The Contact Episode Three

  THE CONTACT

  episode three

  by

  Albert Sartison

  Copyright

  © 2014 by Albert Sartison

  Second edition

  1.04

  Contents

  A frank conversation

  The asteroid belt

  Back to Earth

  Living or not?

  Plan B

  Fit for work again

  A question of justice

  The incomer’s secret

  Cat and mouse

  A frank conversation

  Shelby had received Steve’s message the previous evening, and since then he hadn’t stopped thinking about what to do next. He had tossed and turned all through the night, and when the alarm clock rang, he was lying with his eyes open, staring at the ceiling.

  He couldn’t say that Steve’s message had greatly surprised him. Even without it, there were more than enough indirect clues that MacQueen was actively preparing for military operations. The question which Shelby kept on asking himself was whether it was worth putting his cards on the table in front of the General.

  But really, what difference would it make? Like any decisive military leader, MacQueen would not change his mind. Once the decision had been taken, it must be carried through to the end. It could be guaranteed that he would continue to insist on doing it his way. He would certainly not recall the bombers.

  And Shelby did not want them recalled. Perhaps sending the bombers was a mistake, but to recall them halfway to the target would be another mistake. If the object saw a whole squadron coming its way suddenly turn round and fly back, it would be clear to it that the behaviour of the Earthlings was inconsistent and that a dispute could have broken out. Who could say, perhaps this was just what the incomer was trying to achieve? Questions, only questions and no answers...

  Shelby was still thinking next morning. Looking round the hall, he thought bitterly to himself that despite all the intellectual power assembled, they couldn’t do anything to withstand the incomer. He probably should talk to MacQueen after all. Let him stick to his hard line on the object, but at least coordinate actions.

  Shelby looked towards the chair in which the General usually sat. It was empty today, only his deputy was present, and he was looking at the scientists in the hall with no interest whatsoever. This was in complete contrast to his behaviour during the first days of contact, when he had avidly listened to every word.

  Shelby went over to him.

  “Good morning!” he said, extending his hand.

  “Greetings, Professor Shelby!” MacQueen’s deputy jumped up and stood to attention as if he contained a spring which had straightened out. No trace of his bored mood remained. He energetically shook Shelby’s hand.

  “I see that you are here alone. Are you standing in for the General?”

  “Yes, General MacQueen ordered me to be on duty in the situation room. This evening I shall submit a report to him on what has happened during the day.”

  “Very good,” said Shelby. “And where is the General now?”

  “I believe he is in his office. He has a teleconference with the General Staff planned for today,” the deputy looked at his watch, “but it’s probably ended by now.”

  “Oh, really! Do you think you could arrange a face-to-face audience with MacQueen for me?” asked Shelby.

  “I’ll see what I can do. I’ll let you know.”

  “Excellent.”

  Shelby nodded and returned to his desk. Sullivan was waiting for him there.

  “How can I help you, Professor?”

  “We have splendid news. We have eliminated all the red dots on our carpet,” replied Sullivan, and pointed to one of the big screens.

  “Really?”

  Shelby turned towards the monitor displaying the common language chart. And it was true, there were no red dots at all.

  “Splendid work, Professor,” said Shelby. “So that means we can now talk with it as a human being.”

  “Well, there are still a few unclear aspects, you can see the blue spots, but that is not so critical. On the whole, yes, you are right.”

  “Excellent... Do you remember that before we began talking to the object, one of our colleagues expounded the theory of cybernetic organisms, cyborgs?” said Shelby, changing the subject.

  Sullivan thought for a second, scratching his chin.

  “One of the biologists, if I remember rightly. Yes?”

  “Possibly, I can’t remember exactly myself. But now that we have conversed extensively with the object, I would be interested to know your personal opinion, based on your experience as a cybernetics expert, so to speak. From the way the object answers our questions, how likely does it seem to you that it is in fact a cyborg?”

  Sullivan leaned on the back of the chair in front of him, folded his hands on his chest and thought deeply.

  “Well... on the one hand, the object replied very quickly. We have not observed any deterioration in the efficiency of its intellectual activity over the whole period of communication. It never shows any sign of sleep or fatigue. This tends to indicate that we are talking to an artificial intellect.

  “On the other hand, I detect in its replies a slight, barely perceptible tinge of emotion. If it were an AI like ours, its responses would have no trace of emotion. So there are arguments on both sides, but on balance, they favour the cyborg theory.”

  “But what if it is an AI simply simulating emotion?” asked Shelby.

  Sullivan nodded.

  “Yes, that’s possible. Our AI can also pretend, but it isn’t very good at it. If sufficient experience with such an AI is accumulated, its mimicry of a biological being begins to show through. A trained eye sees the deception much more quickly, but even a non-specialist will eventually notice that something is not right.

  “The field of cybernetics involving teaching a computer to simulate emotion has been studied quite intensively, you know. But up to now we have not succeeded in creating a really lifelike imitator.”

