by Ian Miller
"So a gamma source passed between us and Umbriel," Natasha mused. She fully understood what conclusion Harry was going to draw, but she was not sufficiently confident about her own knowledge of gamma rays that she should draw the same conclusion. "Is that remarkable?"
"It is, when you ask yourself what could emit gamma rays, " Harry said. "They're very high energy, and they're more likely to be generated from the decay of nuclei, elementary particles, or objects falling into a black hole. There's not a lot that could do this naturally."
"And you're confident this is not an artefact, a false reading, a mistake?"
"Of course," Harry continued. "Now, slightly later, the gamma signal dies, and the optical signal only sees Uranus. The gamma signal is now behind Uranus."
Natasha looked curiously at Harry. "You're trying to tell me that there was a gamma source in the Uranus system, and that source was an alien space vehicle?"
"Several space vehicles, actually," Harry said. "There's lots more evidence. Now, just after that photograph was taken, this source did a curious thing. Look at this trajectory. See," he said, pointing to a summary graph, "It turns, and that means it is controlled. Now, look at this sequence from the optical telescope. I had to leave the deep space telescopes on Uranus," he explained as an aside, "because I still had a project report to complete."
"Yes, of course," Natasha said absent-mindedly. Her attention was focused on the last of the series, where the asteroid was disintegrating into the jets, and the light was passing through. "You say this was the same night? Surely there's a mistake?"
"No mistake."
"But that's not possible. Nothing could go that fast."
"Its average speed was approximately one third light speed, " Harry said. "But that's not all we get out of these photos. We can also work out the time taken to get between Uranus and Umbriel, which gives its speed then, and since we know the distance between Uranus and the asteroid, we know its average deceleration factor over the entire distance, which is over three hundred and fifty g."
"It decelerated?" There was the first sign of alarm in the question.
"Yes, it did. My guess is it must be a space vehicle, and what we're looking at is the exhaust. To decelerate, Newton's . . ."
"I know about Newton," came the sharp reply. "It must be a robot. No life form could take that!"
"That was my superficial analysis too," Harry said, "but there's another complication. But before I get onto that, let me show you one or two more things from this path that goes around Uranus very closely. Now, assume we're looking at the exhaust. Fortunately, there's some rather unexpected data. I wasn't supposed to get it, but someone left the neutrino detectors hooked into the deep space telescope coordinates and . . ."
"So you're the one Professor Voroshilov's been cursing," Natasha smiled.
"It wasn't my fault," Harry protested.
"No, it wasn't, and I told Voroshilov if he can't remember how to close down an experiment, maybe we shouldn't let him loose with all that valuable gear," she laughed. Harry barely controlled a shudder as the laugh seemed even more hideous than anything before. Fortunately, the Commissioner did not seem to notice.
"Anyway," Harry went on quickly, hoping he could distract attention away from himself. "Look at the neutrino pattern. It's only barely detectable, but in that stream there are tau neutrinos slightly inside muon neutrinos. "
"You mean whatever's driving this thing is kicking out elementary particles?" Natasha asked. There was a tinge of fear in her voice, as she realized that alien craft should have access to technology so totally advanced from that of Earth.
"I suspect, although I cannot prove," Harry went on, "that the elementary particles are actually condensing out in the exhaust. Anyway, elementary particles they are. Now, as you know, elementary particles have quantized electric charge, and Uranus has a magnetosphere, and quite a strong one. The Lagrangian of a charged particle in a magnetic field includes a term that depends on the charge, which is known, the velocity, which is unknown, and the field B, which is known. Now . . ."
"Please, spare me the calculations," Natasha said, pushing the copious notes to one side. She noted with sadness the shudder Harry desperately tried to suppress as he saw the twisted hand. "Tell me the answer."
"The answer is that the exhaust is travelling at over ninety-nine point nine nine nine per cent light speed. If we make some reasonable assumptions about what elementary particles are present, and knowing the relativistic effects on their lifetime, we get a similar answer."
"In other words, we could have a bunch of robots circulating the solar system," Natasha muttered, "with awesome power, and . . . I wonder where it was going?"
"You won't like this guess," Harry muttered.
"No?"
"The trajectory would bring it to the star."
"What? You're not suggesting it landed there?"
"Of course not," Harry laughed. "It could have refuelled, it could even have sterilized itself. And finally, with that powerful motor, it could go anywhere, merely using the glare of the star to hide its intention and perhaps use the gravitational field to save a little energy on a turn."
"And the rest? You said thirty-four. This is only one."
"The rest were following behind," Harry answered. "Here, in the later optical photographs, we see them entering the Uranus system, then the light signals stop."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Presumably these powerful motors were turned off, perhaps to carry out more delicate manoeuvres, such as landing. Any ordinary motor would be undetectable from this range."
"And where are they now?" Natasha muttered to herself as she stared at the far wall.
"Miranda."
"What?" she said in surprise.
"The innermost large satellite of Uranus. Here, look at the results from the giant infrared telescope. To start with, we see nothing, but as Miranda moves . . ." He paused, then added, "Miranda is tidally locked by Uranus, and its orbital period is thirty-four hours. Anyway, just as I had to turn everything off, this hot spot appears on Miranda. There is nothing natural that could cause that, so these craft must be the cause of it."
