The Whale Song Translation: A Voyage of Discovery To Neptune and Beyond (21 page)

“So cut to the chase, dear boy. What’s up?”

Dmitri sighed before he uttered the code words that would resonate with his mentor. “Professor, ‘The sleeper has awakened.’”

The phrase was from Frank Herbert’s science fiction novel,
Dune.
When the protagonist imbibed the sacred water of life, he awoke to cosmic consciousness and uttered, “Father, the sleeper has awakened.” It was the son’s response to his father’s signature challenge phrase, “the sleeper must awaken” to new experiences and truths, which ritually concluded McPinsky’s renowned end-of-term lecture.

After an interminable silence, McPinsky boomed, “Don’t play games with me, son!”

Initially shaken by his mentor’s tone, Dmitri found it reassuring to be addressed as “son” by this special man. Nevertheless, he was speechless. McPinsky finally filled the void. “I’m sorry. I trust you, but it’s still quite a shock. After all these years, I was beginning to lose hope I would ever hear those words.”

“Ironically, Professor, it’s all about playing games. I think we’ve discovered something truly wonderful in the recording of a humpback whale song. It’s still preliminary, but the mathematical analysis rings true. The whales are manipulating acoustically generated symbols, like phonemes, to implement the strategy of a two-player board game.”

“You’re fairly certain of this?”

“Two of our best mathematicians, Bono and Spelvin, have analyzed and reviewed the data and they’re confident about the results.” Dmitri briefly summarized the events leading up to the breakthrough. “And to think the tool so instrumental to our discovery is literally a souped-up videogame for deaf children!”

“Wow, wow, wow!” exclaimed McPinsky. “Bono and Spelvin are damn good and Spelvin is a game theory expert. So, it’s true then, what I’ve always hoped for. The beginning of an interspecies dialogue. What a fantastic gift for my birthday.”

“First things first, Professor. It’s not like Klaatu’s ‘Take me to your leader’ greeting after exiting the saucer he’d landed on the White House lawn. We still need to confirm our hypothesis.”

“What’s your plan?”

Hearing the excitement in his mentor’s voice pleased Dmitri. “We challenge them to a game, of course. Choose black or white, please.”

McPinsky chuckled. “Einstein was right, of course. God doesn’t play dice. He plays checkers.” They laughed heartily.

“Of course, in hindsight, it’s all so logical,” said the professor. “Intelligent creatures with no opposable thumbs . . . socialization coupled with the purely intellectual exercise of problem solving. But even a science fiction writer would be hard-pressed to imagine such a scenario. Bravo to you and your colleagues. This is
tremendulous
, Dmitri. I’ll do whatever I can to assist your cause.”

Dmitri forced himself to downplay his elation. “That’s very generous, Professor. I would be honored if you conferenced into the meeting with the SoCalSci administrators to request funding for the experiment.”

“Are you sure that’s wise? These days, as you know too well, I’m not the most popular professor on the Left Coast.”

“Maybe not, but you’re the most persuasive wizard in the world of Muggles. No pun intended, but you’re the grandmaster of the funding game. After Greenpeace, I feel pretty confident putting the fate of the humpbacks in your hands.”

“Persuasion is one of the Dark Arts of wizardry, Master David Dmitri, and I’ve trained you well. How can I refuse such a compelling invitation?”

“Happy birthday, Professor.”

T
HE
S
IX
T
HUNDERCLAPS OF
P
ROFESSOR
M
C
P
INSKY

SoCalSci University, Los Angeles, California—two days later

In Dmitri’s experience, video conferences in cyberspace, especially among scientific researchers and academic bureaucrats, were rather lackluster affairs. On this particular occasion, however, the noise-induced, flickering images on the three wraparound, high-definition-plasma big-screens augured the impending clash of high-voltage egos. The telepresence, videoconferencing technology simulated the participants as life-sized figures sitting around the same table. In fact, it was a bridge of light and sound spanning six time zones that instantaneously united Hawaii with California and New York.

