A Simple Truth (2 page)

Lincoln lay down and closed his eyes again but very quickly realised that there would be no more sleep until his curiosity had been satisfied.  He dressed quickly and made his way upstairs to the control room.  The sound of excited voices could be heard clearly all along the corridor.  Whoever was behind this prank was certainly drawing a crowd.

Fransson spotted him as soon as he entered.

"You'll never believe this Arthur".

"Too right I won't, who's the joker?"

"It's no joke, Jack Arnold is deadly serious."

"Let me speak to him,
" Lincoln
demanded
.

"Lincoln here Jack, what's this all about?"

"Hi Arthur, how much have you been told?"

"Give me the story from the beginning
,
" he
said
flatly.

"Well about two hours ago a wideband radio signal was received that covered all the high frequency channels.  It was strong enough to block all normal communication and was received across half the world.  The message was as follows - 'Earth, One
Giga
hertz, Procyon
,'
in plain English, clear as you like.  So far it's been repeated every half hour or so, and the next one is due in about fifteen minute's time.  Of course a hoax or a threat of some sort was our first thought, so everyone set about establishing the source.  Anyway, to cut a long story short
,
the source was indeed found to be Procyon
,
and that conclusion has been confirmed by the New South Wales radio telescope."

"What about a satellite
?
O
r a group of satellites
?
" s
uggested Lincoln;
his thoughts racing.  "I know it's hard to see why anyone should go to such expense or trouble but it's possible."

"Yes it is possible.  A
single satellite has been ruled out by the precision of the source position
;
its
movement would have been easily detectable.  But a group of steerable satellites could be used, each sending its signal when precisely lined up between New South Wales and Procyon.  That's one reason for requesting your assistance.  If you line up your instruments on Procyon then you can confirm or refute the claimed source position.  The other reason is that you may pick something up on one
gig
, we have nothing on that frequency." 

"Yes all right Jack we're setting up the co-ordinates now.  I still maintain that someone is playing a very expensive joke, but we'l
l soon know.  We'll be in touch, o
ut."

He watched Jean Forsyth who was busy punching co-ordinates into the alignment computer.  "We'll soon sort out whether these signals are genuine or not
,"
he said to no-one in particular, "someone may fool the ground
-
based stations but a moon
-
based radio telescope is a different matter altogether."

For all his display of scepticism Lincoln felt disturbed.  What if the contact was genuine
,
he asked himself.  Procyon was a close neighbour in space, only eleven light years
distant
.  It was certainly possible for a technologically advanced race to detect radio signals from earth; there were plenty of channels that escaped the ionosphere.  With advanced techniques maybe it was possible to decode the signals and learn the language.  Then, what could be more natural than to respond directly, to send a strong signal from a powerful but highly directional transmitter, a wideband signal to ensure reception, and
encoded
in the same
way
that
our own signals were
encoded
.  Yes, he had to admit to himself, ridiculous though it might seem, a genuine signal was possible.

It was not this possibility that disturbed him so
much
;
it was his own reaction to it.  He felt bitter.  He desperately hoped that it was a hoax.  For years he had searched for intelligent signals from space
.  H
e had scoured the heavens for signs of life, had written dozens of papers on the subject
,
and opened up new avenues of signal analysis to seek out non-random patterns.  He had been devoted to this task.  If anyone announced a contact from an extraterrestrial civilisation then it should be h
im
.  He had earned the right.

  It was ironic that millions of indifferent people on earth should receive the first message, and that he should hear the new
s second
hand.  And the message:
a plain clear deliberate contact, a contact that could not possibly be missed, except
that was by someone on the moon;
s
omeone who was dedicated to receiving signals from space.  The reason w
as obvious enough, all the moon-
based aerials were highly directional, they pointed either to specific areas of space or to the relay satellites, so it was most unlikely that any of their instruments would be lined up on the right spot at the right time.  Knowing the reason did not help though, the sheer cruelty of the situation gnawed at him like a physical pain.  At the same time he felt ashamed of this reaction.  To wish for the contact to be false merely to satisfy his own egotism was disgraceful.  It represented a betrayal of his work and dedication.

Such was the ambivalence in Lincoln's mind as Jean Forsyth's crisp voice called out

"Number two instrument aligned; sensitivity limiter on automatic; broad spectrum monitor ready; audio system
seeking
encoded
signals; tracking now."

Whatever radio signals came from Procyon would now be captured and recorded, however small, however fleeting.  For the twelve people present nothing existed but the electronic equipment, the signal analyser and the control room speakers.  Procyon spoke with her usual gentle hiss, random radio noise generated by
immense
and violent electric and magnetic forces deep within the stellar atmosphere.  Lincoln checked his watch, four minutes to go until the next transmission.  The seconds ticked by, no-one uttered a sound.  Slowly, very slowly, the deadline approached.  Lincoln could feel his heart beating rapidly.  Every muscle fibre was tense, the atmosphere was electric.  The four minute point came and went.  Arnold's figure was only an estimate he reminded himself, but nevertheless the transmission must be due.  Fifteen seconds passed, thirty, a full minute.  Lincoln allowed his breath to escape slowly. 
There was s
till no recognisable signal, just the unceasing hiss as steady and constant as a distant waterfall.  One minute became two, then three.  Slowly Lincoln's fists unclenched.  His tension gradually relaxed.  What had he expected?  He had declared that he was not convinced, but his bodily reactions belied his cool logic.  People were starting to talk again.   All had experienced the same razor edge of anticipation.  Hearts had raced and then slowed.  Perspiration had formed and then evaporated.  The excitement had been short lived, and now there was only anticlimax.

