Xenophobia (7 page)

"
How?
"

"
Mr. Ambassador, I'm a scientist, not a soothsayer. We'll have to wait and see.
"

"
Humor me,
" the ambassador said. "
What's the most likely scenario?
"

"
There’s no likely scenario. We're in uncharted territory. We think they picked up on our electromagnetic radiation, our TV and radio signals as they have been beamed into space over the past century, but they've made no effort to communicate with us via radio waves and have ignored our attempts to dialogue.
"

"
And how have you tried to open dialogue?
"

"
With crude methods, with communication akin to the semaphore used between naval vessels in World War I. Just flashes of light deliberately sweeping across their craft, but following a pattern of prime numbers. All we're looking for in return is an acknowledgement on the same frequency, but there's been nothing. It's like they're not listening, which is counterintuitive given they've just flown dozens of light-years to get here.
"

"
And what do you make of that?
"

"
I think the only thing we can make of it is that their ways are not our ways, their mode of communication has nothing in common with ours. And it's for this reason, I support the launch of the Orion, as our physical presence in space would be something they would recognize.
"

"
Oh
," the ambassador replied, "
But there's a danger they could interpret our launch as a hostile act.
"

"
I don't think that's likely. They would have already observed that we have thousands of satellites in orbit, that we have a manned space station, that we have deep space telescopes like the James Webb, so they know we're capable of space flight. Even though we’ve developed nuclear weapons, it's not likely we could be a serious threat to them. If their shielding can protect them from the fusion of interstellar hydrogen into helium, a nuclear bomb is going to be like a firecracker.
"

“
So you disagree with the Addison initiative?
”

“
Absolutely. Nuclear weapons are so devastatingly effective on Earth because there’s stuff to push around, air that can be super-heated and compressed, but in space, they’re little more than fireworks.
”

Another voice broke in over the top of the discussion.

"
We interrupt this special session at the United Nations to bring you news from Washington DC, where NASA special liaison Jonathan McKinsey has just announced that the alien craft is in motion, moving in an arc toward Earth. If the initial course is held, NASA expects the craft to enter a stable orbit some eight hundred to one thousand miles above Earth's surface within the next day."

The radio transmission was confused. There were several voices talking in the background. Bower could make out terms like perihelion and apogee from a female voice, but it was the drone of a monotonous male voice mumbling in different languages that spooked her.

"
Nouse venons en paix ... Veniamo in pace ... Ons kom in vrede ... Ni revenos en paco ... Wij komen in vrede ... Wir kommen in Frieden ...
"

"
As you can hear
," the commentator continued, speaking over the top of the voice. "
The craft has begun transmitting a single phrase at 1420 MHz, a phrase repeated over and over again in every known language on Earth, a phrase with only one, unmistakable meaning
."

"
Vimos en paz ... Erchomaste se eirini ... Dumating kami sa kapayapaan ... Nou vini nan lape ... We come in peace ... Rydym yn dod mewn heddwch ... dolazimo u miru ...
"

The radio commentator was silent, allowing the gravity of the moment to be conveyed in the rhythmic repetition of that phrase in multiple languages. The slow, plodding words cast a spell over Bower, leaving her in a trance. In the background, she was vaguely aware of the sound of a truck engine starting up and soldiers hollering.

Jameson said something, but she was barely aware of his words. He tapped her knee, saying, "We need to get the hell out of here before the rebels return in force."

Bosco switched the radio off and Bower found herself snapped cruelly back to Africa.

"Time to get this show on the road," yelled Elvis. "We're going to Vegas, baby, Vegas."

The road to Ksaungu was full of refugees fleeing the fighting in the rural areas. They marched along the sides of the rough dirt track, spilling into the single lane as they herded goats and cattle before them. Men, women and children called out, pleading to be taken on board the Ranger's Hummer and the truck, but the soldiers were firm, shouting at the stragglers, peeling their hands away from the back of the truck and watching as they collapsed to the ground, still appealing to the soldiers.

