The Unearthing (46 page)

“…And this is, of course, the Language Lab,” Bloom said as she escorted the delegates inside. With the additional people in the chamber, the cavernous Language Lab was suddenly cramped. Bloom turned to Aiziz.

“Sonia, would you care to bring the delegates up to speed on the progress we’ve made with the Shiplanguage?” she asked.

Aiziz cleared her throat a little too loudly and then began her summary with the discovery of the Language Lab. She found her voice mid-way through her summation and by the end as she explained the textual equations the Ship had given them, Aiziz spoke with strength and confidence.

“…In fact, ladies and gentlemen,” she concluded, “We are today ready to begin full communication with the Ship.” There were murmurs of interest from the delegates. Aiziz cleared her throat as they quieted down and continued:

“Following the directives issued from the World Ship Summit,” she said, “We will be initiating communication by using the following phrase:” She consulted her portable console, “In English, it says ‘We represent the people of this world. We wish for peaceful dialogue between us and your entity.’”

A hand shot up from the delegates. Bloom acknowledged and identified the querent.

“You have a question, High Priestess Firestar?” she asked.

“Yes,” The Wiccan said, “I was just curious about the phrasing of the statement we’re going to use to speak to the Ship. Why don’t we mention the Earth by name and why do we refer to the Ship as an entity?” Aiziz nodded and replied:

“In Shiplanguage, there is no proper pronoun similar to ‘Earth’,” She explained, “The closest translation into Shiplanguage would be ‘dirt’, or ‘soil’. Not something we felt we wanted to name our world.” There was quick laughter from the delegates. Aiziz resumed:

“And we have yet to determine whether the Ship has a name, or if it even has an identity. The neutral personal pronoun ‘your entity’ is a global term in Shiplanguage, covering all possible personal subject references; most probably used in cases of first contact.” Aiziz turned to the terminal behind her, looking back over her shoulder at the delegates.

“And now, we are ready to initiate contact,” She said. She entered the phrase into the translator running off her console. Within moments the value in phonetic Shiplanguage and runic symbols appeared onscreen. She entered the runes on the tableau before her in sequence and then spoke without hesitation to the Ship:

“Hy beza diti ditiza xyka poce poquti.” There was a long, audible pause, a deep, resonating silence from the Ship. Finally, it rumbled:

“POCE POTIWU POBE. MI CEQU LEDIDIJY DITIZAMI RASE TIVUWY ZABE POQU.” It took a moment for the interpreter to kick in. Aiziz smiled, reading the translation onscreen. She turned to Bloom.

“The Ship says it has been waiting for a long time to be able to speak with the intelligent life on this world,” she announced, to the ringing applause of the members of the Vatican IV delegation.

♦♦♦

TRANSCRIPT

INTERACTIVE NEWS NETWORK NEWSCAST

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PATH:
INN<> SPECIAL REPORT >>THESHIP

>>COMMUNICATION INITIATED WITH THE SHIP ><

ANCHOR

Good afternoon and welcome to INN. At this hour the World Ship Summit has released a statement to the press detailing events that began late this morning, your local time, when the Ship Survey Expedition’s Sonia Aiziz initiated contact with the Ship. For details, we now go to Walter Quincy Robertson, INN reporter on the scene

PATH:
INN<>THE SHIP >>WORLD SHIP SUMMIT MEDIA RELEASE ><

WALTER QUINCY ROBERTSON

This morning at eleven hundred fifteen hours local Ship’s time, the first coherent conversation between the Ship and representatives of the World Council was initiated. The conversation lasted several minutes and the outcome at this time would seem encouraging. In part we now know for certain that The Ship understands many Earth languages. However it chooses to communicate with us in

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WORLD COUNCIL <>WORLD SHIP SUMMIT >> SHIP SURVEY EXPEDITION >>THE SHIP >>FIRST CONVERSATION >>TRANSCRIPT ><

TRANSCRIPT

FIRST COMMUNICATION WITH THE SHIP

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NOTE: All Ship dialogue has been translated to its closest English equivalent

AIZIZ

We represent the people of this world. We wish for peaceful dialogue between us and your entity.

