Analog SFF, October 2006

by Dell Magazine Authors

  Last but by no means least, we'll have Part II of Robert J. Sawyer's four-parter Rollback.

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  * * *

  PROBABILITY ZERO: SETI TRIUMPHANT

  by Richard Thieme and Aaron Ximm

  We have been sending signals, one way or another, for centuries, and listening for a reply, thanks to the creaking machinery of that ancient looking-for-a-message-in-a-bottle process we affectionately call SETI.

  Never mind that Earth cultures long ago abandoned radio waves and adopted lower-register gravity waves for near-instantaneous transmissions to near-star systems.

  And never mind that only a few hobbyists know how to build radios.

  And never mind that our tiddlywink style of exploring neighboring systems has turned up nothing but rudimentary life forms.

  Never mind all that. Religious rituals die hard even in our enlightened times and radio-band SETI searches are definitely a religious ritual. Custodians of the project, spending the accrued interest from an endowment that has grown bloated, are dug in and locked down.

  So radio-signal sending has continued for centuries because we had the motive, the means, and the opportunity.

  I don't think anyone really expected to hear anything back. Even diehard SETI-ists greeted the announcement with disbelief. One can announce the second coming only so many times before true believers stop selling their furniture and heading for the hilltops. “Yes, maybe the Prophet is right,” one learns to say, “but ... let's wait and see."

  This time, however, it happened. The design of dashes and dots was undeniable. Not in clouds of glory had the extraterrestrial message come, but as coherent digital signals enclosed in code wrappers.

  Those wrappers were tough to detach. They consisted of braided twists of alien symbols, hundreds of them, interlocking in complex patterns, and it took a massive cracking consortium using Monolith Links in four systems to distinguish the meaningless (to us) hieroglyphics of the alien race from the lucid Chingleese that remained when the wrappers were removed.

  The message was distressingly clear.

  So we now have a bona fide response to all those messages in all those bottles. But which one did they receive? To which of our many communications do they refer?

  Hence this broadcast to all human-cyborg-kind-and-kin in near systems. If any of you has so much as a clue how we might respond, please transmit to Central Station immediately.

  The problem is not trivial. Our forebears transmitted millions of ancient and modern messages from “Hello, Rainey,” to weekly installments of WormHole Runners of HyperSpace. We have transmitted on all frequencies, broadcasting in all directions around the spherical bandwidth shell. We have sent the silliest giggles and the most profound insights.

  We have sent, alas, everything.

  The received message was clearly a response to one of those transmissions. But which one?

  Which one?

  We must redress the aliens’ error in judgment. We are a diverse, multitalented species with many variations. We are a bell-curve of modified life-forms, not a simple species that was merely born. Yet we can't just transmit,

  * * * *

  Dear Allegedly Superior Species,

  Thank you for your reply. However, to which transmission do you refer?

  Perhaps another might be more suitable? Something funnier, perhaps? Or shorter?

  Sincerely,

  Human-Cyborg-Kind (and kin)

  * * * *

  No, that won't work. It would take forever to get an answer back, if they answer at all. I can imagine the blue-tipped tentacle of some clueless intern wiping out our message, oblivious to the implications.

  So SETI may be nothing but a monument to the foolish optimism of human-cyborg-kind. At least the sentient life in our little neighborhood can have a good laugh before shooting itself in its collective head with a gun that flaps BANG! on a drop-stick.

  Enough preamble. Here, dear kind and kin, is the unanticipated climax of SETI:

  * * * *

  Dear Human-Cyborg-Kind,

  Thank you very much for your transmission. A majority of systems in the universe have now had time to review it and we believe that you show promise. Even the Blander-gsst-thupfft! agreed, and they seldom respond positively to any unsolicited transmission (they stamp “We have heard this before” on every one; given their age, maybe they have.)

  While your transmission does suggest a certain quirky creativity, unfortunately you do not meet our current needs. There is, in addition, a backlog of species of your type in the universe, so we will not be reviewing transmissions from your sort for an indefinite period. Please listen to this frequency to learn if this policy changes. Policies are reviewed once every galeemp.