"Surely, we can take some of them," Bower said, sitting in the cab of the truck with Elvis driving and Jameson riding shotgun.

Elvis was quiet.

Jameson looked at her with eyes that pierced her soul, and for a moment she wasn't sure if he was going to say anything at all. It seemed his silence spoke loudest, saying what she already knew, that it was a futile effort. Within minutes, they could be joining the refugees on foot if the engine on the truck gave out, and adding more people would only hasten that moment. Besides, who should they save? Those who shouted loudest? Those who pushed and shoved others out of the way? And why these people? What about others further down the road? Were they any less deserving? It was easy to drive on, these people weren't in any immediate danger, and yet she couldn't escape the feeling that they were somehow condemned to death.

"We can fight a battle," Jameson finally said. "But we cannot fight a war."

Bower was silent. Jameson examined a map of Ksaungu, talking to Elvis about their approach to the city and possible exit routes if they came under rebel fire. He settled on the Hotel Ksaungu as somewhere they could rest and take stock of the situation. He said it had been used by the Press Corps and would have good connections.

Government forces pushed north against the human tide flowing south, waving at the US Rangers and calling out as they drove past. They didn't seem too bothered by the US soldiers heading away from the battle. Government troops sat on tanks, in the back of trucks and on top of armored personnel carriers, smoking and joking, yelling and laughing.

After an hour or so, as the Rangers moved further down the road, Bower noticed the civilians became more subdued. They no longer clambered to get on board the truck. They shuffled along the road, numb to the exodus forced upon them. In some ways, their sullen demeanor was more alarming than the almost riotous villagers further north. They seemed to have lost the will to fight and were trudging on instinctively rather than with purpose.

"Hey, what about them fucking aliens," Elvis said, half leaning on the steering wheel as their truck crawled along at barely fifteen miles an hour, bouncing in and out of potholes.

Bower was seated between Elvis and Jameson. She turned to Elvis, surprised by how he'd blurted this out. For the most part, their conversation so far had been subdued, but Elvis wasn't one to stay subdued for too long.

"I mean, what a load of bullshit.
'We come in peace,'
yeah, right. Like anyone's going to believe that."

"But they do come in peace," Bower cried, somewhat confused by how Elvis could assume anything else. How could he assume the worst? Was she being naive? No, she thought.

"Come on, Doc. Don't tell me you believe that horse-shit. No one comes in peace. Hell, look at us. We're peacekeepers, and we blow shit up all the time."

Elvis laughed.

"They're not like us," Bower protested, although she knew her protest was irrational in that it wasn’t based on anything other than her gut feeling.

"How do you know that? Maybe they're just like us. I mean, think about it, what is peace? I'll tell you what peace is, peace is an illusion, a dream. We came in peace at Plymouth Rock, and look how that turned out for the Indians. You wanna know what peace is, Doc? Peace is conquest. Peace is submission."

Jameson was quiet. Bower looked over at him, looking to see if he was going to come to her defense. He raised his eyebrow as if to say, you're on your own on this one.

"Peace is important," Bower replied, not sure quite what else to say to Elvis.

"Oh, I don't doubt that, Doc. But whenever you get two parties together with differing viewpoints, differing opinions, there will never be peace. If there is peace, it will come because one group has subdued the other by force of arms."

Bower was silent.

Elvis continued.

"You think that's what they mean to do, Doc? To subdue us? To force peace upon us? Just like we have brought peace to Africa with a gun? How well do you think that's going to go down in the US?"

Elvis laughed. His teeth were pearly white. From this angle, he really did look a little like Elvis Presley, with his baby face, his full cheeks and wavy hair.

"I tell you, Doc. Anyone that thinks these guys come in peace is kidding themselves. No one comes in peace. They bring peace as they always have, with a sword.

“Seriously, what do you think civilization would be like without the police? Without someone to enforce peace?

“Nah, I reckon those big green bugs know exactly what they're doing. They'll come down here with their silver flying saucers and ray guns and leave us in pieces."

He laughed yet again. This was a joke to him. Although he'd raised some genuine concerns, his interest was fleeting.

