by M R Cates
In Kona, Debbie, after being shown the message, sighed in open relief. “She wants us to know it's her,” she said. “In case we might think they wrote it for her, or something.”
Vigola nodded. “I gathered that,” she said. “We are all pleased she is well.”
Françoise reread the message carefully. “The aliens, you see, are not 'little green men.'“ she said it with a certain wryness of tone, but not flippantly.
“What, Ms Marnier, does the 'space-time continuum' mean?” asked the Chief of Staff.
“There are theories, you see,” came the reply, “that predict that the space itself, the emptiness of the universe, has intrinsic energy buried in it, down within the fields – like the gravitational field and electromagnetic field – that exist throughout the universe. That energy, in principle, you see, might be available if we knew how to ... to get it.”
“And the aliens claim to ... well, to be able to ... to get this energy?”
“So Sandra says they say. Perhaps it is a kind of trick. She will tell us.”
The message was already being examined in exhaustive detail by experts in Washington. It was nearly six o'clock in the morning there, but some number of the multifaceted staff was sure to be in place. All the others would be soon, yawning and drinking coffee, frantically trying to wake up. And the excitement would drive them, just as it was for those in Hawaii.
After they'd spoken a few more minutes, Madeleine Vigola suggested that the women go get some sleep, as would she. Jason was given the same suggestion, and within a few further minutes, the Hawaii monitoring chores were assigned to military and government people. As they went their various destinations, a kind of relief, mixed with lingering concern and an odd sense of amazement, settled over those who knew Sandra Hughes.
—
Sandra, feeling the ache in her thigh and knee get worse, kept writing. She was determined to get down on paper everything she could. The felt-tipped pen she used had the finest point among the several options in the little bag. It was more than an hour later before she finished. Just under four hours until Plato would “return.” Satisfied she'd done what she could, the astronomer rolled out her bedroll – again near the left reflective wall – and tried to rest.
Ideas and feelings drifted through her head as she settled herself. It had to be, what, about 1:30. An early morning date with Plato about 5:30. The aching on her right side was worse. Sandra got back to her feet and went to take more ibuprofen. The water in her little “bathroom,” always running into the sink, was fresh. She wondered where it had come from. Getting back down on the bedroll produced a few spasms of added pain. Okay, she thought, rest, Sandra.
Somewhere around 2:30 Sandra Hughes faded off into a fitful sleep. The ibuprofen had kicked in, relieving most of the soreness and pain. She was on her left side, facing the reflective wall, body bent slightly into the beginnings of a fetal position. Her damaged right side was up, freed from contact with anything but her clothing and the softly moving air. The red glow above her continued to light the chamber in its eerie light. Occasionally, the background stirrings of the alien presence above her could be heard, then would weaken in intensity until indistinguishable from the movement of air. Inside Sandra's brain, pieces of dreams formed and vanished, slowly lessening in vividness and content as her sleep state became deeper. Time, a different creature inside a dreaming mind than in the clear rationality of a person awake, suddenly began to race toward the outside dawn that would not give any hint within of its arrival. Sandra was deeply buried in blissful nothingness when she heard the sound of Plato's voice.
“Sandra, we will continue our discussions now,” the voice said.
The astronomer moved, and started the process of bringing herself back to consciousness. She rolled to her back and sat up, looking toward the platform. What she saw was not expected.
“Hello,” Sandra said. “I see there are three of you now.”
On the platform were three of the stone chairs, side by side but well spaced. Three glowing figures, similar but clearly different images, one from the others, were “sitting” on the chairs. The one in the middle she recognized as Plato. “Don't tell me,” Sandra continued, “that you others are Socrates and Aristotle.” The rye quality of her tone was unmistakable – or would be, at least, to another human being.
“Yes,” said the figure to the left, with something of a rounder appearance than Plato, “I am Socrates.”
The one of the right promptly added, “And I am Aristotle.”
“The big three,” Sandra muttered, thinking it was altogether too corny. Then aloud she said, “I suppose it is important to have three separate questioners.”
“Yes,” said Plato in the middle. “Each of us has a different combination of perspectives, Sandra.”
The roused sleeper got to her feet. She was not fully awake, but was getting there quickly. Walking toward her own seat, Sandra took her time, mulling over ideas that had been stimulated during the previous discussion with Plato.
The human astronomer considered potential ramifications of the aliens' request during the last session. These visitors were apparently quite open in their purpose: they wanted to follow the progress of her brain's response to directed lines of thought. It reminded her of measurements done by humans identifying areas of the brain that were activated by certain stimuli like photographs, questions, and the like. And there was also a kind of resonance with lie-detector tests, in which autonomic reactions – like heart rate, blood pressure, perspiration, and so on – were used in conjunction with specific questions. The difference, Sandra realized, was the degree of detail. The aliens either had or believed they had the ability to trace the specific neural processes in human brains, even following a number of separate ones in parallel. It seemed that, earlier, when they had sent something of themselves into her brain they had discovered so much activity, going in so many different directions – at least as they were defining them – that their main goals became frustrated.
