Solly got up. “That’s as much as we can do for now. Want to go back to the workout room for a while?”
She was surprised he was willing to walk off at a time like this, even though the high-probability period was still hours away. “No,” she said, “I think I’ll hang on here.”
She was still there when he came back two hours later with sliced beef and fruit.
They lay awake talking long through the night, listening for the alarm. Now that they were here, on station in a place where she could see countless stars, clouds of stars, but no sun, she lost confidence. Silly to do that: she’d checked the math any number of times; the equipment was equal to the task; physical law was very precise about how radio waves traveled in a vacuum. But Hunter seemed so long ago, in human terms. And what evidence did she really have other than Kane’s sketch and a bogus set of logs?
Solly, who’d lived all his life in a star-traveling fraternity which assumed that the cosmos belonged exclusively to humanity, tried to encourage her, but his tone gave him away.
They spent most of the next day huddled over the instruments. Kim listened to the cosmic noise and watched the clock. She skipped lunch and tried to read, opening one book after another. Solly busied himself calibrating instruments that probably needed no attention.
They ate a light dinner and put on another King mystery. Just to watch, without participation. But Kim couldn’t keep her mind on it. They did not go to bed. At midnight Kim was sprawled on the couch, one arm thrown across her eyes, listening to the silence.
“It might take a couple more days,” Solly said. “Maybe even a week. Out here, we can’t be all that precise about where we are.” On the screens, the void rolled out forever. He was about to say something more when Ham spoke to them: “We have a hit.”
Kim came wide awake.
“Transmission acquired 12:03 A.M. No visual. It is an audio signal only. On standard frequency.”
“Run it,” said Solly. It was 12:06. “From the beginning.”
Kim sat up.
The speaker delivered a single blip.
Then, moments later, a pair of blips.
“Is it Hunter? Solly asked the AI.
Three blips.
Four.
“Uncertain. It is artificial, with better than ninety-nine percent probability.”
Hammersmith had Hunter’s transmission characteristics in its files. Given time, and a sufficient sample, it would be able to establish identity beyond question.
“It couldn’t be anybody else,” said Kim, elated. “We’ve got them.”
She listened intently for more, but the speakers remained silent. Solly asked, “Is that all?”
“Yes. The signal arrived four minutes ago.”
“Ham, if you get any more, pipe it directly through.”
“They counted to four,” Kim said.
It started again.
One. Two.
“What the hell is that all about?” asked Solly.
Three.
“They’ve seen something.”
Four.
Kim wanted to scream for pure joy. “Something they can’t talk to. They’re trying to say hello.”
And again. One—
“What kind of hello is counting to four?”
“It’s the only common language they have. If it’s really a celestial, it can reply by counting to five.” She pressed her palms together and whispered a prayer to whatever power controlled such matters. Then she threw herself into his arms. “Solly,” she said, “It’s really happening.”
“Let’s hold on before we start to celebrate—”
The signal stopped. Kim let him go, pressed her palms together, and waited.
“If they’ve really got somebody else out there,” she said, “we’ll only get one side of the conversation.” That was because the other vehicle would almost certainly be using a directed signal, as opposed to Tripley’s omnidirectional broadcast.
“Do you think they’re getting an answer?” asked Solly.
It began again. Same pattern.
“No,” she said. “Not yet.” Her heart was pounding. The sequence stopped. And started again.
One. Two. Three. Four.
“Characteristics of the signal have been analyzed,” said the AI. “Confirm it is the Hunter.”
She visualized the scene: somewhere near Alnitak, the Tripley vessel was busily making repairs, had been making repairs—it was at the moment hard to separate past from present—when they’d encountered something. The flared teardrop. The turtle. The Valiant.
One. Two. Three. Four.
“Come on” she pleaded.
Solly watched her. “You still figure they’re getting no answer?”
“I think so. As soon as the other ship responds, they’ll switch to something else.”
“What would they switch to?”
“I have no idea, Solly. Anything—”
One—
“Why doesn’t the celestial answer?” she demanded.
“Maybe they don’t know how.” Solly too was caught up in the confusion between past and present. They had, in a sense, retreated into time.
“They’d have to know, Solly. How could they not? She prayed for a visual. Had she been onboard Hunter, she’d have taken the Valiant’s picture and sent it across to the other ship, inviting the stranger to do the same. A nice friendly gesture. One that would put an image into the transmissions. And tell her without any question what was going on.
The four-count continued to come in. The durations between individual blips varied, indicating they were manually tapping out the signal. The complete count usually ran about eight seconds. The sequences were divided by almost a minute.
“Are we using the multichannel?” Kim asked. Just in case the celestials transmit and their antenna happens to be pointed in the right direction, Ham would be able to hear it.
“Yes. We’ve got them covered. But don’t bet the lunch money.”
They were between signals. Kim tried to imagine the state of mind in the Hunter, and wondered what they were seeing in their scopes, what they had found. Had it been possible, she would have cheerfully killed Markis Kane. Hadn’t it occurred to them that an event like this might generate future interest on the order of a later intercept of the original signals? That therefore they should provide for posterity?
Solly looked at the timer. “They’re late.”
The silence stretched out. It went to five minutes. Seven minutes.
“Maybe they gave up,” he said.
“No.” That couldn’t happen. You don’t give up if you’re sitting there looking at a celestial. “They wouldn’t do that.”
“They might if the celestial took off.”
Her stomach sank. It was a possibility she had never considered. She’d assumed that a star-faring species would necessarily show the same raging curiosity in this type of situation that she would. Call it the Brandywine Fallacy.
But if there had been a meeting, and if it had been terminated abruptly, it wouldn’t explain the subsequent events. No, it couldn’t be that simple.
“They’re probably trying something else,” she said. “Something that’s not showing up in a transmission.”
“For example?”
“If I were there and I got no response on the radio I’d start flashing my lights. There’s even a possibility that a connection has been made, that they’re getting ready to exchange gifts and pledge mutual friendship. Maybe they’ve opened hatches and are waving at each other. None of that would show up on FAULS.”