"My pappy saw a UFO once," he continued. "Damn thing took one of our cows. We found a shredded cow skin the next day. No meat, no bones, just the flayed, bloody skin hanging on a barbwire fence. You think it's the same ones? Like a scout ship or something? Sent ahead to find out our weaknesses. Or maybe there’s more of them. You know, like on Star Trek and stuff. Lots of different aliens from different places."

Bower didn't know where to begin.

"Do you think they can read our minds?"

"If they can," Bower replied, seizing the opening. "They won't find much."

Elvis burst out laughing, slapping the steering wheel. He smiled at her. Bower was surprised; she’d expected him to be offended.

“So what of it, Doc? Why aren’t they talking to us. You know, like you and I are. Why not just come down here and say, ‘
Hi, I’m Marvin the Martian
,’ or whatever, and talk properly with us?”

“It’s not that simple,” Bower replied. “Before going to Med School, I studied to be a vet. I made it through my first year, but my heart wasn’t in it. I realized I wanted to help people.”

Elvis nodded his head thoughtfully. Jameson was content to listen.

“My father was a microbiologist, always talking about chemistry and how molecules formed proteins, sugars and acids, but that was too abstract for me. He wanted me to follow in his footsteps, but I liked to work with things I could touch. Somehow, medicine seemed more real when stitching up a wound on a patient. Anyway, one of my first year veterinarian courses was on animal psychology. I got to work with cats, dogs, dolphins, cows, you name it.”

Elvis laughed. “So you put a dolphin on a couch and ask it about its childhood?”

“Something like that,” Bower replied, feeling the tension between them softening. She’d taken Elvis the wrong way. There was nothing malicious about him. He was just a good-old-southern-boy. He would probably like grits with a side of bacon and eggs for breakfast every day of his life if given the chance.

“You see, we talk to animals all the time, thinking they understand us, but they don’t. They see the world through a different lens. There’s no doubt they’re intelligent, and that they think for themselves, but they don’t see the world as we do. You’ll never catch a cow admiring a beautiful flower, or a dog stopping to enjoy a radiant sunset.

“We tend to project our own emotions and feelings onto animals, but its one way traffic. You and I see a dog as part of our families, the dog sees itself as part of a tribe, an inter-species animal pack. And just like a wild pack, your dog will want to know where it sits in the hierarchal order. You may think of it as being on the bottom rung, but I doubt it does, especially if you have young kids. You might think you’ve got your dog well-trained, but he thinks he’s domesticated you.”

“Hah,” Elvis cried. “My pappy’s dog definitely thinks he rules the roost. He’ll chew anything in sight, and sit up on the couch like he owns the joint.”

“Dog’s have emotions, though,” Jameson countered. “They genuinely care about us, right?”

“Oh, they do,” Bower replied. “But through the lens of their nature, not ours. They show empathy when people are distressed, but emotionally they never really develop beyond that of a two or three year old child.”

“What about cats?” Jameson asked.

“Domestic cats are different. Apart from lions, there are no cats that move in packs, so they see their inclusion in a family as being part of a litter, and as such there will be parents and other kittens, your children. When your cat brings a live mouse into the house, they’re trying to teach you and your kids how to hunt. They must think we’re stupid when we never catch any mice of our own.”

“Damn,” Elvis said, laughing as he chewed on some gum.

“A few years ago, a bunch of divers freed a sperm whale from shark nets off the east coast of Australia. From memory, there were five or six divers. Anyway, once the whale was free it swam up beside each of them individually and took a good look at them. It drifted up to their boat, stuck its head out of the water and looked at the support crew on deck. It was, by all accounts, a moving experience. Those divers came away saying they felt the whale expressed a sense of gratitude and appreciation, but they simply projected their own emotional expectations onto the animal.”

“How do you know for sure?” Elvis asked. “Maybe the whale was thankful to be rescued.”

Bower laughed, saying, “Because, if they’d rescued a polar bear from a similar predicament, the bear would have eaten them.”

