by Wai-Choi Lee 李逆熵
I’d never ridden in a Marscamel before. On the several occasions when I visited the Olympus Observatory in the past, we had taken the ionicopter direct to the summit, as any transport with legs were considered by Earthmen as an obscenity.
What was usually an half-hour trip by ionicopter turned out to be a full night’s journey by Marscam. We started off from the suburbs of Lowell City yesterday at dusk. And the pre-dawn glow was already creeping up the Martian sky when we arrived at the way station about 150 meters below the summit caldera of Olympus [Mons] — that is, about 25 kilometers above the mean geodesic surface of the planet.
I was at first not too accustomed to the gentle swaying of the cabin resulting from the motion of the Marscam. As the night wore on, however, the already monotonous Martian landscape became even more boring through the infrared viewer. The fatigue of the past weeks’ events finally caught on with me and I dosed off at around mid-way through the journey.
“I don’t think Zhou is such an evil man. He doesn’t deserve the death sentence.” I was back in the classroom during my final year in secondary school. Sitting across from me was Stanley Ziegler, my classmate and also good friend for over three years. We had just heard from the newscast of the execution of Zhou Lizhi in the morning. The verdict was scientific revisionism in secretly developing artificial intelligence.
“Anyone trying to create machines in the image of Man is evil to the core.” As of late, Stan was disagreeing with me more and more. Right now, he was stating his disagreement vehemently. “You are being poisoned by the forbidden books given to you by your uncle.”
“Well, those books have nothing to do with artificial intelligence. They are about space exploration and the search for extra-terrestrial intelligence.” I retorted.
“Which is just as bad.” Stan was not so easily put off. “All those talks about flying to the stars only reflect the arrogance of those not willing to live in harmony with Mother Nature. The vast gulf between stars is meant to be a quarantine imposed by Mother Nature herself. Also, attempts to make contact with non-existent ETs is downright counter-revolutionary when we do not have enough understanding even of our fellowmen.”
I did not for a moment agree with the points made by Stan, which were taken nearly verbatim from our ethics lessons anyway. However, I could not at that moment think of any effective refutations to his arguments either. I was angry at myself, as I always was when I could not put forth my views clearly although I knew they were in the right. If only I could…. Then, just as mysteriously as it had come, the scene was replaced by one almost twelve years later. Stan was again sitting across from me, but this time in my office up in the Lhasa Observatory. He was wearing the uniform of the Green Cop., the silver strips on his left shoulder signifying his recent promotion to the rank of Commander.
“We were old friends, Chang. And I don’t want our friendship to be hurt. I know Somhsi has been your colleague and also a close friend of yours. You must have some knowledge of her participation in the Promethean Society. What we would like to know is: what other rebel-scientists are involved, especially those in the astronomical community?” Then after a pause, “I think you know the consequence of being identified as an accomplice of this rebellion.”
It was about a week after the crackdown of the Promethean Society, an underground organization consisting of scientists from various disciplines. The main objective of the society was the freedom of research and free access to all research results. I did know about Somhsi’s involvement in the Society and in fact, she had at one time tried to persuade me in joining her. However, I had other plans of my own and had tactfully declined.
And now Somhsi was dead, killed by one of the cops under the command of Stan. She was trying to destroy the list of society members when they broke into her office. “I know nothing about her association with the Promethean Society.” I was suppressing my grief and anger and uttered the words one by one. “The only thing I knew is that she is a good person and an excellent scientist. Her death is a great loss to the scientific community.”
“What she did was a betrayal of mankind!” Stan barked. “You have not changed really, Chang, have you? Do you know you can get yourself into serious trouble with the kind of heresies you are holding? I would give you one more chance. Tell us everything you know about Somhsi’s activities, and I can assure you that you would not be implicated in any way. You may even get a promotion to the board of…”
“Please wake up, Professor Chang! We are already at the waystation.” I was called out from my unpleasant reminiscences by Osawa, the student of Dr. Schneider and my contact person at Lowell City. “The elevator will take us up to the Observatory direct from here.” He further explained.
Before the cabin holding me and Osawa was disgorged from the Marscam into the elevator shaft, I took the opportunity of snatching a quick look at the panorama lying around and below us. Although I had enjoyed the view before, it never failed to instill a sense of awe each time when I saw it.
