Writers of the Future, Volume 28 (23 page)

“How did your grandfather and the rest of his crew communicate when they first encountered the Sprites
?
”

“The Sprites made it easy for them—they’d learned English and figured out how to speak it fluently, just from picking up broadcasts from Earth.”

“Pretty much the way you are.”

The comparison must have reminded Rory of the enormity of what he was doing, because for a second a sober look took the place of the enthusiasm he’d shown so far. “Yeah, I guess so.”

He’d been caught off guard—time to start probing.

“So if you were given the chance to be the first to talk to them, what would you say
?
”

Rory sat back from the desk. “I’d probably ask them their hopes, where they see themselves in the cosmos. They know a lot about the universe around them, they’ve already worked out they’re not alone, just as we did before contact took place. They must be giving some thought to how it all works, and how they’ll fit in.”

“And how do you think they’ll fit in
?
”

“I don’t know; they’re such a strange race. To have attained that level of development and awareness without any of the trappings of technological civilization, like cities and transport networks and heavy industry. I hope there’s a place for them.”

“And how do you think they’ll take it, when we make contact and they realize we’re here
?
”

“They’ll celebrate, I’m pretty sure of it. Their songs have always contained an awareness of plurality, of not being alone. It will be a culture shock for them, but the mere fact they’re not alone won’t be a surprise.”

“And are you looking forward to that day
?
”

“Very much so. That’s why I’m here.”

Jared watched Rory’s expression, and other non-verbal cues, looking for any signs of lying or deceit. There was none. He’d asked four questions in a row where the culprit couldn’t do anything
but
lie, and yet from Rory he’d got nothing. Jared had heard all he needed, it was time to go. As he got up to leave, one final question occurred to him.

“So what was he talking about
?
” Jared said, pointing to the trace still frozen on the screen. “The Caronoi who was talking then
?
”

“Nothing much,” Rory said, “just a way of making houses watertight.”

A way of finding leaks, Jared thought. Maybe we should be asking
him
for help.

I
t wasn’t him,” Jared said. He was back in Anderson’s office, having stopped at the rec room to stare at cold coffee and make sure of what he was about to say.

“Are you sure
?
What did you ask him
?
”

“I’ve sent you a transcript of what we discussed. You’ll see where the giveaways would have been. But I got nothing.”

“Could he have been trained
?
” Anderson said. “People can be taught, can’t they, to beat truth tests
?
”

It had occurred to Jared, but was unlikely. “Only if he’s trained as an Operative. Even I would struggle to come through a test like that with a clean score.”

“A test like that
?
” Sal said. She’d opened the transcript on Anderson’s screen and was skimming through it. “You didn’t press him too hard from what I can see here.”

“No, but I was sitting opposite him in a quiet room with no other distractions. I had every deceit cue covered short of sticking a thermometer up his butt—if he was lying, I’d have known.”

“Well, I don’t care what you think you know.
You
started all this,
you
are supposed to be able to find this stuff out.” She was finger-jabbing him as she spoke, leaning forward to punctuate each “you” with a prod in his face. “So why are
you
not able to do that
?
”

“Sal, that will do,” Anderson said. She sat back heavily, still glowering at Jared. Then Anderson faced him, too. “So, what do we do now
?
”

W
hat they did was to block off all the avenues that had been used to hijack the Remote Observation satellites. Having focused initially on trying to find the culprit, now they concentrated on the nature of the breach, how the messages had been transmitted and how to stop them in the future. Whoever had done it had covered up well; nothing was left of whatever they’d sent, or the software that had passed those messages to the satellites. But within a day, the gaps in system security had been plugged. Whoever it was, they wouldn’t be doing it again.

As for Jared himself, his placement had been a ruse from the start, and now even that cover was gone. However, he still had his Alliance Liaison credentials, still had the run of the station and still had a job to do. Anderson had put the hunt for the culprit in Benning’s hands, him and his security team, and with Jared still overseeing the operation, that was where he spent most of his time. Leads, however, were scarce; beyond the system trace that had pointed to Rory Temple in the first place, there was little to go on.

“The commander’s thinking of bringing Temple in,” Benning said, three days after Rory had been implicated. He and Jared were in Benning’s office, reviewing the evidence to date. “He’s going to talk to him directly.”

“What does he plan on doing
?
” Jared said. “Asking straight out if it was him
?
Or letting Sal loose on him
?
”

Benning laughed. “I wouldn’t want to be in the room for
that
session.”

Jared smiled back. Benning seemed a good guy to work with. Stocky, middle-aged and graying, but level-headed and quick-thinking with a practical approach to things. Unlike other more hotheaded members of the crew. “So just what is it with Sal
?
What do you think her problem is
?
”

“She’s loyal to Anderson, that’s really all it is. Anything that poses a threat to the mission is a threat to him, and she can be pretty zealous in dealing with it. Overzealous, some might say.”

Jared wondered if Anderson appreciated Sal’s overprotective approach or just tolerated it. “What do you think Anderson will do now
?
”

“I don’t know. To be honest I think he’s hoping that now the breach is plugged, this problem will just go away, that once the Caronoi officially know we’re here, whatever went before won’t matter.”

“I wouldn’t be so hopeful myself.”

“Neither would I. I’m glad I’m not in his shoes, you know. He’s got ultimate responsibility for every decision on this mission—the choice of landing site, the procedure for breaking cover, the contingencies if contact goes badly. Then, as if that weren’t enough, first we find out we might have got their tech level wrong, and then this breach happens.”