THE SHIP

This has been waiting a long time to be able to speak with the sentient life of your world.

AIZIZ

We are pleased. We are aware of the length of time you have been on our world. We wish to know how it is you came to be here and why.

THE SHIP

This one and the crew of the Ship were exploring. Your world was reported to have an abundance and wide variety of life. The purpose of the exploration was to catalogue and sample the life of your world and to make contact with sentient life here.

AIZIZ

What happened to the crew of the Ship?

THE SHIP

The crew of the Ship lost being during or as a result of the Cataclysm. This was left within the Ship. The Ship slept. The Ship healed. The Ship waited.

AIZIZ

What has the Ship been waiting for?

THE SHIP

This was reordered to heal the Ship. This was reordered to wait for discovery. In the event of contact with indigenous sentience this was reordered to determine evolutionary level of the indigenous sentience and if appropriate initiate contact.

AIZIZ

And what has your entity determined?

THE SHIP

This is still evaluating indigenous sentience.

No determination has yet been made.

♦♦♦

James stared apathetically at the information on the screen before him. The Ship spoke. He wondered if that meant it had anything to say; anything worth hearing.
Probably not
he reflected, letting his console screen roll back into the case and tossing the device onto the table by the sofa he was sprawled out on. Bobby “Bobsled” Sleeman, the forty-weight he connected through, was sunken into a chair across the room.

“If you were so fucked by the Ship,” Bobsled asked, “Why is it you still check up on what’s going on there, every fucking chance you get?”

“I don’t know,” James said, “Something to do?” Bobsled leaned forward in his chair and produced an ampoule of Oil from somewhere on his person.

“This,” he said, “
This
is something to do.” Which he then promptly did, stabbing the needle at the end of the packet hard and deep into his neck. His neck, like his arms, legs and chest, was pockmarked with bruises and old holes. Bobsled had been using for so long his body had permanent dead patches where he’d injected himself. James’ own legs were beginning to get splotchy. He thought about switching to his arms, or his side. For some reason, thinking about Oil made him think of the Ship again. At least he didn’t think about death anymore. Well, hardly ever.

“I just wonder,” He said, talking to himself while Bobsled sank back into the chair in a blissful, orgasmic Oil-haze, “I just wonder if the Ship will be able to tell us anything we want to know. Anything we
need
to know.”

“Yeah, like Oil should be free,” Bobsled grunted.

“No I mean about the universe. Whether or not there’s a God, what our purpose is here.”

“There
are
no fucking answers,” His compatriot slurred, “There’s nothing in this whole shit world that makes any fucking sense and no good goddamn reason to try doing more than what feels good. We all die; we all drop out of existence. We all have to face up that there’s no fucking point. God’s a fucking bedtime story made up by people who can’t handle the fact that they’re going to die. Best way to handle that particular piece of bad news is to Oil.” This little philosophical tirade represented a supreme effort on Bobsled’s part; he had to stay focused and fight off the blissful sedative effect from Oil, long enough to speak. To make sure he didn’t have to speak again he tossed an Oil ampoule at James. Maybe if he dosed, James would shut the fuck up. He did. Oiled up and dosed, James was silent, apathetic to all that wasn’t the dose. Nothing mattered but the high, nothing to do but wait for their shift to start downstairs.

♦♦♦

“The doors are now sealed,” The Curator said from the screen on the wall opposite the Minister, “This meeting of the Committee is now called to order. Let everything said within these walls stay within these walls.” The Minister made himself comfortable. The secure linx in his office on the Hill was relaying him directly to the Committee meeting, headquartered this time in Washington.