Olympus [Mons] was the highest mountain not only on Mars but also throughout the Solar System. Rising majestically to a height of 25 kilometers above the plains of Amazonis Planitia, it was nearly three times the height of Mount Everest. What’s more, since the Himalayas were located on the Tibetan Plateau which was already about 5 kilometers above sea level, the height of the mountains from top to base was only about 16\% of that of Mount Olympus. And what a view that vantage point provided!
Although the Martian horizon as observed on ground level was closer than that of Earth’s due to Mars’ smaller size, the great height we were now at more than compensated this effect. At first, the entire Amazonis Planitia was lying below us and bathed in a pinkish glow of the Martian dawn. As I watched, however, the golden orb of the Sun crept up over the eastern horizon, ponderously at first but then gathering momentum and all of a sudden, leapt clear of the horizon with a bounce. All the land around us seemed to have caught fire and was now blazing with a furious red. Across this fiery landscape were streaks of darkness cast by every single peak, ridge, and boulder. The longest shadow was of course the one cast by the mountain we were now clinging at. Stretching into a distance unimaginably far off, it seemed to be harboring the last vestige of night in defiance of the advancing day.
At this point, we were engulfed by another kind of darkness as the passenger cabin of our Marscamel was transferred into the elevator shaft. Although a bit disappointed at the cutting off of the gorgeous view, I also found it a good opportunity to relax and compose myself before meeting my host.
“I’ve been waiting for you the whole night.” Dr. Schneider was standing by the elevator door when it opened. “I couldn’t get any sleep at all. So, what is it that brings you here in such secrecy on the Eve of the Independence?” Two large and strong hands of his grasped around my own and I was virtually pulled out of the elevator. He did not stop talking until I interrupt him with a question of my own.
“May we go over to your office first?” I asked.
“Sure! Come this way, my friend.”
Up a flight of stairs and we were at a level which was much more familiar to me — the level where most of the offices were located. Located here also was the seminar room where I had delivered a lecture on ISM magnetism about three years ago. Presently, Schneider led me down a short corridor and before I realized, we were at the doorstep of his office.
The most striking thing about Schneider’s office was the magnificent view offered by the large and wide window behind the desk. This was all the more amazing when one remembered that the atmospheric pressure outside was less than one percent of that on Earth. Although the view from my office window up in Lhasa was no less spectacular and was the object of praise by any visitor, I had always envied Schneider’s. Well, the grass was always greener on the other side of the fence.
“Come into my parlor.” Schneider gestured me in his characteristic theatrical manner.
“Are you sure this place is not bugged?” I stayed at the doorstep and asked in a hush. “You know, I’m concerned not so much about my own safety but rather your reputation and the chance of success of our plan.”
“Our plan? What plan are you talking about? But first the answer to your question. No. I don’t think this place is bugged. Who would like to eavesdrop on discussions about such things as red shifts and radio counts and the Great Attractor and the Southern Slide? What’s more this is Mars and not Earth and we do enjoy considerable freedom in conducting pure research.”
“I can only have your word then, for the thing I am going to tell you will be of utmost importance.” With these words, I stopped into Schneider’s office. Closing the door behind us and overtaking me with athletic grace, Schneider dropped into his lavishly upholstered chair behind the desk. I let myself be lowered to the opposite seat with an audible sigh of relief. Snatching my gaze from the enchanting Martian landscape to the bearded face of my old friend, I said, “You know about the Integrated Sky Survey, don’t you?”
“Sure I did. I also know that you’ve done quite a bit of lobbying to have this project started in the first place. So, you’ve gotten some interesting results. May I know what that is?”
“You may and you are going to get the greatest shock of your life.” I paused a second for effect, “I’ve received signals from intelligent beings in outer space.”
“You must be kidding!” The expression of Schneider was itself a view to see as he was noted for his imperturbability even in the face of exciting discoveries.
“No. I’m not. After more than a hundred years since Frank Drake started the first try, I am the first one who actually succeeded! I’ve earned my place in the history of science, yes, and indeed in the history of mankind — but what that place will be still awaits to be seen….”
“Wait! What sort of signals have so actually received? Could it be something like the LGMs of the last century which turned out to be rapidly spinning pulsars? or the harmonic series at the turn of this century which turned out to be vibrations of mini-cosmic strings? Mother Nature has a way of cheating us that calls for real caution on such emotionally charged matters.”
