A Simple Truth (5 page)

"What's up Geoff?  Malfunction?"

"No
... I don't think so
,"
he replied slowly, "but these co-ordinates are a bit unexpected if they are genuine."

Since Lincoln's departure the
Mendeleev
staff had not been idle.  It was to be expected that one of Procyon's planets would be the true signal source so in response to a suggestion from Jean Forsyth the team set about finding its position.  Unfortunately the Big Ear could not locate the source precisely, but the number three instrument could.  It was an interferometer, a
number
of widely separated radio telescopes working together, and capable of pinpointing the source to within fi
fty
million kilometres of the star.

They intended to plot its movement over a period of
time to establish its orbit
and gain some clues as to the surface temperature, light intensity and so on, and use these as a basis for predicting the main features of the aliens' world.

"According to these figures the source is just under six seconds of arc distant from the star
laterally
,
giving it a minimum distance of
about
three
billion kilometres
and probably a lot more
."

Dag stretched out in his seat, placed his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling.  This was his usual thinking position.  He was not an electronics expert or particularly conversant with the finer points of interferometry so he could not suggest any sources of error that Geoff himself would not already have considered.  Instead he mulled over the implications of its being a genuine reading.

"
Well let's see now,
"
he began, thinking aloud,
"
Procyon
'
s a hotter star than the sun so
the source planet is
likely to be further out than the earth is from the sun, but t
hat
's a very long way out indeed, especially as it's a
double star system.  Not only would it get
almost no
heat or light from the star, i
ts orbit would
very likely
be
unstable
. 
Perhaps it's colonised, or maybe it's just a
n
orbiting transmitter."

"Mm
..
.
mm
,"
muttered Geoff, deep in thought and not really listening.

At that moment Jean Forsyth arrived, followed closely by Sergio.  She was given the story and immediately set about making a detailed system check.

"I hope you get it sorted out soon, only
five days
to blackout remember
,"
remarked Sergio.

They didn't need to be reminded.  The mystery star was hurtling towards the horizon with dismaying speed.

"We'll s
ort it out Sergio.  Don't worry," r
eplied Jean sharply.  Sergio was beginning to realise that problems did not improve Jean's sense of humour or tolerance to flippancy.  He shot a glance of mock injury towards Dag who winked back knowingly.

Three quarters of an hour later Jean declared the number three system sound.  "Right, l
et's get some more measurements.  H
ow much longer to the next transmission?"

"About ten minutes
,"
replied Geoff checking his watch.

She
carried out the
alignment, cut in the autoseeker
,
and announced that the system was ready.  Twelve minutes later the now familiar message rang out through the control room.  Within the first second the
analysis computer had done its work
and the readout presented the co-ordinates.

"Hey, look at this
,"
gasped Geoff in surprise.  The others didn't immediately see the reason for his reaction so he passed the printout recorded earlier to Jean.  Dag and Sergio were still perplexed but Jean's recheck of the present co-ordinates and subsequent frown showed that she too had seen the anomaly.

"Well?"
demanded Dag.  "W
hen you two have finished gaping perhaps you would enlighten us poor ignorant souls?"

"The co-ordinates have changed.  The source has moved
,"
explained Jean quietly, as though she herself didn't quite believe what she saw.

"But planets do move, surely that's to be expected
?"
suggested Sergio.

"Yes but not this much in only an hour
,"
retorted Geoff who was already punching the new co-ordinates into a calculator to establish precisely what movement had in fact occurred.

Before the result could be given the control room speakers came to life again.  But this time it was not the familiar message that had become a part of control room life.  It began so gently and softly that only Dag Fransson heard it at first.  He slowly cocked his head to one side, unsure of where the sound was coming from.  Gradually Sergio and Jean too allowed their preoccupation to be disturbed.  Only Geoff continued with his calculation, oblivious to his surroundings.  Jean softly put a hand on his forearm and he looked up in surprise.  Then he too became aware of the delicate and beautiful patterns of sound now pervading the control room.  Ripples of sound were merging and separating, coalescing, and bursting in a kaleidoscope of harmony.  Yet there was an underlying consistency, a background of dependability underpinning the dancing chords, a foundation of solidity inspiring trust and confidence.  No-one spoke, or moved, or hardly dared to breath for fear of disturbing this beautiful and intricate composition.

This was much more tha
n music.  It was a completeness, a
pure wholeness, each aspect of which perfectly complemented all the others.  Each part was dependent on the rest and the whole was dependent on each part.  The four stood transfixed, enraptured by de
light.  Each was touched deeply;
the chords stru
ck directly at the emotions, by
passing all reason and logic.  Each felt the same joy and enchantment, of hopes fulfilled, of fears dissipated, each felt the same sense of peace and happiness and each bathed in the experience.

Gradually the volume decreased, the patterns melted into each other, slowly and quietly.  So soft was the conclusion that the point at which the transmission stopped could not be defined precisely, and the four stood together in silence for a while.

Eventually Geoff sat down.

"That was wonderful
,"
he said, his voice showing the emotion that he felt.  Jean wiped a tear from her cheek.

