Sense of Wonder: A Century of Science Fiction

by Leigh Grossman

  “Hello, Mars! Hello, Mars! Earth calling. Man of Mars is late—late—late—late—One two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Four and five are nine. Two times three is six. Man of Mars is late—late—late—late—”

  How much of this queer jangle of light flashes, spelling out Earth words and numbers in the Morse code, did Number 774 understand? How much could he understand?

  Intelligent comprehension of anything new is almost always based on an understanding of similar things previously in the experience of the individual in question. The mind of Number 774 was brilliantly clever and methodical, but what can an Earthman and a Martian have in common? Many points of contact exist, it is true, but for two entities so far removed from one another in physical form, senses, environment, and modes of living, with not the vaguest conception of what the other upon the distant world is like, such similarities of experience are extremely hard to find.

  In the first place, the messages that were coming to Number 774 were the code representations of alphabetical letters standing for various sounds which, when taken in groups, made up words of vocal speech.

  As previously stated, Number 774 had no idea of sound except as an interesting phenomenon recorded by his scientific instruments, and as a vibration detectable by his touch sense in the same way that human beings can feel sound vibrations in solid objects. He had no ears; neither did he have well-developed vocal organs.

  Strange as it may seem to us, prior to his experience with the light, he had not the faintest idea of what a word was, either a vocal word or a written word, or a word represented in the form of a group of signals. Because Martian methods of communicating with one another, and of recording knowledge, are so different from ours that a word would have been as great a mystery to him as it would have been to a newborn kitten.

  Describing sound to him, as we know it through our sense of hearing, would have been as hopeless a task as describing red to a man who has been stone-blind since birth. It simply could not be done. He might know that sound and vocal speech existed, but short of trading actual sensations with an Earthman, he could never fully comprehend. Neither could he have told us in any way how the color of ultraviolet or infrared looked, for such things are totally out of our experience.

  In the face of these enormous handicaps, in spite of his intelligence and scientific knowledge, he had been like a little child, humbly and intensely eager to learn, yet bungling and quick to make mistakes which, from an Earthman’s point of view, would often have seemed more than childish.

  Once he had tried a method of his own of establishing communication. If Earth had been peopled by a race physically and psychologically similar to the Martians, quick success might have been expected; but his efforts had evoked only a, to him, meaningless jumble of flashes from the light. Realizing that his method was not suited to Earthmen, he had given up trying to be teacher and had assumed instead the role of conscientious pupil.

  “Hello, Mars!” Those two groups of symbols had always been the beginning of every message flashed by the light; but except for seeing the unmistakable evidence of intelligence in the oft-repeated and unvarying signal, Number 774 had been quite unable at first to grasp in it any thread of meaning.

  A greeting phrase was, if possible, even more incomprehensible to him than a word itself. Try as he might, he could not understand. On Mars, where speech is not the mode of communication, greeting phrases did not exist.

  Then Earthly genius, doubtless assisted a great deal by chance, had come to his aid. Number 774 had no difficulty in separating the twenty-six alphabetical symbols of the Morse code. Nor when the Earth entities, controlling the flickerings of the light, had sent out code symbols for numerals in a sequence of 0, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, and so on, did he have any trouble in recognizing and cataloguing each separate signal, though their meanings were still entirely unfathomable to him.

  It was when the counting proceeded above nine, and numbers of more than one digit appeared, that Number 774, after a long period of association with the riddle, had received his first faint glimmer of understanding. No; it was not really understanding yet; just a vague, intuitive intimation that something concrete and graspable was not far off.

  He had noted that there were but ten separate signals in this strange system, which was apparently quite distinct from that other mysterious system of twenty-six symbols, for the two had never yet been mixed in one signal group or word; and that, as the flashing of the signals proceeded, each symbol seemed to bear a definite relationship to the others.

  They always were in fixed sequence. 1 was followed by 2, 2 by 3, and so on through a sequence of ten. The first symbol of a two-digit number was always repeated ten times as the counting went on, while the second symbol changed according to the fixed rule which he had already noted.

  Perhaps Number 774 already had a dim notion of the terrestrial numeral system, when his friend of the light conceived the plan of sending simple problems of arithmetic. Obviously, one plus one of anything is two on the planet Mars just as certainly as it is on Earth.

  There was the real beginning. Number 774 had studied carefully the simple equations that had come to him, and at length he had been able to grasp what was meant. In a message like “3 and 3 are 6” he was presently able to see the relationship between the numeral signals. The last in the group was the sum of the preceding two.

  Finally he understood. Here was some quaint terrestrial method of expressing the unit quantity of anything. The first point of contact between Earth and Mars had been established.

  Flushed with success, Number 774 had made rapid progress for a while after he had learned about the terrestrial decimal system. If 3 and 3 are 6, and 2 and 5 are 7, then 4 and 5 are 9. Reproducing faithfully, though without clear comprehension, the intermediate letter groups of the Earthly equation he had invented, “a-n-d” and “a-r-e,” he had flashed the equation to his friend of the light: “4 and 5 are 9.”

