Childish Things
by Bud Sparhawk
Illustration by Nicholas Jainschigg
“I think it is time to go,” the humaniform complex prompted itself gently as it floated above the warm green world. “We can’t wait much longer.” The complex contemplated the planet’s attributes in ultraviolet, visible, infrared, and radio bands, wondering with each frequency shift at the beauty revealed. Here was the place of a civilization’s birth. Here was the cradle of science, philosophy, of literature, and art. Here was where a people had learned of their limits and possibilities, of their place in the Universe. It was a lovely place, an empty place, the sweet cradle of knowledge.
“We’ve confirmed that it’s definitely an ordered set of signals, using the protocol that you requested,” the Lunar watch office reported from the Clarke Bank late in the evening, Greenwich time. “We’re recording it on sixteen discrete frequencies, none of which have a common harmonic nor run afoul any of the absorption windows.”
“So you’re saying that you definitely have a confirmed extraterrestrial signal,” Dr. Hugh Banker asked dryly from his High Street office, near the “observatory” where no significant star had been seen optically for fifty years because of the luminescent pollution of greater London, and awaited the inevitable delay for the signal to bounce through the satellite links to the Lunar base.
“That’s affirmative! Yes, yes, and yes! We have a guaranteed, gold plated, dyed in the wool, absolutely, positively certain—”
Banker sighed at the brash Lunarian’s outburst. “Very well; I get the point. I will request that the Australians listen on their dish when the radio horizon comes around. Uh,” he hesitated, “is there any chance that this could be one of our own vagrant signals reflecting back on us? The Minister would hate to get everyone exercised about this over nothing.”
“Believe me, Doctor Banker, this signal is like nothing we’ve ever seen. It is definitely an ordered, non-natural, SETI message!”
At that point the impact of what they were talking about finally hit Banker, making him quite forget his peckish mood from missing dinner. What would this mean, he wondered?
“Come on, Billy. Let it go.” The little boy pulled the soft bunny closer to his cheek as his mother tugged on its ears. The stuffed rabbit was really worn and stained, so much so that she worried about its hygienic attributes despite her frequent cleaning. In some places, close where the clasping, grasping hands of a young child seeking comfort would clutch, the soft brown nap was worn down to the underlying fabric. At the bunny’s bottom were a small tangle of threads that once had held a puffy tail in place, victim to Billy’s early anatomical explorations.
The front legs were mashed into limp approximations of their original form. In his early years Billy had sucked and chewed on them as he lay with his arms about the bunny, waiting for sleep to arrive. Both of the soft rabbit’s eyes had been removed by his father when his mother read an article about children choking after swallowing poorly attached items, such as eyes. Unfortunately the manufacturer had read a similar article and had ensured against liability by using D-435a, an adhesive that created an absolutely unbreakable bond with the fabric. In desperation his father had finally sliced small circles about the eyes, from which stuffing occasionally dribbled like foam tears.
The bunny was narrow and lacked substance in its midsection; the results of many nights of being held too tightly for assurance from the frightening and lonely dark. Most of the stuffing had migrated to either end which made him resemble a soft dumbbell rather than a proper bunny.
“Show him the little car,” his father suggested. “I’m sure that he’ll want that and let the bunny go.” He was as embarrassed as his wife over the child’s reluctance to give up the cheap rabbit they had gotten two Christmases past. Despite the best educational toys they could find for young William, the boy persisted in clinging to this damned abused and disreputable toy rabbit. As far as he was concerned it was far beyond the time for the boy to give up this baby stuff and start to behave like a real boy, one who played with cars and things that made noises, not a kid that liked soft weak things like plush rabbits.
“Maybe we should wait a little longer,” his wife replied. “Let’s leave it for now. He’ll give it up on his own, I’m sure. Just give him a little while longer.”
Her husband placed an arm around her shoulders. “We have to do this now, for him.” He gave her a little squeeze; “Don’t worry, it’s for the best. You’ll see.”
The research team that had been assembled in such haste was now in their fifth year of analysis of the years-long transmission from the stars. Most of the original crew of mathematicians and cryptologists had remained with the team throughout the project and formed a close and capable group. Patel Sudhamanada, the chief mathematician of the team placed his signature on the first page of the thick sheaf of papers that contained their final analysis and turned to his assistant, Jack Foster. “It is hard to imagine, isn’t it, Jack: a complete physics, the final secrets of life, unlimited power, the answers to all of our questions finally answered—all ours for the taking. There is a wealth of information beyond anything we’d ever imagined laying in wait for us within the Message.”
Foster snorted. “Perhaps, but at what cost to us? You can bet that, somewhere, somehow there’s going to be a payback for whoever sent this.” The deciphered revelations of the index that had been degarbled from the initial wideband recordings to the multiplexed message had been astounding. Now that the team had finally pried loose the contents of the “cover letter” the wonders that awaited them within the directory, their next target, were finally revealed. “If our interpretation of the index is right the Message will eliminate years, maybe centuries of tedious scientific development. Nobody’s going to give that away for nothing!”
Patel considered Foster’s statement for a moment before replying. Jack had been the eternal pessimist, joking when they ran into seemingly insurmountable problems that “some things are not man’s to know.” Perhaps he hadn’t been joking after all? “What payback could there possibly be?” he responded. “The message is a scientific bonanza of information. There’s no demand for this download, no fees to pay, nobody threatening to cut us off from the source if we don’t meet our bill like your American networks. No Jack, accept it for what it is; free information from the stars. When the UN sees this package,” he patted the stack of papers lovingly, “we’ll have all the funding we need to get the directory decoded. Then we’ll be able to finally get at the real information inside the rest of the Message.”
Jack heard Patel’s hard emphasis on the word “Message.” Even within the team it was attaining a special status. He shook his head, he still couldn’t get it out of his head that there had to be something they would have to give up for this knowledge, even though he could hardly conceal his own eagerness to discover the new revelations that awaited them.
Father was adamant. “I know it’s hard, Freddy. But the new job will be a great chance for us to move to a new area, find new friends, and start a new life. Come on, you’re young enough to be flexible. In no time you’ll have a whole raft of new friends, just as good as the ones you’re leaving.”
Although he heard his father’s words and understood what he thought he was saying, Freddy could not accept that his parents were actually going to destroy his life like this. Without any consultation at all they were going to move the family clear across the country to live in some place where he knew absolutely nobody! It had been hard enough going to the new middle school and having to adapt to a new environment. But that had been made easier because all of his old friends were with him. Well, most of them anyhow. Jim and Sammy wouldn’t be coming to the middle school until next year, although, now that the school year was nearly done that didn’t seem to matter much; for some reason he couldn’t define Jim and Sammy weren’t as close friends as they had been.