“No. No. I know it’s the real thing. I’ve the signals on disk with me and you can check on it later. But tell me. What sort of natural phenomenon will give you the Pythagoras Theorem in radio bursts, first in direct digits and then in binary digits?”
“The Pythagoras Theorem in radio bursts? How?”
“In signals which read 3, 4, 5, pause and then 9, 16, 25. Isn’t that obvious?”
“That’s quite impressive. What more does it say?”
“More of that later. I’m sure you will spend months if not years deciphering my data on disk. That is one of the reasons why I am here but not the most urgent one. The most urgent thing right now is whether we can use your facilities here to send a reply before we are found out by the Terran Government. Do you think we can set up your telescope in a few hours’ time? I’m afraid we don’t have a lot of time on our hands.”
“What reply are you talking about? Do you mean a reply to whoever is sending us the signals? But that is a task for the Government!”
“Oh, come on! You know damn sure that is one thing the Gaian Council will definitely not do — and neither will the would-be-independent Martian government, for fear of antagonizing the former. And believe me, they will not even make known to the public the reception of these signals. The most important discovery in the history of mankind will be kept as a most guarded state secret. All in the name of protecting humankind, of course.”
“It’s difficult to argue with you about that.” Schneider let out a sigh.” But on the other hand, is it really wise to answer these signals from outer space at this stage? I may not wholly agree with the ideology of the present government, but I can also find a lot of reasons for not responding.”
“Such as?”
“Well, what if the beings sending the signals are hostile and would like to conquer mankind? Or they may simply treat us as game animals to be hunted down for fun, or use us as guinea pigs in their scientific experiments? Who knows! They are aliens and would have alien mentality and alien motives. There are too many unknowns here and the safety of the whole human race is at stake!”
“Oh, come on! I thought you hate science fiction, John. Do you think they would go to all the trouble of sending such well-prepared transmissions just to lure their neighbors to reveal their whereabouts? What is more important — and I bet it has never been mentioned in any science fiction make-beliefs — is the time it would take for your supposed invasion to materialize. Oh, I suppose I haven’t told you about the source of the signals. It’s from a star named Garland 211055 in Libra, measured to be about 110 light years from the Solar System.”
“A Sol-type star? Any planets confirmed orbiting around it?” Even as he was asking, Schneider was already initiating a search in the AstroLibrary on his terminal.
“Not exactly Sol-type but quite near. It’s a Kl-IV that is somewhat cooler and dimmer than Sol.” I replied.
With his fingers flying over the keyboard, it was only seconds before Schneider got what he had wanted; and a look of satisfaction appeared on his face. “28\% dimmer to be exact with most of the energy concentrated on the near IR spectrum.”
“Let’s forget the spectral analysis for the moment. What I would like to point out is that the signals we are now receiving have been on its way for more than a century already. And if we choose to reply, it will take another century before they would hear it. OK. Suppose they mount a massive invasion immediately afterwards and travel here at the speed of light — which they can’t — it will be more than three hundred years after their first transmission when they arrive here. Do you think this is the way to conduct interstellar warfare or build a galactic empire? It just doesn’t make sense.”
“What doesn’t make sense to you may make a lot of sense to an alien civilization. Columbus’ voyage would also seem senseless to a larva which has a lifespan of less than 24 hours. What if the aliens we are talking about have an average lifespan of a thousand years? If then, a mere three hundred years — or just a hundred if you only count the travel time — would a reasonable price to pay if there is a world to conquer. And who knows! They may even have found ways of beating the light barrier! Have you read the recent two articles by Anderson on sigma-field conjugation?”
“I think that’s a lot of horse-crap. But let’s look at it from another angle. A civilization which can cross the vast gulf of interstellar space must possess a level of technology far beyond that of ours and would therefore have no wants from us. Just try to think about it. What more would a civilization want if it has learned to tap the vast energy of vacuum, mastered genetic and molecular engineering and has von Neumann machines to carry out all the chores? Unless of course they are forbidden to do so by an oppressive government just like ours. But my point is: the fear of an alien conquest is a paranoid one based on an insufficient understanding of the power of technology.”