  And the answering flicker of the light seemed to dance with an eager exultation:

  “4 and 5 are 9. 4 and 5 are 9. Yes, yes, yes. 5 and 5 are 10. 8 and 4 are 12. 9 and 7 are? 9 and 7 are?”

  Keyed to a high pitch, Number 774 had sensed immediately what was required of him. Answers were wanted. Though two-digit numbers were still something of a mystery to him, making his reply partly guesswork, he lit upon the correct representation of the sum: “9 and 7 are 16.”

  Through the succeeding months, during which the positions of the two planets were favorable for astronomical observation of each other, the work had gone on, various methods being employed. Sometimes Number 774 presented his own problems of addition, giving the answers. If his answer was correct, the light invariably flashed “Yes, yes, yes,” exultantly, and repeated the equation.

  On those rare occasions when the problems became more complex, Number 774 made mistakes, the answering message was “No, no, no,” and the correction was made.

  Thus Number 774 had gained his first knowledge of words, as represented by the twenty-six letter code alphabet. “Yes, yes, yes,” meant that he was right, and “no, no, no,” meant that he was wrong. It trickled into his mind that each group of alphabetical symbols represented, in its crude way, some definite idea. “And” and “are’’ in a simple addition problem, showed certain relationships between the numbers; and those relationships were different from the ones expressed by other words.

  A mistake he had once made had clearly demonstrated this fact to him. It was in the transition from addition problems to problems of multiplication. 10 and 2 was different from 10 times 2. 10 and 2 made 12, while 10 times 2 made 20. “Times” represented a different relationship between numbers than “and.” One indicated that the sum was to be taken, while the other indicated that the two were to be multiplied together.

  In a similar way he found out what “divided by,” “plus,” “minus,” and other words meant by noting the relationship of the numbers of the equation to the final answer.

  O
nce understanding simple division as it is done on Earth, Number 774 quickly grasped the decimal-position system of representing fractions. In an equation like 36 ÷ 5 equals 7.2, he could substitute Martian methods of representing values and division and correlate them with terrestrial methods. In the Martian way he knew what 36 ÷ 5 was, and of course his answer thus obtained might just as well be represented by the Earthly 7.2, for they were the same.

  Number 774 had found in the number 3.1416, part of which was a decimal fraction, the relationship of the circumference of a circle to its diameter, and so the oft-repeated message of the light, “Diameter times 3.1416 equals the circumference of a circle,” had a certain vague meaning for him that was not by any means completely understandable at once.

  “Earth, Planet 3, Mars, Planet 4,” was a message he was able to guess the meaning

  of correctly because in the Martian system numbers were used to designate planets in their order from the sun. Aided by the message, “Earth Planet 3, has 1 moon. Mars, Planet 4, has 2 moons,” he had been half able to clinch his guess.

  Stumblingly, yet reproducing the Earth words with the faithfulness of a good mimic, he had flashed: “Planet 1 has 0 moon. Planet 2 has 0 moon. Earth, Planet 3, has 1 moon. Mars, Planet 4, has 2—”

  And an enthusiastic “yes, yes, yes” had come from the light, and the dim flickering glow had gone on to tell that: “Mercury, Planet 1, has no moon. Venus, Planet 2, has no moon. Jupiter, Planet 5, has 9 moons. Saturn, Planet 6, has 10 moons—” And so on out to Pluto, Planet Nine, beyond Neptune.

  Thus Number 774 had learned the names of the planets and the meaning of the words “moon” and “planet.’’ In the same way he received a dim idea of such simple verbs as “has.”

  And so the process of his Earthly education had gone on, slowly, depending to a large extent upon brilliant though not very certain guesswork, and demanding a degree of patience in instructor and pupil for which teaching a person to talk who has been deaf, blind, and dumb since birth is but a feeble and inadequate analogy.

  Number 774 had certain knowledge of a few Earthly words and the privilege of guessing more or less accurately on a number of others. Words like “snow,” “clouds,” or “storm,” he could perhaps gather the general sense of fairly well. For whenever a great atmospheric disturbance appeared over the continent of the light, disturbing observations, the light repeated these words over and over again.

  He knew a little about the structure of the simplest of verbs and perhaps somewhat more about the forming of the plural of nouns by the addition of an “s” symbol. “Hello!” in the phrase “Hello, Mars!” still was beyond him. He could answer it correctly with “Hello, Earth!” knowing that this was the Earthly way; but the human sentiment of the greeting eluded him completely. And of course he had no sound values to give to those Earthly words which he did understand.

  Progress had been made, but the forms which the intelligences of Planet Three inhabited, their manner of living, their machines and their accomplishments, were still as much of an enigma as ever. Consummation of the great dream of intelligent communication still belonged to the future, and now there would be no future—only death and a mighty prophecy unfulfilled.

  That prophecy had been, and still was, the essence of Number 774’s life. In the face of defeat he still worked on the fulfillment of it now, as though a thousand years of usefulness still lay ahead of him. It was habit, perhaps; and meanwhile his mind smoldered with thoughts which we of Earth can only guess at.

  “You are late, Man of Mars. Late, late, late,” the dim flicker in the vision globe, and the brighter light in the reproducer bulb beside him, spelled; and Number 774 bent to his task.