Dmitri remembered with pride when he’d consulted in the design of the system’s acoustic, echo-cancelling function. To estimate and kill the multiplicity of echoes bouncing off of walls and objects, he’d devised a suite of digital software filters that adapted, every ten milliseconds, to any room’s time-varying frequency profile. Similar mathematical techniques were employed in noise-cancelling headphones. The task was further complicated by the non-linear paths of numerous feedback loops crisscrossing the product’s multiple sets of microphones and loudspeakers. If not exorcised, the lingering ghosts of voices past could haunt the system with the spooky, earsplitting noise one hears when open mikes are positioned too close to loudspeakers.

Dmitri swiveled his chair in the SoCalSci Telepresence Conferencing Center and inadvertently bumped into the person sitting next to him, the Dean of Engineering and his immediate superior.

“Excuse me, Dean Wilson.”

Wilson’s genial expression made clear that he was not offended. The perfectly round lenses of his gold, wire-framed glasses projected an image of owlish wisdom. Wilson’s tailored navy blue suit and red power tie reinforced his executive authority. Dmitri’s senior colleagues had nicknamed him “McNamara,” claiming he was the spitting image of the U.S. Defense Secretary under President Kennedy. Dean Wilson stood and assumed control of the meeting with a vigorous cough into his clenched fist.

“I’ve called this meeting at the behest of Associate Professor David Dmitri. He’s requested funding for a collaborative effort between members of our department and the Pacific Institute for Cetacean Educational Studies, represented by their director, Mr. Christopher Gorman. Mr. Gorman’s virtual presence is being beamed to us all the way from Maui.”

The marine biologist waved greetings to those viewing his image.

“Sitting to my immediate right,” Wilson continued, “is the chair of the university’s research funding committee, Richard Prescott. Professor Dmitri, would you please summarize your proposal.”

As Dmitri rose from his seat, his slim figure flashed simultaneously on the multiple video-conferencing displays. “Thank you, Dean Wilson.” He nodded politely and extended an arm toward Greg, who sat next to him at the dark-mahogany-finished racetrack conference table. “Because he was instrumental in this discovery, I’ve asked my math department colleague, Dr. Gregory Bono, to join us. I’ve also invited Professor McPinsky of Ivy Tech. Inspired by his challenge to break the linguistic codes of other species, I recently launched a study of the spectrograms of humpback whale songs. We were looking for patterns of frequency information similar to our phonemes and words.”

The cadence of Dmitri’s voice conveyed excitement. “My team first examined time-lapse waterfall plots spanning a range of frequencies up to ten kilohertz.” He remained standing and punctuated his talking points with a medley of hand gestures. “Our analysis suggested time-varying patterns similar to the phonemic transitions of human language. We then plotted the same information in a novel x,y coordinate system of the first two resonance peaks.” Dmitri briefly described the Speakeasy speech therapy tool. “Using Speakeasy, we observed a sequence of interesting artifacts which made no sense, so I consulted Dr. Bono. After two days of analysis, he finally made the breakthrough.”

“Wait a minute.” Dean Wilson’s tone expressed an implicit warning. “You’re telling me that this is not the interesting but benign study you’d initially proposed? We thought you were comparing and contrasting whale songs among geographically dispersed humpback populations?”

Dmitri paused and met Wilson’s icy blue gaze. “That was our original intention. However, we believe we’ve discovered mathematical evidence of the humpback’s use of symbols in an advanced intellectual exercise. We’ve also determined that the humpback brain must possess a remarkable memory capacity for the acoustic generation and auditory imaging of these symbols. Our findings have been reviewed and vetted by two of our colleagues. In collaboration with Chris Gorman’s PICES organization, we propose to confirm our findings experimentally. We’ll equip a PICES research vessel and conduct the experiment off the coast of Maui.”

Richard Prescott pushed away from the table and propelled up from his chair, startling the dean. “This quixotic proposal could tarnish the reputation of SoCalSci’s Engineering Department. It could incite controversy among the university’s largest donors, who hold rather traditional philosophical and religious beliefs.” He appeared to be jousting with Dmitri, across the table, by jabbing the rapier of his index finger as if it were a weapon. He shifted his gaze, and stared directly at Gorman’s virtual image. With increasing vehemence, he continued. “Mr. Gorman, aren’t you afraid this Dr. Dolittle fantasy could jeopardize support from your own organization’s donors and sponsors?”