“Well, I can see your point but still…” At that point there was a knock on the door. “Come in.” Schneider said and the face of Osawa poked in through the half-opened door and said, “Sorry to interrupt you but breakfast is ready down in the dining room.” “Okay, we’ll be coming.” Schneider replied and rose from his chair at the same time. “Come, my dear friend. A momentous decision must be preceded by some good food and a good rest, right? You must have been exhausted from you long journey up here. Let’s fill our stomach first and you take at least a few hours’ sleep. If you want to take a shower, I’ve some spare clothing ready although they will be a bit loose on you. By the way, now that I’ve a better look at you, you are definitely thinner than the last time when I saw you….”
While over breakfast, I related in brief my discovery and how I was able to hide it from the prying eyes of the Research Board. I also told him how under the pretense of taking a vacation long overdue, I first went to Island One and then with the help of a good friend at Immigration, managed to get an illicit ride in one of the cereal freighters to Mars.
“To be frank with you, the reason I come here is that you are the only friend I can trust who possesses the facility to fulfill my plan. I know this will place your career in jeopardy, but I have no other choice.” I explained apologetically.
“What are friends for if not to be betrayed?” That was a famous punch remark of Schneider’s. “But anyway, let’s tackle the problem after you’ve taken some rest. By the way, can I have a look at the transmission data while you are sleeping. I can’t wait to see with my own eyes these signals from the stars.”
My few hours of sleep turned out to be a slumber lasting for most of the day. When I woke up it was already well into the evening. There was a note left by Schneider on the bedside table saying that he would be waiting for me in the dining room.
When I entered the dining room, Schneider was already at the end of his meal. The holoscreen was showing the last preparations at various locations on Mars for the celebrations of Independence Day tomorrow. “I intended to wait for you, but I was just too hungry.” Schneider said when he saw me. He waved me to a seat next to his facing the holoscreen.
“You know, I have been excited enough about our Independence over the past week even without your coming.” Turning round and facing me, he said, “And now there is this data disk of yours! I have gone through the raw data as well as your annotated files quickly. It’s absolutely fantastic! It is exhilarating to think that out there in the depths of space, there are creatures that may look vastly different from us, have totally different ways of living and yet are thinking the same things that we are thinking. It is a celebrated proof of the universality of logic, mathematics and scientific rationality.”
“So, you are ready to follow my plan and send the reply signals?” I prompted.
“Well, there is no question that we should reply. The only question is whether it should be by our own initiative or by the arrangement of some authority higher up. I think this is something too big for us to handle.”
Before I could reply, our attention was captured by a clamorous announcement from the holoscreen of a documentary on the history of Martian settlement. “Wait until we finish this, OK?” Schneider hushed me up. I knew he was a very patriotic Martian. I’d also heard that his younger brother was one of those killed in the June fourth massacre of 2074 during the Malacandra Uprising. So, I remained silent and turned my attention to the documentary.
As everyone knew, mankind first set foot on Mars in 2022, just 20 years before the Gaian Disaster and 29 years before the Great Fall. After an initial phase of very rapid growth, the Martian colony suffered great hardship during the period of chaos on Earth. More than half of the population died. It was only through extreme fortitude and heroism of the remaining population that the whole colony was not decimated.
Although the documentary concentrated on the struggle of the Martian colony, my ruminations wandered inevitably back to its mother world — Earth. First there was the global ecological disaster of 2042 caused by the geneformed PSP-bacteria and perpetrated by a chance combination of mismanagement, carelessness, and pure bad luck. Then there was the giant meteor impact of 2051, when the world had barely recovered from the previous calamity. Obliterating San Francisco and Los Angeles in a single stroke through earthquake and tsunami, the Great Wall sent reverberations not only to [seismometers/seismographs] throughout the world but also to the already badly shaken minds of men. To many, it was a punishment sent by God Almighty against the arrogance of Man….
Out of what remained of the civilized world rose the Gaian Council and the Green Creed — environmentalism gone the way of communism a century before. All the woes of human were blamed on that evil of evils — Science. Science for the sake of pure inquiry was called “Faustian science” just as arts for the sake of seeking beauty was called “bourgeoise arts” a century earlier. When comet Halley returned in 2061, no spacecraft from Mankind went to greet it on its way. Instead, the returning comet witnessed a withdrawal of man’s interest in space — a development totally inconceivable to the comet’s enthusiastic spectators of 1986.
“…such atrocities.” I suddenly heard Schneider’s voice saying.