  He understood sketchily most of the message. He knew that the light referred to him as “Man of Mars.” He knew that “you are” should be followed by a group of signals describing him. Only “late,” the essence of the sentence, the word which gave it sense, was new. What could “late” mean?

  Intuition told him that some circumstances which existed only for the present had combined to make him “late,” since he had never been called that before. What were those circumstances? He racked his brain over the question. Perhaps the light wished to indicate that he had been delayed in sending out his flash call-signal. But this was only a guess which could be right or wrong.

  Still, perhaps it could be clinched. Some other day he might be purposely several minutes behind in sending out his call; then, by way of beginning he could admit that he was “late” and, if his surmise had been correct, the light would confirm it.

  But the matter of this new combination of signals could wait now. Number 774 must watch for other, possibly intelligible, things which the light might flash.

  “Comet coming. Comet coming. Comet coming,” the flicker in the reproducer bulb spelled. “Comet coming toward sun, Mars, and Earth. Comet coming. Comet coming. Comet coming.”

  If Number 774 had been a man, he might have given a sudden start. And it was not the message itself that would have been responsible, even though he caught some of its meaning. “Comet” was not a word that was new in his experience; for on several occasions when one of those long-tailed wanderers had come back into the solar system, after taking its long dive out toward interstellar space, the light had flashed the information: “Comet coming.”

  Number 774 knew what “comet’’ meant, and he could differentiate vaguely between “comet coming” and “comet going,” for one indicated that the celestial visitor was entering the solar system, and the other that it was leaving. For several evenings the light had been telling him that a comet was arriving, and he had accepted the information as nothing particularly startling or new; he had been puzzled only at the significance of the other words of the message, “toward,” for instance. So far he had not been quite able to grasp “toward.”

  No; it was not the message itself that was so startling to Number 774. Somehow, tonight, the flashing of the distant light on Earth, telling in its cryptic way of the arrival of the visitor, bridged a gap between two of Number 774’s thoughts and furnished him with an inspiration—a colossal inspiration which only genius, backed up by a knowledge considerably in excess of that of mankind, and a wonder-deadening familiarity with marvelous scientific triumphs, would have dreamed possible of fulfillment.

  In one timeless instant, all of Number 774’s dreams and hopes became linked together with the comet. Might he not still be guilty of revolt against the age-honored conventions of old Mars?

  III

  Something almost electrical seemed suddenly to take possession of Number 774. His cold eyes, fixed on the reproducer bulb, glittered with impatience. The flickering message, which a moment before would have held the complete attention of his every deductive faculty, had little interest for him now. He translated the signals perfunctorily, gathering what little meaning he could from them and not bothering to puzzle over what was new. He waited with tense eagerness for the moment when the light would go out, and it would be his turn to speak. There was something which he must tell his friend of Planet Three, and he must tell it so that it would be understood. But how? How could he direct those strange, clumsy signals, of which he knew so very little, so that the information he wished to convey would be received and properly understood?

  There! The closing phrase of the message from Planet Three was coming: “Earth standing by for Mars. Earth standing by—” The scarcely noticeable speck of light in the vision globe of the telescope disappeared; the pulsating purple glow in the reproducer bulb faded out, and the darkness there seemed tense with expectancy and eager waiting. It seemed to fling an insurmountable challenge at the intellect and ingenuity of Number 774.

  In their present relative positions, Earth and Mars were about fifty million miles, or four and a half light-minutes, apart. Thus any message depending on light would of course take four and a half minutes to travel from Earth to Mars, or vice versa.

  To avoid confusion in exchanging their commu
nications, Number 774 and his friend of Planet Three had worked out a system whereby each would send out his signals for two minutes, with an intervening pause of two minutes, during which the other could answer. This Earthly time interval Number 774 had learned to recognize and to interpret in terms of the Martian method of measuring time.

  It was his turn now; and though he had something far more important to say than ever before, he hesitated, all his cleverness seemingly check-mated by the immensity of his problem. But the lagging, slipping moments lashed his mind, driving it by sheer tenseness of determination to a higher pitch of keenness, almost, than ever before. At least he could try. He could guess, and he could stumble, but he could try.

  The little lever of the signaling mechanism trembled in his grasp, and in response to its feeble movements the signals thundered and flared from the outer surface of the dome overhead. For a full three minutes, violating the rule, Number 774 continued to send, repeating the same phrase over and over again, changing certain words each time, in the hope of hitting the right combination that would convey his meaning.

  He did not wait for a reply. Earth had already sunk low in the west, and before a reply could come the flashes arriving from the feeble station on Earth would be rendered too dim and wavering and uncertain by the almost imperceptible haze of the Martian horizon to be properly recorded. Besides, he had so little time and so much to do.

  Ponderously, under his guidance, the great telescope tube swung into line with the comet, which still rode high up in the west. The circular opening in the dome shifted automatically with the telescope, keeping opposite to its muzzle.

  The huge form of the comet’s head filled the vision globe, spreading brilliant and silvery and tenuous around the more solid spot of the glowing central nucleus.