  This negative response is in no way a comment on your planetary systems or the life-forms they have produced.

  Although we would like to reply to each and every transmission, please understand that with millions of systems broadcasting in thousands of media, an individual response is impossible.

  Perhaps a (very young) parallel universe would find your transmission suitable. I believe the Dirnsa are looking for a pet, so you might try the umpteenth bubble in the thirtieth froth. If you do transmit to a universe less than six billion years old, however, remember to include return-energy-bands to ensure a response.

  Sincerely,

  Lem-Lem-Three-bang!

  Designated Receiver of Unsolicited Flotsam, Jetsam, Detritus, and Fluff

  On behalf of HelllenWuline

  and Associates

  Nested at the seventeenth level of the HoHo Reception Group and interim assistant to the seventh sub-intern's fourteenth aide

  * * * *

  Copyright © 2006 Richard Thieme and Aaron Ximm

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  * * *

  NIGERIAN SCAM

  by Richard A. Lovett

  Humans, and probably other intelligences, come up with all kinds of ways to put things over on eah other—though not always the ones they think....

  Ryan Mann was bored. Bored enough to read junk email rather than simply toss it as spam. Frustrated enough to consider answering it, just to see what would happen.

  It had been a long, slow summer—a total waste, ever since July 4, when he'd heard a sound like a gunshot in the middle of the Firecracker Criterium bicycle race: forty laps of tight corners on a twelve-block course through the cobbly streets of Old Town. He'd had about a millisecond to process the fact that the bang came from his front tire, and then he'd gone from leading the peloton to being run over by it, somehow managing to break both collarbones in the process. Before hitting the ground, he'd been one of the best amateur cyclists in the state; afterward he couldn't even dress himself—or do a few more-embarrassing things, for that matter.

  Now, he could again reach over his head—sort of, anyway—but he was still laid off from work and had two more no-cycling months stretching ahead. If it weren't for his laptop, Ryan would have gone stark raving mad. It was one of the new ultra-light models that ran on solar power and weighed just under three pounds, which was the maximum they'd allowed him to lift during the first weeks of bone-knitting. “Use it on your lap,” the doctor said. “And keep changing the angle so it works your wrists a bit differently every few minutes. Your shoulders aren't the only things messed up by the fall."

  He wasn't sure it was good to have a doctor who thought “messed up” was a technical term, but the bottom line was simple: “It'll be great physical therapy."

  It was also good mental therapy, because so much of what was on TV really sucked. Once, just to liven things up, he called the toll-free number for an infomercial, intending to harass the sales reps for a company that claimed he could develop a movie-star build by working out three minutes a day with a device that looked like a giant slingshot. “Oh yes,” a perky voice told him when he mentioned his injury. “The WebWam is great for physical therapy. And there's no risk. If you us
e it as directed and don't get better quickly, there's a money-back guarantee.” The trap, of course, was the “if.” There was no way Ryan could use it as directed until he was already well on the road to recovery. But she sounded so sincere that there wasn't any sport in arguing with her, so he wimped and said he'd think about it.

  Life got better when he found an Internet service that allowed him to download ancient TV shows which, corny as they were, were infinitely preferable to infomercials. It got better yet when he dipped into the world of Internet message boards, swapping cycling lore with fellow athletes and seeking tips on more realistic rehab techniques that might possibly get him into some of the fall cyclocross races—though he couldn't imagine being in truly competitive shape before the snow fell.

  Cyclocross was Ryan's favorite form of cycling, combining mountain biking with obstacle courses that force you to dismount and carry your bicycle on the run. But there's only so much time you can spend talking about a sport without doing it. Besides, the message boards were full of trash talkers and trolls. He'd had to look up the latter term the first time he encountered it, but the concept was familiar: irksome individuals who hijack discussion threads into absurd arguments, just to see what they can stir up.

  The spam was more interesting than the trolls. Not the “We have Xnx and V-g-r-a” sales pitches, but the darker stuff: the type that makes you wonder how there could be enough idiots in the world to keep the scammers in business.