"Never have I heard anything so perfect, so..."

"Heavenly
?"
suggested Sergio, but this time without flippancy.

"Yes, heavenly,
" agreed Jean.

Dag walked over to the control
console of the giant telescope.  T
he signal monitor was still faithfully recording the frequency of the last signal received.  The readout was quite specific, one
giga
hertz.

Of course
,
thought Dag, it had to be.

"That was it, that was the message we've been waiting for
,"
he said, "and what a message.  What better greeting could there be than that.  I don't know anything about these aliens but I do know that we can trust them, that they want our friendship and mean us no harm."

Jean added her own feelings.  "Yes, they have spoken to us more directly and clearly by their beautiful music than by any combination of mere words.  The message it contained could not be missed or doubted."

Their pensive mood continued for over an hour, and would have lasted longer but for the communication console buzzing rudely for attention.

Dag walked over and
a
cknowledge
d the communication
.

"
Mendeleev
Observatory receiving, Fransson here, go ahead, over."

"HQ
,
Arnold here.
Did you get that last transmission?"  It was obvious from his eager voice that he too had been affected.

"We certainly did, and we're still in a state of euphoria.  We didn't think to check the signal strength, were you able to pick it up clearly?" 

"Yes
,
but not by ordinary receivers.  It's just been relayed from the Helsinki hundred metre telescope.  Judging from your remarks it had the same effect on you as on us.  Whoever these people are they produce some fantastic music, if that's not too demeaning a word for it." 

***************

George Dent had obviously used this conference room before.  He negotiated the maze of corridors and offices without effort.  By the time they arrived Lincoln was exhausted.  Dent thrust open the door and allowed Lincoln to precede him into the room.

"Good day everyone,
I want you to meet Arthur Lincoln
.
"  Dent introduced him to each in turn and waited while they shook hands and exchanged the usual pleasantries, although he was clearly itching to get on with more important business.

The room was far too pretentious for such a small gathering decided Lincoln.  The terminal authorities set great store by their prestigious facilities and as a conference room this lacked nothing.  Luxurious leather upholstered chairs surrounded an enormous oval table.  Each place had its own little console with controls for recording events; whisper microphones for superimposing one's own comments without disturbing the proceedings or to allow one to communicate in confidence with someone outside the room; a computer link to permit access to
any external information, and
viewing
screens
recessed into the table in front of each place to allow teleconferences. 

At the end of the room was a raised platform with every conceivable visual display facility available at the touch of a switch.  Lighting was superb.  The windows overlooked the departure runway and were fitted with 'Constalight' glass.  This darkened automatically to reduce glare on bright days and became a light source to supplement sunlight on dark days or replace it altogether during the hours of darkness.

Lincoln smiled to himself,
a
ll this for a group of seven.

The five already present had stood politely to greet the newcomers and were now observing protocol in waiting for Dent to seat himself.

"I suggest we make ourselves comfortable at the front, help yourselves to drinks, there's a dispenser in the small cupboard to your left."

Dent seated himself centrally and the others took places on either side.  Lincoln opened the sliding door of the drinks dispenser and treated himself to a glass of orange juice.  He smiled again, this was a feature he hadn't noticed, and wondered what other marvels the room contained.

"As you are all aware
,"
Dent began, "we have been contacted by an intelligence of extraterrestrial origin.  This contact has been deliberately instigated and has used our own primary language.  The message has implied further communication but so far none has been received.  Doctor Lincoln is the foremost specialist in the field of xenothology, the science of communication and diplomacy with intelligent alien races.  He's been looking for extraterrestrial intelligence for some five years now and is perhaps the least taken aback at this development.  Arthur, would you care to give us the benefit of your views on broadly how we should handle this contact?"

'The crafty old devil
,' thought Lincoln,
'
h
e knows what my feelings are and he also
knows that the opinion of the "
expert
"
in a matter such as this is likely to influence the opinions of others, particularly if voiced first.  All the fuss in getting me down here is bound to lend weight to my credibility and hence my views.  He's hoping to use me merely as a mouthpiece for his own views.  Well he'll get my views, whether they coincide with his or not, and if they don't then he'll find that I won't be silenced.  He might have chosen me, but now I'm here I'm going to stay and play a full part in his game, but by my own rules.'

"Well I'll certainly try
,"
he began, showing no outward sign of the defiance he felt internally, "but I hope you'll bear with me if I remain seated, I'm afraid one gee feels quite a strain after the moon's gentle pull." 

There were no objections so he continued.  "You suggest that perhaps I wasn't as taken aback as everyone else, but let me assure you I was quite dumbfounded.  At first I was convinced that the signal was a hoax, but when our own telescope confirmed it I was stunned.  Although we appear to have very little to go on as yet, in fact we already know quite a lot, and it is appropriate that we should consider the implications of our knowledge without delay.  We know that the signals are from Procyon, or Alpha Canis Minoris to give the star its full name, and this star is over eleven light years away from the solar system.  The message is in our primary language, English, so the aliens have detected our own radio signals, have realised that they are the product of intelligence, have decoded them and understood the meaning of them."