"Why would ships stop on Miranda?"
"I've thought about that, and the only reason I can think of is they need a base. And there's only one reason they need a base."
"Because they're life forms, and not robots," Natasha murmured.
"Yes. A robot doesn't need a base, and setting one up is an added complication. In any case, you would hardly send thirty-four robot craft all to settle on one rather uninteresting spot. Surely they would split up to explore?"
"It's a little dangerous trying to work out how aliens would think," the Commissioner cautioned.
"Only to a point," Harry replied. "The laws of logic are the same throughout the Universe. I concede we cannot know what they're going to do, but I think that, for the time being, they should be considered hostile."
"Because they're aliens?" she queried with a slight twisted smile.
"No," Harry shuddered slightly at the smile. "Because they've settled as far away as they can, and they've made no effort to contact us. They must know we're here."
"Maybe you're wrong there," Natasha said thoughtfully. "They may only want to study us."
"That could be true," Harry replied, "and I hope it is. But it's an elementary precaution to assume they're hostile. If they're not, we lose nothing, and if they are, we get prepared."
"Provided, of course," Natasha added, "your strategy doesn't turn a previously peaceful race into an enemy you can't cope with."
"I wasn't suggesting the use of force on them," Harry protested. "Merely that we prepare ourselves, in case."
"I'm afraid it isn't as simple as that," Natasha sighed. She put her head in her hands for a moment, then muttered, more to herself, "Is this what we've feared?"
"I'm not sure," Harry said quietly. "Sometimes I think yes, sometimes no."
"What are you talkin
g about?" Natasha looked up in puzzlement. "You have no idea what I'm thinking about."
"Perhaps not," Harry shrugged, "but if you're wondering whether they came from Epsilon eridani, the answer is, maybe."
"What do you mean, maybe?" Natasha asked curiously, then added in an unconvincing tone, "and what's this to do with Epsilon eridani?"
"If a vessel was to come from Epsilon eridani," Harry shrugged, "it would aim for the star, and turn to the desired planet towards the end of its flight. While the best calculation I could make from their trajectories would miss Epsilon eridani by quite a bit, the data's a bit crude, and I half suspect they came from there."
"And why?"
"The old Icarus paper," Harry shrugged. "Those electromagnetic emissions suggest technology."
"How do you know about those papers?" Natasha asked. "They're not publicly available."
"You can't totally suppress knowledge."
"So it seems."
There was a silence, which Harry finally broke. "Anyway, now I have a problem, and I need your advice."
"And that is?"
"I don't think this should be made public, but I need to do something, having had access to all that equipment. I have to account for it, and I thought you might –"
"Indeed I might," the Commissioner interrupted. She put her head in her hands, and seemed deep in thought. Finally she raised her head, turned towards Harry and said in a steely voice, "You should have gone through proper channels."
"I decided not to." Harry said this with a total lack of expression.
"I can see that. The question that bothers me is why not?"
"If you want, I can leave this room and go through those proper channels. In about twenty years, provided civilization still exists, the reports just might get to the top, probably more as a curiosity of history."
A hideous smile crossed the Commissioner's twisted face. "Unfortunately you're probably right. The question now is, are you using good judgment, or are you just an ill-disciplined pest that got lucky?"
Harry stood still.
"Leaving me to decide," Natasha shrugged. "Lansfeld, do you wish to enter the military space academy?"
"Commissioner," Harry started formally, "I want you to know I came here to make sure you knew exactly what's happening out in space. I have no intention of threatening, or trying to –"
"I realize that now," Natasha raised her hand to stop him.
"Well, yes, eventually I would, but –"
"You're correct about the accountancy problem, so I've got to do something with you," the Commissioner said. She thought for a moment, then said, "Let me refresh my memory as to your past," and with that her hands flew across the keyboard of a computer. Harry was somewhat stunned to see how much about him came up. Eventually, she stopped, and said, "You have been part-time military."
"Yes, Commissioner."
Natasha smiled a little as Harry had suddenly become more formal. "Then you are prepared to accept my orders?"
"Yes, Commissioner."
"You don't even know what they are yet," Natasha gave another one of her hideous smiles.
"No, Commissioner, I don't, but I doubt that answering 'no' would have been acceptable."
"True," Natasha said. "I'm going to take a chance on you, so don't you dare let me down. Now, let me contact Tashkent." She replaced her facemask, rolled her chair over to the Comscreen, and pulled out the keyboard, and started typing. After a little over thirty seconds, a man's face appeared at the screen. As the image became clearer, Harry saw a man in his early fifties, with hair close-cropped and a grey uniform with red bands along the collar.
"Commissioner?"
"Mikhael, the next academy intake. Can you fit in one extra?"
"Is that an order?"
"No, it is not."
"Well, Commissioner, as you know, entry here is very difficult, and we cannot bow to political pressure –"
"Mikhael," Natasha said quietly, but firmly, "I'm not looking for reasons why you have to say no. I'm hoping you might be able to say yes. By the way, the subject has not been in the lower academies, and has never flown in space, so he'll need extra tuition. You'll have to see that that extra's available."