  This one looked like a variant on the old Nigerian Scam, which intrigued him because it carried a whiff of danger. Rumor said billions had been lost in various incarnations of it. Rumor also said that if you tried to get your money back by chasing the scammers to Nigeria (or wherever they were currently based), you probably weren't coming home except maybe in a body bag. Ryan had no idea if this was true, but it always made his heart race when the scam showed up in his in-box because it meant some real-life gangster-type was trying to target him: one who might have killed people in the past. Not as exciting as leading the Firecracker Crit, but something to think about as he waited for cyclocross.

  This message started typically. REQUEST FOR URGENT BUSINESS RELATIONSHIP, it began in the usual stilted prose. PLEASE REGARD US YOUR STRICTEST CONFIDENCE TO THIS TRANSACTION, WHICH BY VIRTUE OF ITS NATURE MUST HAVE MAXIMUM DISCRETE CIRCUMSPECTION.

  Somewhere, a whole team of grifters must have labored over the language, including the archaic, all-caps formatting. Ryan wondered who they thought they were impersonating. Octogenarian bankers in trilbies? Still, the message had caught his attention, despite its seriously retro introduction.

  IN EXCHANGE FOR YOUR RELIABILITY IN THIS ‘TOP SECRET’ MATTER, it continued, I AM AUTHORIZED TO COMMENCE BUSINESS ON BEHALF OF GOVERNMENT OFFICIALS NEEDING ASSISTANCE IN IMPORT/EXPORT BUSINESS.

  The classic Nigerian Scam would then seek his help in a money-laundering scheme in which (ultimately) it would be his money that would get laundered. But this one turned weird.

  WE HAVE INFORMATION IN THE PLANETARY SYSTEMS OF OUTER VEGA, TO WHICH WE AFFORD EXCHANGE FOR YOU IN MONEYMAKING PLAN OF RECIPROCAL DATA FROM PLANET EARTH. THE SOURCING OF VALUABLE INFORMATION IS AS FOLLOWS: THE PERSONALITIES OF OUTER VEGA ARE TECHNOLOGICALLY SUPERIOR TO THOSE OF EARTH, BUT DUE TO ‘NON-INTERFERENCE’ DIRECTIVE, OUTER VEGAN TRADE-CONTROL AGENCIES REFUSE TO PROVIDE EARTH PEOPLES WITH SAID INFORMATION. OUR BELIEF CONCLUDES THAT THIS IS BECAUSE TRADE CONTROL AUTHORITIES ARE INCALCULABLY WEALTHY AND DO NOT APPRECIATE VALUE OF MODEST GAINS FOR INDIVIDUALS DESIROUS OF FINANCIAL IMPROVEMENT.

  I AND OTHER ‘CIVIL SERVANTS’ WITH ACCESS TO TACHYON COMMUNICATION DEVICES BELIEVE THAT YOU ARE ADVANCED ENOUGH FOR TECHNOLOGY TRANSFER, PROVIDING PRUDENCE IS EMPLOYED FOR CONTINUANCE OF YOUR SOCIETY. WE THEREFORE OFFER INITIAL EXCHANGE: EVEN THOUGH YOU ARE INFERIOR, YOU HAVE INTRICATELY HISTORIED RECREATIONAL CONCEPTIONS NOT IMMEDIATELY EXPLICABLE TO OUR XEONOGRAPHERS, INCLUDING ‘BICYCLE RACING’ AND ‘CLASSIC TV SITCOM'.

  IN ORDER TO COMMENCE BUSINESS WE SOLICIT YOUR ASSISTANCE TO ENABLE US TO TRANSFER INTO YOU INFORMATION OF VALUE COMMENSURATE TO DATA REGARDING ‘BICYCLE’ AND ‘CLASSIC TV SITCOM', WHICH WE BELIEVE TO BE WORTH APPROXIMATELY 40,000 OUTER VEGAN GRAND STARS, OR $32,690,000 (THIRTY-TWO MILLION, SIX HUNDRED AND NINETY THOUSAND U.S. DOLLARS). WE HAVE IDENTIFIED YOU AS OUR CONTACT OF CHOICE BECAUSE YOU ARE NOTED AS A BICYCLE RACER WITH HONORABLE PROMINENCE IN ELECTROMAGNETIC NEWS BROADCASTS OF YOUR LOCALITY. OTHER RECORDS SHOW THAT YOU ARE IN THE TOP 0.01 PERCENT OF YOUR LOCALITY'S CONSUMERS OF CLASSIC SITCOMS, INDICATIVE OF ESTIMABLE EXPERTISE.

