by Sam Smith
“Any idea what it means?” Jorge asked him.
“None. Could be a common verb, a preposition. Could be a common noun, the road for instance. And look at it. A typical phrase. No simple five note variation by anyone’s reckoning. Though this is one of the simpler ones. In one phrase we have five five note chords. Nor is their lexicon progressing from the simple to the complex. The order is according to their rules.”
“When will you know sufficient to be able to transmit to them?”
“No idea. They’ve reverted to the hourly transmissions; and not one of the phrases sent in their last hourly transmission was used in the broadcast. What I think is that they’ve decided on this method of communicating with us and they’re not going to come even half-way to help us. If we’re clever enough to crack it then they’ll talk to us. But there’s going to be no compromise with them. When will the Elysian recordings be here?”
Jorge smoothed a hand over his bald pate,
“Another 41 days yet. Have you tried it through a voice box?”
“Came up with gibberish or blanks. Translated that five note sequence once as ‘are’, once as ‘the’. Trouble is there is no discernible syntax. The results are similar to those produced when a voice box attempts a translation of a machine language. I’ll, of course, have a shot in that direction, if only as a matter of elimination. But I don’t hold much hope. What is required, and I think is our best bet, is a massive interface, incorporating concepts as well as language. But to explore every possibility I am going to need help. More machines, more funds.”
Jorge stretched his thin neck, smiled at Tevor,
“We’ve got eighty years. In that time we should make some headway.”
Tulla, despite her own tiredness and sense of anticlimax, did not like to see Tevor Cade so depressed,
“And if we can talk to them by that time the possibilities are endless. We could, for instance,” she enthusiastically went on, “lay beacons across the eighty year gap, guide them to their new planets. If they can leap galaxies they should be easily capable of crossing that small gap. Providing that they know beforehand that they have a safe destination. Or, in that eighty year gap, if they can move planets to a satisfactory orbit, we can build seas for them to their specification. That’s what we’ve got to get across to them.”
Tevor Cade glumly nodded, and sighed,
“That might prove more difficult than you imagine. Because, supposing we do talk to them, I’ve got the suspicion that their perception of space may not be the same as ours. Our charts of available planets may, therefore, make no sense to them. Nor are the mathematics going to be easy. It’s already a near certainty that they don’t count as we do. I had supposed, assuming they’re cephalopods, added to which they’re now using an eight note musical scale, that they would employ a binary system. But there is no further evidence of it here. Therefore we are going to have to first explain to them how we count before we can demonstrate our computations. And to talk to them I’ll need more resources.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Jorge said.
“Thank you.”
This time Tevor Cade’s sigh denoted some satisfaction.
“To look on the bright side,” he said, “if we do manage to talk to them, one of the first questions I thought to ask is ‘Was the road we provided of any use?’ If the answer is Yes, I will then ask them if there is anywhere else they would like us to provide a road. Continue the spirit of co-operation. But, a word of warning, even supposing we do manage to communicate with them here, it may not immediately have any effect on those other planets they have colonised. For obvious reasons. Just look at our own civilisation. It’s so diverse, so loosely connected, that it takes many years for new discoveries to knit together into certain knowledge, to become accepted fact. Their civilisation is almost as widespread, must face the same problems of communication as us. With or without telepathy, eighty years may not be time enough.”
“This is a first though?” Awen said. “This hasn’t happened before?”
“No.” Tevor Cade at last allowed himself a smile, “This has most certainly not happened before.” His smile widened, “Yes. Safe to say this is most definitely a first.”
Enlivened by that breaking of Tevor Cade’s scientific rectitude, Tulla and the Senate Member stepped forward to pump his hand. Awen insinuated himself into the congratulations, cadged a copy of the recording off Tevor Cade, and reminded the Senate Member of his promise to throw stones at him. The Senate Member explained to the others the purpose of the exercise and all, even Tevor Cade, left the ship to view this particular experiment.