“I don’t know about that, Doc,” Jameson replied. “I remember seeing a documentary on PBS about that, and the guy that cut the whale loose said it was nervous as hell at first, treating them like sharks or something, but once he started cutting the whale loose she calmed down. He said working with the whale was like soothing a rattled horse.”

Bower listened intently. “Oh, there’s no doubt whales are intelligent, but the whale’s response could just as well have been one of astonished bewilderment, curiosity or disbelief as much as gratitude.

“You see, the point is, these are our emotions, not theirs. If those divers had freed a hungry Great White Shark it would have probably attacked them, but if it hadn’t been hungry, it too could be described as grateful. The reality is, those divers freed a mostly docile aquatic mammal, one that doesn’t have
Homo sapiens
on the menu.”

“Isn’t it a matter of degrees?” Elvis asked. “I mean, a cricket’s smarter than a rock. A lizard is smarter than a cricket. A dog is smarter than a lizard, and on a good day, I’m smarter than my dog.”

Jameson laughed. “You wish.”

“Haw haw,” Elvis cried, laughing in his southern accent.

“In some regards, it is a matter of degrees,” Bower replied. “As there’s no doubt a doe cares for a newborn fawn, but too often we read too much into these behaviors. Chimpanzees share 98% of our DNA, but that doesn’t make them 98% human. We’re not the benchmark other species are trying to attain in terms of their intelligence and emotions. They’re quite happy being themselves.

“There’s little in the way of common ground between us and other animals. Think about dolphins. Cute, cuddly, friendly dolphins. Everyone loves dolphins, right? They’re the good guys of the ocean. And yet for all we think we know about them, we really don’t understand them at all. Dolphins will gang-rape females for days on end. Rival males will kill newborns to bring a female back in heat. As playful as they seem in a dolphin show, as intelligent as they appear, they’re not people, and we shouldn’t treat them as such. Our morals, our values simply do not apply to them.”

“I can’t believe you’re picking on dolphins,” Elvis quipped. “Don’t they save swimmers by dragging them to shore?”

Jameson added, “Yeah, but you never hear about the people they drag out to sea.”

Elvis laughed.

Bower continued, saying, “Try as we may, we can’t imagine life as a bat, relying on sonar rather than sight. We can’t imagine sensing electrical fields like a shark, or being a spider that sees four primary colors rather than three. In the same way, animals cannot imagine being human. We can teach chimps to use sign language, we can teach parrots to hold a conversation, but they’re adopting human precepts, not inheriting them as a child would.

“Think about it. Does a dog care who’s President of the United States? Does a cat care how much you earn? Does a goldfish know if you’re married or single?

“We surround ourselves with artificial constructs, things we think are real, and these influence our sense of culture, they carry emotional weight, and yet they’re meaningless to other animals.”

“And you think these aliens are like animals?” Jameson asked.

“Not terrestrial animals. But if we can’t communicate openly with any other species on our planet without reading our own emotions into their responses, what chance do we have of talking to beings from another planet? And what chance do they have of talking to us without there being some kind of misunderstanding?”

“None,” Elvis replied grinning. “If any UFOs touch down south of the Mason-Dixon line, they’re gonna regret cashing in those frequent-flyer miles.”

“You’ve got to see this from their perspective,” Bower added. “Saying, ‘
We come in peace
,’ is probably all they could say without someone, somewhere taking things the wrong way. And, even then, can you imagine the conspiracy theory nuts? Oh, they’ll be swinging from the chandeliers.”

“Oh yeah,” Elvis said. “And I could name most of them. Ha ha.”

Bower was excited about the conversation. The two soldiers might have had only a passing interest, but Bower was electrified to think about alien contact in detail. She made the point, “We don’t just speak with words. Some scientists estimate that words make up only about half of any conversation. Most of what we say is conveyed by our posture, our body language, our tone of voice, our eyes. More than that, most of what we say is an extension of what has been said before. Saying, I love you to someone after screaming at them for an hour in an argument doesn’t really mean anything, right?”