Girl on the Moon (19 page)

“Roger that, Conn. Way ahead of you—we’ve got somebody who’ll transcribe, and a Russian speaker and a Chinese speaker ready to immediately translate.”

“Awesome, Sandy, thanks,” Conn said. To her colleagues, in the alien language, she radioed what was happening, and asked whether the setup was acceptable. It was.

Persisting continued, Conn translating. “Our home is forty-two light years away. We call our home...” There was no corresponding English word to the name of the planet. It was an adjective alluding to a beginning, something occurring before anything else—
fundamental
, almost;
rudimentary
, but not quite. On the fly, the scientist in Conn took a stab at it, and translated it as “Basal.” She spelled it before anybody got the idea she meant basil, the herb.

“This form is...manifest. My appearance should trouble you. I use this form. I am not here.” Conn considered that, and Luan Yongpo asked him to explain. Persisting was having trouble, so Conn helped out.

“Excuse me, Persisting. You are elsewhere. You are controlling this form. This form is not you. Am I correct?”

“Yes, Constance. You are correct. Thank you for asking.”

Conn told Brownsville, “Buzz Aldrin is an avatar.”

“Where are you?” Daniels asked.

“I am elsewhere. My appearance should trouble you. You are...two. You are two...halves? I am three thirds.”

Conn translated for Brownsville, then added: “We’re symmetrical and he’s not. Or he has three equal parts, whatever the word for that is.”

“You have hair. I do not have hair. I am larger. I am a different color. I am handsome, in my home. But you should be troubled.”

“Excuse me, Persisting. Are you troubled by our appearance?”

“No. I have known your appearance. I have known on...for...many years.”

“How long have you been studying us?” Luan wanted to know.

“We arrived here on...ten years ago. Your years.”

“You surveyed this moon one night, right?” Daniels asked.

“If I understand the question, the answer to the question is yes. A...team surveyed your moon. Then we studied you.
Studied
is not the word. Please excuse me.
Observed.
I can teach you vocabulary. I can teach you concepts. The way language is organized I cannot teach you. I cannot teach you quickly. I am using your language structure. It is difficult.”

“Thank you for using our language structure,” Conn said. “You surveyed our moon first. Then you began...observing us. Are you interested in our moon? More than you are interested in Earth?”

“[Brother], yes.”

September 2, 2034

“OK, Conn. Stand by for Peo,” Sandy said.

“Is this the girl on the moon?” Peo sounded frail.

Conn didn’t bother to hide the concern in her voice. “How are you?”

“I’ll live. Baby girl, what a day you’ve had. I’m so sorry about Cai Fang. You were very brave, helping rescue Luan. I’m proud of you.”

“You know that means a lot to me.”

“And then, ho hum, humanity’s first contact with extraterrestrial life.”

“Whereupon I fall down on my rear end.”

“Oh, that’s not what anybody’s going to remember. This Persisting—what’s your take? Off-feed. That nonsense about ‘It’s too hard to use your language structure.’ I think he’s offering excuses not to tell us everything.”

“I get the impression he’s at best holding something back. But the language—I
feel
fluent in it, I feel that I know every word and what they mean and the differences between them, but I get such a headache trying to put them in the right order. I don’t think he’s bullshitting us about that.”

“What’s running up red flags for you, then?”

“There are things he’s avoiding answering, and at least one thing I don’t think he’s been truthful about. Where is he, really? Where are all his friends? How have they been studying us—sorry,
observing
? And my big one, can he read minds? I hear him telepathically. He’s got to hear me telepathically—there’s no other way he could be hearing me. That’s a big problem. So is his lying about it.”

“Well, your motives are pure. I imagine it’s a bigger problem for your fellow astronauts.”

“Daniels came right out and told me he has stuff he needs to keep hidden.”

“They all do. What’s your plan from here?”

“I’m supposed to go to sleep at ten now, they’ve moved it up. We’re meeting Persisting and his friends at five a.m. central. I’ll find out what they want, what they need, and what we can get in exchange.”

“Are they all going to be avatars?”

“I presume.”