The Senate Member and Awen went to the edge of the apron. The Senate Member placed Awen behind a fallen tree trunk, walked away from him gathering up a pocketful of small stones. The Senate Member then asked Awen if he was ready. Awen steadied a camera on the tree trunk and told the Senate Member to fire away.
Body arched, arm back, the Senate Member threw the first stone. It went clattering into the jungle behind Awen.
“Closer to me!” Awen told the Senate Member. More stones went ricocheting into the jungle. After each stone Awen asked for the next to be thrown closer to him. The Senate Member rubbed at his arm, and hurled another. Stones sped past Awen’s head.
The inevitable happened. A stone bounced off the fallen tree trunk and hit Awen in the ear. Hand to his head Awen jerked upright and went reeling backwards. When Tulla reached him he was sitting in a low bush with blood running down the side of his face.
“Such dedication,” she said angrily; and she unsympathetically pressed a tissue to the wound. Awen let himself be helped up, waved aside the Senate Member’s apologies.
They decided that Awen’s cut ear didn’t require medication; and Jorge asked if they could leave for the Spokesman’s farm. He wanted to return that day to XE2.
“I’m coming with you,” Tulla said as they boarded the plane.
“It is in the nature of a trial run,” Jorge told her. “I am an old man.”
“And this was all my idea,” Tulla told him. “If anyone should now prove that it is safe to leave it should be me.”
“Very well,” Jorge nodded. “We’ll send the ship up unmanned first. No call to unnecessarily risk our lives.”
The Senate Member’s plane had meanwhile taken off. Jorge went forward and called Sergeant Alger Deaver, told him to bring the police ship over to the Spokesman’s farm, to leave the planet on the Spokesman’s beacon and to take up station 300,000 kilometres out. Jorge then called the Spokesman, who confirmed that the satellites could now definitely be detected and that they were receiving 7 day old transmissions from XE2.
Jorge told him of his and Tulla’s intentions.
“Someone has to be first I suppose,” the Spokesman said, told Jorge that the one police patrol had seen no other trails apart from the one on the road.
Awen, laying bloody fingers on Tulla’s shoulder, tried to dissuade her from leaving with Jorge. She, laughing at him, put a dressing on his ear, “You’re hardly the one to tell me not to take risks.”
“That was different.”
Tulla refused to accept any difference, claimed that it was her responsibility, sought to reassure him that if the unmanned ship made it up and back then it had to be safe. Having convinced herself, she tried to persuade Awen to accompany her.
“If you don’t mind,” he looked apologetically into her eyes, “I never was one for making gestures.”
“Such wise cowardice,” she kissed him. “It would mean, though, that you’d get back to the city sooner with your scoop.”
“Soon as the planet’s cleared there’s a ship with a Senate deputation leaving for Elysia. I’ve already arranged with them to drop me off at the city. Be quicker.”
For the rest of that plane journey Awen Mendawer and Tulla Yorke sat in rueful silence, holding hands.
By the time they arrived at the Spokesman’s farm the police ship was already at station above them. Sergeant Alg
er Deaver reported that, as usual, they had encountered no obstruction to their leaving the planet. The one difference was that this time the ground transmissions hadn’t stopped in the ionosphere.
Jorge went aboard his converted freighter, checked the newly arrived transmissions from XE2. Only one item of news directly concerned him: a memo from his city superiors querying the probity of Departmental funds being used to hire a replacement ship. No mention was made of Nautili.
Smiling to himself Jorge gave the ship its instructions — to proceed to 250,000 kilometres above the planet’s surface and to immediately return to its point of departure. While on the ship Jorge told Sergeant Alger Deaver that, if the unmanned ship was destroyed as it left Happiness, he was to proceed at once to XE2 and to inform Sub-Director Nero Porsnin that they had failed.
