Mission to Minerva g-5

by James P. Hogan

  Was the violence of humans an inescapable flaw in their makeup? Or was it a perversion of something irrepressible that might be harnessed to direct at constructive ends the same furious energy with which it was able to destroy? Perhaps it was because of their unique origins in ancient Ganymean genetic manipulations, but the Thuriens had met nothing anywhere that compared with them. From what had seemed hopeless beginnings in the face of impossible odds to just before the tragedy that eventually befell Minerva, the speed at which the ancestral Lunarian civilization had emerged and advanced was astounding, mocking the Ganymean experience-which itself surpassed every other race they had encountered since. Eesyan had reported that despite their younger science and limited technical grounding, Hunt and his group were already having a significant impact on the project. What might the impact be of both cultures fully mature, working in combination?

  Showm's thoughts went back again to her conversation here in this same place with Mildred. Exactly that situation might long ago have come to be, if the Lunarians hadn't been deflected from their path by the intrusion of Jevelenese fugitives. The Lunarians before then had worked cooperatively toward the goal of migrating to Earth. Could it be that the later pathological instability of the Terrans was not something innate to their humanness at all, but a product of traumas they had undergone? The catastrophic war that had dashed the hopes they had been building for generations, culminating in the destruction of their world; the experiences of the last, tiny band marooned on the lunar desert; the renewed hope of beginning again when they were transported to Earth, only to be devastated once more in the convulsions unleashed by the capture of the orphaned Moon. What else could they have become but creatures brutalized to self-preservation as the first instinct for survival? What other philosophy of life and the cosmos would they be capable of producing?

  Such reflections assailed Showm insistently. Maybe she had been too harsh in her judgment of humans. And that was important, because the answer the Thuriens finally accepted as to why Terrans were the way they were would determine their eventual decision on how Earth would be dealt with. The debate had been continuing privately among the Thuriens ever since the Jevlenese plans and machinations were exposed.

  Showm felt an excitement stirring deep inside her as the thought that had been forming for days finally crystallized. Maybe it was no longer necessary for such a crucial matter to depend on debates and speculation. Eesyan's scientists were talking about sending out packages of instruments to explore and sample the Multiverse from the facility they were building at MP2. Another universe had already transported the communications device that contacted Hunt back on Earth. Broghuilio's Jevlenese ships had actually gone back to Lunarian Minerva.

  The technology to do it was all there. Why grow weary debating to exhaustion how much like Terrans the pretrauma Lunarians might or might not have been-with all the attendant risk of coming up with the wrong answer anyway-when the matter could be settled objectively by observation? They could send reconnaissance probes there and find out! Now that it appeared they had the ability, it would be an injustice to the human race not to make the effort. And Showm couldn't abide the thought of that. The humans had suffered enough injustice from Ganymeans already.

  As a child, Showm had listened to stories of the world their race had come from long ago, and the barbarians who inherited it and destroyed it. It was the standard, simplified fare that Thurien parents told their children. Only now was she beginning to realize how much those images had shaped the attitudes she had been carrying all her life. Her way of interpreting the realization was that the soul whom her experiences served, in its realm that existed beyond the Multiverse, had learned something worthwhile and significant already.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  To the Terran mind, the extent to which Thuriens went in "wiring" their cities and other environments with sensors to provide authentic inputs for their reality simulations seemed bafflingly elaborate. Even regions that were sparsely populated, or in cases not inhabited at all, were subject to broad surveillance by satellite and other means to enable plausible reconstructions of local scenes and conditions by interpolation. It seemed that the dictate of balancing cost against benefit that was the first consideration of every designer, project planner, and program manager on Earth played no part in whatever process the Thuriens applied in deciding what was to be done, and how. Either that, or the concepts of "cost" and "benefit" meant very different things from what they did on Earth.

  Even the voids of space around planets and other habitats, and the regular traffic lanes within planetary systems, were monitored to a degree that would have struck Terrans as pointless. It meant, however, that a network of imaging pickups and other detectors likely to spot any unusual events was already distributed through the volume affected by the MP2 experiment. VISAR estimated that the chances of at least one intruder from a different reality appearing somewhere in that region of space were about even. The surveillance system was primed to be on the lookout accordingly.

  It happened when MP2 was being readied for the first attempts at transporting sizeable and more complex test objects. Hunt was in the tower at Quelsang, going over proposals that had been put forward for the kinds of objects that should be sent, when VISAR came through to announce that the sensor scanning processor covering a region about a hundred thousand miles out on the far side of Thurien had reported anomalies consistent with the sudden appearance of something that shouldn't be there. A replay of the image captured by analyzers directed at the location showed what appeared to be some kind of instrument package: an open framework containing antennas, and other bits of engineering, the whole about the size of a regular upright chair. It sustained itself for just over eleven seconds, and then broke up. But not in the sense of coming to pieces; it more, just faded away-growing indistinct and then dissolving into nothing. It was exactly what the scientists had been hoping for. Without even bothering to convene together, they excitedly suspended whatever else they were doing in the various places they happened to be, to go over the information the detectors had recorded and see what could be made of it.