But what exactly were their main goals? The aliens spoke of evolution of the brain. They also seemed to believe that evidence was available in any human brain that would lay out the evolutionary path that had brought it to that level of development or complexity. Yes, the aliens held out some possibility of “interviewing” others besides Sandra, but seemed relatively unconcerned about the possible need. They seemed, in fact, to believe that Sandra's brain would tell them what they wanted to know, as long as they didn't ruin the experiment themselves and if they could simplify the process a little by “watching” her responses to their own directed stimuli.
Thinking about brain evolution, Sandra could understand, to some degree, why the aliens didn't think they'd need but one example. Every human brain, in truth, was constructed essentially the same way. For hundreds of years this had been known, even before the brain was understood to any degree whatsoever. The early “anatomists” of the seventeenth and eighteen centuries were famous for public dissections of human and other animal bodies. Brains were removed, sectioned, sketched, and eventually – in later years – photographed. Human brains were seen to look basically the same, dissection to dissection. The various regions of the brain were identified and labeled long before their probable functions were known or even hinted at. The fact of two hemispheres was well established before the difference in function of the two sides was begun to be known. As biological science advanced, it became reasonably clear that human brains were basically primitive reptilian brains overlaid with further “layers” of neurons and connections. The frontal lobes were discovered to be the latest and most important regions, distinguishing human from even closely related simian brains. The aliens probably knew all this well before they made contact. Especially if they were able to get scientific books, transcripts of meetings, and the like in their snooping on electromagnetic leakage from satellites and radio and television transmitters.
Sandra surmised that the aliens had already speculated among themselves
on the process of human evolution, particularly as related to the brain, therefore intelligence. Probably they have an idea of how we got this way, just like we have an idea. But maybe theirs is more detailed because they have a larger knowledge base. Or maybe not. Whatever the basis, she considered the critical fact at this moment to be the interest the aliens had in human brain development. There could only be a few reasons, Sandra guessed. The scariest one was the possibility that the aliens might see some threat from the human race. The other motives were less scary but carried their own innate concern. For example, they might want to understand human brain development so they could interfere with it in some way. Did these aliens know how to do germ-cell genetic changes to human beings? They might. If they could change the genetic makeup of a person or group of persons they might take future human generations in a direction of their interest, not necessarily an area that would prove to be an improvement.
A less alarming possibility was that the strange visitors might want to learn about the human brain in order to improve themselves. Maybe something of the way humans worked with stimulus data (like sound, vision, smell, etc.) would be appealing to them and they might want to re-engineer their own thought processes. If such things could be done. Of course, the purpose might also be strictly scientific. Possibly they wanted to learn about the human brain simply because they were curious. If Sandra's hypothesis about sentience was correct, then the aliens were driven by curiosity, much like human beings were. Or the purpose might relate to an experiment they were doing somewhere else with other life forms, or an observation on another planet. Maybe they wanted to see snapshots of evolutionary paths from planet to planet, where evolution was at different stages in different places.
Whatever their purpose, should she be cooperating with them? That was the most pressing question. Sandra had reached her seat and sat, quiet and thinking for several minutes, almost forgetting the nearly unbelievable array of images across from her.
Plato, almost gently, took her out of her reverie with, “Are you comfortable and prepared to receive our touch?”
Sandra looked at him, then at the other two. All three sets of glowing eyes were trained on her. How do they do that? “There is one final concern I have,” the astronomer said. “Before I cooperate I need to know that you have no intention to do harm to anyone or anything here on the planet Earth.”
The figures blurred, but not much or for very long. Apparently, Sandra supposed, they had anticipated this question. It was Plato who spoke first.
“Our decisions related to your planet have not been made, Sandra. What we decide will depend on what we learn.”
“Very scientific of you,” she retorted. “My stipulation, however, for cooperating is that you assure me that you will do no harm to our planet or its living species.”
The blurring was longer this time, and the background cacophonic buzz was a bit louder. Socrates made the next comment.
“Our experience, Sandra, with sentience in this galaxy is very extensive,” he said, sounding earnest in an alien sort of way. “Our purpose in observing your planet is to gain further knowledge. Further knowledge is required in order to make future decisions.”
“I understand, gentlemen,” Sandra said, almost interrupting the speaker. “As you explained to me, the processes within the human brain are too multifaceted and complex to be tracked without guidance imposed from responding to certain questions. You wish to learn more from my brain, representing, it seems, human brains in general. If I believe, however, that it is possible for you to make a decision, based on studying my brain, that will bring harm to humans, you can easily understand that I would not be able to participate in the manner you require.”