“Pardon me?” I asked. And then I noticed that the holoscreen was showing scenes of the bloody crackdown of the Malacandra Uprising.
“I was saying it had been a great irony of history in that such good intentions as protecting the environment and living in harmony with nature could lead to such tragic results.” Schneider waved his hand at the images on the holoscreen.
“Oh, I’ve been studying this so-called `irony’ of yours since my school days.” This launched me into one of my lecture moods. “Talking about good intentions, who could have compared with the Marxists at the end of the nineteenth century? And see what great sufferings Marxism had brought to mankind. In the same way, I’m sure those brave souls throwing themselves and their fragile dinghies in front of the whaling vessels back in the twentieth century would not have approved the doings of the present regime. All these prove that all philosophies which reject scientific rationality, no matter how well-conceived, are bound to degenerate into dogmatism and despotism.”
And so we spent the rest of the night airing our opinions on the state of the world. I told Schneider what I knew about the Promethean Society although I was careful not to mention any real names. On the other hand, Schneider told me about the various projects the Martian government would embark upon after independence. The conversation became even more pleasant when Schneider brought out his personal bottle of Martian whiskey. I had not felt so good since the past month or so, and it was well after midnight before we retire and went off to bed.
“I have had second thoughts on this, Chang.” Schneider suddenly said. He had been wearing a worried look since our morning greeting, which however I’d put down to some technical problems with his equipment. I was totally unprepared therefore when he revealed his source of worry over breakfast. “I think we should call off this reply transmission as I think any contact would still do more harm than good. Maybe we should just go on listening to the signals and learn more about whoever is sending them.”
“But why? Has the BEMs reared their ugly heads again in your dreams and triggered off some new fears of yours? But we’ve gone through all this before!” I was exasperated by this sudden change of mind.
“No. No. I’m not talking about any alien invasion in physical form. What I am worried about is the impact of any such contact — even one via radio — on the human psyche. Well, this may sound too far-fetched, but I do believe that a civilization can be shattered psychologically as well as physically.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you are getting at. Can you be more explicit?”
“Well, think of the Australian aboriginals, or the Eskimo people. We may not have done a lot of plundering and willful destruction. But all the same their cultures, values and traditional ways of life were eroded and destroyed. Call it colonial exploitation, cultural shock, natural selection or what you will. All it comes to is the same thing.”
“So, you think we would also be destroyed if we come into contact with a civilization vastly superior to us?” I asked.
“Not physically destroyed but yes, destroyed all the same in terms of racial dignity, cultural identity and spiritual aspirations.” Schneider concluded rhetorically.
I took a deep breath before making my reply. “Do you think I haven’t given this problem some soul-searching analysis? The fact is that I had but I have also come to a conclusion quite different from yours. The main problem facing humanity these days is exactly the lack of spiritual aspiration mentioned by you. And this is the result of a closed mentality fostered and in fact enforced by the present regime. Mankind has turned their backs to the Universe when in fact they have the means to reach for the stars.
“Whitehead had once said: `Without adventure, civilization is in full decay.’ There was also a saying by a twentieth century novelist which I had remembered by heart. What he said was, `A community which cannot and will not realize how insignificant a part of the universe it occupies is not truly civilized. That is to say, it contains a fatal ingredient which renders it, to whatever extent, unbalanced.’ And this is exactly what’s happening to mankind. The contact with an extraterrestrial intelligence is the ideal hammer to split open this cocoon of ours.” I halted for breath but was unable to resist adding, “Remember that the Renaissance was the result of an outward looking world view and not an inward looking one!”
“But you still haven’t answered my question.” Schneider insisted. “Are you going to discount offhand any possible harmful effects of a super-cultural shock? Will not the blow to human pride resulting from such a contact take away the vigor of our culture and lead to its eventual decline, just like what had happened to the culture of the American Indians?”
“No, I’m not discounting any harmful effects of such a contact. What I believe is that being a highly adaptable creature, we should be able to survive such a shock. And there are several other points in support of my view. The first is that an exact analogy could not be drawn between the contact of Eskimos — and if you like, American Indians or South Pacific Polynesians — with the Western civilization on the one hand, and the contact between our present civilization with an advanced alien civilization on the other. History never exactly repeats itself. Even as an inferior culture, we are on a much higher level both intellectually and technologically. To draw my own analogy, our encounter would be more like an adolescent of sixteen meeting an Einstein of sixty rather than like a three-year old child meeting a grown up of twenty. What’s more, we would have our best social psychologist to prepare us for the shock.