“Be prepared just in case they’re not. Conn, you’re doing a fantastic job. Just keep doing what you’re doing. All the
excuse me
s and
thank you
s are really differentiating you. You’re a terrific ambassador for Dyna-Tech, and for the human race.”

“Thank you, Peo. Now, what are the doctors telling you? When can you go home?”

“Not sure quite yet. I’d rather be in the ops center, but truthfully, I’d be doing a lot of waiting and watching there, too. May as well be in bed.”

“You’re scaring me, Peo.”

“There’s nothing to be scared of, Conn. Just focus on what you’re doing.”

After the call with Peo ended, Conn sat and thought. In eight hours, Persisting would return with others to talk about the moon and how they wanted to exploit it—with their permission, as representatives of the planet Earth, of course.

That wasn’t how it worked, since by international treaty, no country nor company had proprietary rights to the moon, and nobody was allowed to claim any. But there had been no sense getting into that at their first meeting.

It was strange, Conn thought. Earth was a lush, vibrant world, exploding with life and raw materials. Yet the aliens were interested in the moon. Perhaps they didn’t want to exploit resources on Earth because people were using them, but Conn sensed that the moon had something the Earth didn’t. She, and Dyna-Tech, needed to find out what that was. On top of everything else, she needed to learn more about telepathy, knowledge uploading, making and controlling avatars, pressure fields, and, the big one for an aerospace company, the ability to travel forty-two light years.

All this on her to-do list after an hour-and-fifteen-minute meeting. Who knew what else they could do? And potentially share?

God, she was tired. But as she prepared herself for sleep, she laughed out loud at the absurdity of humankind’s first alien contact being Buzz Aldrin. And her falling on her ass. And Eyechart trying to give his big speech before
Persisting could understand it. She laughed at all of it until tears started pushing their way through—then she fell asleep.

Conn had Brownsville wake her fifteen minutes early. She ate an MRE and drank some juice. By 4:30 a.m. central, half an hour before the meeting, she was outside and walking toward Hadley Rille. Yesterday, Persisting had left via a hover-sled across the canyon. Shaped like an ironing board, with a bulb most likely containing a motor, and handlebars, the sled was just the kind of vehicle to have made the tracks Conn initially found at the Apollo 15 site. Now, Conn found the spot at the rim of the canyon where the sled’s trail from the day before ended. Where he had crossed the rille. It was, as far as Conn could see, the shortest crossing point in the area, and she reasoned that Persisting and friends would use the same crossing.

She was right. Before long, four aliens were inbound on individual sleds. The feeds were calling them Basalites, though Conn understood that was like calling her an Earthling. There was no word in English for their species that was equivalent to “human.” Conn was going to suggest they be called “triune.” Whether it caught on was out of her hands.

They spotted her before they crossed the canyon, and stopped on the other side. They were all avatars of Apollo astronauts. She wondered if they would all be Buzz Aldrin. They didn’t move, though Conn understood as well as anybody that they could be turning their heads, speaking, even laughing at her inside their space suits while looking like they were frozen in place.

They slowly started over the canyon, in single file. Persisting led, still with a Buzz Aldrin name plate. He also had a new tag affixed to his suit: PERSISTING, together with what Conn assumed were the corresponding Chinese characters. She fought off a chuckle.

Persisting stopped a few feet away and waited for his comrades to finish crossing. Conn took a good look at the next one: his Apollo-era space suit had red bands just above the elbows and knees, and a red stripe down his helmet. In the center of his chest, between a NASA patch and an Apollo 14 patch, the name SHEPARD. Alan Shepard, first American in space, fifth man on the moon, was joining Buzz for today’s meeting. His second name tag read: ASPIRING.

“Hello, Constance,” Persisting said.

“Hello, Persisting. It is good to see you,” Conn said in Basalese as the rest of the sleds pulled into formation behind him.

“Thank you. It is good to see you. Meeting is...unfair? Without the others. Do you agree?”

“I do not wish to meet,” Conn said. “I need your help.”

“How can I help you?”

“Our friend who is dead. We retrieve his body. Your vehicles reach the bottom?”

