Bin glanced at the scholar, who seemed far away in time and space, his eyes glittering with soft laser reflections cast by his helper apparatus. Of course, the alien entity’s florid vocabulary must have come from its long era spent with early humans, many centuries ago, in more poetical days.
Unable to maneuver even a little, the pellet let go of its uselessly clotted sail as the planet loomed close, swinging by, once… twice… three times… and several more… From Paul’s commentary, it seemed that some kind of safety margin was eroding with each orbital passage. Doom drew closer.
Then it came-the final plunge.
Starting with deceptive softness, flames of atmospheric entry soon crackled around the image, accompanied by a roar that seemed almost wrathful. Bin realized, with a sharp intake of breath, that it would be just like the
… till new characters floated to jitter by the image-story in brushstrokes of tentative hope.
The grand voyage might have ended then, in waters covering three-quarters of the globe, an epic journey climaxing in burial under some muddy bottom. Or impacting almost anywhere on land, to shatter and explode.
Instead, as they watched the egg-artifact ride a shallow trail of flame-shedding speed and scattering clouds- there loomed ahead a white-capped mountainside! It struck the pinnacle along one snowy flank, jetting white spumes skyward and ricocheting on a shallow arc… then, rapidly, another angled blow, and another…
… till the ovoid finally tumbled to rest, smoldering, on the fringes of a highland glacier.
Heat, quenched by cold, melted an impression, much like a nest. Whereupon, soon after arriving in a gaudy blaze, the pellet from space seemed to fade-barely visible-into the icy surface.
Bin had to blink away tears.
Meanwhile, archaic-looking ideograms continued flowing across the worldstone. Yang Shenxiu was silent, as distracted and transfixed as any of them. So Bin glanced at some modern Chinese characters that formed in the corner of his right eye. A rougher, less lyrical translation, offered by his own aissistant.
For once, none of the smart people said a thing, joining Bin in silence as spot-sampled snapshots seemed to leap countless seasons, innumerable years. The glacier underwent a time-sped series of transition flickers, at first growing and flowing down a starkly lifeless valley, carrying the stone along, sometimes burying it in white layers. Then (Bin guessed) more centuries passed as the ice river gradually thinned and receded, until retreating whiteness departed completely, leaving the alien envoy-probe stranded, passive and helpless, upon a stony moraine.
Appearing to give chase, grasses climbed the mountain, just behind the retiring ice wall. Soon, tendrils of forest followed, amid rippling, seasonal waves of wildflowers. Then time seemed to put on the brakes, slowing down. Single trees stayed in place, the sun’s transit decelerated, unnervingly, from stop-action blur to a flicker, all the way down to the torpid movement of a shadow, on a single day.
Bin swayed in reaction, as if some speedy vehicle screeched to a sudden halt. Bubbles of bile rose in his throat. Still, he couldn’t stop watching, or even blink…
… as two of the shadows moved closer…
… converging on a pair of
Then came a human hand, stained with soot. Soon joined by its partner-fingernails grimy with caked mud and ocher. Reaching down to touch.
Suppose we encounter those star-alien bredren an’ sistren, an’ nothing bad arises. Ya mon, it could happen.
Despite the long-sad list of ways that “First Contacts” went wrong on Earth-between human cultures, or when animal species first meet in nature-our encounter with ET may turn out right.
So look here, assume it ain’t Babylon, out there. No one is trying to be nasty space-zutopong, or out to vank de competition with bad-bwoy bizness. No super wanga-gut seeks to devour everything in sight, or convert us to their galactic jihad. No deliberate or accidental viruses carried on those shiny beacons.
Further, say de advanced sistren an’ bredren out there have solved so-many problems that vex us. That don’t mean relax! For even among the civilized, life be dangerous if you don’t know the rules.
Question, dear frens. What be the most common peaceful activity in most societies, other than raising food an’ kids?
Oh, sure, in some utopian sci-fi a stoosh-cornucopia quenches all desires. May it be so! Still, won’t one thing be always in demand?
Oh my frens remember, nice-up pure
No. The rule is
Nice as he may be, ET will surely do commerce. If we ask ’im questions, he may reply-“We got whole-heaps of answers!”
Den him say-“So. What do you humans offer in exchange?”
All we have is ourselves-art, music, books, drama, an’ culture. Humanity’s treasure. But dat’s de first thing foolish folks will beam out-for Free! An’ dat so-admirable rush to impress our neighbors could be the worst mistake of all time.
Perhaps they be nice. They may understan’ fairness. But who
– from
38.
Following close behind a trio of dolphins, Hacker entered the mysterious, suboceanic dome via a broad tunnel that passed underneath the habitat, kicking his way toward a glow at the far end. Soon, an opening appeared, ahead and above-a portal pool, where the sea was kept at bay by air pressure within the habitat.