“Talking about preparedness brings me to my second point. If we reply to the alien transmission now and come into full contact with its originators later, we will have plenty of time to prepare for the impact of the encounter. On the other hand, if the people were kept in the dark all along, and uninvited alien spaceships suddenly appear in the sky one day, the ensuing impact and chaos will be much greater. This is not a scenario taken out from some cheap science fiction novel. Now that we know there are intelligence out there, it will be just a matter of time when encounter occurs. Your proposal of not responding is akin to the ostrich digging its head in the sands, and, in the end, it will make no difference.
“As to your point about the blow to human pride, I concede that this will occur but would also argue that it would be a small price to pay if it can lead to something far greater. If I were an Eskimo, I would certainly lament the obsolescence of my prowess at harpoon-throwing with the advent of the power rifle. But on the other hand, this would be more than compensated by the opening up of an entire new world where I would learn of the Periodic Table, Newtonian Mechanics, Maxwell’s Equations, General Relativity and Quantum Mechanics.
“And for the artistically inclined,” I continued, “awaiting for him will be the joys of Michelangelo, Rembrandt and Beethoven. You know very well that Heyadarl, considered to be the greatest composer of the twenty first century, was a Lapp growing up in the home of a reindeer herder. Had he stuck to the traditional way of life, he might become a great reindeer herder. But where would then be his mighty Symphony 7, or the immortal Piano Concerto No.1?”
“Well,” Schneider answered hesitantly, “I must admit that I haven’t looked at the problems from so many angles. Just give me some more time, will you? I really have to think this over.”
“Some more time, yes, but not too long please. I’m sure that the Green Cops must be hot on my heels. We must act fast before they discover my whereabouts.”
During the whole morning, Schneider locked himself in the office while I spent hours in the library carrying out further in-depth analyses of the Message using the Observatory’s computer. I first met all the staff of the Observatory over lunch — Frank the spectroscopicist, Ciero the technician, and Boris the cook-cum-janitor. And of course, there was my guide, Osawa, a research student of Schneider specializing in astrochemistry.
After lunch, Schneider led me to his office. After taking our seats, he looked straight into my eyes. I’d never seen him looked so serious before. Finally, he broke the silence and said, “I’ve thought it over and I think I’ll go along with you. Mind you, it’s not an easy decision. Not easy at all, my dear friend! But for once, I think I’ll stick my neck out.”
I let out a deep sigh and slumped into my chair. “You can’t imagine how relieved I am to hear the good news.” I said.
“Anyway,” Schneider continued, “I’ve also given some thoughts to the technical feasibility of converting our T1 telescope into a maser transmitter. Apart from the circuitry, the power supply’s going to be the main problem. I don’t think I can tackle the problem single-handed — well, double-handed if I count you in. We need assistance, and I suggest we enlist the help of my research student Osawa, who is an expert in electronic instruments.”
“But doesn’t that imply he would come to know of our plan?” I asked suspiciously.
“That’s why I’m consulting you, pal. I think there is no way but to let him in with our plan. He’s a very bright lad and there’s no way to fool him with what we intend to do. We just have to take the risk.”
And so my escort for the journey up the [Mons] became the third accomplice in our secret undertaking. As mentioned by Schneider, Mr. Osawa proved to be a young man with a very keen mind. After the initial shock and excitement in learning my discovery, he quickly settled down in a matter-of-fact manner to examine the various technical aspects of Project 220 — a code name invented by him for our project, based on the fact that it would take at least 220 years before we could hope to receive any acknowledgement of our reply.
The three of us spent the rest of the day working on the project. Apart from the technical problems involved with signals transmission, there was also a heated discussion on what to transmit. I had prepared a draft reply before I left Earth, and this was examined in detail and extensively modified. By the time we called it a day, we already had quite a concrete plan for the whole undertaking.
A great hurdle had been passed! Step by step, I was seeing my plan — a plan which had seemed near impossible a few months ago — coming to fruition. But strangely, I did not quite feel the elation to be expected from this achievement….