There had been no signal on one
giga
hertz or on any other frequency.  The monitors had done their job; they had faithfully recorded and were still recording all radio signals from the star Procyon and her immediate vicinity.

Jean looked round and caught Lincoln's eye.  He responded to the unasked question.

"Keep monitoring Jean, let's make absolutely sure.  Dag, you'd better call Jack Arnold, tell him the bad news." 

If nothing else this episode had given Lincoln an unwelcome insight into his own nature.  His original reaction had been one of acute bitterness.  But now that it appeared certain that the signals were contrived he felt a profound dismay.  The continuous hissing from Procyon seemed to be mocking.  It was a flat confirmation that here was no end to the search for intelligence.

How the trick had been achieved he could not imagine.  A group of clandestine satellites would have been enormously expensive.  There had probably never been any signals at all.  Perhaps the whole affair had been a
complete fabrication,
o
r perhaps a mixture of local transmissions and deception on the part o
f the radio telescope operators, b
ut for what purpose?

There were only six left in the control room now.  Everyone felt decidedly let down.  They had hoped for something spectacular and had been disappointed.  Excitement was very rare on the moon.  Much glamour was associated with space research but the
truth was that the
work at the observato
ry was largely a dull routine.

Jack Arnold had not yet replied to Dag's signal when a sharp arresting sound
occurred
that momentarily paralysed Lincoln's body and totally disorientated his mind.  Without warning of any kind the control room speakers switched from the formless background hiss to a clear metallic voice
,
deafening in its intensity.  The onslaught rapidly quietened as the gain control circuitry adjusted to the new signal level.  And here was the message exactly as Jack Arnold had said.  No sooner had it begun than it ended.

The gain control retuned to the background hiss with disrespectful haste.  How could the electronic equipment know that it had relayed the first absolute proof of extraterrestrial intelligence, and that a moment's reflection might have been in order?

It was some time before anyone regained sufficient self control to move or speak.  Inevitably it was Dag Fransson.  He
moved nearer to the microphone
and replied to Jack Arnold whose persistent "Hello Dag, Arnold here, over
,
" had gone completely unnoticed.

"Hello Jack, message from Procyon confirmed; it's genuine."

When it came to the art of understatement Lincoln realised that he could learn a lot from Dag Fransson.  Dag sat back woodenly.  His reply had not been for effect, it was all he could manage to say just then.  Jean fumbled her way to the nearest chair and flopped down.  Lincoln found that his knees had become very weak so he leaned shakily on a convenient desk.  Ted and Liz Blackler, the man and wife particle physics team slowly loosened their grip on each other and Jim Davies from the optical section began to raise his sagging lower jaw.

Lincoln left the control room.  He could not face discussion or contact with others just now.  He needed solitude, time to think, to digest the implications of what he had witnessed.  A waiting elevator took him quickly up to surface level.  He was in a daze and moved automatically, his mind divorced from his actions.  He didn't see the corridor or the display of pictures along the walls, pictures depicting scenes of home, meadows and farms, villages and towns.  He ignored the lounge with its armchairs and large glass dome which allowed a panoramic view over the desolate lunar surface.

He walked past the vehicle docking area, the centrifuge room and gymnasium
,
and continued on until he reached the hydroponics domes.  There was very seldom anyone here.  He relaxed and wandered slowly around the plants, enjoying the gentle air flow, and felt calmed by the constant and hypnotic drip, drip, of water from the leaves.

The bitterness had gone now.  It had only been a transient reaction and Arthur Lincoln was too objective a scientist to allow acrimonious feelings to sour for long a development such as this.  But his head was still spinning.  It would be some time yet before the mental recoil subsided and he could function normally once more.

In an attempt to force his mind back to reality he looked out from the domes over to the giant radio telescope, a sight unequalled anywhere.  Even at a distance of ten kilometres its presence dominated totally the entire landscape.  A steerable reflector
half a
kilometre in diameter
,
it was by far the largest movable radio telescope in existence.  It was officially designated the number two instrument but to the staff at the base and to the world at large it was affectionately known as the 'Big Ear'.

Lincoln never tired of gazing towards it.  It radiated an aura, a magnetic compulsion, at once both beautiful and formidable, too big, too precise, too perfect for the mind to come fully to terms with.  Yet it was only one of many facilities at the observatory.  Its optical counterpart was a forty metre reflector, a very powerful instrument in its own right but without the grandeur of the Big Ear.  It was known inevitably as the 'Big Eye'.

The base had been set up five years ago as an astronomy and astrophysics research centre under the control of the World Space Administration - the WSA.  The moon formed an ideal location for such facilities.  There was no atmosphere to absorb or scatter incoming radiation and the farside was clear of radio interference from earth sources.  Also the lower gravity and absence of weather made possible the construction of much larger structures than could be contemplated on earth.

At the present time there were
forty
people at the base,
fifteen
support staff and twenty
-
five
research scientists.  And thanks largely to their efforts information about the universe was floodin
g in at an unprecedented rate. 
But as ever it seemed that the more we learned about the heavens the more acutely conscious we became of the extent of our ignorance.