"Oh! Well, for you I can always find room for one more. Untrained and all."
"Excellent," Natasha said calmly, having totally ignored the protest. "Get the input modem ready to accept data, and arrange transport for next Monday. Lansfeld, come over here."
Somewhat dazedly, Harry stood in front of a scanner that proceeded to take images of his face from a sequence of directions, then his palm and fingerprints, following which a small sequence of auto-probes struck into his arm for sufficient blood to do the necessary groupings and DNA codings.
"Data!" Natasha said loudly, into the speaker. "Name: Lansfeld, Harold. Rank: Lieutenant. Decorations: Combat Medal. Full personal data to follow. End of transmission. Close security file zero-nine-seven-seven-three."
"Commissioner!"
"Yes, Lieutenant?"
"I'm not! I'm only a cadet."
"When I call you Lieutenant, that's what you are." She paused, and added with a touch of almost sadness in her voice, "I think you'll find that nobody will dare question my appointment. Anyway, Tashkent's only for officers, and I should warn you, life will be tough on you, particularly when the others see your lack of experience. Nevertheless, I suspect you will hold your own in another way. You've done quite a bit of combat training haven't you?"
"Yes, Commissioner. The Aussie air force has tried to maintain the traditions, and used to have competitions. I know this man whose great grandfather won the trophy many times, and he left some family videos."
"I know. What I don't understand is why you emphasized that aspect?"
"I didn't. I've practised a lot of other things too, on the simulators, but the combat flying was the only thing I could think of where I had a chance to get skills my competitors would ignore. I've heard that if you can win one of the lower Academy contests you'll get to Tashkent, and I thought I'd pick the one nobody else'd do well at."
"Very thoughtful of you," she said dryly. "Now, I'd better fix things locally." She again began typing, and almost immediately the image of the Australian Prime Minister appeared.
"Commissioner, how nice for you to call. What can I do for you?"
"I want the full documentation for Harold Lansfeld, and a full set of permits for his transfer to Tashkent. I want all documentation completed within twenty hours. I trust I'll have your full cooperation."
"I'm not sure that's going to be all that easy. You see –"
"Prime Minister, this is an extraordinary honour for all Australia. Also, you might like to reflect on what might happen if you annoy me."
"Well, yes, as I was saying, it won't be easy, but I'm sure I can manage something. Now, if you could –"
"Thank you," Natasha said, and calmly turned the Comscreen off. She turned back to Harry, and said, "You appear also to be good at physics."
"I like to think so, yes."
"You are giving it up. Why?"
"There seems to be nothing more to discover," Harry said with a shrug.
"Really?" Natasha frowned. "You've just seen evidence of a vessel that has the ability to accelerate of almost two orders of magnitude faster than anything we have, that has an exhaust from which elementary particles condense out, and you still think there's nothing left to discover?"
"No, Commissioner," Harry replied, his voice now a little downcast as he realized that he should have picked up on this earlier. "On the other hand, I still think that none of us have any idea where to start if we were to try for such a discovery."
"Maybe not, but when you get to Tashkent, I also want you to attend certain sessions in the Physics Academy there. Are you prepared to?"
"Yes, Commissioner."
"Good. Now, anything else, Lieutenant?"
"Well, yes, Commissioner. As you may know, I'm engaged. I was wondering . . ."
&
nbsp; "You may marry if you wish," came the reply. The voice conveyed no clue, but the Commissioner's head slowly indicated the negative, and her eyes were looking downwards, "but I would advise against it until after the training. The training will be very difficult for you, and the physics won't be easy either. Your wife would see nothing of you, and she mightn't like that. But we can find accommodation for her, and it's your choice."
"Thank you." Harry paused, then as he realized that the interview really was at an end, he stood up, saluted, turned and left.
Natasha Kotchetkova sat staring at the wall, eyes unfocussed, but her mind was racing. She must receive status reports on all developments as soon as possible, but without giving any clue as to why. Spot visits to research agencies were called for. That would mean a number of upset science administrators, she reflected wryly, but she was only too well aware that if upset science administrators were the worst of her problems, she would be exceedingly lucky.
What Lansfeld had either not realized, or had not wished to speculate on, was that this could not be a mission of exploration. No society would send thirty-four or more warships to an unknown planet simply to explore. The redundancy was simply too great. If the society were more primitive, one ship designed for exploration would be ample, while if it were more advanced, thirty-four warships would be considered as an outright provocation by the new system, a provocation that would warrant a pre-emptive strike. That these were warships she had no doubt: anything that could vaporize an asteroid had immense power. So they were there for some other reason.
What could it be? The only possible good news was that thirty-four ships would be remarkably few for an objective of conquest or settlement, unless they knew of Earth's level of technical development. But then, a life form from Epsilon eridani would know that.
The most likely reason to send thirty-four warships would be to set up an advanced base prior to bringing a main invasion force.
That did not bear thinking about, because if that were correct, it was imperative to defeat the present force before the main force arrived. But if the analysis was not correct, and the aliens were essentially friendly, a pre-emptive strike would soon remove any chances of a pleasant coexistence with an advanced species.