Redemption Protocol (Contact) (46 page)

“It implies either a total break or global deduction. Before today, I would have said it wasn’t possible without conscious subversion.”

Havoc nodded.

“I agree, but do you really think one of us voluntarily communicated decrypted communication to an unknown alien voice on the fly?”

Jafari rubbed his forehead with both hands.

“No. But what you experienced should be computationally impossible, or as good as.”

Abbott spoke musingly.

“Maybe there’s no ‘prisoner’ and this is an elaborate experiment designed to test our reactions.”

“Well, we ran away,” Stephanie said.

Tomas sat up.

“Not all of us wanted to.”

Abbott sighed.

“So in summary, there is almost no end to what we don't know, very little that we do know and the capability of the alien technology, whatever it is and wherever it resides, is extraordinary.”

“That’s a fair assessment,” Jafari said.

“If the alien has bad intentions then why would it let us know that it can understand us?” Stephanie said.

Abbott tipped his head sideways as he weighed this point.

“That is a positive.”

“It might be terrified,” Jafari said.

Abbott nodded.

“We don't want to scare it. We'll communicate incrementally and cautiously.”

Havoc chuckled.

“You mean other than slagging their guardians from orbit, scattering their wonderful obelisks and running away?”

Abbott gave Havoc a withering look.

“Yes, apart from that.”

Havoc conveyed Abbott’s look to Charles.

Charles stared at the floor.

“And if this 'prisoner' asks to be released?” Havoc said.

“Not a chance,” Abbott said.

The others nodded at Abbott’s assessment. The consensus of opinion was clearly against. That was fine with Havoc – they didn’t know anything about what they were dealing with.

Abbott waggled his hand equivocally.

“Though ultimately we may need to consider that course of action. We cannot shirk back from what could be the greatest step forward in human history.”

Havoc winced on the inside. Abbott’s focus on their 'place in history' was disconcerting. The effects of the contamination were becoming more pronounced. Ekker was turning more aggressive, Kemensky more obsessive and Stone more flamboyant – though the last one was probably more to do with a certain Ms Saskia Novosa. What could they do about it, though? Not drive or operate heavy equipment? The threat of saboteur action and the imminent arrival of the other civilizations piled on the pressure. They needed all hands on deck.

Abbott looked at each of them in turn, though Havoc fancied Abbott was directing most of his attention at the two princes.

“The scope of these conversations must be strictly limited. We must not reveal the existence of the Dem or the red hand. Nor should we discuss political structures, civilizations or their divisions or any religious concepts. All we want to do is ascertain basic facts. What is it? Where is it from? Are there more of its species, here or elsewhere?”

“Its name?” Charles said.

“
Where
is it when it speaks to us,” Havoc said.

“What was it doing here when it became a prisoner? How did it come to be here? And how is it sustained?” Stephanie said.

“How does its species and society function?” Charles said.

“Their martial strength,” Tomas said.

Stephanie shook her head.

“If we get through all that I'll be amazed. I think that's more than enough.”

Abbott raised a cautioning finger.

“We need to take a great deal of care not to answer any questions before the alien itself provides an answer. It proved very adept at mirroring what Charles was saying.”

“We should set a time limit,” Havoc said.

Abbott nodded.

“We’ll stop all discussion after an hour, unless something exceptional happens.”

Havoc looked at the princes.

“Is anyone not clear on the rules?”

Charles made a sour expression. Tomas sneered. Abbott stood up.

“As a point of note, I believe we should refer to this as our
first
meeting and document the earlier extemporaneous encounter as the
discovery
of the alien.”

Silence greeted Abbott’s massaging of the historical record – trying to ensure that history would record him as the founder of humanity's relationship with the alien species. Abbott took their silence as acceptance and nodded with satisfaction.

“Excellent. Let us seek our answers and show humanity at its finest.”

Everyone assembled by the locks as they prepared to move up the corridor to talk to the alien – assuming, of course, that the alien was still prepared to talk to them.

Show humanity at its finest
, Havoc thought. It sounded laudable. He wondered what the other civilizations would do when they arrived. It wasn't how they played with the alien that bothered him as long as the alien stayed locked up. It was how they played with each other.

They entered the locks, two by two.

Havoc wondered what answers they would get, if any.

 89. 

It waited.

It had witnessed prey for the first time in six thousand years. The prey had revealed vital information. The Talmas was designed to eliminate far more sophisticated species. But it would derive the same intense pleasure from eradicating this one.

All it needed to do was evade the guardians. It had no answer to their implacable presence. Without them, nothing would stand in its way.

It had so much pain to deal. Cruelty was as integral to its nature as cross beams in a wooden hull. Its reward responses were tied to inflicting pain and death.

It considered its release inevitable.

It savored the anticipation.

 90. 

“All clear?” Havoc asked Novosa over the radio.

He waited for the drones to pass through the pyramid entrance.

Forty seconds later, Novosa replied.

“Yes. All clear.”

Havoc looked around. He was midway down the steps that Abbott stood at the top of. Stephanie stood just below him. She squeezed the calf of his suit. Havoc looked over at the two princes on the staircase to his left.