  PLEASE ACKNOWLEDGE INQUISITIVENESS OF ASSISTING US BY REPLYING TO THE FOLLOWING ADDRESS: INTERSTELLAR-RICHES@OVIC.OUTERVEGA.UNI, LATEST 24 OF YOUR HOURS FROM RECEIPT OF THIS IMPLORATION.

  SINCERELY,

  GLEIMICKR

  INFORMATION BROKER

  OUTER VEGAN INFORMATION CONSORTIUM (OVIC)

  * * * *

  Ryan read the message five times: the first two to parse the grammar; the next three with increasing appreciation for the grifter who'd forged it. It really did look as though someone with a poor grasp of English had latched onto the Nigerian Scam as a model for Internet business offerings.

  He reached for the delete key, then hesitated. This was the most interesting thing to cross his computer in days. He grinned. Here was his chance to make up for being too nice to the slingshot rep. Assuming it wasn't all a joke, Ryan was going to troll the spammer. Besides, he was intrigued by the bicycling connection. Either it was blind luck, or someone had taken time to target him individually. His spectacular crash hadn't exactly been “honorable prominence,” but it had been all over the evening news. The fact that the scammer seemed to know about his sitcom binge was a bit creepier, but there were probably plenty of ways for a skilled hacker to get that kind of information.

  * * * *

  His first impulse was to write back saying something on the order of, “Oh, goody, goody, tell me what to do.” But that probably wasn't how a real mark would react. All but the most gullible (plus maybe a few UFO freaks) would show caution. In fact, he'd read somewhere that most people who fell for the Nigerian Scam started with questions, then got hooked by their secret hope that maybe the offered riches really existed. Ryan was smarter than that. He couldn't quite figure how this Gleimickr character expected to scam him, but the key to finding out lay in adopting a tone that looked appropriately cautious without giving away the fact that he knew there were no riches. Nor an Outer Vega, for that matter.

  Eventually, he decided that simplicity was best. “Dear Gleimickr,” he typed. “If you are from Vega, how can communicate by email?"

  * * * *

  The reply was back an hour later.

  * * * *

  DEAR MR. MANN,

  THANK YOU FOR YOUR QUERY OF EXCELLENCE. I GIVE YOU THE ANSWER IN TRUST THAT YOU DO NOT ‘BLOW THE WHISTLE’ TO MY SUPERIORS. OUR TACHYON DEVICES EXIST TO TRANSMIT NONCORPOREAL INFORMATION BETWEEN CONFIGURED RECEIVERS. HIGHEST-SPEED DATA PROCESSORS CALLED ‘SUPERCONDUCTING SUPERCOMPUTERS’ REVEAL THEIR EXISTENCE BY MEANS OF TACHYON EMISSIONS NOT DETECTABLE BY YOUR SCIENCE. OBSERVING RECENT EMISSIONS FROM YOUR PEOPLES, WE TUNED OUR TACHYON DEVICES FOR BI-DIRECTIONAL COMMUNICATION WITH SAID SUPERCONDUCTING SUPERCOMPUTERS. THIS MESSAGE IS CIRCULATING VIA LOCATION CALLED ‘CENTRAL INTELLIGENCE AGENCY'.

  SINCEREST REGARDS,

  GLEIMICKR

  OVIC

  * * * *

  “So you're telling me that you're hacking the CIA?” Ryan wrote back.

  * * * *

  This time the answer took several hours.

