Джек Макдевитт - A Voice in the Night

“That sounds like Greek,” said Maltby.

And again, the same voice: “Ting zhe, chundan men. Nimen genben zai zhao si. Tingzhi zhengdou. Tingzhi wuyiyi de judong. Chen ni haiyou xuanze de shihou.”

“And Chinese?”

“Right both times, Mitch. They’re telling us the same message is repeated in a lot of different languages.”

“How many?”

“Fifty and counting.”

“And we don’t know who’s sending it?”

“Not yet. Or if they do know, they’re not saying.” Canfield frowned. “Okay. Now they’re saying it’s stopped. It’s just that one message. In sixty-some languages.”

Cary Edward, a frequent guest and a former general, frowned. “Sounds like God,” she said.

They went to commercial. When they came back, Larry reported that earlier accounts of sporadic firing by warships in Tonkin were being denied by both sides. “They’re still sitting out there,” he said, “but maybe nothing’s actually happened.”

Cary nodded. “Let’s hope it stays that way.”

“Maybe they’re getting the message,” said Mitch. They laughed a bit, but the sound was hollow.

I was ready to switch over to MSNBC when Janie Eckert, one of our interns, told me I had a call. “From Paula Steinman.” Her expression told me the name meant nothing to her. Paula was the director at Mauna Kea.

“Hi, Paula,” I said. “Are you coming to California, I hope?”

“Listen, Pete.” She was in no mood for small talk. “You seen the news yet?”

It was obvious what she was talking about, but I couldn’t imagine why it mattered enough to warrant a call. “The Nitwit message?”

“We tracked the source. Thought you’d be interested.”

My stomach tightened. “The source? I don’t know. You’re not going to tell me it’s coming from Alpha Centauri, are you?”

Still no inclination to lighten up. “No. Not quite that far.”

I had visions of an approaching starship. “Come on, Paula. Where?”

“Jupiter.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Jupiter. Or one of the moons. Or maybe something else out there.”

“Somebody on Jupiter is watching us?”

“That seems to be what’s happening.”

“Is anybody else getting these results?”

“Everybody is. Griffith, Lowell, the National Optical. I’m not sure there’s anyone out there who doesn’t know, or won’t know within the next few minutes. Oh. And the government. Not sure who alerted them, but we’ve had calls. I understand they’re going to take a look with the Hubble.”

“Jupiter,” I said. “You know, Paula, I’ve lived for this kind of moment. Would have counted my life wasted if it had never happened. But I didn’t expect it to be anything like this.”

“I feel the same way, Pete.”

“One more question. Have we replied? To whoever that is out on Jupiter?”

“Everybody has, from what we’re hearing. Whoever it is will need a big inbox.”

I called Henry Klaxton at the Allen Array, which is located at Hat Creek, and asked whether we’d picked up the transmission.

“We got some of it,” he said.

“When?”

“Fifteen minutes ago. I was going to call you, but we’ve been busy.”

“They’re saying it’s coming from Jupiter. Is that correct?”

“That’s what it looks like.”

“You’re sure it’s not just bouncing off something?”

“Pete, at this point we’re not sure of anything.”

Nothing changed in the western Pacific.

Abu Khabal, who was believed hiding in the mountains in northern Afghanistan, issued a new threat. A suicide bomber killed thirty people in an Iranian mosque, and another round of fighting began for control of Somalia.

Meantime, on its Evening Report , PBS panelists concluded that the broadcast from Jupiter would turn out to be some sort of elaborate hoax. What else could it be? Elsewhere, there was speculation that aliens had arrived. Conrad Hauser, speaking on Fox and Friends , wondered whether these aliens might not disapprove of our turning the Earth into a radioactive waste. “Which suggests another possibility,” he concluded. “They might have their own uses for this world.”

It sounded crazy, but it made sense.

And it left me chilled.

I had the impression the entire world was waiting for a follow-up message. It seemed impossible that we’d get that angry note, and there’d be nothing more. Meanwhile, the story took over the media and the internet. Most of the talk centered on God. “He’s giving us one last chance to get it right,” said Billy Wilson, the singing pastor.

And a blogger from Wisconsin commented that at least we now knew where Heaven was.

The threats between China and the U.S. grew louder. The confrontation had begun when the President, who was not known for his diplomatic skills, commented to the media that a Chinese threat to seize Taiwan was just empty talk. “They wouldn’t dare,” he added, leaving the Chinese with little choice but to issue an ultimatum to the Natonalists. The White House jumped in and said that “any Chinese action would be met with all due force.”

Just before noon, Henry called. “We’ve got another one,” he said.

“From Jupiter?”

“Yes.”

“What’s it say?”

“It’s bundled up in every language on the planet again. But it says: ‘I have no inclination to answer questions from several thousand sources. Appoint a representative and I will speak with him.’”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Appoint a single representative to speak for everybody? Maybe he’d like to see some flying elephants while we’re at it.”

I wandered out, had lunch, and wondered why I wasn’t as excited as I would have expected. Probably it was because I didn’t believe it was a genuine alien contact. It had to be a hoax. Or maybe we were misinterpreting the data.

Or maybe having the first alien contact come with something that was inside the solar system and was familiar with every major terrestrial language seemed more like a bad SF show written by people with no imagination.

I had just gotten back to the Center and was getting out of my car when Henry called again. “There’s another one,” he said. “It says: ‘If you can’t agree on an issue this simple—’” Janie was standing at the front door. She was jumping up and down, looking frantic.

“Hold on a minute, Henry.” She came running out toward me. “What’s wrong, Janie?”

“The White House is calling, Pete. I think they said the Vice President wants to talk to you.” She handed me a phone while I stared at her.

Then I answered. “Hello? This is Dr. Marshak. Who’s this, please?”

A female voice replied: “Dr. Marshak, I’m calling for Vice President Hoover. He’ll be with you in a moment.” Terry Hoover, with that last name, had been something of a joke at the beginning of the last presidential campaign. But he’d played through it, even turned it to his advantage, and now showed up regularly as one of the most trusted people in the country. Probably because he stood in such contrast to his boss.