Gorman hesitated. As Dmitri saw the signs of confusion—or was it fear?—in Gorman’s eyes, he realized too late that he should have forewarned the PICES director about Prescott’s bullying tactics.

Gorman cleared his throat, not once, but twice. “Our Institute’s charter is nuts and bolts marine oceanographic research. Our initial collaboration with Dr. Dmitri was to study the patterns in whale songs . . .”

Dmitri heard the tentative intonation of Gorman’s voice. He didn’t sound anything like the take-charge executive he’d been in Maui. He stopped in mid-sentence and sipped from his water glass, then continued.

“. . . to study the patterns in whale songs as an insight into the feeding, breeding, and migration behavior of humpbacks. Frankly, I was surprised when Dr. Dmitri informed me he had organized this meeting to discuss a much more ambitious proposal.”

Dmitri was shocked. Gorman’s waffling response seemed like a stunning reversal of his previous plea for a language breakthrough. Prescott had undoubtedly intimidated the marine biologist, possibly inflicting a fatal blow to the funding proposal. Dmitri, now seated, turned to Greg, whose expression reflected his own indignation.

“Mr. Gorman is rightfully concerned,” said Prescott, his face turning red. “Funding a proposal of this nature is dangerous and could serve as a lightning rod for unpleasant backlash from the community at large. We’re responsible academics. Not children acting out a New Age fairy tale.”

Dean Wilson placed a calming hand on Prescott’s shoulder. In a controlled yet skeptical tone, he asked, “Dr. Dmitri, are we to understand you’ve not only discovered something interesting about whale language but have in fact found what you consider evidence of a high-order intellectual capability?”

“Precisely. The conclusions are based on the rigorous application of engineering fundamentals and mathematical analysis.”

Wilson drew a deep breath, as if steeling himself for a strenuous task. “Then please indulge me while I play devil’s advocate on behalf of those who would question your proposal. The prevailing view is that a high order intellect is inextricably linked to the development of a society or civilization. But as Mr. Gorman just indicated, we’re observing creatures frolicking in the water who simply feed, breed, and migrate like many other primitive species. To echo Richard Prescott’s sentiments, those with traditional attitudes might fear that your proposal is a metaphysical wrecking ball to the core beliefs of our society.”

While the dean droned on, Dmitri deliberately focused his attention elsewhere. Meeting Greg’s sympathetic eyes, his gaze shifted around the table until it settled upon the sickening smirk plastered on Prescott’s face, like a carnival mask. The man’s terrible comb-over, performing a perpetual reverse backflip on the top of his head, reinforced his image as a “phony” in Dmitri’s eye. Nearly three years ago, Prescott had colluded with other McPinsky critics to coerce the professor’s departure from SoCalSci. Since then, Prescott had been branded the “Self Appointed Patrician,” or SAP, in charge of spin control
by SoCalSci’s more progressive engineering faculty members.

A familiar sound captured Dmitri’s attention. Until now a silent sentinel, McPinsky announced his presence with a droll chuckle. Uncoiling his six-foot, six-inch frame from the chair, the system’s motion sensors prominently projected his leonine image onto the displays a continent and an ocean away. “May I address the distinguished Dean of the SoCalSci Engineering Department?”

Dmitri directed a surreptitious wink at Greg. They were very familiar with McPinsky’s humble request, a coded invitation to the lambs to lie with the lion.

Dean Wilson greeted the newcomer with a brief smile, a taut brow, and the faintest hint of disdain in his mild tone. “Greetings, Theodosius. How many years have passed since you brachiated away from the Left Coast to cling to Ivy League vines?”

“Long enough, Robert, to know I’m now happily ensconced on the right coast.”

Greg whispered into Dmitri’s ear, “Let’s get ready to rumble. I warned you about inviting him.”