“I am sorry. This is difficult. I am afraid the commanding officer here may be…unbalanced.”
“What do you mean?”
“Have you Americans noticed any unusual physiological or psychological effects in the vicinity of the alien Intelligence?”
Jeff hesitated before answering. This could be an attempt to get information. And yet…
“Some. Yes. With men who happen to have cerebral implants of various types.”
“Exactly. Many of us have such implants—more, perhaps, than do you. I understand you rely now on other, noninvasive means of forming a direct human-machine interface.
“Many of us are sick. I…I am suffering from extreme pain in my head, blurred vision, and from a strange kind of rootless terror…I think brought on by infrasonic vibrations, induced by the alien’s long-wave radio frequency leakage. And…we are closer to the source here than are you.”
“What is it you want of us?” For a moment, he wondered if the Chinese were surrendering to him. How would he handle that logistical nightmare?
“Our commanding officer, General Xiang, is attempting to contact the aliens. He has a submarine—”
“What? What kind of submarine?”
“A small, two-man research vessel. We call it Little Fish. We were bringing several to Europa to facilitate direct contact with the aliens beneath the ice…just as you Americans did. He is trying to recover one from a crashed lander out on the ice and launch it as we speak..”
“And what is it you expect us to do?”
He heard a sigh on the other end of the communications link. “Sir, General Xiang is not himself. I believe he may be unbalanced, partly from the effects of the radio wave induction in his implants, partly because of the pressure he has been under here since we arrived.” There was a pause. “You Marines have not exactly made it easy for us.”
“Thank you, Doctor. I accept the compliment. But what does that—”
“Major, think a moment. Put aside your military prejudices and think, please. We sit, almost literally, on top of a very old, very powerful intelligence, something that may have become trapped beneath the ice as long as half a million years ago. There is something alive down there. Think. Certainly, it responds to us, to the noises we make here on its roof.
“But what could be alive after so many thousands of centuries? Immortals? An artificial intelligence that cannot die? The descendants of the original crew? We do not know. But I do know that the first human to establish contact with this—this entity should do so for all humankind, and not for himself, or for his own survival, or even for national salvation, as he claims.
“Major, General Xiang intends to attempt to contact the intelligence and win its support in fighting you. I can see only a disastrous outcome if this course is followed. We humans must speak as one when we face the gods of the Silver Han, not many…and certainly not as warring factions in ideological disputes no extraterrestrial could possibly comprehend or care about.”
Jeff didn’t reply immediately. This all still could be some sort of trick…and yet the words carried with them a horribly chilling plausibility. As Zhao had been speaking, Jeff brought up Chesty on his PAD and was reading a running commentary on the translation on his screen. He was particularly curious about the phrase gods of the Silver Han. Chesty explained: In Chinese cosmology, the Han, especially the Silver Han, referred to the Milky Way.
There was a chance, a tiny chance, that he could end this war here and now, a chance he had to take.
Besides, Zhao was right. It would be ironic indeed, and terrible, if humankind’s first ambassador to the representatives of an alien intelligence was mad.
The Life Seeker
Time unknown
2703: >>…they come…<<
1198: >>…are these the dominant intelligence of this world…<<
3165: >>…intelligence…not of the Mind…wrong/bad/tainted/evil…<<
1002: >>…use it…<<
Chorus: >>…use it…how?…<<
1824: >>…the Mind we touched. It was like the Mind. Rightly ordered…<<
2653: >>…not organic…<<
81: >>…the level of intelligence is low…<<
3111: >>…almost at a completely automatic level, only marginally self…<<
Chorus: >>…aware…<<
TWENTY-FIVE
28 OCTOBER 2067
Manta One
The Europan Sea
1623 hours Zulu
“I’ve got something, sir,” Hastings said. “Ten kilometers ahead, and below us. Depth about sixty kilometers.”