Alex Benedict 9 - Village in the Sky, page 4
“They have electricity,” I said.
“Based on the steady light theory. I have some serious doubts about that. But even if they do, they’re going to be relatively primitive. If we actually get to do a conversation with them, I bet it will be every bit as boring as Wilkinson’s interviews.”
On their tenth day, the team surfaced again and just looked out at the stars for several hours.
* * *
Chuck Dumas is an Earther, from Africa. He’s written several books about scientific research, on topics like how telepathy works or why time travel will not. He looks good and was obviously enjoying the flight. In fact, I’d guess he was the only one on the ship who hadn’t gotten tired of the daily routine. When Autumn mentioned that to him while they were sitting with Wilkinson, trying to come up with a topic that might draw some interest, he propped his chin on folded hands and smiled at her. “It’s probably because of your presence, Autumn. You and Jennifer. No way we can be bored with beautiful women on board.” He said it as if he was kidding, but not really. He’s tall, with friendly eyes, black hair, and a killer smile. “I’m also hoping,” he said, “to get a book out of this experience. But to make that work, the aliens will have to be interesting.” Wilkinson frowned. He didn’t like the path the conversation had taken. But Chuck kept going: “They need to have a characteristic that makes them radically different from us. Like the Mutes.”
Autumn smiled. “And what might that be?”
He grinned back. “Maybe they’ll have X-ray vision. Be able to see through our clothes.”
“That wouldn’t be good.”
“It’s not as unsettling as a species that picks up whatever we’re thinking.” Autumn nodded, in full agreement.
“Or,” he continued, “they might have IQs averaging over two hundred.”
“I doubt that.”
“Based on what?”
“Based, I guess, on my natural-born stupidity.”
Wilkinson smiled, obviously happy now.
“It’s probably a good thing,” Chuck continued, “that the universe isn’t filled with aliens. You get a lot of them and half would probably be smarter than we are, and some much smarter.”
“Why do you say that? Because we’re dumb?”
“Intelligence is an evolutionary trait, Autumn. If there are some civilizations out there, most of them are likely to be older than we are. And intelligence is an evolutionary trait.”
* * *
At the end of the second week the Harbinger team surfaced again simply to be able to look out at the stars. They waited a few hours before descending back into Armstrong space. I should mention that the interview we received from that occasion was almost seven days old.
They were doing the right thing by taking some time to look out at the sky. It helps raise the mood. Henry, speaking with Wilkinson, offered to take anyone who was interested down onto a planetary surface. But it would cost a few days instead of a few hours. Nobody wanted to do that. Sam Carmody commented that “a flight like this reminds me how much my family and friends mean to me. And the ordinary things we do and live with, walking through a park, watching rain come down. And since you’re here, Lester, I should mention listening to the nightly news reports. And going out to a bar or a theater. I remember someone saying once that the secret to a happy life is lunch with friends.”
Unfortunately, despite all the technology, including our ability to store friends and family online, to create their images and put them in the same room with us, to talk to them even after they’re gone, it still doesn’t work. We know they aren’t really there, and we can’t get around that reality.
3
Books are friends. They are good company, they provide warmth and pleasure, they introduce new ideas, they argue with us, and they never get angry, no matter who’s wrong.
—Tulisofala, Mountain Passes, translated by Leisha Tanner
The Harbinger was into its third week when my birthday arrived. Alex took me to Claymont’s Pork & Beef, across from Gardner University, to celebrate. We were in the middle of lunch when we got one of the biggest surprises of our lives. They were running soft music on the HVs when the newshawks broke in. “Report from Skydeck,” said Julie Sylvester, an anchor on the Golden Network. She looked worried. My first thought was that something had happened to the Harbinger. “We’ve received a transmission from an incoming ship, saying that they are aliens. Not the Mutes. Somebody else. They are unknowns. So far there’s no reason to think there’s any connection with the Korella mission. Maybe it’s some sort of wild prank. Whoever they are, they’ve been speaking to the station in Standard. There’s been no visual exchange yet, so we have no idea what they look like or how they would have command of our language. In fact, the only reason we have to believe they’re actually aliens is that they say they are. They’ve requested permission to dock. They are expected to arrive in about forty hours. Purpose of the visit is unknown. We will continue coverage as it becomes available.”
The restaurant had gotten noisy. “They going to attack?”
“What the hell’s this all about?”
“Maybe we better get home.”
“How’d they get so close without our seeing them?”
The only other alien vehicles that have ever arrived in the Confederacy, as far as we know, belonged to the Ashiyyur, the Mutes. It became a problem when we got into a war with them. “What do you think, Alex?” I asked.
He picked up a piece of pork, or maybe beef. On his fork it was difficult to know. “If it’s an alien invasion, it’s probably best to finish eating.” He smiled, studied the meat, and bit into it. I’ve always enjoyed his dry sense of humor. And his ability to stay calm when other people are throwing up their hands.