Leaving the ship Jorge joined the Spokesman’s family and the others. They watched the ship’s ramp close, watched it separate from the dock and rise above them. All except the Spokesman’s wife and children hurried into the Spokesman’s office. From there Jorge called the police ship.
Constable Drin Ligure was tracking the unmanned ship, reported its progress through the stratosphere and the ionosphere. Sergeant Alger Deaver’s growling voice was occasionally audible in the background. Sergeant Alger Deaver too had been awake and waiting the whole of the previous night.
“Directly below us now,” Constable Drin Ligure said. “Slowing. How long before it returns?”
“Immediately,” Jorge told him.
“Retros activated. Turning. Main engines activated. It’s on its way back to you.”
Slowly the gathering filed outside. Under the approach of the roaring ship farewells were made. Save for the white robe she was wearing Tulla returned, with thanks, the clothes the Spokesman’s wife had loaned her. Jorge Arbatov told the Spokesman that he had left a full copy of his Service report for the Senate.
“You’ll make it,” the Spokesman assured him. One child cried, did not want Jorge to leave. This both puzzled and discomfited Jorge. Amid the usual embarrassment of goodbyes, frustrated by their inadequacy, all averted their faces from the rising dust. Awen, busy filming the farewells and the docking ship, paused only briefly to shake Tulla’s hand.
As soon as the ramp touched the apron two of the Spokesman’s older children took Tulla and Jorge’s luggage aboard, self-importantly hastened back to make their formal farewells. Jorge and Tulla disengaged themselves from the small crowd and made for the ramp.
Having strapped themselves in Jorge again told the ship to proceed to 250,000 kilometres and halt. Both Jorge and Tulla were pale with tiredness, cheeks drawn and aching from their unfixed smiles.
The ship lifted above the stubble of the Spokesman’s farm.
“If you see anything remotely suspicious,” Jorge told Tulla, “shout and I’ll go to manual immediately.”
The ship rose above some flimsy white clouds. They passed through the stratosphere. The planet became a globe. They entered the ionosphere. The ship’s engines stopped. The police ship was visible as a small bright dot ahead of them. Their retros slowed them. Jorge called the Spokesman,
“The blockade has been lifted.”
“So I see,” the Spokesman laughed.
“As from this moment the State of Emergency is cancelled and normal traffic will again be allowed to and from Happiness.”
“Once again my thanks.”
From behind the Spokesman Awen Mendawer shouted, “Good luck Tulla Yorke!”
Tulla reddened, and hand pressed to lips smothered a tear-brimming smile. Jorge called Sergeant Alger Deaver and told him to proceed to XE2,
“We shall be no more than an hour behind you. On our safe arrival you may resume your normal duties.”
“That’s a relief,” said Sergeant Alger Deaver with feeling.
As Jorge laid in the course to XE2 Tulla watched the red glare of the police ship’s exhausts. When their own ship began its acceleration Tulla looked back at the planet — a luminescent half circle of blue and white. She was still smiling to herself when the planet swung off their screens. Jorge, unstrapping himself, noted her whimsical smile.
“Never thought I’d figure in a happy ending,” he said.
“No ending,” Tulla laid a hand on his thin forearm, “a beginning.”
Afterword
Seven years have now passed since Awen Mendawer’s film of the migration of the Nautili was given its first public showing. After the initial stir of excitement and enthusiasm, interest in the Nautili has since progressively waned. Indeed, if facts speak for themselves, broadcasting figures show that Awen Mendawer’s film of Happiness’s amphibious apes has subsequently been shown four times more often than has his grainy film of the Nautili’s migration. The media as a whole, of course, presented a grossly oversimplified version of what happened on Happiness — ‘Doctor’ Tevor Cade being feted for his ‘breakthrough’.
However, while the public, because the media has deemed Nautili no longer newsworthy, may be deceived into thinking that nothing else is happening, the opposite holds true. Because, for once, Jorge Arbatov’s recommendations were promptly heeded. A Service Bureau has been created to deal specifically and solely with the Nautili. And the logical person to place as Director of that Bureau was Jorge Arbatov himself.