  “Yes, I know, it’s a whole science in itself. You might think there was nothing easier than pretending to be an emotional being. But in fact it’s not turned out to be at all easy.”

  “Just so. At first, we tried to solve this question purely at the neural network level. But after innumerable failed attempts, we came to realise that emotional thinking is the result not only of the brain acting in its function as a computer, but also of biochemical reactions controlled by hormones.

  “Our first thought, naturally, was to go over to emulating the biochemical reactions of an organism. But as it turned out, they are a devilishly complex part of the cognitive apparatus. An AI loaded with a hormone module tends to lose its psychological balance. If the hormonal influence in the simulation is too great, the AI starts raving deliriously, if that’s the right way to put it. It simply loses its capacity for logical thought. If we reduce the sensitivity of the AI to hormonal influence to make it think rationally again, the influence of biochemistry at some stage drops suddenly, and becomes so small that eventually it can be ignored altogether.

  “This hormonal biochemistry in the human body and its influence on intelligent thought is a very complex thing. We understand the processes in the organism well enough, but we do not yet fully understand the participation of hormones in cognitive activity. As cyberneticists, we cannot find that narrow path on which an AI would act like its human prototype. Obviously the human brain has some sort of feedback system, which regulates tolerance of hormones and does not permit us to go out of our mind.”

  “Yes, but the incomer is clearly ahead of us in the level of development of its AI,” objected Shelby. “
You can’t assume that the object’s creators could not solve this problem.”

  “Absolutely. I just wanted to make it clear that on the basis of the data available to us, we cannot draw a final conclusion as to the internal arrangement of the object itself,” concluded Sullivan, “but why does this bother you?”

  “Well, I have long been asking myself if this is a living object or not because this might have far-reaching consequences. If the object is alive, even if it is a cyborg, it probably does know emotions. Joy, sadness, fear, the self-preservation instinct, all of which would leave its mark on its behaviour.”

  “I agree. I’ll think about this, Professor. Possibly we can put together some sort of test to find out if the object has emotions.”

  Shelby and Sullivan fell silent when MacQueen’s deputy came up to them and caught their attention.

  “Professor Shelby, forgive me for interrupting your conversation. The General awaits you,” he reported.

  “Oh, excuse me, I have to leave,” said Shelby, apologising to Sullivan. “Is he in his office?” he asked, turning to the deputy.

  “Yes. You will be escorted there.”

  “Thank you.”

  MacQueen’s office was hidden deep inside the building. A whole labyrinth of corridors had to be passed through to reach it. There were armed guards everywhere, and the transitions from one sector of the building to another had sealed locks, which also served as protective screens if military operations should take place in the building. Inside, the place was like a fortress. In principle, that was exactly what it was.

  Although the presence of armed guards on duty at practically every corner was nothing extraordinary in such a setting, Shelby sensed tension in the air.

  “Here we are, Professor, the General awaits you,” said the officer escorting Shelby. He pointed to one of the doors, which had four infantrymen guarding it.

  Shelby thanked him with a nod, knocked on the door and entered the office. MacQueen was sitting behind his desk, working on a computer.

  “Mr. Shelby!” He raised his eyes. “Please, come in, sit down. Do you want something to drink?”

  “No, thank you.”

  MacQueen nodded and returned to his monitors. Then he made a few shutdown gestures to the computer.

  “So, Professor, how can I help you?” asked MacQueen, turning the monitor aside.

  “General, I know that you are sending a group of bombers towards Jupiter,” said Shelby without further ado.

  MacQueen chuckled and slowly took a few sips of coffee. Judging from his smug appearance, he was not in the least surprised. He was clearly enjoying the situation, and obviously wanted to extend this satisfaction by delaying his reply.

  “Really?” he said eventually, trying to maintain a serious expression. The General sprawled back in his chair.

  “And on the basis of what data do you draw this conclusion?”

  Shelby ignored the question, because it was already apparent that MacQueen knew the answer. Obviously he knew what Steve and Clive had been doing on Mars. It was strange that he had not tried to stop them although he had wind of their plan.

  “General, with all due respect, are you seriously considering the possibility of making a strike on the object? On the representative of an extraterrestrial civilisation who has undertaken no hostile actions against us? We both know what would follow that. There is no alternative to diplomacy.”

  MacQueen’s face at once became serious.

  “There is always an alternative. It is not to everyone’s taste, true. Your diplomacy is not working, Professor. The peaceful negotiations have collapsed. You think the object is conducting itself peacefully? That’s just your opinion. Actually it’s messing with our heads, which requires decisive measures from us.

  “The alien spacecraft invaded our sphere of influence and is trying to play some sort of incomprehensible games with us. We made a gesture of goodwill, we entered into contact with it. In response to this, it has begun twisting and turning and being evasive. What is this childish nonsense ‘Not possible to reply to the question’? Does it take us for fools or what?