“What do you mean we got their tech level wrong
?
”

Benning laughed. “You mean there’s something Alliance Liaison doesn’t know first
?
That makes a change. It’s the Caronoi space program. You know we thought we knew how they’d done it
?
”

Jared nodded—it was yet another technological miracle the Caronoi had cooked up in between song sessions and leaf eating: their own space program, their own Voyagers and Cassinis spreading through the system, launched on glorified black powder rockets, processing with analog valves that predated even the transistor era, but nonetheless sending a steady stream of high-quality data on the plethora of giants and supergiants that made up the Caron system. They also had first-generation orbital telescopes, Hubbles and Webbs with what the technical assessments branch had concluded to be impressive capabilities for something so crude—the reason why Kaluza Station had to be concealed so carefully.

“Go on,” Jared said, intrigued.

“We’re picking up g-wave emissions in the outer system. They’re difficult to pin down. It’s not like a radio source that you can just focus a receiver onto, but some of them seem to be coming from the same direction as their outbound probes.”

“So what do we think it is
?
” he said.

“Maybe their theoretical understanding of gravity isn’t so theoretical after all.”

“You mean they’ve had gravity drives all along
?
And used them on their probes
?
”

“First-generation low-thrust devices for course correction
?
It’s been suggested.”

It didn’t seem plausible to Jared. He had enough trouble equating the Caronois’ existing achievements to their everyday way of life—the way they pulled metal ore out of the ground, mixed propellants and fuel, invented and built electronic controllers, all so they could put a one-off spacecraft into operation, then go back to living a life that on Earth would have predated the agricultural revolution. But then again the Alliance didn’t initiate contact
unless
a race had reached a certain level, where space exploration had been demonstrated, physics was encountering the territory beyond relativity and the full-blown manipulation of gravity and unconstrained access to space were only a matter of time.

“Are you seeing all this on the omni-g
?
”

“Some,” Benning said. “Plus some A-vector ghosting on the high gain. It’s faint though.”

“Can I see what it looks like
?
”

“Sure, if it’ll mean anything to you.”

“It will do,” Jared said. Benning had a better-than-average appreciation of the principles underpinning gravity control, but Jared used to work with this stuff every day.

Benning brought up the relevant files, and Jared scrolled through to the graphs of what Kaluza’s g-wave detectors had found.

“A-vector modulation at 850 kilohertz,” he read out loud, “localized stress tensor divergence in dimensions four
and
five—this isn’t Caronoi.”

“Then what is it
?
”

Jared thought back to his old job and the covert g-wave measurements that were taken whenever Alliance ships visited Earth or encountered human vessels, all so that Earth could see how far in advance the Alliance races really were. The endeavor was dangerous in diplomatic terms, but invaluable in other ways as Sprite, Sephoran, Tessalan and Garrison ships unwittingly yielded their secrets. Sometimes, however, when particularly auspicious or politically sensitive visits were in progress, something else would show up, too.

“This is Alliance. It’s the Sprites, but not their regular cruisers. They have some kind of special unit, ships they keep at a distance, hovering in the outer system.”

“So they’re hiding from us while we hide from the Caronoi
?
That’s just what we need with a breach on our hands, them watching over our shoulders.”

Something made Jared wonder whether watching was all they were there to do.

T
hree weeks passed with no more breaches, but no more sign of who had been responsible in the first place. Then, finally, contact day itself came.

The transfer deck to the shuttle was barely big enough for the Contact Team, let alone anyone else, but any room with an outside view was considered fair game by those not on shift or those on nonessential duties who wanted to see the departure for themselves.

Anderson himself was part of the team. There had been debates about whether it was right for the commander to take part in the first landing, but the risk was considered small and it seemed fitting that he should go. The rest of the team was an assortment of biological, cultural and scientific researchers, chosen by a committee back on Earth to share the honor of first contact.

There was a speech, by Anderson, relayed across the station video link, made up of his own words marking the event, and messages from heads of state back on Earth. Jared was watching from the rec room, angled back from the sunward side of the station as were most habitable sections, but with enough of a view to show the shuttle when it eventually departed.

Then the display showed Anderson and the rest of the Contact Team climbing into the craft, wearing the same red jumpsuits that had become their uniform, him in his commander’s black. Then the shuttle undocked and silently moved away from the station until its grav drive was powered up, making it recede into the distance at what would have felt like fifteen Gs if the gravity on board hadn’t been compensated. Within seconds, it was lost to the naked eye, but the station’s long-range sensors kept track of it, relaying the tiny image through the station.

The spectators dispersed soon after that, and Jared went too, back to his cabin. He checked his watch—in just four hours’ time the shuttle would arrive, then the first step in the carefully choreographed sequence of events would take place: a radio message on the same frequency the Caronoi used for long-distance messaging, with an explanation of who the humans were and why they were here, then a signal of their intent to land. Then there would be an opportunity to reply, and the opportunity to say no if the Caronoi so wished—eventual contact was inevitable, but anything to avoid looking like an invading army could only be a good thing. For the same reason, Kaluza Station would stay hidden, for a few days at least, along with all the other remote probes scattered through the system, though moving the whole operation into Caron-c orbit was always the eventual aim. Then, once the shuttle had made landfall, the first meeting would take place.

That initial broadcast though—Rory Temple himself had written it, drawing on the cultural and linguistic knowledge that he understood better than anyone. In a way, he already was the spearhead of the contact effort, and the record would show it—so why would he risk so much to get his name in the history books illegally
?
It just didn’t make sense.

Jared lay down on his bunk and closed his eyes, thinking through the problem. A question had kept coming back to him all through the hunt for the culprit, a question that no one had ever had time to dwell on when the evidence concerning the breach itself took priority—what had those messages contained
?
What had Rory or whoever it was said to them
?
Had the Caronoi really received messages from above and not reacted at all
?
Or was the evidence there, in the songs that used to filter from tribe to tribe, but nowadays flowed back and forth over the planet’s surface like a web of self-perpetuating knowledge
?