On accepting the appointment Jorge Arbatov asked for Nero Porsnin as his deputy. Nero Porsnin, though, preferred the safer course of a move three stations out to a full Departmental Directorship. (In the rash of dismissals and demotions that followed upon the heels of the fraud, with personnel being arbitrarily moved hither and thither, with resignations being hastily proffered in an attempt to avoid prosecution, such a vacant Directorship had not been difficult to find.)
Notwithstanding that disappointment, Jorge Arbatov has found at last his niche, his cause, his calling. In his capacity as Director of Nautili Affairs he has worked tirelessly, has overseen the putting into practice of many of his early recommendations. Those planets, for instance, most at risk of Nautili colonisation have all been issued with unmanned planet-to-space mailships. In these past seven years Jorge Arbatov has also amassed all known data concerning the Nautili, most of it from research done on planets such as Elysia. He has sent that body of information to all those Departments thought to be at risk.
In the past seven years Jorge Arbatov has also assembled a team, and is recruiting and training new members, to deal exclusively with Nautili colonisation. Members of that team are stationed, both to observe and to offer advice, around the perimeter of the Nautili spread. More Nautili roads have been constructed and are being constantly monitored. None have yet been used. But nor have the Nautili yet blockaded another planet.
On Happiness itself Jorge Arbatov increased funds to ‘Doctor’ Tevor Cade — to such an extent that the field station grew to three times its original size and, following complaints from the Senate Member for South Five, had to be removed to Happiness’s capital.
The single buoy in Happiness’s ocean continues to transmit the ‘lexicon’. Fortunately the ‘lexicon’ recorded on Elysia proved to be six years further on, with the result that the researchers now have a total of 13 years transmissions to work on. So far not one phrase has been repeated.
Using those ‘words’ several attempts have been made to start a rapport with the Nautili; but the answers so far received from the Nautili have not corresponded with the questions asked, have added only to the researchers’ bafflement.
As for the ‘lexicon’ it has attracted not only those previously interested in Nautili, but also amateur code breakers, musicologists and erudite scholars of other denominations. (Which, though they may on occasion impede the more serious research, is, in the opinion of many, a better occupation by far than their burrowing in the classics in search of hidden abstruse meanings.) Tevor Cade himself is now of the opinion that the phrases may be representative of shared memory images, combinations adding to total pictures. One of many hypotheses.
Other methods of communication are being considered elsewhere. We have 73 years in which to reach an understanding with the Nautili. The researchers employed by the Bureau of Nautili Affairs, if no-one else, are keenly aware of the urgency.
The City Senates, however, show but an occasional interest in the research and only grudgingly grant funds. As the results are small and cumulative rather than publicly instant, their political enthusiasm cannot be sustained nor depended upon. Yet, against all odds, the Bureau, enervated by its aged Director, remains confident.
The planet Happiness itself, as the late Hambro Harrap predicted, has become a tourist attraction. Add to that the number of personnel, directly and indirectly, involved with Nautili research, and Happiness’s last census revealed that, in the seven years since the advent of the Nautili, the permanent population has risen by 15,000 adults.
Within Happiness’s Senate the Member for North Seven, his constituency being entirely composed of ice cap and ocean, has taken on the unique dual responsibility of Advocate of Nautili interests and Spokesman for the whole planet. (The trader Senate Member, whose collusion with Hambro Harrap resulted in the loss of his ship, also lost his seat in the next Senate election. Otherwise the composition of the Senate remains unchanged.)
Tulla Yorke also declined Jorge Arbatov’s invitation to become a member of his team, has returned to her astrophysical surveys. She, however, remains an interested party and is kept regularly posted of all developments concerning the Nautili. She is still semi-resident on XE2. As is Inspector Eldon Boone, now a Chief Superintendent.