We heard nothing more for about ten minutes. Then Julie was back: “They’ve been talking to us for about an hour. We still don’t know what they look like. Our security people are saying there’s only one vehicle. The visitors still haven’t identified themselves. But they’re asking if they can acquire some books. Hardcover books.” Julie looked good and had a close resemblance to Maria Gordon, the actress who’d broken hearts across the Confederacy when she’d died during an avalanche. I’d often wondered why Julie hadn’t picked up a movie career.
“That’s odd,” said a heavyset guy at the next table.
A woman seated across from us told her female companion that unless it was a joke, the person speaking for the aliens was an AI. She was almost certainly right. We heard more coverage but nothing new in the restaurant. I realized belatedly that Alex had picked Claymont’s because there was a jewelry store next to it. He insisted we go inside, where there was a necklace he’d already selected. It had pearls and was lovely. Despite the day, I thought it was for his occasional girlfriend Veronica. That I was there simply to offer an opinion. But he surprised me when he turned and handed it to me. “Happy birthday, beautiful.” He helped me put it on. I walked over to one of the mirrors and admired its appearance.
I thanked him and said he shouldn’t have spent so much money. “Well,” he replied, “if the world’s about to end, we should go out with a bang.” We embraced, left the shop, and strolled back to the skimmer, which was parked about a block away. A light rain was beginning to fall as we climbed inside.
He started the drive unit and glanced at the necklace. “Looks perfect,” he said.
“It is nice.”
“I meant you.” We hugged and then he took us up. We ascended over Andiquar and turned in the direction of the country house. The rain grew intense. My link told me another report was coming in, so we switched on.
It was Julie again. “If it really is visitors, they say they’re bringing some books, which they hope to exchange for some of ours. Skydeck has been in contact with people on the ground to try to set something up. The aliens are saying they would especially like to get some history and literature books.” A few minutes later the Arcadia Network reported that we’d gotten a look at the vehicle that was the source of the transmissions and it was not one of any kind known to us.
Alex grinned. “I imagine Chad is happy today. You think he might be able to get involved in this?” Chad is the owner of the Collectors’ Library, a bookstore in Salazar. Strictly speaking, it isn’t a library. He specializes in making difficult-to-obtain hardcover classics available to collectors. In a way, he does with books what Alex does with artifacts.
“I’m sure he’d like to, but I doubt it. I wonder if they’ll actually be able to read our books?”
“Sure. They apparently already have command of the language. In any case, I doubt they’d be talking about a trade if they couldn’t.”
“He’d enjoy becoming part of that,” I said. “But his operation is too small to have much of a chance, even if they landed downtown.”
“We’re also hearing,” said the Arcadia anchor, “that the aliens are bringing two kinds of books, some in their language, and others that are translations into Standard.”
Alex’s brow crinkled. “Sounds as if they’ve been prepping for this a long time.”
* * *
We were inside the country house when further details emerged: “We still haven’t gotten any visuals of the aliens. We’ve sent them vids of ourselves, but they haven’t responded. Skydeck is saying that the aliens were excited to hear that we have live theater. There’s been no comment on this, and apparently nobody knows how they found out. They may have picked up on some of the advertising for Lost in the Fog, which has transmitted regularly to incoming vessels. Makes us wonder if these guys might eventually show up to buy tickets.” Lost in the Fog was currently playing in nearby Golem City.
“There’s something I’d enjoy seeing,” said Alex. “Can you imagine what would happen if word got out that some of the aliens would be in attendance at one of the theaters this weekend?” He was pouring coffee for us. “I’d love to see that happen.”
I couldn’t stop thinking about the difference between this first contact and the one we were trying to bring off on Korella. Lesson learned: Before you show up for a first contact, do some preparation. Learn the language. Bring books. And maybe prep for a party.
Arcadia went to commercial and we switched over to Julie on Golden. “Got more coming in,” she said. Her eyes widened as we watched. “We’ve got visuals!” She blinked off and was replaced by something that looked like a spider. Its skin was covered with a short layer of fur. The eyes were located on appendages as long as its head was wide. The thing had four arms, all accommodated by sleeves. It wore a dark brown jacket almost the same color as the fur. No ears were visible, and we couldn’t see its mouth until it spoke. “H’lo, homins,” it said, raising one of its arms in a gesture that was probably intended to be friendly but looked threatening.
I couldn’t recall ever having seen Alex go speechless before. And I couldn’t stop staring.
The upper part of the jacket was open, revealing a white shirt with probably a zipper. We heard a woman say hello. “We are happy to meet you,” she continued. She didn’t sound happy.
The thing tried again to say something, but this time it was completely unintelligible. “What happened to their speaking perfect Standard?” asked Alex. The creature stopped and put a hand on the side of its head. It wasn’t actually a hand. More like a set of clippers.
“Welcome to the Confederacy,” said the female. “My name’s Kayla. Where are you from?”
“I’m surprised they’re carrying this live,” I said.
Alex shook his head. “No way they’re doing it live. This is a delayed transmission. Which is good news. The meeting must have gone well.” His mood had shifted. He was trying hard not to laugh.