  It was clearly Thurien in origin, although there had never been any doubt about that. Some of the devices were of recognizable function, others more obscure. A number of optical and other imagers were identified, busily scanning the surroundings. One of the appendages suggested a Thurien gravitic transponder used for relaying into h-space.

  "The cluster at the left-hand end looks like an antenna array for the local planetary spectrum," another Thurien commented, this time in the Institute.

  "The design is unfamiliar, but the dimensions check," VISAR agreed.

  "Are my eyes playing tricks, or is that an UNSA emblem painted on the side-at about coordinates 1.2 and 3.7?" Sonnebrandt queried, across in the other building at Quelsang.

  "I wouldn't be at all surprised. It's the kind of thing I can imagine Vic doing," Danchekker said. Hunt shot him a pained look across the two desks separating them.

  "Let me see if I can enhance it," VISAR said. "It could be just a trick of the light."

  VISAR also reported that transmissions had been received across a number of standard Thurien communications signal bands. But they were garbled and defied all efforts to extract anything meaningful. Nevertheless, it was encouraging. A proof as bizarre as anything that could be asked for that project's immediate aims, at least, were realistic.

  Most significant was that if the device was equipped to collect data from the place it arrived at, it followed that it had to possess also a means of sending its findings back to where it had come from. Otherwise, what would be the point of collecting anything? It implied that even at the stage the scientists were now at, they should be close to achieving the communication across the Multiverse that the original brief visit of Hunt's alter ego had demonstrated as being possible. The fact that the device had remained only for seconds indicated that although the versions of themselves who sent it seemed to have solved the
problem of getting a transported object to stop, they were not yet able to stabilize it. Chien had already proposed a halting method that the Thurien experts agreed sounded promising, and so with luck they couldn't be very far behind.

  The manner of dispersion when the device vanished was consistent with the idea of its being locked as a standing wave pattern that had lost coherence. VISAR was already analyzing the decay profile, from which it was hoped a lot more would be learned. From what could be ascertained at the present, it seemed to the scientists that they were on the right track. This boosted their confidence to push ahead even more vigorously with implementing a similar instrument package of their own, which they just happened to be working on. But given the strange nature of these parallel realms of existence, it probably wasn't such a strange coincidence really.

  ***

  The first visit by an artefact from another universe, and the ensuing conversation between Hunt and an elsewhere-existing version of himself, had been announced publicly at Owen's retirement dinner a week before Hunt and the others' departure. With no precedent to compare with it in the whole of history, it could only be a godsend to the media and entertainment industries, the publishing world, and the entire spectrum of scientific debate from supermarket tabloids and chat shows to the proceedings of the most eminent institutions. News from Earth was that the whole subject of Multiverse physics and the implications of effectively unlimited "twin" realities had become the latest sensation to capture the popular imagination. The discovery of "Charlie" was old now; the subsequent speculations regarding the supposedly extinct race of Ganymeans, died when they showed up very much real and alive; and the more recently revealed computer-evolved world of the Ents was already starting to wear thin.

  A British sitcom entitled Sorry, That's the Universe Next Door was roaring up through the ratings, and a number of games had been rushed out in which players at different terminals hopped in and out of each other's realities. Old song titles that had inspired top-selling spoofs included "Welcome to my World," "Don't Blame Me," and "Out of Nowhere," while a remake of The Wizard of Oz was in the works with a time-line warp replacing the tornado and providing the lead-up to the classic-line warp: "This isn't our Kansas, Toto."

  Inevitably, the public was saturated with misconceptions which, once formed and launched into circulation, took on a life of their own through uncritical repetition. One of the most common was a revival of the old notion of the universe "splitting" at critical junctures, "critical" usually being taken to mean as judged from the standpoint of human affairs. That the fundamental processes of physics should be responsive to events in the day-to-day lives of cabbage-growers or kings was evidently no obstacle to the popularizers, some of whom didn't hesitate to embellish the notion with articles bearing such titles as "How Your Flip of a Coin Can Change the Universe," and even a book-length decision-making guide on how to get the better deals in life at the expense of other selves competing for them in other universes. And, of course, Multiverse phenomena in some form or other became the latest explanation for telepathy, telekinesis, psychic visions, visitations, ghosts, and the basis for a new interpretation of UFOs, various "triangle" mysteries of interchangeable geography, and the list of usual suspects from the JFK assassination all the way back to the builders of the pyramids.