“Come aboard my sled,” Persisting said. Conn climbed on gingerly.

Some communication passed between the aliens: Aspiring made space on his sled for a third alien, whose tags read CERNAN and RESOLUTELY. The fourth alien waited while the two sleds descended past the gently sloping apron, and then straight down.

The rover had made it all the way to the bottom, but Cai had not. They found his body on an outcropping about two thirds of the way down. His pressure suit helmet was caved in on one side—his head had depressurized. Conn knew that would be a terrible, but quick, way to die. She hoped he had been knocked unconscious first.

Conn lifted Cai’s shoulders; on the other sled right next to hers, Resolutely took hold of Cai’s legs. The sleds stayed close together as they rose slowly and levelly to the top of the canyon. They stopped to collect their comrade and then, with Conn and Resolutely ready, made their slow way toward the Chinese lander. They left Resolutely’s sled behind. Conn felt confident nobody would make off with it.

They found the other three astronauts waiting at the meeting spot. When Luan saw Cai’s body, he insisted on joining them for the journey to the lander. The fourth Basalite, Abiding, took Luan on his sled and they left Daniels and Eyechart waiting while they made their way to the Chinese lander and laid Cai Fang out beside it.

Luan said, in Basalese, “I put him inside.”

Conn replied, “He is safe here. Our friends have helped us. We must not ask them to wait.” She was firm. “Outside he will be well.”

On their way back to the Apollo 15 marker, Persisting—who was evidently getting better at sentence structure—said, “You are not the leader of your friends.”

“No, I am not. You are correct. We are equal.”

“You should be the leader,” Persisting said, and Conn did a mental fist pump.

“I hope I ask—it is not rude,” Conn—who was still struggling with sentence structure—said. “You read minds. You hear me.”

“What is your question, Constance?”

“Do you read minds? You said no. You appear as though you do.”

“The words you say—they are in the brain first. Brain sends signal.
Speak those words
. I also receive that signal.”

“You cannot read other...parts, of mind. Am I correct?”

“With others? Sometimes other signals. From language center in brain. They use a wrong word. I understand. I cannot—yet—do that. With you and your friends.”

“But no more. Am I correct?”

“Yes, you are correct, Constance. Forgive me for saying, your people deceive often. You expect me to deceive. We deceive less often. We never deceive new friends.”

Conn let it go. Maybe he was telling the truth.

At the marker, Persisting introduced Aspiring, Resolutely, and Abiding. Conn thought she understood from “learning” Basalese that their names were always adverbs or gerunds, describing how the Basalite—triune?—desired to live his life. The names of Persisting and his colleagues seemed to bear that out.

“You call our home Basal. We are Basalites. Is Basal a translation?”

“There was no word,” Conn said. “
Basal
was closest to its meaning. In English, basal means forming the base, being the foundation, being that...from which...everything grows.”

“Then that is a good word. Thank you, Constance.”

“You are welcome.”

They got down to business.

September 2, 2034

The Basalites wanted to mine and otherwise exploit resources on the moon, in frustratingly nonspecific ways. They wanted land on Earth to live on and for launching and landing spacecraft for those who would do the work.

Earth’s 78-percent nitrogen atmosphere was toxic to them—not instantly, but they couldn’t breathe it for more than a few minutes. However, Resolutely explained, they could extract and segregate nitrogen from the air they breathed, and use some of it for household power. Conn made a mental note to find out whether their process would be beneficial and economical for human use. She knew nitrogen could be liquefied and used as a fuel, but she also knew the process of liquefying it, and storing the result, required so much power that it didn’t usually make economic sense to do. If the Basalites could liquefy and store it cheaply—or better yet, if they used it as a fuel in its gaseous form—it might start an energy revolution on Earth.

Eyechart asked about climate. Abiding explained that at the dead center of Basal’s temperate zone, ambient temperatures reached twelve to fifteen Celsius at the high end; farther north and south of dead center, lows in the range of minus twenty-five to minus fifteen. Did Eyechart ever have a place for them: Siberia, where one could count on minus twenty-five in January, seventeen above in July. For due consideration, Russia had plenty of room for aliens.