“Your Highnesses?”

Charles nodded.

“We’re ready.”

Havoc looked down through the disc, past the double helix staircases, and scanned across the floor. Jafari sat at his console, illuminated in a pool of light under an arch in the colonnade, monitoring the myriad of sensors deployed in the amphitheater. The light around Jafari contrasted with the twilight around Havoc, but the darkness would soon be dispelled if things went to plan.

“Jafari?”

Jafari made an ‘O’ with his finger and thumb.

“Green to go.”

Havoc looked up. Abbott had insisted on full titles once they passed through the locks.

“Are you ready, Mr Ambassador, Sir?”

“Ready.”

“Anyone not want to go ahead at this time?”

There was silence.

“Alright, Mr Ambassador, Sir, you are clear to proceed.”

Abbott stepped up to the altar.

 91. 

Weaver and Darkwood might only a few meters apart physically but mentally they were returning from different worlds. Weaver stood by her plinth, grinning at Darkwood from the rush of her access. Darkwood looked astonished, apparently disbelieving what he’d experienced.

“It really is extraordinary.”

Weaver nodded.

“How did you get on with the sequences?”

Darkwood smiled.

“Oh, I think I held my own.”

Weaver chuckled as she checked what the others were doing.

“Glad to hear it.”

Touvenay stood motionless at the base of the entrance staircase. Ideograms streamed across three large screens arrayed in front of Touvenay as he analyzed the language, or languages, that the ideograms comprised.

Fournier was dashing out his own dense form of hieroglyphics across a writing board as he explored the mathematics of the sequences. Fournier's lively strokes were more reminiscent of a conductor wielding a baton than a scholar scribing with a pen. Weaver’s gaze lingered on Fournier – she found watching him work entrancing. She turned, distracted, as Kemensky cursed and his wall flashed.

“What's he doing?” Darkwood said.

Weaver shook her head as Kemensky touched his plinth, immersing himself. Kemensky was accessing the carousel, or rather failing to access it, at the same difficulty level as the ideograms inside the alien ship.

“He's trying to prove to himself that he can interface with the ship. He's obsessed with it.”

Darkwood looked surprised.

“Surely he can't hope to...”

“No, he can't. And the power level...”

Darkwood frowned at Kemensky’s section of wall.

“He's not doing very well.”

Weaver studied Kemensky’s sequence. She didn't get anywhere near the same kinaesthetic tactility of the sequence viewing it on a wall as she did experiencing it directly through the plinth, but she still got an appreciation of what was involved. At the difficulty level that Kemensky was attempting there were thirty two sequences in a stripe along the bottom of the wall, flowing alternately leftward and rightward. Kemensky had to solve the thirty two sequences simultaneously as well as, if he did ever manage to do so, have the surplus mental energy to process the content itself. Weaver judged the individual sequences themselves as incredibly complex.

“It looks...” – Weaver stopped herself saying impossible – “hard. Very hard.”

Darkwood nodded.

Kemensky wasn't getting even one step forward in a single one of the thirty two continuously mutating sequences before he was ejected from his plinth again. As they watched Kemensky re-entered, solved one term of one sequence, and was ejected again. Kemensky stepped back and sighed, staring at the frozen image on the wall. Weaver was irritated at Kemensky’s unproductive use of his time and therefore, in the circumstances, of everybody’s time.

“Why don't you start accessing the lower levels so we can get some useful information?”

Kemensky turned to her. His voice was sullen.

“While you access the higher ones.”

“Yes.”

Kemensky protested plaintively.

“But then you'll just keep getting better than me.”

She sighed.

Darkwood tutted.

“Kemensky, she is better than you.”

 92. 

Havoc watched, fascinated, as the altar suffused with light. Abbott looked positively exultant as the altar brightened around him, emitting radiation across the spectrum.

Havoc looked up at the ceiling expectantly. The same tile as before illuminated to reveal a humanoid shape, seemingly suspended above a glowing hexagonal lens. He was conscious that on this occasion there had been no delay in the presentation of the humanoid image as there had the first time. The light caught and refracted off the other tiles, careening across the ceiling in a stunning display that gave Havoc the sense of being drawn up into a scintillating kaleidoscope.

As before, a voice projected out of the plinth toward Abbott.

“Hello.”

Abbott spread his arms in the light.

“Hello. I am Michael Abbott, Chief Ambassador of the Alliance of Free Peoples.”

“Hello, Michael Abbott, Chief Ambassador of the Alliance of Free Peoples.”

“May I ask your name?”

“Yes.”

Abbott bowed his head forward, presumably about to rephrase, when the voice spoke again.

“I failed to interpret your idioms-idiosyncrasies. The system will adapt. I am Ualus.”

“How long you have been here, Ualus?”

“Ten thousand years. And you, Michael Abbott?”

“Merely days.”

“Tell me more of this energy source that you seek.”

Havoc noted that the voice was trying to seize the initiative with a near exact reflection of the answer that Charles had given on their first visit.

Abbott graciously brushed the question aside.