“Hello.” A different voice. Something else was speaking for the aliens. The spider simply watched. “My name is not easily pronounced. It might be best if you simply address me as ‘Ollie.’ ”
I looked over at Alex. “It’s an AI.” He nodded.
A second spider showed up on the monitor. “This is Neo,” Ollie said.
“Greetings, Kayla,” said Neo.
Ollie continued, “We are looking forward to meeting you, Kayla. You are the first species we have encountered with whom we can speak.”
“Ollie, where are you from?”
The creature’s dark eyes brightened. “I do not know what name you have given the area in which we live. We are not close. Your world would complete several hundred orbits before a light beam could reach us.”
“You indicated an interest in live theater. Does that include you, too, Neo?”
There was a pause while they talked it over, apparently in their own language. Then the AI responded for Neo. “Yes. I have a serious passion for stage work.”
“So you have live theater at home?”
“Yes, we do. We are pleased to find others who share our interest. We wish to establish relations with you. Our explorations of the galaxy have been continuing for many generations, and we are relieved finally to discover that someone else is here. We are on schedule to reach you in somewhat longer than one of your days. I hope that is convenient for you.”
“Yes. That is good, Neo.” Kayla had been replaced by another woman. “Is there anything we can do for you when you and your associates arrive?”
“Not at all. We hope only that you will be glad to see us.”
“It’s an interesting coincidence that you would arrive at the same time we’ve discovered aliens elsewhere.”
“You mean Korella?”
“Yes. You know about that?”
“Oh, yes. We’ve known for a long time that you shared our interest in finding others. Over the last few years, your efforts have become more intense. It seemed like an appropriate time for us to make contact.”
* * *
Chad had invited me to a quiet celebratory dinner at Barringer’s Bar and Grill, which looks out across the Melony River. But it turned out that the day’s events had left both of us with much more to think about. The band was playing when we walked in. They seated us in the middle of the place, which should have warned me something was going on. Chad always preferred either being near a window or, if the weather was decent, seats outside on the veranda. The evening was warm and pleasant, with a slight breeze coming in across the Melony. We ordered our meals with a couple of glasses of wine. Moments after our drinks arrived, the band finished its number. The bar’s manager stepped up to the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “Barringer’s would like to welcome the well-known author Chase Kolpath, on the occasion of her birthday. We have a piece of music titled ‘Chasing Chase,’ written by Chad Barker, who is seated with her this evening.” He looked across the room at us and waved. Then he disappeared behind a curtain. A good-looking guy who’d been playing a viola with the small band that was present that night put the instrument down and took the microphone. He signaled his colleagues to start playing. They did and he sang:
“Love is the reason for all I do, All I feel and all that matters and dream of and pursue.
In the end it is always and only about you,
Chase with the golden eyes, it is you.”
Okay. I’ll confess I was near tears right from the start. The rhythm was soft and passionate, and I loved the lyrics. And the guy had a warm, alluring voice. It was an overwhelming experience. When he’d finished the performance, the audience provided an enthusiastic round of applause.
“Beautiful, Chad,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I didn’t know you could write music. Not at that level.”
“I wish I could take credit for it,” he said. “The music is from a song that was popular in the eighth millennium.”
“That’s a long time ago.”
“It might even be older. We don’t have the lyrics anymore, but the title was ‘Love Is a Many-Splendored Thing.’ ”
“Well, whatever, it’s beautiful. Thank you.” He reached across the table and took my arm. “But you wrote the lyrics?” I asked.
He needed a minute to think about it. “William did it,” he said finally. William was his bookstore’s AI.
“Okay,” I said. “In any case, I appreciate it. Nicest birthday present I’ve ever received.” If we hadn’t been in a public venue, I’d have moved on him. I got up and we exchanged smiles and embraced and kissed. The audience applauded again.
Finally it ended and we sat back down. “You know, by the way, my eyes are gray.”
“Sure. But they have a way of lighting up. Turning to gold. I love you, Chase. But you’ve known that for a while.”
They brought out a stand-up comic, who did jokes about how I look so young because I hang out a lot in the Belle-Marie, which moves faster than time. And he said that Chad was hoping to talk the aliens into giving him a few of the books they were bringing. “But if he gets to Skydeck,” the comic added, “Chase won’t be with him. He made it clear that he wouldn’t let her anywhere near Ollie and the spiders.”
I don’t usually drink too much, but it seemed like the right night to let it go. At one point, Chad told me he’d taken a call from someone, but I didn’t get the details until the evening had ended and Chad was in the process of delivering me to my cabin. The caller had been Sally McAndrew. She was a literature professor at Andiquar University and had been invited to join the group who would be selecting the books to be made available to the aliens.
She’d shown up at the country house a couple of years ago when she learned that we had found a copy of Their Finest Hour, the second of six volumes of Winston Churchill’s The Second World War. It had been reprinted on Earth in the ninth millennium. As far as we know, it’s the only one of the six that has survived. She’d hoped that Alex would eventually come up with some of the others, but his efforts had led nowhere. She’d participated in the process where she could, during which she and Alex became friends. Eventually I introduced her to Chad, and she’d become interested in his library.
