February 7, 19
We started moving again yesterday, wandering southward along the coastline. Our main goal is to discover the true scope of the spacefaring activities. If there really was a mass exodus of the civilization, then the entire coast should be a single launch site. But the question is, how was all this coordinated? I did not tell Adam and Eve that it is my secret hope to discover something like a control center, where we might find out exactly what happened here, and most of all, where those beings went who long ago called Earth with their message.
Solving these mysteries will not be easy. The wave of emigrations happened a very long time ago. The inhabitants of this planet might not have known precisely when the deadly eruption of their sun was going to occur, so therefore they packed their bags as quickly as possible.
By now, nature has completely reclaimed this area, and we will only find relics of the past below ground. I run ultrasound scans at regular intervals, and at this point I am carrying a considerable number of printouts with me. I will leave it to Adam and Eve to evaluate them, since they like to unravel the mystery about the purpose of these structures. So far, they have only found storage buildings, transport routes, and a launch platform. Twice we even dug at exact spots, but the storage buildings we found turned out to be thoroughly empty. The continuing activity keeps the two of them in a reasonably good mood. I worry, though, about the moment we reach the vicinity of the South Pole and have nothing left to do but plan for the next 80 years on Proxima b.
“Marchenko, wait a moment. Can you make sense of this?” Eve holds up one of the printouts for me.
I identify the sector and call up the original file from my memory module. “What, specifically, do you mean?” I ask.
“Here. The shadow near the edge,” Eve says, pointing.
“That could be a wall... or an echo of tree roots. It looks pretty close to some of the wall readings.”
Normally we scan the area between the shore and the forest, but the precision of the measurements decreases toward the margins.
“We’ve never seen a wall like this one. The intensity curve—” Eve says.
“Yes, that’s true,” I say, interrupting her. “The wall must be at least three meters high. You are very attentive.”
Eve is obviously happy about being praised. I am skeptical whether this observation will help us, but at least it offers a welcome change.
“Adam, we are turning around. Eve has discovered something,” I say.
He grumbles, but then follows us. It is only a few hundred meters to the spot in question. I compare the picture with my recordings. We are no more than five meters from the forest, so it is amazing the scan even recorded anything here. If this is a wall, it must be huge. Perhaps there is only a large boulder buried here.
I start to dig a hole at a place where I should find the wall at a depth of one meter. This way we will quickly discover whether it is worthwhile to excavate the entire structure. Ten minutes later one thing is clear. We had better set up our camp here for today. The wall is made of a special alloy containing titanium, among other things, and it is coated with platinum. Platinum is rare on Proxima b, just like on Earth. What we first identified as a wall probably has a different function, either as something of great significance or as a work of art.
The wall is about 20 centimeters thick. As far as I can see, it is not anchored anywhere, but its own mass might give it stability. I am sending a drilling probe downward, and two additional ones to the right and left. According to the data, the wall has a height of 5.20 meters and is 37 meters long. It is an artifact of enormous size and was definitely created by someone.
What might its purpose be? I get a clue after I uncover half a meter along the top edge and spray it clean with water. The material is a shiny jet black, covered with numerous silver-colored symbols. The texts are clearly visible, as if they had been embossed on this surface just yesterday. This wall was made for eternity—perhaps even for us.
February 8, 19
I work through the night to get results more quickly. Eve has been keeping me company since 3 a.m. Earth time. She takes care of the intricate work and wipes the surface clean, so that the symbols are recognizable. Based on the few signs that we have already translated, Eve tries to run a pattern recognition for them, even though she really does not have a chance of success. We have already completely exposed over six meters of the wall. Fortunately the soil here is very firm, so I do not have to bother with shoring up the sides of the dig.
I simultaneously start to analyze the symbols. Groups of eight of them always seem to form a semantic unit, probably a sentence. Only a few symbols are repeated often, and those might have grammatical functions. I believe the others are a kind of picture writing. This complicates deciphering them, because the images might have meant something to the society that once existed here, but be alien to us. Yet I am still optimistic, if only because of the sheer number of symbols. The more material I have available, the better my algorithms will work to detect patterns in the extensive data, then maybe make connections, and finally produce meaning.
However, this requires considerable patience from Adam and Eve, as a quick answer is unlikely. Eve seems to be able to handle this much better than Adam.
February 9, 19
It’s done. The complete text of the wall, which we refer to as the ‘blackboard,’ is now visible. Once we see it in all its size and beauty, we recognize what an impressive monument has been left to us. The jet-black surface is iridescent and seems to glow from inside. This makes it possible to read the blackboard, even though its front side, the one facing the sea, lies in eternal shadow. I have discovered that the material converts reflected UV radiation into visible light, an ability that the inhabitants must have copied from the local mushrooms.