  Hunt remained serenely detached from it all with a mixture of amusement and despair… until VISAR put through a call from Caldwell's secretary, Mitzi, at Goddard, saying that someone from a company from California had been in touch, who wanted to offer Hunt a part in a movie.

  "You're kidding," was Hunt's hardly original reaction when she delivered the message.

  "Yeah, as if I don't have anything better to do than make practical joke calls to busy scientists at other star systems. He's serious-as serious as anyone out in the Granola farm gets, anyway. His name's Arty Strang. From Premier Production Studios."

  "PPS?… Are you sure this isn't a joke?"

  "It's not even April one, Vic."

  "Hm. Okay. What kind of movie is he talking about?"

  "How would I know? The only way you'll find out is to call him and ask."

  "I guess so…" Hunt realized that he was stalling for time while he tried to organize his thoughts more coherently. "Oh yes, and while were at it, do you know anything about a Lieutenant Polk of the FBI?"

  "Yes. He was trying to get hold of you too. How did you find out about him?"

  "He tried calling me here. How did he get the access codes?"

  "Well, they are the FBI."

  "So it wasn't you, then?"

  "No. We just told him you were out of town. Gregg figured you had better things to do too."

  "Any idea what it was about?"

  "Do you remember giving an investment tip for Formaflex in Texas to that neighbor of yours out at Redfern Canyons?"

  "Jerry Santello? Yes, right. What about it?"

  "You got it from the other version of you who showed up here, right?"

  "That's right. Jerry had been bugging me about investments for a while. I thought it might keep him happy. So?"

  "Well, it seems your other self was privy to information that's still not for general consumption yet in this universe we live in. Like, illegal? That's what Polk was on about. He wants to know where you got it from."

  Hunt stared at the window in his visual field that Mitzi was speaking from. "That's it? We're on the verge of opening up new universes on a scale that would make colonizing all the galaxies look like camping in your own back yard, and he wants to talk about shopkeeper economics and bookkeeping?"

  "I told you Gregg figured you'd have better things to do."

  "Gregg never fails us. Look, if you hear more from this guy, which I've a feeling you will, hold him off until I've thought of how to handle it, would you?"

  "Will do. How's everything else there? Has cousin Mildred driven Chris nuts yet?"

  "Pretty good. We had another object materialize. I've sent through a report. Actually, you'd be surprised. Mildred is turning out to be a great hit with the Thuriens. She's possibly the best ambassador we could have picked to send. Chris doesn't quite believe it either. But he isn't complaining."

  "Wow! Sounds fascinating. I can't wait for you to tell me all about it. But right now I have to go. I'll watch out for your name on the Oscar list."

  "Don't hold your breath. Talk to you again soon, Mitzi. Say hi to Gregg. Take care."

  Hunt leaned back in his chair and stared for a minute or two at the wall screen, which was showing some results of VISAR's decoherence analyses superposed on a background of an alien undersea scene somewhere. Danchekker, who had been at his desk earlier, had gone out of the office while Hunt was talking, leaving him on his own for the moment. On impulse, he activated VISAR again.

  "Do you have a number for Arty Strang at Premier Productions?"

  "Of course."

  "What's the time there?"

  "Almost three in the afternoon, Tuesday."

  "See if you can raise him for me, would you?"

  Perhaps what they had in mind was some kind of science documentary, Hunt reflected. Hosting something like that would be appealingly different from the regular workaday routine, he had to admit. Even if he did say so himself, he thought he could do a much better job than many of the overrated celebrity names whose efforts he had witnessed. And given some say in the content and presentation-which his position in UNSA would surely give him some leverage to negotiate-it could go a long way toward correcting some of the deluge of nonsense that the world had been drowning in.

  A window appeared, framing the upper view of a heavy-set man in his mid-to-late thirties, perhaps, with a pink complexion and collar-length blond hair, wearing a bright yellow jacket with a red shirt collar turned over the lapel, and sunglasses. Hunt shifted his field of view to bring the wall around as background. "Dr. Hunt!" The face creased into a rubbery smile.

  "No less."

  "Fantastic!"

  "My office at God
dard says you were trying to contact me."

  "That's right." Strang's image peered out questioningly for a moment. "Just to make sure I've got this straight. Right now, as we speak, you're talking to me from some other star out there, that right?"

  "The Thuriens' home star, twenty light-years away," Hunt confirmed.

  "Unbelievable! You know, they used to tell us that could never happen. I never believed it. They said that about too many things, and now they happen every day and nobody even notices. But it was all there in the old movies from way back. Did you ever see one called Starward Imperative? Kevin Bayland at his best, before he went into all the weirdo stuff. That was where Martha Earle first got noticed."