  “No, no, Professor, we don’t have to put up with this indefinitely. Our house, our rules. So this time let it decide for itself how our relations are going to develop further. This now depends on the object.”

  Shelby sighed and sat down heavily in an armchair against the wall.

  “General, I and my colleagues in the situation room are not your enemy, we are your partners. If there is no transparency between us about our intentions, how can we communicate with the object? If it realises that there is a split in our team... Don’t you think it is clever enough to guess this and to use it against us?”

  MacQueen laughed and shook his head.

  “I know we are not enemies, but to be trapped in endless conversations like those with which your colleagues are amusing themselves over there” – MacQueen pointed in the direction of the situation room – “doesn’t suit me. If you want to study the phenomenon of the intruder, go ahead. You are scientists, you like to theorise and consider. But I’m a soldier. We are used to acting. You are the brains, we are the sting. If you don’t have a solution, we always have one.”

  On the whole, MacQueen was right. The talks with the incomer were going nowhere, just getting bogged down more and more in equivocation with each new session. Maybe some sabre-rattling would shake it up and direct it towards a more amenable negotiating tactic.

  “There is a grain of sense in your position, I can’t deny it, but to shoot at the object just because it doesn’t want to answer questions would not be to our credit. The reaction could be very unpleasant,” said Shelby eventually.

  “If it doesn’t want to be attacked, it has nothing to fear. But it has to make a decision. Either talk openly with us under our rules, or get out of our system.”

  “All right, what exactly do you intend to do when you have deployed your bombers round Jupiter?”

  MacQueen delayed his reply, obviously wondering if it was worth replying at all.

  “We shall form a ring round Jupiter. After that you will tell the object to stop all this play-acting and get down to serious talk. If it refuses, we shall demand that it leave our Solar System and not trouble us again, at least not until it has a desire to hold a normal constructive dialogue with us. If the object’s intentions are hostile, it will ignore our demand. After a series of warnings, we shall use force and make it leave Jupiter’s orbit.”

  “But that would mean war! The use of force against the object would mean the beginning of an armed conflict between our civilisations!”

  “Professor, a war doesn’t start when the first shot is fired, but much earlier. Ignoring our ultimatum is a declaration of war. And if a conflict is inevitable, we have to strike first.”

  “The object has demonstrated that it has technology which we could never withstand. What if it tried, for example, to penetrate further into our system, closer to Earth?”

  “No, no. We will tell it at the outset what the consequences of such behaviour would be. We will shoot to kill if it leaves Jupiter’s orbit and heads towards the centre of the Solar System.”

  “And how do you intend to attack it, if, say, it leaves Jupiter’s orbit at sub-light speed? It can do that, as it has already shown us. Can we attack at such speeds?”

  “We can.”

  “Remember the way it decelerated as it passed through Saturn’s atmosphere. Its outer shell must be very strong.”

  “Don’t worry, we can get it.”

  “OK, well that’s your domain. Another question. What should we do now? I refer to my colleagues and myself in the situation room.”

  “For the time being, carry on as before. Act as if this conversation had never taken place.”

  “Do you think the object has not noticed your formation flying to Jupiter?”

  “I think it has noticed. But that doesn’t change our position. Put it this way, it’s our own internal affair what
we do with our weapons, offensive or defensive, on our own territory. And for now, our official position remains the same.”

  “Do you have plans for a large-scale conflict?”

  “Of course.”

  “How do you intend to react if we attack the object and then the alien cavalry arrives and declares war on us?”

  “Professor, I am not going to discuss specific plans. In general terms, we shall organise several spheres of defence. As our resistance is overcome, we shall withdraw deeper into the rear, closer to Earth, and hope that we have caused the enemy enough losses to discourage him from continuing military operations.”

  “Surely you don’t seriously believe you can inflict such high losses on the incomers?”

  “I am not particularly hopeful of such a development, but it is not impossible. But military operations will not affect the enemy as much as they affect us. I believe we shall suffer considerably more. But as I already said in discussions with your esteemed colleagues, a war is rarely waged to the point of destruction. It is a war of seizure.

  “If military operations take place in the immediate vicinity of Earth, or even in Earth’s atmosphere, then before our resistance is finally broken, we shall turn the surface of the planet to ashes and dust, and the biosphere with it. We have a firm grip on the planet, it wouldn’t be at all easy to remove us from it. Who knows, maybe that will halt the invaders.”

  “Not exactly a delightful prospect.”

  MacQueen spread his arms.

  “That’s the nature of war, Professor. Nothing can be done about it. It would give me great satisfaction to offer you another scenario, but it is dangerous to deceive yourself with dreams that can never come true. You can’t hide from the truth, you always have to look it in the eye, however bitter it may seem.”

  Shelby nodded approvingly. MacQueen kept quiet, thinking about something. Silence reigned. A pleasant, barely perceptible light breeze blew through the window into the room, creating an atmosphere of peace and calm. It was in stark contrast to the alarming prospect sketched out by MacQueen.