“It is likely.”
“They discover our signal is intermittent, it wavers and creates a regular pulse. Any chance they ignore it?”
“I do not see why they would.”
“Some natural energy sources emit simple repetitive pulses, but ours is much more complex and spans a broad range of frequencies,” Riggins said.
Aki could see how a human scientist would be curious enough to want to investigate and find the cause of the phenomenon by recording the pulse, placing it on a time axis, and then uncovering the embedded information, but she was not sure that the Builders would react in the same way. Why are they disinterested in a civilization that is calling out to them? How can advanced intelligence coexist with an absence of curiosity? Can the Builders simply be cosmic apathists? How could the Builders have gone to such extremes to undertake this incredible journey and yet be completely unconcerned with who might be waiting to greet them at their destination?
“What is the best theory for explaining the Builders’ apparent indifference then?”
The director shook his head and scratched the back of his neck. “We’ve bounced it around. Damage to their ship?”
“From the size of the deceleration array,” Aki said, “it looks like a fleet of ships.”
“I know, I know. Even if it’s one, their nanobots would repair it.”
Aki nodded and finally took a sip from her water.
“Any other potential explanations?”
“The next best is sadness from a loss of morale. I admit that I wouldn’t blame them.”
Aki said, “Oh? Go on.”
“The Builders have been traveling over six hundred years. No matter what their life span, the mission gets handed down from generation to generation. After centuries of passing through empty space, they’ve lost their purpose. Morale drops, partially from the lack of stimuli. After that, our guess is an onboard catastrophe and the ship is empty and either operating on autopilot or even unguided and drifting.”
“Hardware and tech durable enough to run for centuries is not going to be inhabited by a crew that is unprepared for the emptiness or likely to die from a plague,” Aki said. “Turning their graser back on them was possible because the Builders had not considered implementing heuristics. The Builders would have approached that problem differently if they had a clearer understanding of the variables involved. They did not even consider our existence when designing and deploying the Ring. Perhaps we are just beyond their perceptions, or perhaps even their conceptions, somehow.”
“Then extended hibernation, maybe,” Riggins said. “The passengers are in deep sleep and computers operate the ship. Instructing the computer to ignore a simple yet significantly anomalous signal—or not even programming in the capability to detect such signals. Such programming reveals apathy to other forms of life that may be encountered, but it makes some sense. The computers see us but the computers aren’t authorized to be proactive. The Builders seem like they didn’t consider encountering another species, but perhaps they were actually more concerned about a species more advanced than they are, and we’re so far behind that we’re missing the nuances.” He shrugged. “I don’t like that one because, even if the computers aren’t supposed to interact with a species on their own, for example, I figure the computers would be programmed to rouse one of their masters if it looked like communication was being attempted. Maybe the builders are just extreme fatalists, and concepts like morale and curiosity don’t mean much at all to them.”
Dan Riggins sighed, then folded his arms slowly. “I’m glad you’ve come. I wanted to meet you. None of the theories explain enough or predict enough about Builder behavior; they’re not convincing. The Builders know damn well that we’re here. The Builders are choosing to ignore us.”
“That might be the case.”
Their deceleration lasers did not arrive as planned. Instead, a weak yet steadily pulsing laser with an electromagnetic signal embedded within it showed up on various wavelengths. Their uninhabited island has turned out to be ruled by hostile natives who have made it impossible for them to dock or even stop. Instead, they will sail into a never-ending void, alone.
A familiar pain grew in Aki’s chest.
Should the Builders reply to the belligerent indigenous inhabitants who destroyed their only chance for survival? They probably do not believe in trying to negotiate with their enemies.
“You look as lost as I sometimes feel, and I know what you’re thinking. Let me tell you that I’ve never met a person who isn’t grateful for what you did.” Riggins rose from the sofa and walked to his desk. He turned around a framed picture. Aki expected a wife, kids, or a dog. It was a picture of Aki and all three of her crewmates from the Vulcan Mission standing in front of the blue field of a large United Nations flag. Aki bowed subtly. As often as she felt conflicted by these expressions of gratitude, she wanted to acknowledge Dan Riggins’s thanks at least. Unsure what to say, she did not speak for a minute. She had learned to understand how Americans thought and she had learned to ape their body language cues, but for the moment, she decided to let Director Riggins find her inscrutable.
Interpersonal or interspecies, judging a being’s character based on its ability to communicate was as foolish as determining the size of an iceberg from a casual glance at the visible peak. In between the inferences and the guesses, she had found enough of the answers she had been looking for.
“What should we be saying?” Aki asked.
“Sorry? I didn’t mind the quiet.”
“To the Builders, I mean,” she said. “We need to tell them something. We need to send a message that the Builders have no choice but to answer.”
Riggins understood what she meant.
“Aki Shiraishi, you know the message we’ve been sending. Let me show you our transmission facilities.”
ACT II: MARCH 11, 2024
THE TRANSMISSION CENTER was in a small room in the back corner of the third floor. Its simple setup was somewhat disappointing to Aki. It was low-tech, except for the retinal-scan security lock. There were no large wall-mounted monitors and no team of specialists running around with headphones on. Instead, there were two men and a woman in casual business attire at workstations, as there might be in any office building. The interdisciplinary team who created the messages to be sent to the Builders might have already been dissolved, or at least had its offices elsewhere.
Riggins introduced Aki around, though of course the savior of the world was recognized on sight. Each stood, shook her hand, and expressed what an honor it was to meet her. Riggins led Aki to an empty cubicle as the other three went back to work. The nameplate said Director of Transmissions. The monitor was running a 3-D display reminiscent of the waves of an oscillograph. A sequence of rectangular pulses changed amplitude as they scrolled across the screen.
“There is the gap. It is recycling,” she said.
The sequence of pulses had been split by two discrete blank spaces, one longer than the other. Each individual pulsation was punctuated by a short space, and then the digital throbs were separated into groups by a longer attenuation. The pulsations increased as the sequence continued.
“Using primes for a header?” she asked.
“Nothing simpler that’s likely to be universal has come along yet. Positive integers, threaded like a heartbeat, empty in-between like a jerky carotid artery. We cribbed it from a medical condition called Corrigan’s pulse where there’s a full expansion and a sudden collapse. We try others too, but we think this is least likely to degrade across the distance.”