nothing. The best they could do would be to send a heavily armed and automated vessel out to find a small target beneath the surface of Triton and destroy it. But it's impossible."

  "Not theoretically. Not if a majority wanted it badly enough."

  "I meant practically. You realize how powerful that laser would be, close up?"

  "Paul worked up some numbers. If it could be aimed and used like the American Star Wars lasers were supposed to, they would be able to vaporize any conventional space vehicle, long before it got to Triton."

  "Ha ha.” He nodded rapidly. “But think larger. Suppose this laser is far from being the pinnacle of their technology. Suppose they had one a thousand times more powerful. Suppose it was hidden on Earth's moon."

  "It could do some real damage, even if they stopped it pretty quickly."

  "It would be hard to stop, wouldn't it? And in less than one day it could destroy every city in the world and set fire to all the forests and plains. The smoke would persist long enough to stop agriculture."

  "Did ... did the Other threaten to do something like that?"

  "No, not in so many words. It did imply that the destruction would only take one day, and from that I extrapolated various possibilities. But it was not like a threat or a prediction.” He paused for several seconds. “It's hard to translate the exact intent. It was presented as a theoretical possibility, almost an entertainment for the Other. Like a horror movie that could come true.

  "I think I know the leaders’ written language well. But I've never heard anyone speak it. Doubtless there are nuances that I've missed."

  "Only one day.” We needed a scientist here. “I guess it could deflect a large enough asteroid to make a disaster like the dinosaur wipeout. Or release some kind of poison in the air. But wouldn't that take more than a day?"

  "Unless it was released at thousands of places all at once. But the ‘one day’ was only an implication. It could just stand for a short period of time. Maybe a short time in comparison to how long it normally takes for a species to go extinct. As I say, it's hard to tell whether it's being direct or speaking in metaphor and symbol."

  "Can you talk back to it?"

  "I don't see why not, at least in terms of technology. You could probably talk to it. It seems to understand English. Just go on the 6:00 news and say ‘Please, Mr. Other, don't destroy us in one day.’ But that would sort of give away our secret
."

  "You could talk to it, though, in your secret language. I mean on the same news show. Without letting on that you'd talked to any human about what it said."

  "I'll do something like that, eventually. But first I want to see how it reacts to the Drake diagram project. That should be ready in a day or so.” The Earth-side scientists were arguing with a consortium on Earth—of course including the Chilean astronomer who'd “cracked the code,” and was turning out to be a real pain in the ass—trying to agree on a 29 X 19 matrix message to send back to Triton via ruby laser.

  "Maybe they should just send block letters. GOT YOUR MESSAGE. PLEASE DON'T KILL US."

  * * * *

  6. Peace offering

  In fact, they did a variation of that. The top five rows were taken up with the word PEACE in big block letters. Then there was a symbolic representation of an amino acid, alongside the same for some silicon-nitrogen molecule that might be a similar building block for its form of life, and then a question mark.

  A second message was a star map, looking down on the galactic plane, with Sirius at the center. (It would probably be the brightest star in their sky, too, if they came from nearby). The Sun's position was identified with a cross. Then there was another question mark.

  I wasn't too sure about that one—I mean, “We told you how peaceful we are. We'd never invade you. So why not tell us where you live?"

  The morning they were going to send the message, I got up at 5:00 and found a message that Dargo wanted to see me at 8:00.

  That couldn't be good news. Unable to concentrate on work, I surfed around the news and entertainment. I almost went to wake up Paul, but figured he was going to be busy with the message transmission, more ceremony than science. He was scheduled for three hours of VR interview after it, so he could use his sleep.

  I was, too, which is why I couldn't sleep. Dargo was probably going to tell me what I could and could not say. Good luck with that.

  I dawdled over coffee and hard biscuits. At five after eight, her door was open.

  "Please close it behind you. Please have a seat.” She was studying a clipboard and didn't look up.

  The chair was hard and low. She kept reading for a minute and looked up suddenly. “You had a Martian in your room day before yesterday."

  "So?"

  "So what was he doing there?"

  "Well, I guess you got me. We were having sex."

  "Carmen..."

  "It's pretty wonderful, with all those fingers. You should try it."

  "Carmen! This is serious."

  "I've been in his room a hundred times. He was curious about what mine looked like. So?"

  She just glared at me. She pushed a button on the clipboard and it started playing the first Brandenberg Concerto.

  "You ... you were eavesdropping."

  "You were committing treason. Against Earth. Against humanity."

  "Talking with Red. I do that all the time."

  "You've never whispered under music before."

  I raised my eyebrows and didn't say anything.

  "What were you two talking about?"

  "You tell me. What does the recording say?"

  She stared at me for a long seconds, her mouth set in an accusing line. I knew that tactic, but finally broke the silence. “You don't know what it says."

  "I can't decipher much of it. But other people, specialists in sound spectroscopy, will be able to."

  "So send it to them.” I moved closer to her face. “And be prepared to explain how you got it."

  "You can't threaten me. I have clear statements like this!” I heard my voice whisper “...got your message please don't kill us."

  "You're pleading with the Others, aren't you? You can't negotiate on behalf of the whole human race!"

  "You have it totally wrong.” I stood up. “I have to talk to Red."

  "You don't know what you're doing. He's not your friend. He's the enemy."