The text represents a kind of history book, combined with a message expressing gratitude. It thanks the past, the planet, and the builders—of the spaceport, I assume—that provided the entire population a future in space. I do not understand every detail in the history of this civilization, though. Some things are described in a flowery, vague language, while others assume a knowledge of places whose geographical locations are unknown to me. Unfortunately this also applies to the destination the millions of rockets aimed for. Yes, it must have been a huge fleet. The number is unmistakable.
Toward the end the text mentions those who had to stay behind, in the east and the west. It also thanks them, yet it is not fully clear what function they fulfilled. The meaning of their name lies somewhere between ‘guardian’ and ‘keeper.’
Adam and Eve listen very attentively while I present the contents of my neither perfect nor complete translation. They are particularly excited about the last paragraph, as it indicates our journey is not over yet.
“Then we have to go to the east, obviously,” Adam says.
This is true, because we have already been in the west. But there is one problem I mention. “We don’t know whether the guardians survived.”
“That’s why we have to go and see,” he replies.
“In the east there is the ocean, and then the dark side begins,” Eve says. “I can’t imagine someone voluntary waiting for something in eternal darkness and icy cold.”
“That means we have to look in the sea,” Adam says, and Eve nods. I shudder when I recall my odyssey in the dark ocean of Enceladus. At the end of that voyage I lost my body... I suppress the claustrophobic memory. I need to focus all my energy on caring for Adam and Eve.
“A substantial layer of water would definitely present a shield against the radiation of the flare. We should even be able to survive the megaflare at a depth of 3,000 meters,” I say.
“When are we starting?” Adam asks.
“I can send out a couple of ISUs today. The ocean is large. The sensor units are better at searching it than we are.”
“And we are supposed to just sit around in the meantime?”
“No, Adam. I am going to have the fa
bricators start building Valkyrie today.”
“What is that, a submarine?”
“Yes, with a water jet drive. If we hit ice, we can drill through it.”
“Are you expecting ice?”
“No, but it is the only model whose blueprints I remember precisely. It might take the fabricators three or four days, but I have a lot of practical experience with this vessel.”
February 12, 19
I did not expect seeing Valkyrie again would be so painful for me. Despite the vessel being a technically modified replica, it is a direct connection to my earlier life as a human. In particular, my mind harkens to Francesca, the woman I love, the woman who is now so far away from me, separated by time and space.
I open the hatch to let Adam and Eve climb inside. The moment I can only see the top of Eve’s head, her hair, as she is disappearing into the darkness of the vessel, my mind instantly flashes back to Francesca, and I also visualize Francesca when Eve sits down in the pilot seat. I have to be careful not to let these memories impede my ability to function, and if necessary I can delete them from my memory module. But I would rather die.
Adam and Eve must have noticed that something is wrong with me. They are actually being courteous to each other. Perhaps this has to do with the voyage lying ahead of them? It certainly will be less arduous than my adventure on Enceladus. If I’d only had fabricators back then! With their help, I have now solved the energy problem that I constantly had to deal with on Enceladus. We will gain energy for the electric drive by exploiting temperature differentials within the ocean. For this purpose we will drag a specialized centerboard along, reaching down more than 500 meters. It is already swimming in the ocean, and we will only have to grab it.
I am ready to give the order to start. Then I receive a message from one of the ISUs and switch its signal to the pilot screen. It is hard to believe, but the drone has already found something. There is a strong energy source on the sea bottom approximately 50 kilometers northeast of our location. It is not a volcanic vent or anything of that sort, because the object is clearly alien-made.
“This could be it,” Eve says. You can tell that she is trying to suppress her hopeful excitement a bit.
“No matter what it is, we have to get there as soon as possible!” Adam insists. He stands next to her and knocks against the monitor.
“It could...” I briefly wonder if any natural source could possibly be responsible for the signal but cannot think of one. So I end my statement with “... be dangerous.”
“Well, the idea of sitting around uselessly for the next 80 years is definitely dangerous,” Adam replies.
I cannot argue with his sentiment, so I start the engines. I swerve to the south to pick up the generator and then follow a northeasterly course. We should cover the 50 kilometers in one day.
Two hours later we are gliding close to the bottom of the sea. We run almost soundlessly, moving at a depth of 2,000 meters. It is pitch dark. The searchlights illuminate the area directly in front of Valkyrie, but that only serves to alleviate our boredom. Otherwise, not much is happening. The hair plants, we learn, also cover the bottom of the ocean. Could life down here have been more varied before the great eruption? Perhaps the few resistant species used this chance to occupy all ecological niches.
I wonder how we should approach the source of the signal. How do I know if its inhabitants will have peaceful intentions toward our sudden presence? Perhaps they consider anything different from them to be enemies? Have they been waiting for us—maybe for a thousand years—or do they want to be left alone? We will not know any of these answers unless we try. If we die doing so... I catch myself wishing for it. In some respects, wouldn’t that be better than finding more ancient relics and having to spend the coming decades alone on this inhospitable planet?
Eve is constantly watching the monitor that depicts the sea floor gliding past. Nothing happens, but she is taking notes.
“What are you recording?” I ask.