During the night, I laid awoke in my room listening to Heyadarl’s Symphony No. 6, the Cosmic Symphony. The minidiscy was one of the few personal belongings I’d brought with me to Mars. And No. 6 was one of my favorites among the celebrated 12 symphonies of Heyadarl. The first movement was about the awesome beauties of the universe, the second about the joys of life on a small planet — Earth. These are movements of profound beauty of which one would never tire of hearing. It was always the third movement, however, that brought tears to my eyes. It was about the loneliness of Man in a universe unimaginably vast — and yet despairingly desolate.
Heyadarl’s great work was composed in an era when the Uniqueness Theory was prevalent in the SETI endeavor. This was a result of the lack of any signs of extra-terrestrial intelligence after a whole century of observation — either in the form of radio messages or any manifested effects of astroengineering or galactic colonialism.
Is Man really alone in the Universe? Is life such a rare phenomenon that it had only arisen once in the entire history of our Galaxy? From the start, I’d found the Uniqueness Theory hard to swallow. How could it be that the light and warmth of a thousand billion suns — apart from one — were all wasted in the darkness of interstellar space?
The symphony was now in its last movement, a movement about transcendence and the destiny of mankind. A turbulent B flat minor was forcing its way through a multitude of sounds in search of its apotheosis. What is the destiny of Mankind? I asked myself. Or more to the point, what should the destiny of mankind be? Should it be one in which peace and contentment was found by living in harmony with oneself? Or should it be a destiny shared with other sentient races cohabitating a vast and complex universe? How could we be sure that the universe was benign to emerging races like ours? By replying to the message, was I foreclosing the choice open to mankind, or even putting mankind’s future in jeopardy?
To convince Schneider, I had to conceal my own doubts about the decision to reply. My discussion with Schneider today had a sense of déjà vu. I had gone over the arguments before — not with anyone but with my own self — and in many varied ways. The problems bothering Schneider had also been nagging at me for the past few months. Thus, Schneider had become in a sense my alter-ego re-voicing my own doubts.
Does a single person have the right to determine the fate of the whole human race?
In the next few days, I tried hard to push any lingering doubts out of my mind and concentrated on the work at hand. A lot of discussions were made on how we should break the news of our transmission to the Martian government afterwards so that we would be offered sanction against the ensuing wrath of the Gaian Council. On the other hand, we had to make sure that the news would not be kept secret from the populations of Mars and Earth. Much speculation was also made on the possible impacts of the news on the public, as well as the tension that’s bound to arise between the Martian and Terran Government.
“Excuse me,” Osawa was bursting into the dining room with a message in his hand and a worried look on his boyish face. The conversion of the T1 telescope was near completion and if all went well, tomorrow was going to be the Transmission Day. “I’ve just received an alert from the Met Bureau.” Osawa was saying, “There is a giant dust-storm coming our way. Expected time of arrival is 15 UTC which is about 3 hours from now.”
Schneider took over the message and read through it quickly. “Oh no! This is going to be a big one.” He was standing up as he said this. “It looks like the Amber Alert pushed out by the Met people a few days ago is going to be fully vindicated. If the boys down at Burroughsberg are correct, this will be the largest sandstorm ever observed since the setting up of the Global Storm Watch, bigger even than the one that greeted the arrival of Mariner 9 back in 1971. We must hurry and cover up all our instruments as soon as possible. Sorry, Chang. You just finish your breakfast, but I’ve got to go. Osawa, please notify Frank and Ciero immediately.”
The storm ravaged for a full seven days before subsiding. Non-stop for seven days and seven nights, a constant rumbling ran through every corner of the observatory. It was hard to imagine such power being packed into an atmosphere so thin. Communication with the outside was disrupted for most of the time. The only thing we could do was wait — as Osawa jokingly put it, waiting for the sky to open so that we could open up the sky for humans.
And then on one morning it was all over. I woke up to an eerie silence which only after some confused moments could I put down to the absence of the rumbling brought about by the sandstorm. When I got up to the control room, Schneider and Osawa were already standing by the observation deck facing the large viewing window. With the sandshields sliding ponderously away on both sides, the panorama of Amazonis Planitia was lying before us once more through the reinforced carboglass. Sunlight spilling into the control room created a strangely buoyant mood after the days of gloom. The air was crystal clear, and it seemed that one could see to the edge of forever….