  I paused at the door. “Do you have a favorite piece of music? Something loud?"

  * * * *

  We only had about an hour before the Drake diagram thing, and of course Red would have to be there, too. I called and asked him to drop by my place on the way.

  I found an ancient Louis Armstrong composition with the Hot Sevens, which gave us a pretty constant level of loud interference.

  After I'd told him about the meeting with Dargo, he folded all four arms and thought for a minute.

  "I see three courses of action, and inaction, with different degrees of danger,” he whispered.

  "The easiest would be to just do nothing and hope that Dargo lets sleeping cows lie."

  "Dogs. Sleeping dogs."

  "Ah. Then there is the extreme other end: assume that the Other is bluffing and just broadcast the truth. That would be almost equally simple, but if the Other isn't bluffing, it might be the end of the human race—and perhaps Martians as well."

  "But it said Earth could be yours."

  "It would have no more need for us, if the humans were gone. We don't know whether it can lie. Like a sleeping dog, ha ha.

  "As a middle course, we might enlist a confederate or two, for insight and perspective. On the Martian side, it would have to be Fly-in-Amber. On the human side, the logical choice would be Dargo Solingen."

  "Out of the question."

  "This is not about personality, Carmen. I don't get along with Fly-in-Amber, either.

  "Your great military philosopher Sun Tzu said to ‘keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.’ He had some experience with alien invasions."

  "None that loll around in liquid nitrogen and zap you with killer lasers. What about Paul?"

  "His engineering and science would be handy. But I suggested Dargo because she knows so much already. Making her an ally might buy her silence."

  He made a gesture I'd never seen before, pushing down on his head with both large hands until it was almost level with the ground. Then he released it with a sigh. “It's a pity life is not a movie. In a movie we could just throw her out the airlock and go about our business."

  "Making it look like an accident."

  "Of course. But then the detective would figure us out and show up with handcuffs."

  "Quite a few, in your case."

  "Ha ha. There is an intermediate course. We appear to enlist Dargo's aid, but don't tell her everything."

  "Lie to her."

  "Perhaps a necessary evil.” I suddenly wondered how much of what Red had told me was the truth.

  "What would we keep from her?"

  "The threat itself? I take it she doesn't know that I can understand the message. We could tell her that much and then claim it was something less disturbing."

  "No ... she heard me say that we got the message, and ‘please don't kill us'—she can extrapolate a lot from that."

  Red nodded. “Merely mortal danger."

  I tried to keep my voice down. “The only thing we have on her is the fact that she broke the law making that recording."

  "There is also the fact that she apparently has little beyond that one phrase."

  I thought back to what she'd said. “True. Little enough. She didn't seem to know that you had decoded the FM message. ‘We got the message’ could refer to the Drake diagram thing. As far as she knows, we were conspiring to communicate with the enemy in English."

  He paused. “Until we learn differently, then, let's make that a working hypothesis: she thinks we don't have any more data than anyone else. Meanwhile, we enlist Fly-in-Amber and Paul, swearing them to absolute secrecy.

  "When the Other responds to Earth's overtures, we'll decide on our own course of action."

  "And if it doesn't respond? How long do we wait before we try to contact it ourselves?"

  "If it moves at one-eighth my speed, I'd say a week. Of course, it might have various responses prepared ahead of time."

  "Like destroying everything?"

  "No. If it were that simple, there would have been no need
for the message it sent to Fly-in-Amber. We're safe for the time being."

  "Which could be hundreds or thousands of years."

  "Yes. As long as we don't do anything that threatens it or the Others back home. Or it could be hours or days.” It made its humanlike shrug.

  My timer's buzz was barely audible over the festive jazz, Dixieland gone to Chicago a couple of centuries ago. “That's the ten-minute warning. Guess we better go up and watch them push the button."

  * * * *

  Just about everybody, human and Martian, showed up for the ceremony. One wall of Earth A was a glass one shared by its counterpart on the other side of the quarantine. We had more room per person, or entity, but they had champagne.

  After the short speeches and button pushing, the screen showed a roster for interviews at the two VR sites. Paul and I were scheduled first, though with two different interviewers. Paul had a guy from an MIT technical journal. I was stuck with Davie Lewitt, who was pretty and intense but not remarkably intelligent. She had interviewed me after the Great Hairball Orgy on Mars and pinned the name “The Mars Girl” on me. For a couple of years, it was ‘hey, Mars Girl,’ whenever someone wanted to annoy me.

  I was only a little sarcastic with her during the hour, but Dargo, who had been watching, gave me an annoyed grimace when she took over the helmet. She used more disinfectant spray than was necessary. But Oz gave me a broad smile and a thumbs-up.

  When Paul came out I touched his arm and cut my eyes in the direction of my room. He smiled, but wasn't going to get quite what he expected.

  You don't use paper wastefully in space. But it's one way to write something down and know that no electronic snoop can sneak a copy. As soon as we entered my door, I handed him the folded-over sheet that started KEEP TALKING—DARGO'S LISTENING! Underneath that was a summary of everything Red had told me about the frequency-modulation message, and our tentative plan.

  We chatted, mostly me talking, about our VR interviews. We undressed and I called for music, an obscure whining neo-romantic guitar/theremin collage by some Finnish group whose name I couldn't even read. But it was loud.