Fred Hoyle - The Black Cloud

“Right-ho then. Let’s put these questions.”

The Cloud’s reply was more reassuring over Marlowe’s questions than they had expected.

“I have these points actively in mind,” it said. “I am intending to provide a screen to protect the Earth during the early stages of the acceleration, which will be a great deal more violent than the deceleration that occurred when I came in. Without this screen you would be so severely scorched that all life on the Earth would undoubtedly be destroyed. It will, however, be necessary for the screening material to move across the Sun, the light from which will be cut off for perhaps a fortnight; but this, I imagine, will not cause any permanent harm. In the later stages of my retreat there will be a certain amount of reflected sunlight, but this extra heat will not be so great as it must have been at the time of my arrival.

“It is difficult to give an answer to your other question that would be intelligible to you in the present state of your science. Crudely expressed, it seems as if there may be inherent limitations of a physical nature to the type of information that can be exchanged between intelligences. The suspicion is that an absolute bar exists to the communication of information relating to the deep problems. It seems as if any intelligence that attempts to pass on such information gets itself swallowed up in space, that is, space closes about it in such a fashion that no communication of any sort with other individuals of a similar hierarchy is possible.”

“Do you understand that, Chris?’ said Leicester.

“No, I don’t. But there’s another question that I want to ask.”

Kingsley then asked his question:

“You will have noticed that we have made no attempt to ask for information concerning physical theories and facts that are not known to us. This omission was not due to any lack of interest, but because we felt ample opportunities would present themselves at a later stage. Now it appears that the opportunities will not present themselves. Have you any suggestions as to how we may occupy what little time remains to the best advantage?”

The answer came:

“This is a matter to which I have also given some attention. There is a crucial difficulty here. Our discussions have been carried out in your language. We have therefore been limited to ideas that can be understood in terms of your language, which is to say that we have been essentially limited to the things you know already. No rapid communication of radically new knowledge is possible unless you learn something of my language.

“This raises two points, one of practice and the other the vital issue of whether the human brain possesses an adequate neurological capacity. To the latter question I know no certain answer, but there seems to be some evidence that justifies a measure of optimism. The explanations that are usually offered to explain the incidence of men of outstanding genius seem certainly wrong. Genius is not a biological phenomenon. A child does not possess genius at birth: genius is learned. Biologists who maintain otherwise ignore the facts of their own science, namely that the human species has not been selected for genius, nor is there evidence that genius is transmitted between parent and child.

“The infrequency of genius is to be explained in simple probabilities. A child must learn a great deal before it reaches adult life. Processes such as the multiplying of numbers can be learned in a variety of ways. This is to say, the brain can develop in a number of ways, all enabling it to multiply numbers, but not all with by any means the same facility. Those who develop in a favourable way are said to be “good” at arithmetic, while those who develop inefficient ways are said to be “bad” or “slow”. Now what decides how a particular person develops? The answer is — chance. And chance accounts for the difference between the genius and the dullard. The genius is one who has been lucky in all his processes of learning. The dullard is the reverse, and the ordinary person is one who has neither been particularly lucky nor particularly unlucky.”

“I’m afraid I’m far too much of a dullard to understand what it’s talking about. Can anybody explain?’ remarked Parkinson during a pause in the message.

“Well, granted that learning can occur in a number of ways, some better than others, I suppose it does reduce to a matter of chance,” answered Kingsley. “To take an analogy, it’s rather like a football pool. If the brain is to develop in the most efficient manner, not only in one learning process but in a dozen or more, well, it’s like getting every match right in a penny points pool.”

“I see. And that explains why the genius is such a rare bird, I suppose,” exclaimed Parkinson.

“Yes, it’s as rare or rarer than winners of a big pool. It also explains why a genius can’t pass his faculties to his children. Luck isn’t a commodity with a strong inheritance.”

The Cloud resumed its message:

“All this suggests that the human brain is inherently capable of a far improved performance, provided learning is always induced in the best way. And this is what I would propose to do. I propose that one or more of you should attempt to learn my method of thinking and that this be induced as profitably as possible. Quite evidently the learning process must lie outside your language, so that communication will have to proceed in a very different fashion. Of your sense organs, the best suited to the receiving of complex information is your eyes. It is true that you scarcely use the eyes in ordinary language, but it is mainly through the eyes that a child builds up his picture of the intricate world around him. And it is through the eyes that I intend to open up a new world to you.

“My requirements will be comparatively simple. I will now describe them.”

Then followed technical details that were carefully noted by Leicester. When the Cloud had finished Leicester remarked:

“Well, this isn’t going to be too difficult. A number of filter circuits and a whole bank of cathode ray tubes.”

“But how are we to get the information?’ asked Marlowe.

“Well, of course primarily by radio, then through the discriminating circuits which filter different bits of the messages to the various tubes.”

“There are codes for the various filters.”

“That’s right. So some sort of an ordered pattern can be put on the tubes, although it beats me as to what we shall be able to make of it.”

“We’d better get on with it. We’ve got little enough time,” said Kingsley.

During the next twenty-four hours there was a sharp improvement of morale at Nortonstowe. It was a comparatively light-hearted expectant company that assembled before the newly-built equipment on the following evening.

“Beginning to snow,” remarked Barnett.

“It looks to me as if we’re in for a devil of a winter, quite apart from another fortnight of Arctic night,” said Weichart.

“Any idea what this pantomime is about?”

“None at all. I can’t see what we can hope to pick up by staring at these tubes.”

“Nor I.”

The Cloud’s first message caused some confusion:

“It will be convenient if only one person is concerned, at any rate to begin with. Later on it may be possible for me to instruct others.”

“But I thought we were all to get a grandstand seat,” someone remarked.

“No, it’s fair enough,” said Leicester. “If you look carefully you can see that the tubes are specially orientated to suit someone sitting in this particular chair, here. We had special instructions about the seating arrangements. I don’t know what it all means, but I hope we’ve got everything right.”

“Well, it looks as though we’ll have to call for a volunteer,” Marlowe exclaimed. “Who is for the first sitting?”