While we were busy setting up the instruments for the transmission, Osawa suddenly cried out, “Look! An ionicopter!” And surely it was. A very ill foreboding suddenly arose in my chest, got hold of my heart and then pulled it down to an abysmal depth. I knew who would be on that ‘copter. Strangely enough, my first thought was not about my own fate but that of my friend on Island One.
The ionicopter was coming in fast. Before long, the insignia of the Green Cops could clearly be seen on its side. “Hurry!” I shouted, “We must start the transmission before they arrive.” At the same time, the intercom was buzzing. Ciero’s voice came through saying, “Dr. Schneider! A ‘copter of the Green Cops is calling in through the radio requesting for use of the landing pad and airlock entrance. Should I comply or not?”
“They must have been waiting all through the storm!” I gritted my teeth. “No. Tell Ciero to ask them for their intention and whether they have any search warrant or not. Try to stall them as much as you can.” I commanded.
While Schneider was talking to Ciero through the intercom, Osawa announced triumphantly, “Antenna up and tracking. Transmission can begin at any moment.” “OK. Let’s do it!” I said. But then Osawa turned around from the console and stared at us with a look of despair on his face. “Everything’s ready except that the target is still 3 degrees below the horizon!”
“God damn it!” Schneider emitted an angry cry. “If only the planet can spin a little bit faster!”
“They said they had an arrest warrant.” It was the voice of Ciero through the intercom. “I’m afraid we have to let them in, Dr. Schneider. They are now already at the airlock.”
Suddenly, I had an idea. “Osawa! Can you program the system to carry out repeated automatic transmissions until target’s in sight?”
“The programing part should be easy. The problem is with the power supply. I think it’s better to program a single automatic transmission once the target’s in sight.”
“Good! Do it!” In a desperate attempt to gain further moments, I rushed forward to bolt the door of the control room.
No sooner had I returned to the console overseeing Osawa’s re-programing did we hear footsteps charging up the stairs. Poundings and shouts at the door soon followed. After a while there was a short pause, then a loud gun shot as the doorknob was blasted away. The door was flung open, and several people charged in. Leading the charge was a Green Cops Commander — none other than my old friend Stanley Ziegler.
“Put your hands on your head!” Stan shouted. Following him into the room was an officer and two constables of the Martian Green Cops. Standing up and putting his hands onto his head, Osawa whispered to me, “Sorry, Professor Chang. Programing not yet completed. Transmission still requires manual command.”
The manual command was a switch on another part of the console about two meters away from me. I tried to edge closer in that direction. “Stand right where you are!” Stanley Ziegler barked. He pointed his pistol in my direction and said, “Chang, you are under arrest. I know what you’re trying to do so don’t you move an inch! I’d hate to kill an old classmate but if I’m forced to, I will.” From the look of his eyes, I had no doubt he meant what he said.
Did it mean that all that we’d done had come to nothing after all? No, there’s still a last straw of hope. “How do you know I’m here?” I tried to stall for time.
“You have under-estimated our surveillance system, Chang, and also the loyalty of many of our comrade citizens.”
I put on a sardonic smile and said, “Come on, Stan. If your surveillance system is really that good, or your citizens all that loyal, how come that I’m here instead of already in your prison cells in Gobi?”
The countenance of Stan darkened, and I knew I had stumbled upon his sore spot. “That,” he said ominously, “was a minor slip of ours which I ensure you would not be allowed to…”
“Target in sight!” It was Osawa hissing behind my back.
Without a second thought, I threw myself towards the switch. “Stop it!” Stan shouted. I was by the switch when he fired. A searing pain shot through my chest, and I staggered. Ignoring the pain and the terrible outflow of blood, I stretched myself forward to reach for the switch. Another bullet ripped through my side but couldn’t prevent me from pulling down the switch in one last stroke of my dying strength.
I dropped onto the floor lying in my own pool of blood. Stan was shooting like mad, not at me anymore but at the control console. But it was useless. The signal had been sent on its way to the stars.
Life was running out of me. All I could see through my blurred vision was blood, but even that vision was slipping away fast. I had only one last thought before complete darkness descended. And that was — I hope I’d done the right thing….
* * *
“Please wake up, Professor Chang! We are already at the waystation. The elevator will take us up to the Observatory direct from here…. Sir! Are you feeling well? Your face appears pale, need some rest before we go?”
“No, I’m alright! Let’s go now.”