“The vegetation density,” she answers. “This gives us indications about how supportive of life the sea floor is, and also about the variability of this species.”
Eve will find something to keep her busy in the future. Adam glances over her shoulder, tapping a foot and twiddling his thumbs.
The energy source is two kilometers distant. All scanners are working at maximum level, but we do not get a clear image of the target. However, they detect something else.
“Fast object moving toward Valkyrie. Impact in 40 seconds,” the computer says, and then a shrill alarm is heard.
Through the hands of J the robot, I immediately take over the controls, and the engines slowly turn the vessel. I hope that the object racing toward us cannot modify its course.
“Impact in 30 seconds.”
The thing takes aim at us again. We have gained ten seconds.
I give the command, “Eject ISUs 5 and 6.”
Those are the last two sensor units. I had reserved them in order to examine our target more closely, but now I am sending them on a collision course with the object threatening us.
“Is that a torpedo coming for us?” Adam’s voice sounds completely calm.
“I have to assume so,” I reply. “If it keeps up its speed and hits us, it will puncture the hull.”
“Then we should put on our suits,” Eve suggests, “or are we going to swim?” She looks down at her lower belly, where the gills are hidden. Her voice proves how excited she is.
“You’d better not try it at a water temperature of six degrees,” I warn them.
“Impact in 20 seconds.”
What are the ISUs doing? Can they stop this thing? The mysterious object zig-zags when it notices the two small sensor units, but the ISUs are very agile and manage to keep pace with it. The countdown continues. 19, 18, 17, ... At 15 seconds ISU 5 magnetically attaches itself to the torpedo, and at 12 seconds ISU 6 has also reached its target. Once the countdown arrives at 10, both generate a strong electrical field that should incapacitate any unshielded electronic systems. I hope the extraterrestrial technology is not based on completely different principles.
“Impact unlikely,” the computer says. The electrical shock has worked!
“Oh man, oh man,” Adam says, and sinks back into his seat. Eve wipes the sweat off her forehead.
“I have to pee,” she says.
“The toilet is in the stern,” I say, pointing her in that direction.
I look around, but there is no second projectile. Our opponent might now assume we can deactivate any of these projectiles. I alone know that we have no additional ISUs.
I decide we should establish a dialogue. I send a standard message that was developed on Earth to use in first-contact situations, broadcasting it on all possible channels.
The answer arrives very quickly.
“This is Marchenko,” our adversary greets us. “I am glad you are here. Sorry about what just happened, but you obviously triggered my automatic defense system. I had completely forgotten I installed it shortly after our arrival. I absolutely did not want to attack you!”
“Marchenko?” Adam says, flabbergasted. “What? There are two of you?”
“I don’t know anything about this,” I reply. “However, anyone with a sufficiently criminal mindset could easily have copied my consciousness, even though that would violate the AI laws of Earth. But my very existence is already incompatible with those laws. Officially, I don’t even exist.”
“But how did the other one get here?”
“Probably the same way we did, Adam, with his own Messenger. But right now the more important question is, how do we react to his radio message?”
“Can we believe in and trust the other Marchenko?” Adam asks.
“I cannot say. I would give my life for you. But then we three have a common history, and I raised you with the help of Messenger. I don’t know anything about the other AI calling himself Marchenko. Perhaps the AI was manipulated in some way, but we won
’t be able to find out about that.”
“I am more optimistic,” Eve says. “We can hear and see him and then judge him by his actions.”
“So we should risk contact?” I ask.
“It’s not what I expected from this journey, but at least it’s something new. So, yes,” Adam says, and Eve nods in agreement.
After I reply to the greeting sent by my alter ego, the other Marchenko invites us to his station, as I expected.
“A Valkyrie. How original,” he says. “I have an extension attached to the west wing, and it has an airlock. Unfortunately, you will have to swim through the cold water, briefly, because your vessel does not have a coupling port.”
We slowly approach the station, and no one is shooting at us. I switch the camera image to the main monitor screen.
“Do you recognize this?” I ask.
“Looks like Messenger, but with various additional arms,” Eve suggests.
I point at the monitor and say, “The long one here has an airlock at the end, which the voice mentioned. We are going to enter the station that way.”
“So we have to swim after all?” Adam says excitedly, rubbing his hands at the added adventure factor.
“Only out of sheer necessity...” I remind him, “... and in your space suits.”
Once again it is a difficult moment for me having to flood Valkyrie. The vessel only has a simple hatch at the top, so it gets flooded whenever people enter or leave. This is cumbersome and represents a design flaw, but fortunately it does not damage the equipment. The last time I opened this hatch was shortly before my ‘death’ on Enceladus.
Eve launches herself out first, followed by Adam, and I—in J’s body—am the rearguard.
“Why don’t you come over via radio data transmission?” the other Marchenko asks me. “You don’t have to get poor J wet.”
Proxima Trilogy: Part 1-3: Hard Science Fiction Page 22