  * * * *

  DEAR RYAN,

  THANK YOU FOR YOUR CURIOUS UNDERSTANDING. MY APOLOGIES FOR DELAY WHILE I RESEARCHED TERM ‘HACKING'. YES WE ARE MAKING UNAUTHORIZED ENTRY TO HOST COMPUTER, NOT FOR EVIL NEFARIOUSNESS BUT BECAUSE IT IS AN EFFICIENT MACHINE FOR COMMUNICATION. IS ‘HACKING THE CIA’ A BAD THING? IT IS NOT THE ONLY COMPUTER LOCATION THAT CAN USED WITH FEASIBILITY.

  AWAITING YOUR RESPONSE,

  GLEIMICKR
>
  * * * *

  This was way more entertaining than infomercials. “Yes,” Ryan typed. “It's a seriously bad thing."

  * * * *

  THANK YOU FOR YOUR KIND ADVICE, Gleimickr wrote back the next morning. WE ARE NOW WORKING THROUGH ORGANIZATION CALLED UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN. IS THAT BETTER?

  * * * *

  “Yes. Though I'm sure it's still illegal.” Not that Ryan believed that any such thing was actually happening. Time to take the offensive again. “But how can you live in the star system we call Vega? I took an astronomy class in college and Vega is a blue-giant star, which means it produces a lot of dangerous radiation. Also, how can there be more than one planetary system at a single star?"

  He punched the keys with vicious delight. Those were questions he bet his correspondent hadn't thought of.

  But the answer came back with little delay.

  * * * *

  YOUR CORRECTNESS IS NOTEWORTHY. THIS IS WHY WE ARE THE PEOPLES OF OUTER VEGA. INNER VEGA IS NOT HABITATION WORTHY. AS FOR MY USE OF THE STATEMENT “PLANETARY SYSTEMS", THAT WAS A MISTAKE OF YOUR LANGUAGE, WHICH IS VERY CONFUSING. WE ARE A CONSORTIUM OF PEOPLES FROM MORE THAN ONE PLANETARY SYSTEM. ONCE, WE TRAVELED AMONG OUR PLANETS OF ORIGIN BY ‘SPACESHIP', BUT THE TRAVEL TOOK VERY LONG. NOW, WE TALK BY TACHYON DEVICE AND SEEK RADIATIONS INDICATIVE OF DISTANT CULTURES FOR POSSIBLE INFORMATION EXCHANGE. THEY ARE INFREQUENTLY DISCOVERED BECAUSE UNFOCUSED TACHYON EMISSIONS DISPERSE BY INVERSE-SQUARE LAW AND BECOME DIFFICULT OF DETECTION AT DISTANCE OF YOUR PLANET.

  ARE YOU NOW READY TO MAKE BUSINESS?

  GLEIMICKR

  * * * *

  “One more question. Why do you need me? If your tachyon devices can hack the CIA and read the Internet, can't you find everything you want there?"

  * * * *

  THAT IS ANOTHER QUESTION OF EXCELLENCE. YOUR INTERNET IS INDEED AWASH WITH INFORMATION. UNFORTUNATELY EACH DATUM IS CONTRADICTED BY MANY OTHERS. THIS IS MYSTERIOUS TO US. AN EXAMPLE: THERE ARE WEBSITES ASSERTING THAT NO PEOPLES HAVE EVER LANDED ON YOUR MOON, WHILE OTHERS SHOW APOLLO CREATURES IN THAT LOCATION. ADDITIONAL WEBSITES DESCRIBE ABDUCTIONS BY ENTITIES OF WHICH WE HAVE NO KNOWLEDGE, ARGUE ABOUT THE AGE OF THE UNIVERSE, OR DISPUTE INFORMATION THAT CAUSES OUR XENOGRAPHERS TO BE UNCERTAIN ABOUT BASIC ISSUES REGARDING YOUR SCIENCE. THERE ARE EVEN WEBSITES DESCRIBING YOUR WORLD AS RIDING ON THE BACK OF A CREATURE CALLED A ‘TURTLE', ALTHOUGH WE FIND THIS UNLIKELY. ALL TOLD, YOU ARE THE MOST DISCORDANT PEOPLES WE HAVE EVER ENCOUNTERED.