Aristotle spoke. “Our study of the evolution of human sentience will proceed, Sandra, with your volitional help, or without it, if necessary. It has been our understanding that you wished to be helpful and cooperative with our evaluation.”
Sandra felt an inner shudder. She wondered what the aliens would have learned had they been “touching” her at that moment. “My concern,” she said, forcing her voice to be firm, “is that you will learn something from the study of the neural processes in my brain that may be misconstrued as representing some danger to your species. In that case, you might decide to do harm to our planet or our life forms, or both. That is a responsibility that I am not willing to take. No more than any of you would take similar responsibility if requested by members of another sentient life form that had some power to effect harm among you.”
Aristotle replied, “Our studies will not produce results that can be misconstrued, Sandra.”
The human's rejoinder was instant. “Anyone of any sentience can make a mistake, Aristotle. It is all a matter of probability. Perhaps you can have assurance that is nearly a probability of unity. But it will never reach unity. If any risk is posed for humanity I cannot cooperate.”
Plato, sounding surprisingly as if trying to ease tensions, said, “Sandra, we do not understand your concern for the possible threat to your species. None of you, including yourself, because of your protoplasmic functionality can expect to maintain your life functions indefinitely. A threat to our species is altogether more serious because our life functions continue indefinitely, just as our interrelationships evolve indefinitely. Whether the human race endures for one hundred of your years or one hundred million of your years is not important to your own continued existence.”
A peculiar justification, Sandra thought. Could they not understand the relationship of human generations? She decided to ignore the point, hoping the aliens would pick up on how poor she thought that argument was. “Plato,” she said, looking at him, “are you implying that we humans in some way could threaten your continued existence?”
Plato did not quaver. He said, “We do not know how such a threat might be posed. But we are aware that sentience evolves. If your sentience evolves in directions that we deem to be dangerous to us then there is a potential for a future threat.”
The human said, “I understand your concern.” Then she scratched her head. This was an awkward moment. What to do. Sandra understood the impasse and it frightened her. The aliens could not honestly promise to do no harm to Earth if they drew a conclusion – from their brain analysis – that Earth might pose a future threat. They could not – they said – do a proper analysis without her cooperation. And she could not afford the risk of cooperation.
Something else nagged at Sandra. The aliens claimed they had left remnants of themselves in her brain. What were these things? Would the remnants eventually fade into non-existence, as Plato suggested might occur in certain cases? Why was it important to the aliens that these traces be looked for, as they had done on their third brief examination of her brain? And why in God's name had they invaded her privacy in the first place? She knew the answer to this last of course, but was simply angry. The answer had been readily given to her. She'd been touched in hopes of finding what they wanted without requiring any cooperation on her part.
Frustration crept into Sandra for a long moment. “Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle,” she said, sounding very formal in using the names, “it seems we are at a logical impasse. It also seems that I have misjudged the potential purposes of your species. You claim to have come simply because you wanted to gather information about our planet and especially about us as a sentient race. Yet you hint that you are concerned that at some future epoch the human race might have evolved into a condition that comprises a potential threat to you. This concern implies some perceived weaknesses on your part that you are aware of and believe could be learned by others, under proper circumstances. Am I correct?”
The figures wavered, nearly vanishing altogether as discrete shapes. The background that gave rise to acoustic babble swelled briefly before quieting into a blend with the gentle background of moving air. The three figures gradually became sharp once more. Aristotle made their reply. “Yes.” Then after a pause, “If you, Sandra, have chosen not to c
ooperate we shall be forced to draw a conclusion about your sentient evolution on the basis of data we already have acquired. If we determine that the data are insufficient to extract a probable outcome with adequate probability of accuracy, we shall have to assume a worst case scenario for your planet and your humanity.”
Dammit, they're threatening me. Sandra swallowed. “And what is this worst case scenario?”
Aristotle remained clear and sharp, replying, “We have to assume human evolution will eventually produce a sentience that – because you already know of our existence – will pose a threat to us.”
“Why must you assume this, Aristotle, or Plato, or Socrates?” Sandra's voice went up in pitch. She was growing angry and even more frightened. “Is it your experience that all sentience will evolve eventually into a threat to you?”
“We have limited experience about the evolution of sentient life,” Plato said, “except our own. Other life forms we have found have been at early stages of development. Only here, on your blue planet, have we found intelligence that has been able to sense our presence. Now, you and perhaps others of your kind, know much about our purposes, our natures, and our capabilities with mass-laden energy. We have also seen, among your human entities, that competition and conflict is common. Because you have the ability – within your system of individual isolation – to make false statements and leave false impressions, you generate neural processes that are extremely difficult to track and correlate. We have only a small amount of understanding of your wordless communications, and not much more understanding of your intonations of acoustic expression that accompany the more explicit sounds of your words. We do not and cannot know if humans of this blue planet will be dangerous in your future. Our debate within ourselves is whether to take the risk of a possible danger.”