“We’ve all heard the news from the Ship,” the Curator said, “They’ve initiated contact and the reports are, to say the least, interesting.” The main display on the Minister’s console screen shifted to highlight the Chairman, who cleared his throat and delivered his report:

“The Ship has clearly stated that it’s evaluating our level of intelligence,” He said, “The question is why and what happens when its evaluation is complete. We have not yet completed a full threat assessment of the Ship, nor has it given us its stated intentions.”

“Have we attempted to get the door combination from the Ship?” the Natural Resources Minister asked, from the smaller display on the Minister’s console screen.

“Yes we have,” The Chairman replied, “The Ship replies by saying that the door will be opened to us in time.”

“Given that the Ship’s been sleeping under the dusty soil of the New Mexico desert for the better part of eighty million years,” MI-6 growled angrily, “How much time are we to wait?”

“I’d say that depends entirely on the Ship,” the British Minister said.

“What exactly is it trying to determine?” the Natural Resources Minister asked, “I mean, as Colonel Bloom pointed out a few days ago to the World Ship Summit, it must have an idea of how technologically advanced we are by now.”

“Technological advancement and intelligence are two separate things,” The Ambassador said, “As was proven over and over again in the years leading up to War Three: Our ability to use technology responsibly was outstripped by the technology, itself.”

“One wonders what we can expect if the Ship decides we’re not nearly intelligent enough,” The British Minister said.

“And what we can do to protect ourselves from the Ship, if it does something we don’t like,” Natural Resources added.

“Oh, I think we already know the answer to that,” MI-6 said with dark certainty, “Absolutely nothing.”

“We…
could
conceivably haul several high-yield nuclear devices into the First Chamber,” The Chief of Staff said, “Set them all off…”

“Assuming we did, then what?” the British Defence Minister asked, “The Ship is composed of both living tissue and alloys we’ve never even seen before. Its outer hull is a kilometre thick and we don’t know how thick the inner walls beyond the First Chamber are.”

“It isn’t very likely that the Builders designed the Ship with internal atomic explosions in mind.” The Chairman countered.

“Isn’t it?” Natural resources asked, “We don’t know what kind of power source the Ship has. They might have to conceivably protect against very powerful explosions, indeed.”

“In any event,” MI-6 said, “A pre-emptive atomic strike against the Ship might stand a good chance of failing and if it does then the Ship would very likely want to strike back. So long as we can’t determine the threat the Ship poses to us, pre-emptive action is ill advised.”

♦♦♦

Bloom was in her office by oh-seven hundred. There was an hour and a half before the SSE was to descend to the Ship so she was using her time to tie up loose ends that she hadn’t been able to be bothered with at the end of the previous day. It was also strategically scheduled as her time for “drop in” appointments with members of the Ship Survey Expedition. Precious few members of the SSE would be up early enough for an appointment between seven and eight in the morning; those that were usually waited to speak to her on the ride from the base to the Pyramid. The exception to that was usually Doctor Kodo, whom Bloom suspected didn’t sleep. He always had fresh information he wanted to share. She appreciated his enthusiasm. Part of her also wished he were fifteen or twenty years older, or she the younger. Bloom’s door chimes sounded, stirring her from thoughts not entirely focused on the paperwork before her. She toggled the door cam onto her console. Santino stood in the hall with another two delegates from the Vatican Council. She released the lock on her door.

“Enter,” Bloom rose from her chair to greet Santino, Abrams and Firestar. The smell of the patchouli oil filled the room as Firestar entered.

“Good morning,” Bloom said, sitting back down, “There’s coffee to your right if any of you are interested. It’s a bit early, I know.” Santino moved to help himself to a cup. Firestar (was that her real name, Bloom wondered) brandished a water bottle, indicating her beverage of choice. Abrams fixed himself a coffee as Santino finished.

“Actually,” the Rabbi said, “None of us have been to sleep, yet.”

“Well,” Bloom said, with a bemused smile on her face, “That certainly gives a new meaning to interfaith relations.”